Page 39 of Pucked Up

He stiffened. “I should, uh…I should get out of here.”

I glanced down at him. “We’re both filthy.”

His cheeks darkened. “I don’t know what you want me to do about that. Lick it up?”

“Boden.” He was goading me again, but this time not for a fuck. “There’s a private shower down the hall. The door has a lock.”

He swallowed heavily. “I don’t…know if that’s a good idea.”

“Trust me, it is. I can’t let you leave all messed up like this.” I took his chin between my fingers again. “Let me do this. Please.”

His lips trembled for a second. “Fucking…why? Why do you want to do this? What the fuck does it matter?”

“Because you deserve it.”

He said nothing after that. He looked like he’d been slapped, and not in the fun way.

“I’ll make sure the hallway is clear,” I finally said in the silence between us.

“I won’t be able to move fast enough if someone starts coming,” he said, his voice tight. “You’ll have to carry me.”

“You’ll let me?”

He swore under his breath, a long string of French I only ever heard up north. “Yes,” he grunted. “I trust you.”

His pride was in tatters, but I had no regrets. Hispride was made up of spite and anger, thanks to the way he’d been treated most of his life. I wanted to allow him a moment to rebuild. If I could do nothing else with the rest of my life except that, I would die content.

“Thank you,” I told him.

He looked up at me. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I told him without a shred of dishonesty. “I do.”

CHAPTER

NINE

BODEN

I feltlike I was losing my mind. I knew who I was, what I wanted and what I was willing to accept. I didn’t compromise on those things ever. I would have rather died. The closest I’d ever come was at the Paralympics, letting Ford and Tucker convince me to pick a fight, and that had cost me almost everything.

I swore I would never be so reckless again.

So why the fuck was I in a small, two-person shower stall at the rink where anyone could walk in, literally resting on Hugo’s thigh as he washed his come from the crack of my ass? Why was I letting him run his obnoxiously strong hands over my body?

Why the fuck did I like it so much?

The day had been shit already. I’d woken up with spasms so bad I was tempted to head to the ER for a couple of shots to calm my muscles down, I fell several times in the kitchen trying to make my protein shake, my car started making a weird noise that even I could hear—and the last thing I wantedto do was call my dad and ask him for money to fix it.

Then, there was a department meeting letting me know that my office was getting moved into the physics building—which would have been fine except that it was one of the oldest buildings on campus. It was notorious for having broken elevators and wheelchair lifts, no ramps, and the disabled automatic door buttons never worked because asshole eighteen-year-olds liked to kick them on their way out of the building.

My protests went largely unheard, and when I got into my office, there was a stack of moving boxes waiting for me.

And the cherry on the goddamn sundae? My father called right as I was heading to the rink after work.

“There’s going to be a celebration banquet and event for the PPHL in two weeks, and I want you there. If you want a chance at ever being drafted—” he said, his voice filtering into my hearing aids from the Bluetooth. I couldn’t stand the sound of him in my head.

“Yes. Yeah. I get it.”

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