Page 61 of Mother Pucker

Our head coach is pissed.

“What the fuck was that out there?” Coach yells at the top of his lungs in the locker room during our first intermission against San Jose. “We’re sitting at a two-goal deficit and playing shitty defense.”

He paces for a few seconds, fuming.

It’s been a brutal first period with San Jose feeding us heavy hits, keeping their defense tight, and winning the last two face-offs. Every one of their players has thrown in everything they have on the ice so far, ready to win this game, come hell or high water. They’re relentless and calculated, and it shows with every play.

Meanwhile, my head’s not in it, despite the fact that I spent the most incredible hour in bed with Shay earlier today–a mere drop in the bucket of hours I plan to spend with her. My good mood was shot to hell as soon as I left her hotel room and made the mistake of reading the text from my dad.

I’ve told myself time and time again to not open his messages, especially before a game, but of course, I didn’t follow through with my own advice.

Dad

Get your head in the game today, son, and act like you actually want the Cup. It was embarrassing enough to lose to your old team because you guys played like shit, worse that Evan played better each period. And now he’s one-upped you again. Audrey messaged me saying he proposed to her afterward.

I don’t give a flying fuck that my ex-girlfriend and my former best friend are engaged. They could get married or divorced. They could have a cat farm or move to Mars. None of it makes a difference to me.

But the fact that my dad still thinks he can get inside my head by reminding me what a poster boy Evan is and that he still communicates with my ex–a woman who not only cheated on me with my then-best friend, but the same one I found in bed with him mere hours after I’d proposed to her–makes me want to punch the fucking wall.

Apart from that, he continuously berates me, giving me unsolicited coaching from the sidelines–via text messages–regardless of the fact that I still have yet to respond to him.

Enough is fucking enough.

I’m done being the punching bag for a useless piece of shit who has never spared a single word of genuine kindness toward me.

“This is not what this team is made of!” Coach roars, snapping me out of my aggravating thoughts. “We are better than what you showed that team out there today. You understand me?” His hands ball into fists and his face turns the color of an overly ripened tomato. “Now, if you guys are here to throw in the towel, well, someone fucking tell me rightnow. Otherwise, you’re going out there, taking possession of that puck, and winning the next shift! Am I clear?”

“Yes, Coach!” we all roar together.

“Next time you get out there, you make this team proud.” He raises a brow in my direction as the rest of the team busies themselves. “You hear me, Parker? We need you to help us win this; you can’t be missing easy cues like you did last period.”

I nod sternly, knowing I have no defense for myself. I played like shit the first period and I’ll own it. But he’ll get my all from here on out. “We’re leaving here on a win, Coach. No questions about it.”

He tilts his head toward my leg. “How’s that bum leg?”

I flex my foot, stretching out my thigh. “Better. A little tight, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Go see that PT of yours in the medical room. You’ve still got ten minutes.”

He heads out and I follow him, making my way to the medical room where Shay’s been watching the game on the TV.

I knock on the door, making her and our team doctor turn to look at me. I’ve been a ball of irritation for the past hour and half since I got the text from my dad, but seeing Shay has all the tension releasing from my shoulders.

“Dr. Kumar, mind helping me loosen up my thigh?” My mouth quivers with a held back smile, not having anything to do with what I’ve said. I just simply can’t help smiling when I’m around the woman.

I might also be picturing her naked and writhing under me. And now that I know exactly what she looks like in that position, it’s hard not to conjure up the image.

She gets off her chair, tucking the long end of her hair behind her ear. She’s wearing our team shirt, tucked into a pair of jeans that mold around her ass like a glove, and I’m instantly hard watching her walk toward me.

She waves her hand to the spot next to her on a mat. “Since we don’t have much time, why don’t we do a few sumo squats and lunges, just to get that stretch in?”

For the next couple of minutes, she leads me in the stretches and evaluates my movements. I give her my normal shameless grin when she finds me ogling her ass.

Another minute or two later, the other doctor excuses himself to grab something to eat, leaving me and Shay alone. But as soon as the door closes, I’m on her like white on rice. She doesn't resist when I drop my lips to cover hers; instead, she melts into me, her fingers tightening around my jersey.

Breaking away a minute or two later, she eyes me curiously. “Is everything okay? I don’t know much about hockey, but it seems like you were off your game based on what the announcers were saying.” She flicks a concerned glance at my thigh. “Is it really your thigh that’s bothering you?”

I take a breath before shaking my head. “It’s my dad. He’s just a dick, but I can’t get into it right now. I’ll tell you tonight.”

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