Page 13 of Puck Off, She’s Mine

"That excited to get me alone, huh?" I chuckle.

"What? No. I have questions," she says, poking her head into a conference room before yanking me inside and then slamming the door.

"Most reporters do. But they usually ask them out there." I nod toward the door, smirking. "They don't require a private conference room." I lean up against the wall, my arms crossed. "Not that I'm complaining. Feel free to drag me off for a little privacy any time, baby."

"Would you…" she trails off, pinching the bridge of her nose. Except she still has her pen in hand and nearly stabs herself in the eye in the process. She grumbles under her breath before clipping it to her notebook and shooting me a death glare. "I did not bring you here for whatever you're thinking."

"Pity," I drawl, looking her up and down. "Because I'm thinking all kinds of delicious shit right now. You look edible. Matter of fact, the only way you could possibly look any more beautiful would be with my name across your back."

"What?" she asks, brows furrowed.

"In my jersey, Cara."

"I am not wearing your jersey."

"You will. I'll make sure to send you one for our next home game."

"Don't you dare."

I just smirk at her, which makes her right eye twitch. But she doesn't storm off or tell me to fuck off. Instead, she mutters something under her breath that is very likely an insult and then squares her shoulders like she's preparing for battle.

"Why are you in trouble?"

"What?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about!" she cries, stomping her foot. If she had any idea how much I want to fuck that cute little attitude out of her when she does that, she'd probably quit. "The entire arena has been buzzing with gossip about you for two days now. You did something horrible, and now you're on the chopping block. I want your side of the story."

So…she's definitely heard the rumors, then. Good. Turns out, manufacturing news is fucking hard. Mostly because it takes a coordinated effort by multiple people, and trying to herd hockey players is like trying to herd fucking cats. I owe more favors than a motherfucker running a Ponzi scheme at this point.

"What have you heard?" I ask, genuinely curious. I couldn't come up with anything solid enough to hook her without sending her running, so I told my teammates to leave the details vague. I'm curious as fuck what story they've been floating. They spend more time in the press than I do. They're far more prepared for this kind of thing than I am.

"A lot," she huffs.

"Tell me."

"I heard that you were busted doing something that put your future with the team at risk," she says. "Mitch had you in his office the day before yesterday, yelling so loud the support staff in the PT suite heard him. But that's the least of your problems since prison may be in your future." She tilts her head, eyeing me like she's trying to figure me out. "What was it, Phoenix? Drugs? Guns? Something worse?"

"Jesus." I stare at her, mildly alarmed. Maybe leaving the details up to my teammates was not my best idea if that's the kind of scandal she thinks I'm hiding over here. What the fuck have they been floating?

"You can talk to me," she whispers.

"Why?" I ask, pushing away from the wall to close the distance between us. "So you can beat everyone else to the scoop?"

"No…I…" She tips her head back, meeting my gaze. "I can help you, Phoenix. I can—"

I groan, unable to stand the earnest look in her eyes, like she genuinely believes she can save me from whatever I've gotten myself into. My dick presses against my zipper, my heart hammering. Who the fuck is this woman?

I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, drawing her up against me. She tenses slightly, but she doesn't really stop me. Instead, her lips part, her eyes darkening.

"Phoenix." It's supposed to be a warning, but it sounds like a plea.

"I haven't stopped thinking about the way you taste, Cara," I groan, burying my face in her hair to breathe her in. But that isn't enough contact for me. I don't want to smell her. I want to drown in her. I want her to forget the rumors, forget why she's so hesitant to give me a chance, and just fucking…lose it for me. I want her wild and desperate. "Have you thought about me, beautiful?"

"Phoenix," she says again. It's still not a warning.

"You have, haven't you?" I run my nose down her temple toward her ear. "Did you dream about me last night, gorgeous? Was I all over you?"

Her hands twist into my jacket like she's trying to anchor herself to me. The way she groans is part surrender, part frustration. I feel it in my balls and deeper, in that place I want to cede control of to her. She can own me. Fuck yeah, I'll let her.