Page 16 of Dirty Puck

“I’m sorry,” she said coolly. “I didn’t know the locker room was still occupied. I’ll come back.”

“You can clean the locker room.”

“No. It’s fine. I’m not stalking you. I’m simply trying to do my job.”

“For Christ’s sake, clean the locker room.”

“When you’re gone,” she finished, leaving me sitting alone again.

“Fuck,” I shouted, pounding the bench with my fist. I didn’t need this shit. Why did my eyes always land on the hot ones? I needed to bed a homely chick. If feelings somehow started to develop, a homely chick would be less likely to break my heart. And Bree—beautiful inside and out. Half ofmy teammates had major bone for her. Myone-word grunts, as she called them, kept me from doing anything stupid… like asking her out. On a real date. With dinner. Maybe a concert.

Friday we had a game. It was close, but we eked out a victory against Boston. Normally, we partied separately to avoid any bad press for the team as a whole, but given Toledo, our backup goalie, was leaving for Utah in a trade deal, we decided to send him off Copperhead style. I liked him.

As my teammates started with the toasts, it got around to me. I lifted my glass. “I think I’m gonna miss showing you how to be a first liner.”

He chuckled, tossing a balled-up napkin at me. “The only thing I need you to miss is the puck because I won’t be. Not your backup anymore, man.” We all laughed.

I lifted the glass to my lips, but his eyes suddenly widened, and a slow grin broke across his face. We all turned to follow his gaze.

Bree had just walked in, carrying a gift bag with a balloon tied to the handle. She was stunning, wrapped in a soft-yellow dress that hugged her curveseverywhere. A faded denim jacket hung loose over her shoulders, but it didn’t hide much. Her hair was down, loose and soft. She was the kind of woman who could bring a group of hockey-playing men to their knees just by walking into a room.

My dick twitched at the sight of her. Useless traitor.

All it took was one look to yank me back to the memory of holding her down in her bed, her legs spread wide as I drove into her, my name tearing from her throat as she came hard around me. That tight, wet heat still haunted my dreams.

But tonight, she didn’t even see me. Didn’t even glance my way.

She ignored all of us, walking over to Toledo, handing him the bag while bending in to kiss his cheek.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d make it,” he said.

“I didn’t think I’d be able to, but one of the girls asked me to switch shifts with her at the club tonight.”

“How’s your little guy?” he asked.

She swatted her hand. “He’s good, but I don’t want to talk about that. This is your going-away party.”

What the hell was that about? She talked about her kid withToledo? My gut twisted. Something about the way she said it didn’t sit right, and I hated that it bothered me as much as it did. I wanted to shake it off. Hell, I wanted to stop giving a damn altogether, but there it was, lodged deep and festering.

He opened the copper gift bag, pulling out a knitted hat half Copperhead colors and half Utah colors. “You make this?” he asked, smiling stupidly at the thing. Who’d wear that? Okay,I’d wear it in the winter if it was all Copperheads. I found myself feeling irrationally jealous of a dumb hat.

Antonov called to the bartender for a beer for her.

I couldn’t stop watching. Not when she lifted the bottle to her lips, not when she tossed her head back and laughed at something one of my teammates said. She was magnetic, completely unaware of the attention she drew.

Then the jukebox kicked on with a string of crowd-pleasers, and the dancing started. People made their way to the floor, but just as she turned to follow, Toledo stepped in and pulled her aside.

“What’s wrong? Seriously. Something with Benny? Maybe I can help.”

“No. I’ll figure something out. You’ve been a good friend, but this is something I have to do. I’m his momma.”

“If you’re sure,” he said, andfuck that. She looked one breath away from crying, and he just let it go? Who the hell dropped something when the woman in front of him was clearly struggling?

Then, like it was nothing, he set his drink down, took her hand, and led her to the dance floor.

My hands ached. I glanced down and realized they were clenched into white-knuckled fists.

She wasn’t mine. Hell, we weren’t even friends. We’d fucked—end of story.

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