Page 3 of Lucky Puck

“Wow. And here I thought you were a cool, calm professional,” he says in a tauntingly calm voice. The bastard.

In an attempt to calm myself, I squeeze my eyes shut and count to three, but only because I sense I don’t have time to count to ten. Then I open my eyes and stare at one harmless inanimate object, the ironing board, and I’m ready to speak.

“Maybe I didn’t hear you correctly,” I say, matching his reasonable tone even as I sit on my bed to ease the wave of dizziness. But there’s an unmistakable breathiness in my voice, like I can’t get enough air, like I may be hyperventilating.

“Take a deep breath, Bianca.” His voice is low and soothing, and he sounds like he actually gives a shit, like he’s being kind. Shit. I’ve turned the ultimate alpha male playboy Brody Holden into a soft-bellied beta boy.

“Never mind my breathing. Explain the part about you being married.” I grit my teeth now, letting myself go with the anger, toughening up for both of us.

“Okay, okay… It’s just that when I woke up this morning, I had a wedding band on my left ring finger and⁠—”

“What the fuck, Brody!” I’m losing my cool again. When was the last time this happened?

“You already said that.”

“Are you married or not?”

“I don’t think so, but⁠—”

“How about if you ask your lovely bride?”

Silence.

“She’s not here.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, though I’m not sure why because I’d rather the overzealous showgirl were there so I could strangle her when I get to his room.

“I’ll be there in ten seconds. Don’t move.”

He chuckles and tries to say something, but I end the call because this is a conversation best had in person.

Barely remembering to grab my room key and handbag before I whirl out of my hotel room door, I stem my panic with hurried steps in my sensible pumps down the carpeted hallway, feeling more in control now that I’m in motion. I’d half expected trouble. But not like this—married overnight to a Vegas showgirl?

My jaw clenches and my heartbeat and pace pick up until I’m flying down the hall to Brody’s room. I get a concerned stare from a hotel maid and instantly slow myself down, smiling at her and nodding in reassurance.

Darting my eyes around, I check to make sure no one else is around, especially from the press or the All-Star team, to see me before I knock on Brody’s door. I need to get my shit together because this hallway is lined with guys from the team and their families. The last thing I need is for any of them to get a whiff of reckless behavior the morning of the freaking game.

I take a deep breath, figuratively pull up my secret red-lace sexy girl panties—the ones I wear for good luck and to give me that extra bounce of confidence, the ones that I wear as a fake-it-til-you-make-it reminder that I will one day have my pick of any man I want, that I won’t have to fantasize about having my own personal romantic hero hunk, that I’ll have hordes of them flocking after me because I’m the bomb—all of me, including the extra thirty pounds, the thick glasses, and the outsized ambition.

Time to do this.

As soon as I knock on the door, he opens it.

My breath stops, and I stumble with dizziness, almost going blind with spots in my vision. But not before I see that Brody Holden, a certifiable super hunk, is stark raving naked.

He catches me and pulls me into his room as he kicks the door shut behind him. “I forgot to mention that she took my clothes. And my wallet.”

He’s magnificent. It’s all I can think with my eyes squeezed shut as if I’ve stared at the sun too long. Unfortunately, my closed eyes don’t stop me from feeling the heat of his body or inhaling the heady scent of him, close up and personal as I am with his bare skin.

He seems to remember the inappropriateness of our close proximity in his state of undress at the same time I do because he lets me go as I jump away from him. Turning away, I laser in on the hotel phone and rush to it because I have my work cut out for me. And that’s what I’m here for—to work on fixing this problem.

“Put a towel on or something until I can get you some clothes,” I toss the words over my shoulder with exaggerated irritation—mostly because I don’t want him to hear the nervous excitement in my voice, but also, I am irritated.

“Yes, ma’am. Wouldn’t want to get you all hot under the collar.”

I don’t turn to look at him, but I can feel his grin and imagine that sexy dimple in his left cheek giving him that irresistible come fuck me now look. Shit. “And don’t you dare flirt with me,” I say. Unfortunately, someone at the lobby desk chooses this moment to pick up the phone.

“I… Of course—” the young man stutters, and I squeeze my eyes shut.