Page 2 of Dirty Puck

We’d found out when some of the guys brought Winstead there the night he’d signed his contract. They’d given the rest of us the lowdown. Fucking wish I’d gone with. Apparently, her tits were fashioned by the gods, and she manicured but didn’t shave her pussy. Exactly as I liked it.

You’d think that looks like that would make her a bitch to deal with, but not Bree. Every man in the club liked her as much as they wanted in her pants. Even just then, turning down Dallas, she could’ve gone after his manhood, but she’d gone with ‘no connection’ instead. To tell the truth, as far as I knew, she didn’t have a man or a woman and that shocked the hell out of me. Straight men and lesbians alike, whatever floated her boat, would know you locked that shit down for the long haul.

When she looked at me and smirked, damn, the things I wanted to do to that mouth. “You guys going to practice or did you hire stunt doubles?” she asked. “Either way, I’ve got a locker room to clean, so I need you to scoot.”

“One of these days, beautiful Bree,” Antonov said, “I’ll make your dreams come true.” He winked, laughing like an ass, walking to the door.

“When you find out what they actually are, I’ll let you.” She moved her cart out of the way to give us room to leave.

“I know what they are,” Dallas said in passing.

“But alas”—she sighed—“you’re leaving us.”

Dallas knew her dreams?

Whatever. No time to dissect that. I was the last on the ice, taking my place in front of the goalie box, and for the next several hours, I zoned, stopping puck after puck.

I loved the game. I loved the rush. When it came down to it, games were won and lost with the goalie. You put the biscuit in the basket, you scored. My job was to keep thatfrom happening. If I didn’t, we lost. I showed up to win, not lose.

After practice, my stomach grumbled loudly, ready to consume itself, and I remembered Jaycee had brought those treats, but I’d forgotten to grab a couple before practice, what with the bomb Coach had dropped on us. Time to make Mr. Tummy happy.

Bishop, Jaycee, Jones, and Bonner stood in front of the craft service table when I entered the conference room and walked up to grab a plate. “What do you have for us today?” I asked.

She smiled. The woman truly had a gorgeous smile. It lit up her whole face. “Aside from the lemon bars, I brought a new recipe. Chocolate peanut butter protein Danish.”

“How the fuck do you make a protein Danish?”

“Talent,” she replied. Yeah, I liked her. While taking my fill, I noticed a book sitting on the table and picked it up.

“‘Fake boyfriend’?” I asked. “What the hell is a fake boyfriend? Like a blowup doll? Who’s reading shit about blowup dolls?”

“It’s mine,” Jaycee said, snatching it from my hand. “And no—it’s not about a blowup doll. It’s a pretty popular romance trope. For whatever reason, a woman needs a boyfriend but doesn’t have one or even want one, so a man will agree to play her boyfriend in return for something. It’s a business deal. No feelings involved. But since it’s a romance, feelings develop.”

“And you read this? An intelligent woman like you?”

“Yes. And I love it.”

“But that’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Don’t knock romance,” Bishop put in. “Most of those authors are women and they have some dirty minds. Jayce and I do this thing?—”

“I have him help me try out the love scenes in real life.”

“You need help with that already?” I shot back.

He laughed. “Nope. But when your wife enjoys sex, she wants a hell of a lot more of it.”

“Can confirm,” Jones said.

“Never had a woman complain,” I said, keeping the volley going.

“Maybe not, but I’m not talking about just any woman, I’m talking about a wife. The person closest to you in the world. Your best friend.” Bishop dropped his arm around Jaycee’s shoulders, pulling her in closer to his body while pinning her with those gaggy, lovestruck eyes. I had nothing against happy couples, but come on. The more you tried to convince me of your happiness, the more I suspected you probably weren’t.

“I’d be lost without Lexi,” Jones said. “So I spend my life trying to make her happy—and that doesn’t mean always buying her shit, which I do sometimes, but being present. Taking care of her needs. If some of those needs happen to be in the bedroom, it’s all the better for the both of us.”

“Right, well, I’m not married and don’t ever plan to be, so I’ll leave you both to your books. I’m good.”

The pussy-whipped assholes had the nerve to laugh at me. I rolled my eyes at the both of them and got the hell out of there.

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