Page 11 of The Puck Bunny

Then I get to my own locker and start undressing because I have no time to lose. Been there and done that and now I have my own problems to deal with.

* * *

Delaney’s waiting, sitting on the edge of her desk with her arms folded, and eying the clock as if she’s the vice principle in charge of detention and I’m a school kid. But the idea only makes me smile because I was a regular in detention back in the day and those are fond memories. Mostly. Kid troubles are nothing like the kind of trouble a grown man can get into. Especially the girl kind. And especially in L.A.

“What are you doing Saturday? Cancel your plans,” she says before I can answer. “We have a charity event scheduled at ten a.m. sharp.” She reminds me of a drill sergeant, or what I imagine a drill sergeant would act like based on movies I’ve seen.

“Yes… ma’am.” I almost stumble and say sir.

She gives me another squinty eye like she knows. “You have a reputation, glitter-boy, and it’s the kind that plays all well and good in Hollywood, but doesn’t fit well around here. No more puck bunny incidents.”

I’m ready for her to go on with her lecture about my evil reputation—and honestly, I get it, though she doesn’t seem to realize she’s preaching to the choir—when I’m saved by a knock on the door.

I look up and there she is, Little Miss UNH—minus the hoodie, but an eyeful of the kind of unpretentious pretty you don’t find in L.A. The kind of girl that reminds me of back home. The kind of girl my mom would love to meet.

Nope. Not going there. Mom can wait until after the season. Hockey first. Besides, as the girl walks in with her friend, I can see how young she is.

And there’s something else about her, something familiar…

“Have we met before?”

CHAPTER 5

SARA

Crap.

I hold my breath, while Delaney introduces us, pretending he didn’t just ask me that question, hoping to holy heaven that he doesn’t really recognize me from the other night. If he does, so far, he’s not saying.

“This is Sara—” She looks at me for my last name.

“Bellagamba,” I spurt. Then in a gush of crazy-mouth, I elaborate, “It means beautiful leg. Of course, I have two legs so it should be Bellagambas—plural—but apparently someone in my family tree must have been walking around on one leg, so….” I run out of steam abruptly and feel all the stares on me in the beat of silence. Uh oh, there’s a bad déjà vu moment coming on… Until Quinn’s dimple shows up as he gives up suppressing his smile,.

“But your ancestor’s one leg must have been a beauty. I can see the family resemblance.”

His dimple gets deeper and his blue eyes flash like a neon invitation to my heart which almost pounds out of my chest while I heat up everywhere. I don’t care that I’m blushing until Delaney clears her throat in a way that intimidates me more than if she shouted at me to get a grip—which I finally do. I dart my gaze away from Quinn in an attempt to save myself further embarrassment since I’m supposed to be a professional, not a puck bunny.

But who knew the role of puck bunny would be so much easier, so natural for me to play?

“Enough of that,” Delaney says. “There will be no admiring of legs around here.” She stares down Quinn, but he doesn’t look the least bit intimidated as he aims his dimple at the old ball-buster.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Delaney. I didn’t mean anything by it. Only trying to be polite.”

I cringe at his use of Ms. and I’m afraid to see her reaction, even more afraid I’ll leap to his defense if she scolds him.

But all she does is squint her eyes. “Call me Delaney. Didn’t I tell you that? Everyone calls me Delaney.”

That’s not all they call her. Ball-buster is more common—on polite days.

When my glance catches Quinn’s, I notice he has that suppressed smirk look again and I’d bet my non-existent bank account that he’s thinking the same thing.

“You and Billie Mae are going to assist Quinn at the More Than Words pop-up event on Saturday. Ms. Bellagamba, you’ll be handing out team merch to the kids at Quinn’s signing table. We’re expecting he’ll draw a larger than usual crowd.”

“That sounds wonderful,” I say, believing every word.

“Yes.” She clears her throat. “Also, there will be press around and we want to make him look good. To avoid any more puck bunny incidents, you two need to keep any aggressive young ladies under control.” Delaney gives him a knowing nod and my puzzle meter skyrockets. “Unless you have a steady girlfriend who can help out?”

He responds with a shake of his head like he regrets it. “No one special,” he says, then slides a look at me.