Page 263 of Playing the Pucking Game
The thought of us fooling around in there when anyone could walk in makes my temperature rise. Of course, considering she works for the team, it would be really reckless to do. But also, really fucking hot.
“Go and shower, you stink,” she says, pausing when she gets to the visitors’ dressing room. “I’ll meet you out here in fifteen minutes.”
“Make it five, and we’ll shower at home.”
Her brow lifts in question.
“Clock’s ticking, pretty girl. Don’t be late. I’ve got plans for you.”
She darts into the dressing room before I have a chance to stop her. The temptation to storm in after her and take exactly what I need is beyond tempting. I remind myself that I’m being a good boy and continue toward our dressing room.
It looks totally different from the one she’s in. In ours, we each have our own stalls with our names on. Sure, it smells like a bunch of sweaty dudes have died in it, but it’s home, you know? It’s also empty. Seems like the guys didn’t just disappear from the ice.
I’m stripping long before I get to my stall. I haphazardly throw stuff onto the bench, and stuff others into my duffle, before pulling on a pair of athletic pants and a T-shirt. No sooner do I have my sneakers on than I’m marching toward the door with my bag thrown over my shoulder. I’ll sort the rest of my shit out tomorrow. I’ve got more important things to worry about right now.
As I wait, I pull my cell out.
I find a series of messages waiting for me in the group chat I have with the guys.
Killer: @Storm Enjoy the rest of your game *winky emoji*
Handsy: @Storm Your girl has a better shot than you.
Big D: @Storm Go and talk to HR.
Marilyn: @Storm does she have a sister?
Brit: @Marilyn just a big brother…a little rougher around the edges but some may say he’s equally as hot
Killer: @Brit did you just say Rett Donnelly is hot?
Brit: No, I said some may think he is. I do not. I like my hookups with a little less dick, fuck you very much.
“Jesus,” I mutter, shaking my head and dragging my hand down my face.
Storm: @BigD don’t worry, everything is in hand. You’re not getting rid of either of us that easily.
Handsy: @Storm you are replaceable. Parker isn’t.
“Asshole,” I hiss, but any reply I might have to that message is long forgotten when Parker emerges.
Her hair is sweaty and sticking to the sides of her face, and her cheeks are flushed red with exertion. To put it simply, she looks hot as hell.
“Just so you know, you’re the hottest player I’ve ever hit the ice with,” I tell her as she closes in on me.
“Oh really?” she teases. “Even hotter than Handsy and Killer?”
I snort a laugh as jealousy threatens.
“Too fucking right. You’re in an entirely different universe from those ugly motherfuckers.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, biting on her bottom lip as if she’s daydreaming about them.
“Watch it, pretty girl,” I warn. “I might have let fucking you in the dressing room go once, but just so you know, the option is still fully on the table.”
Her eyes widen in interest.
“Come on,” I say, spinning around and heading toward the exit.
