Page 15 of Puck Yes

Ivy

I gape at the dirty texter who stands frozen in the doorway of the equipment room, a purple furball of a costume in his big arms. “What are you doing here, and why are you bringing me Blob?”

I’m praying he says,I’m here from Mascot Patrol to seize this costume on account of it being hideous.

But Hayes stares back like he can’t believe his bad luck, either, “You work here too?”

Too. I deflate. There goes my hope he’s the Mascot Patrol.

“You play hockey?” That explains why he has all those muscles. Why his chest is so broad. Why he’s the height of a tree.

Of all the jobs in the city, why does my hot neighbor have to work with…me?

Having answered my own question, I answer his. “I’m the new Avengers mascot. You’re…?”

“Hayes Armstrong. I was just traded here from LA,” he says, tone as flat as the fur on Blob.

“I didn’t know you were a hockey player.”

“And I didn’t know you were a…mascot.” His gaze drifts to the heap of material in his hands. Before I can launch into the whole story of how I became the mascot, approaching footsteps and voices from the corridor grow louder, and I glance around for an alternative location to continue this personal chat.

Hayes shifts the costume to one arm and pushes open the door to the equipment room. Then he sets that hand on my shoulder and spins me around. “In there,” he says in a firm voice.

He’s got a firm touch too. He slides his free hand down my spine as he guides me. His hand is big and strong.

Hayes follows me inside and kicks the door closed. He flicks on the light and strides deeper into the room where there’s an empty shelf labeledMascot Costumewith masking tape and marker. He looks stupidly good in those jeans, and his T-shirt that shamelessly hugs his biceps and shows off his trim stomach. I can’t stop watching his ass, his back, his legs as he advances past a wall of sticks to set the blob of fake fur in its place.

I’m supposed to try that on and then join the Avengers Ice Crew in ten minutes for our own practice. But I want to sort out this whole mess first.

As Hayes returns to me, his eyes lock on my face. I back up against the concrete wall, needing something for stability, something to rest against under the weight of his lusty stare.

I’m pretty sure this turn of events means putting a lid on the flirting, yet he doesn’t look like a man who wants to stop dirty texting me.

Then, in a heartbeat, he seems to shift gears, shaking off the desire. “This would be a bad idea,” he says, resigned.

“A very bad one,” I echo in the same tone.

He’s quiet for a beat, then says, “The universe has a funny sense of humor.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Shame. You have a pretty laugh.”

“I thought you said this was a bad idea,” I say, but I suppose I’m not stopping either.

“I did say that. But you still have a pretty laugh. And,” he says, his gaze meeting mine, “beautiful eyes.”

My skin tingles. His compliments are so simple, but so welcome. My ex doled out compliments like a miser. “So are your star tattoos. Beautiful, that is.”

He lifts a brow. “You noticed.”

“Well, I spent a lot of time with that picture.”

His smile is deservedly smug. Leaning closer, he parks his right hand on the wall behind my head, pinning me but not quite pinning me. I’malmostcaged in. “There’s no point in keeping this to myself now. You should know I was absolutely planning on asking you out tonight,” he says.

The tingles become full-blown sparks. “You were?”

“Yes.”

---