Page 1 of Revenge Puck

1

Elle Townsend

“That…was great,” Christian Riley, my professional hockey star boyfriend, says just before he rolls out of my bed to get dressed. Clutching the sheet to my chest, I roll to my side and prop my head up on my elbow, watching in awe as he struts naked around my tiny apartment in all his six-foot, muscular perfection picking up his discarded clothes. “Too bad it was the last time.”

It takes me longer than it should for his words to break through my blissful haze.

“The last time?” I repeat in confusion.

He hops around the floor, pulling on his jeans, both legs as once. “It’s the playoffs, baby! If I win the trophy, shit is going to get crazy.”

I sit up in the middle of the bed, gripping the sheet tighter as understanding unfortunately dawns on me. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“I can’t be tied down now, not when everyone is gonna want a piece of Christian Riley. Besides, it’s not like we were really together,” he has the audacity to say while zipping up his pants.

Oh my god. Did he ask me for a lunchtime quickie today, knowing it would be the last time?

Wow.

And I don’t think I’ve ever hated how he refers to himself in the third person as much as I do now.

Not really together? He doesn’t think we were together?

“We’ve been seeing each other three or four times a week for five months!” I remind the pretty blond bastard.

His Greensboro Bobcats tee slips over his head as he says, “Not exclusively.”

“You-you’ve been with other people?”

The man shrugs at me. “Why wouldn’t I be with other people?” he asks, as if it’s a stupid question. “I’m always on the road with puck bunnies crawling all over me. You know how it is, right, Ellie?”

I keep telling myself that “Ellie” is a cute nickname, that he hasn’t simply forgotten my name is Elle after all this time.

“So, I was what? Just a casual booty call on standby for when you’re in town and wanted to get laid?”

“Exactly!” He flashes me his perfect smile, a rarity for hockey players, as if happy that I’m finally catching on. “And I was just a brag for you to tell your friends about, right? I get it. I am the best forward in the league. I just don’t think I’ll have time to keep this up with you over the summer once I win my first championship. At least I told you to your face and not by text, right?”

“So decent of you,” I mutter through my teeth sarcastically as I fall back onto my pillow.

“I know. Most of the time, I just block numbers and move on.”

How did I not realize what a callous prick he was?

Oh, because he’s pretty, and he liked kissing me and doing lots of other yummy things.

“Why did I merit this talk instead of you just ghosting me?” I ask curiously while staring up at the ceiling rather than his too pretty face.

“Because you’re the only one who can do my fade the way I like,” he responds, as if it’s obvious. “Just because we’re not fucking doesn’t mean I want you to stop cutting my hair and shit.”

Oh, wow.

“By the way, you’re welcome for me sending my teammates to you,” he says, as if the new clients make up for him being an asshole. “Hey, you could probably sleep with one of them from now on!”

Is that what he thinks of me? That I only wanted him because he was a professional hockey player, so it’s no big deal for me to replace him with a teammate?

Cutting my eyes to him, I ask, “You wouldn’t be jealous if I hooked up with one of your teammates?”

“Why would I be? Those guys are all my friends. They won’t mind my sloppy seconds.”

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