Page 9 of Down to Puck

Heat burns my cheeks. As an only child with cold parents, I’ve idolized the love between Sky’s parents my entire life.

“I’ve never seen any look,” I protest.

Skylar smirks, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“That’s because you only notice textbooks, broken bones, and how well the top rack of the dishwasher is loaded.” She ticks off three fingers. “Are you seriously telling me you didn’t feel anything between you the other night?”

Heat. The smell of blood and ice. His lips on mine, searing every nerve I have into cinders. Igniting feelings I thought I’d buried a long time ago.

“He, uh. He might have kissed me. But—” I raise a palm to stop Skylar’s excited yelp. “He had a head injury, Sky. He was calling me his Angel.”

Her smile grows into a feral grin, eyes wide.

“Wow,” Skylar breathes.

“Yeah,” I shove a handful of hair out of my face.

Guilt, fear, and anxiety twist away in my stomach.

“No, I mean wow,” Skylar whistles softly. “Even I didn’t realize you were this clueless, Yas. You hit the jackpot. Your crush kissed you. Do you know how many women would give their right arm to be kissed by the hockey player of their dreams?”

I roll my eyes, but most of the fight has drained out of me.

“He would have kissed your Dad if he’d been there, Sky. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Skylar’s eyes sparkle with mischief. She leans in close to boop my nose with one finger. It’s our own little ritual. It also means she knows she’s won.

“So go do some science, Doctor Rashidi. Put that medical degree you earned in record time to the test,” She straightens. “Kiss him. If he kisses you back, it wasn’t an accident.”

Skylar turns, marching toward my bedroom. It’s a good thing, too. Because one look at me would be enough for her to sniff out the truth.

And I don’t know if I’m ready to admit that I already began experimenting with Emerson.

“Get your ass in here, Doc,” Skylar’s voice echoes out from my closet. “I know you have some tights in here somewhere. Where’s that sports bra that makes your boobs look great?”

I can’t help but laugh.

Time to put my bedside manner to the test.

4

Emerson

“Harder, Emerson. Is that all you’ve got?” Yasmín’s voice is low and breathy with exertion. “Don’t stop now— we’re almost there.”

Her words drip sin and honey until I can’t think straight.

“Good. Now give me another set on the leg press machine,” she nods toward the weight room. “And then I’m really going to make you sweat.”

Physical therapy is usually the easiest part of my week. But I’m learning that nothing about Dr. Yasmín Rashidi is easy. Yas’ PT routine is brutal— And it’s only made harder by her proximity.

Hard.

Being in the same room as Yasmín makes every inch of me hard— I swear the woman causes full-body erections. My entire body is taut and tense. I’ve got my hard cock tucked into the waistband of my shorts, but it’s straining against confinement. Each whisper of her skin against mine is exquisite torture.

Yasmín is stronger than any painkiller, sharper than any scalpel.

She smells like violets, soap, and laundry detergent. It’s a sweet, fresh scent— clean and uniquely Yasmín. Her laugh, her sigh, even the way she hums to herself. Every sound Yas makes is intoxicating. She’s coursing through my veins like an addiction.

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