Page 2 of My Puckin' Luck
My home in Hollywood Hills is a perfect place for wild parties. And this clear fall night is warm and gorgeous. Speaking of… After I shower and get dressed and sit on the bench to put my shoes on, I text Anastasia.
Saint: Party at my place to celebrate the win. Why don’t you come?
I’d love to see her come. And her body splayed before me with all her curves. My name forming on her lips as she screams it into the night.
Anastasia: Sorry. On a date. Nice win tonight, though.
Damn. I wish I’d noticed who sat on either side of her at the game. Probably some Hollywood type, someone in the industry who doesn’t realize what a gem he has. If anyone hurts her… I record the game at home and as soon as I can, I’ll watch it and see if the cameras caught sight of her and who she was with.
Wait. Where the hell are these thoughts coming from? I have no right to feel this possessive of her. She’s not mine.
I shoulder my gear bag and walk out of the rink. My other hand absentmindedly reaches in my pocket for the object I always carry with me. A green rabbit’s foot, the fur almost rubbed raw, is a reminder that no one can be mine.
I’m a rogue, as my mother likes to tell it, disappointed that I haven’t found someone yet to carry on the St. James’ name. She has no influence over my decisions.
Only I know that I have good reason for staying away from commitment. No one knows how I lost love before and I’ll be damned if I go through that heartache again.
2
MILLION BUTTERFLIES
ANASTASIA JOVOVIC
The last placeI expect I’d end up tonight is here at Saint’s home in Hollywood Hills. I wouldn’t be if not for this guy I’ve been seeing lately, Bryce Withers, a backup goalie for the Los Angeles Vipers. He called last minute saying a friend of his from Vancouver was in town playing against the Puckers and asked me to join him at the game.
This girl can’t resist an invite to a hockey game. Had I known it would include an after party at Saint’s, I might have declined the invitation. Considering Bryce has spent the past hour ignoring me while he catches up with his old buddy, I might as well not be here.
Dating in Los Angeles is the worst. I don’t think he’s that into me anyway, and I’d been planning to stop seeing him. A handful of dates with Bryce has only produced a few kisses, and definitely no butterflies in my tummy. He’s nice, I guess. Cute but not handsome. Definitely not…
Not Saint.
Bad boy Miles St. James has been catching my eye across the pool the entire time I’ve been here at the party, even though his arm is around some tall skinny bitch in a silver dress that barely covers her hoo-ha, revealing an enviable thigh gap.
All suave in black pants and a black button down, Saint’s sleeves are rolled up on his fabulous forearms, the exact ones that inflicted pain on Sanderson at the end of the game. The fight that had me cheering inside for him, and flooding my panties.
Sick, I know. The sight of violence on the ice shouldn’t turn me on. But it wasn’t only that. It was the way Saint’s frosty blue eyes met mine before Sanderson threw the first punch.
There were definitely butterflies, millions of them, and I held my breath the entire time until the fight ended, only letting it out when Saint skated away unscathed. Yet it hitched again when he turned back to glance directly at me.
Something lies between us. Every single time we’re in the same room together, I feel it. But I know his type. Misty and Storm both confirmed it, telling me all about him, but I deduced it myself every time our group of friends got together, the players and their wives or girlfriends, before everyone moved away. Saint’s a lot of fun to party with, easy to talk to, but a man-whore, way too popular with the puck bunnies for my tastes.
A sadness underlies his outgoing persona, though, I detect it, like a layer of anger and hurt brewing there for a decade. Storm believes there’s something in Saint’s past that keeps him from getting too serious about a woman now.
I have enough challenges getting a man to fall for me, given my plump curves. To overcome Saint’s issues as well would be too much.
But…what if he was mine?
That’s the question plaguing me ever since he twice propositioned me. Because twice I turned him down.
What woman in their right mind would do that?
I live with regrets every single time I run into the blue-eyed, gorgeous man. But it’s a fantasy to think we’d be good together, and that’s where he must stay. Fantasyland.
If I let him in, or if he even wanted in, I know he’d break my heart.
Only that doesn’t stop me from dreaming aboutwhat ifevery single time I see him.
“Babe, get us some more beers?” Bryce pecks my cheek.
