Page 123 of Thoroughly Pucked

The corner of his lips twitches. I bet he’s not used to getting presents. Well, he’ll have to get used to them with me. He opens the box and fights off a smile. It’s a key chain with a small cactus charm on it.

“Prickly. Like me,” he says, repeating what Dev told him in Plant Parenthood.

“Like you,” I echo.

He leans in, and whispers deliciously against my cheek. “And you like prickly.”

I shiver. “Seems I do,” I say, then I take my turn whispering. “It’s a good luck charm. For your final year.”

He pulls back, then tosses the chain in the air and catches it before he holds my gaze again. “It’s going to be a very hard year.”

He’s not talking about hockey.

“I know,” I say, and I’m not either.

A few days later, I head into the Golden State Foxes arena with Trina, excitement bouncing in my cells. It’s the first home game of the season and the place is jumping. The new logo—a badass fox—is all over the walls.

I’ve got a jacket over my shirt since it’s fuck-all cold. Well, ice is like that. We gab about customers—the good ones and the bad ones at my salon and her bookstore—as we head to our seats.

When the mascot hits the rink a few minutes before the puck drops, Trina and I shout the loudest.

“Go Foxy!” we cheer like madwomen.

That’s our girl after all. Ivy’s the mascot and she’s racing around the ice in her tawny fox costume as the announcer tells a story about the Golden State Foxes. She whips up the crowd, and we’re shouting till our throats go numb as the guys emerge from the tunnel.

They hit the ice skating fast and furiously.

“Yay Seventeen,” I shout when I see the goalie, my heart tripping over itself. He’s covered in pads and a helmet, and I doubt he can see me. But I cheer for him again and again as he saves goal after goal, some with his legs, some with the stick, and some with his whole body. He’s the brick wall they want him to be, and damn, it’s hot that he doesn’t let a thing get past him.

When the first period ends, he yanks up his helmet, turns to the stands, and flashes a smile my way. I tug on my shirt so he can see it.

Well, he sent it to me today. I’m wearing his Number Seventeen jersey.

Two days later, Ivy and I join Trina for the first game of the Sea Dogs across town. We don’t go to the former wives and girlfriends’ section, now called The Partners’ Suite.

For this game, we have seats rink-side.

“My, how times have changed,” I tease Trina. “You were slumming it in the VIP suite with me, holding uprevenge signs to get even with your ex. Now look at you. You’re Mrs. Hockey,” I say to the double wife.

She rolls her eyes, then nods to Ivy too. “Pretty sure we all are.”

I raise awho mebrow. “Not me.”

But even to me it feels like the lady doth protest too much.

“Not youyet,” Ivy corrects, as the team hits the ice, and all my attention turns to the veteran forward.

Ledger flies across the ice, tough and stoic and focused.

Does his knee hurt? Is he masking any pain? Or is he hanging in there and enjoying his swan song? I hope it’s the latter.

Before he heads to the bench, his eyes find mine and his smile feels private, just for me, when he sees me wearing his jersey—the one he sent me today.

These guys and their need to claim me.

When the game ends, I text my brother and ask if he can have dinner with me on Friday night after book club. He says yes.

I breathe deeply and try to just keep in this moment right now.

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