Page 34 of Dirty Pucking Player

Heat creeps along my neck and over my cheeks.

Shit. I read way too much into that, and now, I’m the one who turned it sexual. Fucking perfect.

He watched me play. Even though he mentioned my history in my office the other day, I never imagined he paid that close attention. Why would he have? At the time I was playing in the Olympics, Bash would have been playing juniors and dreaming of his career in the NHL, not concentrating on women’s hockey.

“I didn’t think you would have had the time to watch much back then.”

Bash grins at me. “I make time for things that are important.”

“And watching women’s Olympic hockey was important to you?”

He nods slowly. “Don’t look so shocked, Coach. I loved watching it. I liked the purity of it. Without a women’s NHL, all the Olympic players were doing it for the love of the game. They weren’t doing it for fame or fortune or hopes that they might get picked up by a pro team afterward. It’s like the difference between watching college basketball and the NBA. In college, players still play as a team, but once they get to the NBA, it becomes a one-man show.”

I never thought about it that way, but he’s kind of right. It’s a pure sport, one where my teammates and I played for the love of the game and our country. I was never in it to get famous or a big contract. I just love the ice.

He slowly steps closer to me, like he’s afraid I’m going to bolt. “How did you get involved in playing hockey in the first place?”

I shift my stick in my hands, aim, and fire off another shot before I turn back to him. “Why do you want to know?”

He moves over to me until he’s too close for comfort or professionalism. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I just want to know more about you?”

I shrug and lean against my stick. “Most men have ulterior motives for everything they do.”

His eyes widen. “Wow.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “You sure are cagey. You ever let anyone in through that ice surrounding your heart?”

I scowl at him. “I don’t have ice around my heart.”

Humor tugs at his lips and dances in his heated gaze. His eyes drop down to my chest, then back up playfully. “You don’t?”

“No.” I shake my head and square my shoulders. I’m not some ice queen. “I don’t.”

He leans forward until his lips are mere inches from my ear. His warm breath flutters against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with being on the ice. “Then why did you run last night?”

* * *

BASH

It’s a simple question. One that’s been bouncing around my head since the moment she fled from my hotel room last night. I saw the fear in her eyes. The way she was over-analyzing the situation and was thinking of everything all at once.

But I hadn’t expected her to bolt like that, without a word, without even a look back at me after the moment we shared. I stood there frozen for several minutes before I was finally able to process what had happened. Before I dragged myself to the bed and jerked off with that kiss replaying in my head—the feel of her nails on my skin. The taste of her flooding my mouth.

Each release only made me want more—of her. Of us.

Greer seems like the kind of woman who faces anything that stands in her way and beats it back until it lets her pass, so her decision to run instead of dealing with the attraction between us surprised the hell out of me. Even as I tried to fall asleep, I couldn’t get her actions out of my mind.

This isn’t going to just go away. These feelings won’t just disappear overnight. If anything, they’re only stronger this morning, now that I’ve gotten a taste of what being with Greer would be like. So, if I can assume anything based on my own feelings, Greer is reeling, too.

Though she’s definitely trying to fight it.

She presses her pale-pink lips together in a firm, hard line. “I didn’t run.”

The incredulous note in her voice has me barking out a laugh. “Oh, you didn’t?”

She shakes her head, her blond hair spilling around her. “No, I…”—she considers her answer for second—“…walked fast.”

My laugh booms so loudly through the rink that Greer glances around to make sure we’re alone. “Oh”—I press my hand over my chest—“I’m sorry. Why did you ‘walk fast’ away from me last night?”

Her lips droop into a frown. “I needed my sleep before the game tonight.”

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