Page 80 of Pucked Up

I was still reeling from my afternoon with Vincent. I hadn’t known what to expect from him—I’d grown up around the NHL, and not a week went by when I was with my dad that I wasn’tdragged to some dinner or another. But this was different.

I realized immediately that I was being courted.

Vincent smiled. He flirted. He flattered. He said Hugo had sent him my tape, and after he was done watching it, he looked up all of my online videos.

“Including Beijing, I’m assuming,” I asked him.

He looked a little guilty at that. “I did. And I understand why it all happened.”

“Do you?”

He laughed, then leaned forward over the table and said, “I’ve met your father. So yeah. I do.”

I was ready to sign with him right then, but Micah grabbed my arm and without bothering to lower his voice said, “Yeah, no. You need to have someone look that over. And didn’t Hugo say you were expecting a couple other offers?”

Vincent seemed entirely unbothered. He offered to show us around the city, and I didn’t have the heart to remind him that I’d half grown up in Montreal, so I knew my way around just fine. He was a perfect guide for Micah, which was nice since I was overly focused on making sure my legs continued to support me as we visited a couple of bookshops and then a tiny art gallery with tactile art on display.

Vincent was able-bodied, but he didn’t miss a beat in making sure everything was accessible for both me and Micah. He also made sure he was always facing me so I could see his lips, which told me that in his job as GM, he paid attention to what his players needed. I could have said the same thingfor Hugo, and I knew deep down my immediate hatred of him had nothing to do with his functional body.

It had everything to do with the way he’d reduced me down to ecstasy and lust the moment that hotel room door had shut.

I hated him because of how much I wanted him. And now, I’d ruined everything that might have been good between us because of my inability to compartmentalize work and life. Fuck, I was such a fool.

Glancing around the ballroom now, I eventually spotted Ford, who was talking to a couple of PPHL guys I vaguely recognized. I think they were from Calgary, but I couldn’t be sure. His eyes widened, and he patted one guy on the shoulder before taking off, and before I could blink three times, he had his arms around me.

“Holy fuck, I thought you were dead!” He started speaking right against my ear. He didn’t need to. There was very faint music, but the chatter was a low roar so it wasn’t overwhelming my shit hearing.

“Not dead,” I said quickly. “My phone is. I left it upstairs with Micah.”

“That fucker couldn’t text?” Ford demanded.

“You’ll have to take that up with him,” I said as I leaned into his body. My legs were aching, and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget this night ever happened. “Did you eat?”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dad. I ate a salad like a good little boy.”

“Well done. Find me my table, yeah? I feel like my legs are going to give out.”

He quickly led me through the room to a nearly empty table with a name card next to a small appetizer plate. Sitting down felt amazing, and I reminded myself that next time, I needed to take the fucking train and my goddamn chair.

“Let me get you something to eat,” Ford said, gripping the back of my chair and leaning down closer so I could hear him. His eyes darted around the room like he was looking for someone. It was probably Hugo, and that made my heart kick up a notch. “What do you want?”

“Anything.” My stomach was too tense for me to enjoy food. “Protein.”

Ford grinned down at me, and his hand started to move south. “I’ve got some protein right here for?—”

“No. Not tonight. I’m too tired.”

He deflated. “Fine. They have some chicken breast and…I don’t know, some kind of bean dish.”

“Anything,” I repeated.

He straightened up, then cradled my jaw. “I hope it went well. I, um…” He looked behind him, then grabbed his chair and yanked it close, sinking down. “I can be really selfish.”

“Um. Okay?” Where was he going with this?

“I love you and Tucker so much. I know I’m clingy, and it’s probably something I should work on in therapy. But, uh…like…” He bit his lip and turned his gaze up toward the ceiling for a second. “Look, wherever you go, I just want you to be happy, okay? So if it’s the fucking moon?—”

Oh. He was panicking about where I was going to sign. “It’s probably going to be Boston.”

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