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"You good, Wes?" Theo shouts, skating up behind me.
"Fine!" I scoop the puck up and launch it toward him before turning back to the girl…angel…goddess. Good lord. How did something so beautiful escape to this world?
"Are you okay?" I ask…growl, really. It's hard to think and look at her at the same time.
"Me?" She blinks the longest lashes I've ever seen. "You're the one who just took a puck to the back of the head."
"Believe me, I know," I growl, my head and my cock aching in time to one another. Who needs chastity belts when you can buy a cup? Whoever said you can't get an erection in these fuckers was a liar. My dick feels like he's trying to Hulk smash through the damn thing to get to this angel.
"What's your name?" I ask, trying like hell not to think about my dick.
"Laney. Um, Laney Briggs."
"Laney," I murmur, just to feel that name on my tongue. Until I get other parts of her there, the name will have to do. "What can I do for you other than taking a puck to the head?"
"I, well…um…I don't know how to even say it."
"You want me to sign something for you?" I grin at her, more than willing to put my name wherever she wants it. I never sign body parts, but I'll make an exception for that gorgeous body. Especially those tits. "I'll definitely sign those tits."
Her eyes widen, her mouth popping open in shock.
"Shit," I mutter. I said that out loud. Jesus Christ. If I have a concussion, I'm killing Theo and whoever shot the puck to him. "That didn't come out right. You're fucking me all up."
"Excuse me?"
"I can't think around you," I growl, trying to explain. "My head and my dick hurt."
Call me crazy, but I don't think I'm making this sound any better.
"Wow," Laney mutters, her face turning red. Her eyes flash fire at me. "Has anyone ever told you that you're kind of an asshole?"
Yes, frequently.
"I didn't mean…"
"I don't want your autograph," she huffs, crossing her arms, which only serves to lift those tits higher. "Especially not on my boobs. No wonder they're raffling off a date with you. You may be pretty to look at, but once you open your mouth, you kind of ruin the whole thing. I can't believe I let Addison talk me into entering that stupid contest."
Am I supposed to find her hot right now? I'm not, am I?
"Wait. You entered the Win a Date thing?"
She sniffs instead of answering, but the way she shifts her gaze away from me is all the confirmation I need. She did enter. If I take her on the date, I can avoid puck bunnies and convince her to marry me and give me babies and shit. It's a win-win.
"I came here to say thank you," she says, still pissed at me.
"You're welcome." I pause. "What did I do?"
"You sent my dad season tickets."
"Wait. Briggs? Alexander Briggs was your father?"
She nods.
Damn. She's his daughter? He was my coach when I was in the youth league. We kept in touch for a long time, but I haven't seen him in a few years. He always talked about his little girl, who was born about a year and a half after I changed leagues. The team he coaches reached out to me a little over a year ago, said he had a brain tumor, and asked for tickets to a game for him. I had our ticketing agent send him the season passes that would normally go to my family. He'll keep getting them until I'm traded off or I retire. It was the least I could do for the man who helped turn me into the player I am.
"Is he here?" I ask.
Pain flashes in her gaze, cutting through the chaotic snarl of my mind.
