Page 2 of Three Pucks and a Baby

Lila smiled. “There’s a party tomorrow night at the Kappa Epsilon house. You should come.”

“Yeah, that sounds great.” That was code for not a fucking chance.

With a wink, Lila replied, “I’ll be happy to wax your stick for you.”

My eyes bulged at her comment. “Uh, yeah, thanks.” Jerking my thumb behind me, I added, “I better go. Killer economics paper I gotta write.”

“Good luck,” Heidi said.

“Thanks.”

I hightailed it away to hide two stacks down. I still had a good view of my luscious librarian, but I’d hopefully put enough distance between myself and the girls. It wasn’t like I could explain to them that despite the two of them being gorgeous, I had no desire to do anything with them. They would’ve looked at me like I’d lost my fucking mind when I explained the whole reason I was here stalking one of the librarians was superstition.

If there’s one thing synonymous with hockey players outside of sticks, pucks, and bulky padding, it would be superstition. To ensure victory, we wear, eat, and do strange things that bring us luck on the ice. For some, it might be not washing their jockstrap after a win to ensure another victory while others might insist on walking backwards onto the ice.

I’d been raised on the superstitions of the hockey legends. The great Wayne Gretzky had a specific beverage ritual after games that included Diet Coke, Water, Gatorade, and another Diet Coke. While utterly grotesque, “Mr. Goalie” Glenn Hall would force himself to puke before every game. No team member after winning The Stanley Cup would dare to touch it.

Patrick Roy’s antics as a goalie had him talking to the goalposts. My bestie, Theo, adopted a similar ritual, but instead of chatting the posts up, my manwhore of a friend kisses them. I might’ve even seen him slip them the tongue. It’s bizarre, but hey, we’ve won two shutouts on nights he gets especially kinky. I’m just grateful he’s never had his tongue freeze to the poles.

As for me, I’ve partaken in all sorts of superstitious behavior starting way back in my mini-mite league days. In first grade, I wouldn’t wash my hair through eight straight victories. By the time we were finally defeated, I could’ve used the grease in my hair to fry up my favorite foods. Of course, the smell was enough to drive away all my classmates, forcing me to sit alone at lunch and play by myself during recess. The next season I aimed for more hygienic superstitions.

By middle school, I’d slipped into a routine where I had to put on my equipment in a specific order. I went from my bottom half left to right and then my top half left to right. I kept the same routine to this day. In high school, I’d also instigated a hands-off policy when it came to my stick. Under pain of death or dismemberment, no one was to ever touch it.

And then a somewhat X-rated superstition made its way into my repertoire my first year at Southeastern. While attending our first frat party, my roommate, who also happened to be my teammate—Mr. Kinky Goal Smoocher aka Theo, and I stumbled into our first threesome. While Theo and I had attended the party with the sole focus of free beer and separate hookups, we never imagined being approached by a very enthusiastic hockey fan. When she invitedbothof us back to her place, we were happy to oblige. As a goalie and a defenseman, our sticks didn’t cross on the ice, and they sure as hell didn’t in the bedroom.

I guess you could say that Theo’s and my friendship became cemented over shared pussy. It wasn’t until our first win of the season ended Southeastern’s year-long losing streak that we realized the power of our threesome–it incited victory.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is when our X-rated superstition was born.

Thankfully for us, our enthusiastic fan was more than willing to continue our sexcapades throughout the season, and we came in second place in the region. When the next season started, wedecided to shake things up a bit and find a new girl. As two hot as fuck hockey players, the willing participants were endless. So, we ended up banging a different girl each threesome. After coming in first, we knew that we’d struck gold with our very pleasurable superstition.

Junior year we were slightly more specific and said we would bang in a blonde, brunette, redhead/multicolored rotation.And that season we came in first yet again. This year we decided the conquest had to be older to bring more than just a regional victory.

That’s when we became two horny cubs looking for our cougar.

In hockey, my mantra was to keep my eyes on the puck and never fuck up. For our superstitious threesome rendezvous, it was to keep my eyes on the fuck and get my dick sucked. Yeah, I know the rhyme was lame, but it worked. And keeping my eyes on the fuck was why once I’d laid eyes on Southeastern’s gorgeous librarian, I wasn’t letting her out of my sight.

As she leaned over to grab one of the books on the table, her skirt inched up her thighs, revealing black lace. With a groan, I willingly banged my head against the books on the shelf. She was wearing fuckingthigh-highs. Could she be any sexier? It took everything within me not to march right over to the table and run my fingers over the lace.

At my groan, the guy down the row snatched his head to peer curiously at me.

I held my hands up. “Sorry.”

When he saw my face, his eyes lit up. “You’re Grayson Collins on the hockey team, right?”

Yes, that’s me–the star defenseman who is almost at half-mast in the middle of the reference section over the hot-as-fuck librarian.I jerked my chin at him in hello. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Good luck this season.”

“Thanks, man.”

His brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

Besides the righteous pair of blue balls I’m currently sporting, I’m peachy.“Just in over my head with a paper I’ve got to write.”

“I hear ya on that.” He grabbed a book and then waved before walking off.

I quickly turned my attention back to the librarian. Although I wanted nothing more than to approach her to seal the deal, I knew I had to check in with Theo. While I couldn’t imagine him saying no, I still wanted his input. After all, this was about his pleasure as much as it was mine.

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