Page 1 of He Has Pluck

Chapter One

JASON

Checking my watch, the relic left to me by my dad, I rush down the hallway because there’s no way I’m going to be late reporting to the Boston Brawlers—my fucking dream team of all the NHL teams—on my first day after being called up from the AHL, no matter what.

My heart pounds with pent-up nerves and excitement as I round the corner blindly, and fate dishes out a different plan because I plow directly into another body.

Fuck. It’s a woman’s body. No mistaking it. Because as she stumbles back, I catch her, grabbing onto her arm and whatever else I can—which happens to be a very round and pliable boob.

And holy hell, if I don’t feel the sizzle zap me from my fingertips down to my toes, stopping long enough at my dick to give it a jolt.

Our eyes connect with mutual shock. Hers go wide, and her face flushes instantly like she feels the same insta-jolt. Fuuuck, but she’s hot. She has the most gorgeous deep blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Except our joint micro-orgasm—because that’s the only way I can describe this feeling—doesn’t last.

“What the fuck?” she says, batting my hand away and righting herself. We’re standing so close I can’t help noticing her chest heaving under the soft black sweater or the flutter of the dark fringes lining those cool blue eyes.

Or the scowl trying like hell to mar her pretty face but not succeeding. So, I smile.

“I’m sorry, I was in a hurry to get…” I turn to the office door in front of us labeled VP of Public Relations. “Here and…”

Her eyes flare in surprise, and then she closes them. My heart sinks in sympathetic disappointment as I watch her gorgeous face pale and her shoulders and back collapse like a deflated balloon.

“Is something wrong?”

She comes to as if I’ve snapped my fingers, and if I thought her eyes were remarkable before, they’ve now turned into ice chips aimed at me like she wants to freeze my balls off. Her scowl of disapproval is unmistakable, and I have no idea what this lady’s problem is, but it’s as clear as the blue sky in winter that she has a problem with me.

It could be the unfortunate boob-grabbing, but that was a total accident.

“You’re a hockey player,” she says as if it’s the same as being an Imperial Death Trooper.

“And you are?”

She huffs, and I watch her spectacular eyes flare and her equally impressive chest heave, and I almost forget she doesn’t seem to like me or hockey players in general.

“Me?” she says. “I’m doomed.”

It’s my turn for flaring eyes.

“Wait—what?”

She rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Not literally. Of course, you’d take me literally. I mean professionally. I’ve been demoted. To…this.” She waves a hand around the hallway, and I’m not sure what’s so bad about this if she’s talking about the Boston Brawlers NHL franchise headquarters. Because, to me, it’s nirvana.

“Sorry to hear about your demotion.” I’m puzzled as hell and even more curious, but I can’t indulge. Not now. “I wish I could help, but I have this meeting.” I indicate the door with a hand, careful to avoid touching her because my hand itches to do just that. It’s stupid as fuck. She doesn’t even like me. And I don’t move. I should knock on the door, but I don’t.

She shakes her head. “Why should you care? Never mind. I’ll get over it. Time for my pity party to end. For all I know, you could be a perfectly decent guy who made an innocent mistake grabbing my boob.”

“Sorry about that. It was absolutely an innocent mistake. I was trying to—”

“I know what you were trying to do. You’re a hockey player. You play with pucks for a living, right?”

“Yes,” I say, but I suspect she’s not thinking that’s as fantastic a way to make a living as I do. “And?”

“And you play with puck bunnies.” She squints her eyes into a serious frown. “Just so we’re clear, I’m no puck bunny… who ever you are.”

“Jason Tansem—and you have me all wrong.” My gaze wanders over her body as she radiates glacier-like vibes, catching on the aforementioned boobs, and I quickly return to her face in time to see her scowl turn into a smirk, the gotcha kind. Fuck. This isn’t going well. First drop-dead gorgeous lady I meet, and I’m on her shit list.

But why do I care? She’s got a chip on her shoulder the size of a glacier and something against hockey players. I don’t need that.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “I’m not interested in you even if you save kittens and orphans in your spare time.”