Page 4 of Puck Off, She’s Mine

Women aren't spoils of war. We're people. You don't get to just shoot someone on a dusty street at high noon and claim a woman as your prize in this day and age.

I don't think these two got that memo, though. The guys on the minor league team I covered at my last job were not like this. Well, most of them weren't anyway. I guess there's always one or two, right?

"Seriously, Simms," Phoenix says. "Fuck off."

"Seriously, Michaud, no."

Jesus Christ on a cracker. If this weren't ridiculous, it'd almost be funny. Two of the hottest men in the league are glowering at each other over me, a woman who hasn't even been on a date in two years. My sexiest lingerie is the thong collecting dust in the back of my drawer, and my idea of small talk involves oversharing about fanfic and my true crime obsession. And yet, they look ready to come to blows over who gets to stand closest to me.

Ridiculous.

"You two can stop whatever weird macho crap you have going on right now," I say when they repeat the same cycle for a third time, with Corey trying to get closer to me and Phoenix blocking his path. "I'm not dating either of you."

Phoenix glances from Corey to me, his gaze tangling with mine. "You'll date me, gorgeous. Trust me."

He sounds so certain that it's spooky. And the way he's looking at me with such cool confidence… It's not like he's trying to convince me. It's like he knows what he's saying is true.

For some reason, that freaks me out as much as it irritates me. There's no way in hell I'm dating this man. No way. He's a hockey god. I prefer my heart intact.

Except every nerve ending in my body is singing a different tune.

What—and I cannot stress this enough—the fuck?

This is not happening. Absolutely not.

"Pigs will fly first," I growl, ducking under his arm before he has a chance to stop me.

Corey laughs like he thinks my rejection is hilarious, so I pin him with a deadly glower. "And I've seen the press about you. I'm definitely not ever dating you," I snap before hurrying across the ice, praying I don't land on my ass in front of the entire team.

Neither of them follows me, thank God. But I feel Phoenix's eyes on me the entire way, burning a hole through me. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to turn around and look back at him.

Maybe today was a bad day to decide I want to be an optimist, because my future here is not looking rosy. Quite frankly, it's looking a little like a nightmare shaped like a giant defensive skater, his annoying teammate, and a stupid war I don't want any part of.

Lovely.

Chapter Two

Phoenix

My life would be so much easier if Corey Simms was as dumb as he looks. Sadly, that isn't the case.

Believe me, I'm mad as hell about it, too.

"What do you mean, Simms was asking about her?" I growl, gripping the phone in one hand while trying to yank a pair of sweats up my legs with the other. For a motherfucker who has skated on a thin blade his whole life, I don't make this shit look graceful. Instead, I nearly faceplant into the vanity, my nose inches from the mirror.

"I said what I said, Phoenix," Callie Roberts, our head of media relations, says calmly. "Corey called an hour ago, asking for intel on the same reporter."

"Dammit," I mutter, finally getting my sweats up. I lean against the vanity, scowling at my reflection in the mirror. There's no hiding that I'm pissed. It's written all over my face, but I'm the only one here to see it, so whatever.

What is Corey even up to? He chases after puck bunnies. He fucks. He doesn't date. Why the sudden interest in Cara? Is he just trying to piss me off?

We've never had a problem before, but that sounds like some shit Corey would do. He's not a bad guy. He's just…annoying as all hell. He likes to think he's funny. He isn't.

And it's pissing me off that he's the reason Cara wrote me off as an asshole like she did today. I'm not that guy. I don't chase bunnies. I don't cause problems. Growing up, the only thing I ever wanted to do was play hockey like my dad. And I've made damn sure to keep my nose clean so I don't tarnish his legacy.

I never wanted to be the motherfucker in the league everyone accused of being a nepo baby. When I drafted, I wanted it to be on my own skill and my own merits, not on my dad's name. I've spent years working my ass off to make sure I've earned every minute of good press I've received.

This is different.