Page 124 of Pucking Rebound

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Jordy

Ambling around Spectrum Art Gallery, a tingle of anticipation courses through me, my heart thumping like a drum as I stand on the brink of something thrilling and unknown.

“What’s the goal today?” Leon, my agent, asks as he types away on his phone. “Are we looking at one collection to exhibit, two, more? Or would you like to launch your artist career here? Like a jumpstart? Or sell exclusively with Spectrum?”

If he only knew that I don’t care, because I am about to burst with excitement. I’m just grateful that Piper wanted to meet with me. If she agrees to exhibit my paintings, I might pass out. “A combination of everything you just said,” I say coolly, not giving myself away.

“I can negotiate.” Leon closes his phone and looks around. “This place is something else. That sculpture has a price tag of half a million. It’s the size of a spatula.” He points to it.

“It’s a Wren Dubois.” She’s brilliant. “And it’s made of the finest gold.”

Leon shakes his head. “It’s still ridiculously overpriced.”

I stand wide and fold my arms across myself. “And if Piper puts half a million-dollar price tag on one of my paintings, what will you say then?”

“It wouldn’t be enough.”

“Is that because you work on commission?”

He grins. “It’s as if you’re inside my head, Jordan.” Tilting his head to the side, he examines the sculpture a little more closely. “In all seriousness, your paintings are masterpieces. But this sculpture is nothing more than a puddle of gold, and I could do that.”

Leon’s got a point.

“You’re talented, Jordan.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. “That’s what I know, and that has nothing to do with commission. I wouldn’t be here today with you if I didn’t have faith in you.”

I rub my jaw, a little overwhelmed by his words. “That means a lot. Thank you.”

“Since retiring from hockey, being a sports agent is the next best thing to playing. I want that for you too. If you do what you love, you’ll never get bored, and it will never feel like work.”

“Did you ever think you’d become an agent when you were playing hockey?”

“Never.” He approaches another painting and stares at it intently. “Didn’t think I would still be single at the age of thirty-five either,” he says, sounding disappointed.

“You’re still young.”

“I feel old. And I haven’t had my dick sucked in forever. It’s been out of action so long, it doesn’t remember what its purpose is anymore.”

My low chuckle echoes around the empty gallery. This is not the conversation I thought I would be having with Leon at nine o’clock in the morning.

“I wish I could sympathize with you, but I can’t.” Lola told me the other night she loves giving me blowjobs because she loves the feeling of my dick in her mouth, loves pleasing me, and loves the taste of my cum. I’ve never come so hard down her throat after she told me that. “I have no complaints.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re twenty-four. You’re young, handsome as fuck, and you play hockey. Puck sluts must throw themselves at you. I remember those days.” He goes all starry-eyed as if remembering his hockey days.

“Never been with a puck bunny. Not really my thing.” I screw up my face.

“I agree. One-night stands are a bit shit after a while.”

“Never had one.”

His body jolts as if in shock. “I’m sorry, come again?”

“You heard me,” I say with a grin.

“If I had taken a page from your playbook, maybe I would have the girl of my dreams. The house, the family I always wanted.”

I've never heard Leon be this open before. He’s always so carefree as if nothing fazes him.

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