Page 33 of Pucked Up

“Hey, sorry.” Vincent was quiet for a moment. “I know it’s still hard.”

Not in the way he was thinking, but it was easier to just say, “Yes. But thank you.”

“If you do turn up, give me a call, yeah? I’d really love to have lunch. I, uh…I still feel like shit for that night.”

“Don’t. It wasn’t your fault. I was hurting and angry. I’m sorry I cried afterward. I don’t normally do that.”

He snorted. “Are you seriously apologizing for grieving two weeks after your husband died? Don’t be an ass. I felt like a fucking predator. You were in so much pain.”

“Yes. I was also horny, and so were you. It wasn’t wrong, Vin. Just…bad timing.”

“I take it it’s still bad timing?”

I should have said no. That it was great timing. Vincent would have been a great partner, but the words tasted like bitter salt on my tongue, and the moment I blinked, I saw Boden’s look of ecstasy behind my eyelids. “It is.”

“Probably for the best. I’m fresh off my second divorce anyway. But don’t be a stranger, eh?”

“Of course.” I had no idea if I meant that or not, but it felt nice to say in the moment. “Let me know what you think of Morin, okay?”

“If you believe in him, I’m sure I will too. Talk later.”

We hung up without a long goodbye, and then I copied his email address into the template I’d created, attached the video, and hit Send without saying anything else. The tape would speak for itself.

I closed my laptop with a very dull click that I could feel in my chest. I felt very alone suddenly, and I knew with that single sent email, that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

HUGO

Lately,things had been…strange. And unexpected. I had figured the universe was done screwing with me after my husband lost the ability to move most of his body after a freak accident and then took him from me with a hefty case of pneumonia.

I thought maybe that was enough.

Apparently not. Apparently, the universe thought it would be fun to throw Boden Morin directly in front of my path. Fucking him in the hotel room after picking him up at the bar had been chance. Fucking him in my office at the rink once I realized it was the only way to get him to calm down was probably the best worst mistake of my life.

I had to wear a cup at the next couple of practices because every time he looked at me with that fury in his eyes—the fury he knew I could quell—I got hard. The slight bulge it gave me was better than the raging erection Boden was responsible for.

His eyes caught on it a few minutes later, and he fucking smirked. He played like a god after that. He and the ice were like one. I’d seen that before in Reid. He wasn’t the most talented player in the league, but his passion was second to none. He’d understood hockey like no one else ever had.

Until Boden.

Something about this short, infuriating, stubborn man was healing me, and that was terrifying enough as it was.

Luckily, he wasn’t willing to commit actual career suicide, so his attitude toward me calmed down. It took a few weeks—he still had little tantrums, and he still mouthed off, but things were better. So much better he didn’t show up at my office again, and I did my best not to show that disappointment.

But I could feel it starting to build again about three weeks after our first encounter. I was already in a mood after receiving a call from a man I never thought I’d speak to again. Edwin Francis was the current PPHL commissioner. He’d been appointed a few months before Reid got sick, and they’d never gotten along.

Reid wanted the league to be what the NHL wasn’t—more diverse, more accepting, more willing to roll with change. Edwin had come from the MLB, and while he wasn’t the most bigoted man we’d ever dealt with, he wasn’t the least either.

The last time we spoke was at Reid’s funeral, so seeing his name on my voicemail shook me. Andsomehow, of course, Boden seemed to pick up on my vulnerability because that’s when he knew to strike.

“Are you going to just stand there like a jackass, or are you going to do your job?”

I blinked and realized Boden was speaking to me. Turning on my skates, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why are you running your mouth instead of running plays?” My voice came out low, demanding, and I immediately saw the way it affected him.

And it pissed him off.

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