Page 11 of Puck Off, She’s Mine

"Liar." He's in my space now, pressing me back against the wall. And I know I'm supposed to be asking him about the rumors. That's what I'm here for right now. Except the words won't form. All I can do is stare up at him, remembering the way he pinned me to the wall in my dreams. "Say you missed me."

"Back up," I whisper instead, proud of myself for managing to stand my ground.

"Nah." He lifts his hand, brushing his thumb across my bottom lip. "Think I'll stay right here, gorgeous." He dips his head, running his nose along the side of my throat. "Fuck. You smell so goddamn good, Cara."

"Phoenix."

"Tell me that you missed me," he breathes against my skin.

"I…I…." What am I supposed to be saying right now? Oh, right. "Back up."

His stubble scrapes my skin, and then I feel his tongue against my pulse point. My knees tremble, my whole body turning to Jell-O. My palm flattens against the wall.

"Fucking hell," he groans, his body tense against mine. "You taste as good as you smell."

"Phoenix."

He nips my skin, and then his lips are on mine. His kiss is soft, achingly sweet. And it's over far too soon, as if he's just taking a tiny taste. Before I even know he's there, he's gone.

I whimper then, my whole body clenching, desperate to feel him against me again, desperate for him to keep kissing me, just maddeningly, achingly desperate.

"Yeah, you missed me," he says, running a fingertip down the side of my cheek, a smile in his voice. "See you at the game tomorrow, gorgeous."

I pry my eyes open in time to see him striding down the hall away from me, looking like a man on top of the world.

He's ducking through the doors before I remember that I'm supposed to be asking him about the rumors.

"Shit," I whisper, my head drooping.

I'm in so much fucking trouble here.

Chapter Four

Phoenix

We're tied with seconds left on the clock when Harrison gets control of the puck. The entire arena leaps to their feet, roaring and stomping. It's so loud, I can't think. But I lock in anyway, my skates cutting across the ice as I move to cover him.

Liam is already hurtling down the ice toward the Hurricanes' goal, trying to create space for Harrison to take the shot. Chance is a few yards from Harrison, prepared to take possession if necessary, but Toby, the Hurricanes' goalie, is weak on the left side, and Harrison is already in position.

He lines up and shoots.

Toby dives for the puck to cover it, but he's a second too late. The puck slams into the back of the net, the goal horn blaring.

The entire arena loses its shit.

I chuckle when Chance leaps on Harrison, damn near dragging him down to the ice. But my attention is already moving from the ice to the press box. Cara is up there somewhere, watching. The entire game, it's like I've felt her eyes on me.

I'm dying to see her again. Hell, I'm dying to put my mouth on her again like I did yesterday. I've thought about little else since. Walking away was hard as hell, but it was also necessary. I can't push too hard, too fast, or I may push her right out of my orbit.

The rumor I started is working. I know damn well that it is. She spent most of the last two days at the arena, chasing it up. I know that's why she was waiting for me yesterday. Kissing her was a preemptive strike as much as a necessity. I needed my mouth on her. I also needed to keep her from asking, just long enough to really let the rumor settle in her brain.

She's a reporter. If I know anything about journalists, it's this: Rumors and gossip are their kryptonite. They're physically incapable of letting one go until they know every single juicy little detail. And I've spent the last week calling in every favor I'm owed to sow just enough seeds to make her rabid.

Bouch slams into me, damn near knocking me off my feet.

"Daydream after you get off the ice," he says, laughing.

"Fuck off," I say, but there's no heat to it. He's right. I can obsess about Cara later. Right now, I need to be here with the team, celebrating.