Page 70 of Lucky Puck

He chuckles and whispers in my ear. “What if I get a hat trick for you?”

My eyes widen as I shudder and lean against him shamelessly. “I… you… please…” I clear my throat and look up into his gorgeous, sexy face with those dimples quivering under the weight of the sensual tension he’s spun up from his essence.

“I would love for you to get a hat trick no matter if⁠—”

He puts a finger on my lips to stop me from saying more.

“Oh, honey pants, I will get a hat trick, and it will be for you.” He nips my lower lip. “And I will see to it that you will have three orgasms—at a minimum.”

I heave in a breath like I’m shocked when I should be used to his dirty talk and bold promises.

Yet somehow, I believe him.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

BRODY

The television hanging in the corner of the lounge area of our locker room drones on in the background, and when the Whalers pre-game show comes on, I take notice.

“After a long absence due to a serious hamstring injury, Jason Hall is dressing for the game.”

The sports anchor goes on, but I don’t want to hear what they’re going to say about my status, so I shut the TV off and take the flak by raising my middle finger in the general direction of the complainers, Windy being the loudest one.

It’s not the sports anchor’s fault or even Windy’s usual caustic attitude that’s responsible for my trouble concentrating right now.

It’s Brooks. I keep dwelling on what she did—that slap. I could feel the sting of it myself, but mostly, I felt a well of… something in my chest. I’m still shaking my head and trying not to smile like an idiot every time I replay the slap scene—and her words. Especially her words.

She was standing up for me. Never mind that it was for a wrong done years ago.

“Turn that back on,” Windy says, snapping me to attention as he faces me up like I’m the opposition.

“Watch it in the other room.” I stare him down for a tense and unusually quiet few beats. A half dozen guys are watching us. He glances around the room. Then without a word, he walks away, taking the momentary tension with him, to who knows where.

The facility’s locker room is actually a series of rooms and spaces, including the dressing area, lounge area, multiple training rooms including an exam room, the dining room and kitchen, and the film and lecture room.

Jason comes through the door from the training exam room and heads my way with a big grin, holding his hand up for a high five, and I slap it.

“Who killed your kitten? You should be all dimples today. We get to play in tonight’s game.”

I grunt. “You’re right.” I don’t bother forcing a smile.

He lowers his voice, “Not to mention that you’re a fucking newlywed. You should be obnoxiously happy.”

“Says the long-time bachelor with no marriage prospects in sight. What makes you think marriage should make me happy?” I try not to acknowledge the clench of agreement deep inside me, that maybe I am a little happy about the situation. Maybe I’m enjoying this fake marriage to Brooks more than I should be.

The idea is absurd. Whatever I feel that’s more than the normal enjoyment of the inexplicably fantastic sex is temporary. The novelty of Brooks in my bed—and everywhere else but here at the rink—will wear off.

Jason narrows his eyes at me, and I realize my mistake. I forgot I’m playing the role of a happy newlywed, right? It’s getting harder to keep reality and the charade separate, harder to play the game.

Running a hand through my hair, I backtrack. “Forget I said that. I’m…” I search for something to say that’s not going to sound fucked up. “Sleep deprived.”

His grin returns, and he slaps my back. “Figures.”

Re-focusing, I plug in my earbuds and get busy getting dressed.

By the time the coaches come into the room, we’re all standing around the room at our cubbies, ready to go. Coach Logan calls out Jason’s name, and he steps forward, raising his hand. We cheer him as he circles the room.

We each tap him on the pads as he goes by, welcoming him back into the lineup. The team missed him this season, but I didn’t. He’s been injured since I got here, so I never played with him. In fact, his injury is how I got my start on the first line—the scoring line—and I suppose I owe my good fortune and big scoring start to his bad fortune.