Page 28 of The Puck Bunny

“I’ll be happy to take it off for you so you can find out.” She bats her eyes and moves to stand up.

I grab her hand and keep her at my side. “That’s not what I meant. Not that I wouldn’t love—never mind. I want to know who you really are because I know you’re not Lola the puck bunny.”

Her face pales and her mouth opens and you’d think I’d just kicked her puppy.

“No, of course. I mean of course I’m Lola, but I’m new at being a puck bunny. You can tell?” She clears her throat. “Of course you can tell.” She exhales. “There’s no mystery, really. I love hockey and…” She dips her head, looking away. “And hockey players.” She looks back up at me, her chin at a defiant angle and her eyes bright with defiance. “Particularly you. What girl wouldn’t? You’re a specimen to behold.” She puts a hand on my chest then takes sit away. “Plus, you’re nice to puck bunnies and a good teammate. I’d be insane if I didn’t drool over you, right?” She looks me up and down and I feel the heat of her stare and then she darts her eyes to my face. “I don’t mean to offend you. Did I? Oh crap, the last thing I want to do is objectify you or make you feel like—”

“Don’t worry. You haven’t hurt my feelings.” I try not to chuckle because she’s adorably awkward and one-hundred percent real for a girl who’s hiding her real identity.

“Oh good. I should have known. You’re a tough hockey player after all.” She talks with her hands and brushes my chest.

I capture her hand and hold on.

“What’s your real name?”

She freezes, her mouth open, her face paling and then pinking from her neck upward to a sexy shade like she’s aroused rather than embarrassed, but I know better. Or I think I do. Because she’s the girl who just propositioned me to give her first orgasm, right?

Shit. Don’t even contemplate that. She doesn’t know what she’s asking for and has no idea what the fallout could be. My guess would be she’d get very emotional and things would get messy. Because the last thing I need right now is a relationship with a puck bunny. Even if she isn’t really a puck bunny. Fuck.

“You know who I really am, don’t you? I thought my disguise was perfect. Guess I’d never make it in the spy business. I better hold back on that application to the CIA.”

“Yes, I know who you are. But it’s not your disguise. It’s me. It’s a special skill I have. I never forget a gorgeous face, Ms. Bellagamba.”

Her face collapses into her hands and she shrinks away, muttering something about never showing her stupid face again.

I pry her hands away and tilt her chin up until she’s looking me in the eye. Maybe that’s a mistake because they’re glittering and about to spill tears and my chest tightens until I can hardly breathe. Fuck. Last thing I want to do is make her cry.

“Don’t cry, Sara. You’re fine. I give you an A for effort. You’re clearly a passionate and determined young lady , but hell, I can’t hold that against you.”

She laughs, then cries, but just a little, while she furiously wipes her cheeks.

“Of course you would be even nicer than you are hunky. What are you trying to do? Break my heart while I crawl away completely embarrassed and unable to face you ever again?” She opens her mouth and her eyes go wide. “How am I going to work with you—”

“Don’t panic. We’ll be fine. We’ll start fresh. Like this night never happened.” I want to take the words back because I make it a point never to lie to a girl, and the truth is, there’s no way I’ll forget this night. And I have a feeling it’s not even close to being over.

I separate myself from her.

“I should leave,” I say.

Her face instantly looks crushed, but she recovers and stands. “I don’t blame you. I apologize for throwing myself at you like a… a crazy person. It won’t happen again. I promise to behave professionally.”

“No need to apologize. I didn’t mean I wanted to forget tonight. It’s been kind of fun.”

She snorts. “You have a bizarre take on what’s fun, don’t you?”

“I guess I do. But I’ve had a lot of nights out and a lot of experiences and this was… unusual. Getting slapped by Mindy, having you proposition me—”

“Ooooh. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be. Seriously. I’ve never had anyone disguise themselves to—”

She smacks my shoulder almost hard enough to hurt but only because I have a bruise there from a check to the boards. I flinch and she stops and her face goes serious.

“You have a bruise from that check to the boards, don’t you? I’m genuinely sorry for that. Let me get some ice.” She jumps up before I can stop her and rushes to the kitchen.

“Thank you.” I should tell her not to bother because I was about to leave, wasn’t I? But ice on my shoulder would be perfect about now. It’s what I’d be doing if I were back in my hotel room.

She returns with the ice and places it gently in the exact spot I need it and then holds it there.