Page 124 of Wrong Pucking Player

“Wyatt’s not back yet?”

“Nope,” he admits and slips his phone back into his pocket.

Then he’s taking off his jersey.

I swear I had something to say, which is why my mouth is open with the intention of responding, but it gets stalled in my throat as my eyes widen to take in Oscar’s muscled physique.

Fuck…

A woman can never get enough of this type of body. Hockey players, especially this sexy goalie, are a blessed sight to witness firsthand.

Especially pierced nipples.

“What were you going to say?” he asks as he takes three steps to land right in front of me.

“I have no fucking clue,” I confess as I enjoy the closer look at his hot chest. “But fuck, Armani. What’s your PR chest press?”

“225 lbs,” he admits. “Hands up.”

I don’t even ask why.

I’m still admiring the carved masterpiece before me.

Enough that Armani sighs.

“If I ever need you to listen to me, I’ll just walk around shirtless,” he mumbles, grabbing my attention.

“And let the world see your perfected chest? God forbid. I’m far too greedy to share with the wor— Wait! I’m not distracted— Mhm.” My words are cut off when his cologne enriched jersey is going over my head and down my lifted arms.By the time I realize what he’s doing, the jersey he was just wearing is now dropping down my curvy body. It’s big as fuck, making me realize our difference in size, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say this thing smelled like the holy grail.

Extra comfy, too.

“Wear this for now,” he encourages. “Tomorrow, we have to figure out where you’re staying.”

“Can’t I just stay at your place?” I ponder while still admiring the jersey. “Damn. Number 69. I thought it was a forbidden number to wear.”

“It’s not.” He rolls his eyes at the superstition. “Goalies personally don’t like high numbers because it represents the burden you hold by carrying the team. Goalies love lower numbers... 29, 30, 31, 35. You’re not allowed to use 66, so I went with 69.”

“And not because your eating game is on point.”

He peers down at me for a long moment before it seems to click.

“The real question you should be asking, Andrews, is whether your sucking game is on point.”

I smirk.

“You’d be visiting heaven after one round of the gawk-gawk 3000.”

“The what?” He looks disgusted, and his expression is making me laugh so hard, my stomach hurts.

“Wait. Do that expression again!” I reach for his phone in his pocket and point it to him.

“What are you doing now, Andrews?”

“Face ID this shit,” I giggle. “Please! I don’t know where my phone is.”

“1234,” he groans.

“Oh!” I pause to use the pin to open his phone. “You realize anyone can guess that.”

---