Page 6 of Pucker Up
TWO
ACE
A dropof lakewater dripped down my back. I shivered, wrapping the mile long scarf around my neck and put on my hat.
“Thank you for saving him.” The dog’s owner wrapped the leash around her hand at least twenty times. Had she not learned her lesson? Ignoring her, I squatted to examine the clip on the leash. “Here’s the problem: the metal piece has some ice in it.”
She bent to examine the carabiner, pulling off her mitts to move the mechanism back and forth. A waft of what I could only describe as a yoga studio mixed with vanilla shampoo came with her. My cock was still recovering from his second dicksickle moment of the day, so I was surprised when he suddenly pulsed back to life. I shifted uncomfortably, hoping that the bulge wasn’t obvious through my crappy snow pants.
“Let me.” I took the carabiner from her hands and cupped it in mine, blowing onto the metal. It only took two puffs to get it to slip back into place. I snapped it back and forth a couple of times to illustrate that it was working properly. “Now you can give Morton a little bit of breathing room.” I tried to loosen one loop of the leash from her hand, but she had it in a death grip.
“You remembered his name?” She unwrapped the leash and stretched out her hand.
I patted Morton on the head. “Who can forget a face like this? And, we’ve gone swimming together now, so we’re friends forever, whether he likes it or not.”
As if on cue, Morton’s tail smacked against the floor of the ferry and he leaned his soaking wet body against my pants.
“Don’t get a big head. He likes everyone.”
The girl’s words caught me off guard and I froze, pausing mid pet to look up at her. Her tone was harsh, but the sides of her lips were quivering, as if she was trying to hide a smile. My cock pulsed again. She was sexy in an understated way. If only she knew how big my head was getting… I squeezed my eyelids together to get the locker room banter out of my head. She was a sweet, well-spoken woman, not a raunchy NHL player.
Morton licked my hand. “Well, then I’d say he’s a bad judge of character.” I gave her a wink and it could’ve been the cold air, but her cheeks turned a shade pinker than they’d been a minute earlier.
“Goldie always says that she doesn’t get it when people don’t like dogs, but when a dog doesn’t like a person, it means that they’re like a psychopath or something.”
“I guess I pass the Morton test then? Goldie?” I held out my hand. “I’m Ace.”
“I know.” She shook my hand with a firmness I hadn’t felt from a woman in a long time. “We just watched you cannonball into the lake with your brother…” Her voice trailed off. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I had no idea it was…”
“Me?” I grinned. “You didn’t say anything that the newspapers haven’t been saying for months now.”
She let out a breath. Her apology seemed genuine. “This is Mel.” She put her hand on the dark-haired girl’s shoulder.
Mel extended her hand and shook mine. “Nice to meet you, Ace. Why aren’t you on the boat with all the other players?” She pointed to the Toronto skyline where the other boat had likely already disembarked.
I shrugged. “I wanted to take a little more time in the sauna.”
“I thought that you guys had to head back for a practice?” Mel tilted her head and I felt like I was sitting in an interrogation room.
“The practice isn’t for a few hours.”
Goldie rolled her eyes. “So they just wanted preferential treatment. Typical.”
“Hey, don’t lump me in with those guys. I waited my turn.” Goldie’s eyes were so warm, but as soon as she started talking about preferential treatment and hockey players in general, they seemed to lose a little bit of their sparkle. But she called it like it was; we did get preferential treatment everywhere we went. Clubs: front of the line; restaurants: reservations not required; upgrades in hotel rooms: practically expected.
Mel cut her eyes at her friend. I wasn’t the only person who had noticed the not-so-subtle hostility when it came to hockey players. It was rare to come across a Canadian who didn’t treat me like a movie star. Last week when we’d played in LA, Timothée Chalamet had been brushed aside by a fan trying to get to Gideon for an autograph. “Is that the guy version of, I’m not like other girls?” Unlike Goldie, every word that came out of Mel’s mouth dripped with flirtation.
“Not at all.” I leaned against the railing and waited for a response from Goldie, but she didn’t give me anything to work with. “I’m way worse.” I dropped my voice an octave.
This brought a smile to her face, and the sparkle in her eyes returned. The voice through the loudspeaker told us to wait until the boat was docked to make our way to the exit. The only thing I knew about Goldie was that she was beautiful, had a weirdname, and had lit an intrigue inside of me that I hadn’t felt in a very long time, if ever.
I didn’t have many regrets in my life, but I knew that if I let the cute brunette with the slightly salty attitude and kind of dorky glasses walk away, it would be one of them. But before I could muster up the courage to ask her for her number, or her social media contact, Mel did it for me.
She squatted next to Morton. “What’s that?” She pretended that the dog was speaking into her ear. She held up a finger as though she needed quiet to hear what the silent dog had to say. “I see.” She nodded her head and then stood. “Morton wants to take you to lunch for saving his life.”
“Is that so?” I tilted my head and cast a glance at Goldie. Her lips drew into a line, but only for a second.
“It’s the least we could do. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him.” Her hand dropped to Morton’s ear and she rubbed his velvety fur between her unmanicured fingertips.
