Page 1 of The Penalty Shot (Totally Pucked 5)

Chapter One

Asher

"Oh,harder, right there…uggghhhh yes. Oh Daddy, I’m your little slut.”

Generally speaking, most guys would love to start their day with a girl writhing on their cock moaning in the throes of passion.

In my case, not so much, seeing as how this godawful noise is penetrating my bedroom wall, when all I want to do is fucking sleep. Shit, I might even be a little into it if the girl didn’t sound like she was an injured animal or recording a low-budget porno. There’s a one-hundred-percent chance that she’s faking it, and I’d bet myowncock on it. There is absolutely no way a girl having an actual soul-shattering orgasm could possibly sound like that.

Groaning, I sit up and beat my fist on the wall, once, twice, then a third time for good measure.

Fuckers.

For the first time in months, I’m not up at five a.m., before the sun rises, and on to a grueling practice. So forgive me for being annoyed that my neighbors like to fuck like bunnies as soon as daylight hits.

I flop back on the bed, pulling the plush feather-down pillow over my head in an attempt to fall back asleep, which doesn’t seem to be working. Although the noise has died down and my amateur porn-star neighbors across the wall have quieted, I can’t seem to get comfortable and apparently, I’m up for the day. Fucking wonderful.

Getting up from the bed, I snag a pair of sweats, pull them over my hips, and head for the kitchen. While walking down the hallway, I notice that there are double the boxes that were there last night, meaning Hudson’s had a busy night.

Part of me still can’t wrap my head around him moving out. I mean, yeah, I get it, but it still sucks. Everyone’s moving out, getting married, having kids. Shit’s changing, more and more every day. I mean Hudson’s just moving out, not getting married, but still…Everyone’s going their separate ways.

“You’re up early,” Hudson says, gripping a protein shake in one hand with a wet towel hanging around his neck. He looks like he dunked himself in the pool, but I know that just means he’s been in the gym. For someone as carefree and laid back as Hudson is, he sure as fuck has a thing for routine. One he never deviates from if he can help it. Even during the off season, he’s working out.

I shrug, offering a surly grunt, dragging a hand down my face as I try to fully wake-up. “Neighbor Girl and her man were at it bright and early again this morning, and I couldn’t go back to sleep after I hit the wall.”

Hudson laughs, shaking his wet hair out of his face. “I almost feel guilty leaving you behind to deal with that, but seeing as how I know you want to be the one making her sound like a dying cat…It lessens the guilt a little.”

“Fuck off. All I want is some peace and quiet, not to listen to that shit every morning. She’s not that hot. Not enough to sacrifice sleep.”

I put my favorite Marvel mug under the coffeemaker, one of the few things left remaining on the counter, and press start. I’m desperate for the strongest fucking coffee I can brew after staying up so late last night working on a sketch. My eyes are dry and feel like sandpaper from lack of sleep, and this morning has put me in a foul mood.

“Whatever you say, but don’t forget, I see how you eye her door on the way to the gym each morning.”

“Like I’m sick of their early morning fuckfest and I want some damn sleep? Correct,” I grumble. It’s too early in the morning for his mouth.

Walking over, he slaps me on the back with his still sweaty palm, and smirks smugly. “If that makes you feel better. Anyway, I’ll leave you to your denial. Got a full day planned. I’ve got to meet with the realtor at nine, and schedule the moving company. Then, I’ve got a date this afternoon.”

My eyebrows rise. “And by date you mean…?”

Hudson on an actual date would be the equivalent of hell freezing over. My best friend works his way through a roster of puck bunnies like athlete’s foot. As gross as that analogy sounds…it’s the truth.

“Met this girl at Matchbox last week, she dared me to take her out.” He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the edge of the towel from around his neck, then downs the rest of the protein shake in a single gulp and tosses the empty blender bottle in the sink. “And I’m not one to disappoint the ladies, so I’m taking her to some restaurant my sister recommended.” He smirks, shrugging nonchalantly.

“I’m surprised, you know,yougoing on an actual date. And somewhere that your sister recommended at that. Is this…personal growth, Hudson?” I clap him on the back as I talk shit, “I’m proud of you.”

“I wouldn’t gothatfar. I’m perfectly happy in my bachelor ways. I gotta shower and head out. See you later?”

I nod, tossing him a wave as I grab the steaming mug of coffee off the maker. It’s barely seven a.m., and I’m already ready to crawl back in bed. Hopefully the coffee will rectify that. Walking back to my bedroom, I grab my sketchpad, still open to the drawing I was working on last night, and open the door to my balcony – a spot I now rarely use.

It’s one of my favorite things about this apartment; my bedroom’s balcony that overlooks the Chicago River is what sold me on this place in the beginning, back when Hudson, Graham and me were all looking for somewhere in the city. Well…it used to be my favorite place, until I realized how thin the walls were.

We wanted something close to the arena, since we spend most mornings during the season either practicing or playing. During the off-season, most of the time, everyone kind of spreads out and goes their own ways. Catching up with family and traveling. But this place? It’s my sanctuary. The one place in the world where I can feel like…myself. More than just the version that the world sees. The one that the fans know, and the cameras capture. Me. I don't have to hide and pretend to be something I’m not.

I sit on this very balcony, gazing out at the city and the river below, and I’m content. I’m at peace. Reading, working on whatever sketch I’ve been obsessing over. Writing. When I can, I sneak away to the rooftop, where it’s quiet and comfortable, and I revel in the peacefulness of it.

Hudson always says that I’m an anomaly because, while hockey is very much the number one thing in my life, I also love reading and art. Music and manga. I’m an old soul. I prefer conversation over partying. Mozart over heavy metal. History over beer pong. And sometimes, I can tell everything I need to know about a person before they say a single word. Their attitude, their demeanor, their energy. The way they respond to certain situations. Sometimes people assume because I don’t have a lot to say, that what I have to say isn’t much of anything. I guess people expect hockey players, based on their appearance and aggression on the ice, to be the same way off of it. They see us for what’s on the surface, not anything deeper. Just because I’m aggressive on the ice, doesn’t mean I’m not introspective and sensitive. My personality isn’t one-dimensional. I don’t quite fit the athlete persona.

I prop my feet up on the chair across from me, inhaling a deep breath of fresh air as the sun begins to peak over the clouds. It casts a warm glow upon the surface of the river that ripples with boats as they sail along.

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