Page 28 of Pucking Curves

“Are you fucking other women?”

“Fuck no. I haven’t touched another woman in months,” he growls. “Not since…well, that doesn’t matter.”

“It’ll matter to her.”

“Yeah.” He jerks his chin in a nod and then sighs heavily, bouncing his head against the glass behind him. “She thinks we’re just having fun. Like that’s all I’m capable of being. Someone to waste time with.”

“Prove her wrong.”

River is complicated. His history is complicated and nine kinds of tragic. His whole goddamn life is a fucking mess. He acts like an asshole and does all the wrong things to keep people at a distance. He thinks he never has to deal with his trauma and his bullshit if he buries it in booze and girls and hockey and never discusses it. But we can’t shape life like sculptors at a wheel. It doesn’t work that way.

I’m guessing he’s getting slapped in the face with that lesson right now. There’s no need for me to rub it in and make sure he learns it. That’s Coach’s job. Mine is to make sure he has his head on straight and he’s doing what he needs to do, not just for the team but for himself. Because he can’t focus on the game and scoring goals if he’s all fucked up in the head over Alice.

And, despite the way he acts, he’s not a complete dick. He needs people in his corner. Even when he irritates the fuck out of me and I disagree with damn near every facet of his life, I’m in his corner.

“If anyone can do it, you can,” I murmur. “It’ll be the hardest fucking thing you’ve ever done, but I know you, man. You never quit. You don’t know how to admit defeat. If anyone else had gone through the shit you had, they wouldn’t be here today. You are. If you want a future with her, you’ll find a way to prove that you’re worth it.”

He nods again, cutting his eyes at me. “You knew about us already, didn’t you?”

I smirk, tapping his skate with mine. “I know everything that happens around here.”

It’s not like these guys are hard to figure out if you pay attention. I pay attention. I also pay Ron in security to tell me the juicy shit that happens around here so I don’t get hit with any surprises. It helps me put out fires before they turn into raging goddamn infernos.

River shakes his head, hauling himself to his feet. “One of these days, I’ll be in your skates, Graves.”

“Keep dreaming, St. James.” If he ever gets his shit together, he may very well be in my position one day. I’ve got a few good years left. He’s damn near a decade younger than I am. He’s got at least fifteen in him. He’s in line for the captain spot once I retire. He just needs to grow the fuck up first and realize that he’s his own worst enemy.

He hops over the boards, discreetly flipping me the bird before he skates off.

I pull my phone out of my bag, grinning when I see a text from Wren. She sent it less than five minutes ago.

Wren: I bet your morning is going better than mine.

Me: Wanna bet? You aren’t here, little bird. Mine is automatically worse than yours.

Wren: Did you get pooped on? Because I got pooped on, Archer.

A surprised bark of laughter erupts from my lips.

Me: WTF? Who shit on you?

Wren: Gross. Don’t call it that. It makes it sound worse.

Me: … Poop and shit are literally the same thing. How does “I got shit on” sound worse than “I got pooped on”?

Wren: It just does.

I smile despite myself. She’s irrational and cute as hell anyway.

Wren: Happy wife, happy life, Archer. That means you have to agree with me.

Me: Oh. That’s what that means, huh?

Wren: Obviously.

Me: Yes, ma’am.

I chuckle again. Fuck, I love how goddamn playful she is. She gives me nine kinds of hell, and I eat it up because I can’t get enough of her.

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