Page 84 of The Puck Contract

"C'mere," he says, voice wrecked as he reaches for me.

I let him pull me to my feet, stifling a groan as my own neglected arousal makes itself known. He kisses me deeply,seemingly unconcerned about tasting himself on my tongue. When he breaks away, he presses his forehead against mine.

"That was..." he starts, then shakes his head. "I don't even have words."

"Good?" I prompt, needing the verbal confirmation even though his reaction made it pretty clear.

"Fucking incredible," he assures me, hand sliding down to cup the bulge in my jeans. "Now let me take care of you."

I buck into his touch, embarrassingly close just from the experience of getting him off. "Team meeting," I remind him reluctantly.

"Fuck the meeting," he growls, spinning us so I'm the one pressed against the lockers. He drops to his knees, a mirror image of my earlier position. "This won't take long. Not with how hard you are."

He's right. It doesn't take long at all. Less than two minutes later, I'm biting my fist to stifle the sounds as he coaxes an intense orgasm from me with the same mouth that just praised me to the heights of ecstasy.

Afterward, as we hastily clean up and straighten our clothes, I can't help the smug satisfaction curling in my chest. I did that. I reduced Ansel Williams to trembling need, to incoherent pleas, to complete surrender.

And from the way he keeps looking at me—eyes dark with lingering heat, a private smile playing at the corners of his mouth—I'd say I passed my first practical exam with flying colors.

"Might actually have to thank Becker," Groover muses as he shoulders his bag again, preparing to face his no-doubt annoyed coach.

"For what? Being nosy?"

"For giving me an unexpected oral evaluation," he says with a straight face that breaks into a laugh when I shove his shoulder.

"That was terrible," I inform him, but I'm laughing too.

"You love it," he counters, dropping a quick kiss on my lips before heading for the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle. "Just so you know," he adds, voice suddenly serious, "that was worth being late to every meeting for the rest of my career."

As declarations go, it's not exactly poetry. But as I watch him jog down the corridor toward his waiting team, I can't help thinking it might be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me.

CHAPTER 24

GROOVER

SOME ASSHOLE HAS his hand on my bicep.

Not just any asshole. Julian Martinez, former third-line center for Seattle, current fitness model, and my ex of over a year ago, has his perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around my arm like he's checking if I've been maintaining my training regimen.

"You're definitely bigger than last season," Julian observes, giving my arm a squeeze that lingers about five seconds past acceptable. "New strength coach?"

"Same coach, new protein shake," I answer, casually extracting myself from his grip. I scan the crowded ballroom for Mateo, who disappeared to the bar two minutes ago and has yet to return. "What brings you to Chicago, Jules? Last I heard, you were settling into Los Angeles."

Julian leans against the high-top table we've been assigned, designer suit molded to his body like he was pouredinto it. His smile is the same as I remember—calculated to reveal exactly the right number of teeth.

"Promotional tour for my new fitness app," he explains, producing a business card from seemingly nowhere. "I'm the face of LevelUp Fitness. We're partnering with several NHL teams on player nutrition tracking."

"Including the Wolves?" I ask, dread coiling in my stomach. Just what I need—my ex lingering around like a foul smell.

"Negotiations are ongoing," he says with a wink that makes my skin crawl. "But I'm optimistic."

Before I can formulate a response that isn't "please go away forever," Mateo reappears with two glasses of champagne, his smile faltering slightly when he spots Julian.

"Hey," he says, handing me a glass. "Line was ridiculous."

"Worth the wait," I reply, gratefully accepting both the drink and the interruption. "Mateo, this is Julian Martinez. Julian, this is Mateo Rossi, my boyfriend."

Julian's eyes sweep over Mateo with the clinical assessment of someone appraising furniture. "Pleasure," he says, extending his hand. "How long have you two been together?"

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