Page 3 of Puck Me Harder

Kai narrows his mahogany eyes, glaring daggers into my press badge. He’s close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off his body.

I take a deep breath, and the scent of him fills my senses —

Ice. Blood. Testosterone.

2

Kai

I’ve got a few simple rules for life.

Don’t talk to the press.

Don’t fuck at work.

Don’t fall in love with anyone.

The redhead with a press tag hanging from her neck makes me want to break every one of my rules. She makes me want to make new ones, just so I can break them for her.

She’s compact, with a lean, muscular frame tucked beneath the clean lines of her skirt suit. Dakota O’Connor, according to the laminated badge at the end of her lanyard. A severe updo and bare face do nothing to hide her wild beauty. Dakota’s hair is a rich, vibrant red. Even pulled back in a tight bun, it explodes around her face, framing her delicate features with wispy auburn curls. Her peach skin is dotted with dozens of freckles, clustered together like constellations against the soft alabaster of her complexion.

But it’s Dakota’s eyes that rewrite every synapse in my brain. They look like the first day of spring— soft, mossy green flecked with pure sunshine.

She’s clearly used to a locker room. Usually, when a girl sneaks back here, it’s because she’s a puck bunny. Someone chasing a player for money or clout. But there’s an ease about the woman in front of me. It screams athlete.

Beside her, the brunette with the camera— who can’t quite take her eyes off Parker— doesn’t look half as comfortable.

“No press in the locker room,” I rumble. “And no, we won’t be talking to you out of the lockers, either.”

It hurts.

I want to talk to the slim redhead in front of me all night long. I want to do a lot more than talk. But I’ve been burned by someone hungry for a story before, and I won’t let it happen to one of my guys.

More than anything else, I protect my team. Parker isn’t ready for this kind of attention. Fortunately, he’s got the best defense in the league on his team.

Me.

“Coach, Wallace, do you mind if I get some shots of Parker? Out of the locker room, obviously. Promotional material, you know how it is,” the girl with the camera — Sofia, according to her badge — waves a hand nonchalantly.

Parker is nodding along before I can stop him, and I don’t bother looking to the coach for support. Coach Wallace is close to the worst human being I’ve ever met. I would already be out of here because of him if it weren’t for my loyalty to the team.

“Of course, Mizz Rivera. Right this way,” Coach tries to put a hand on the small of her back, but Parker swoops in first, tossing an arm around the girl’s shoulders and walking her towards the exit as he leans in to whisper something I can’t hear.

“Good teamwork,” I narrow my eyes at the redhead when we’re alone. “Separated us right away. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Dakota flashes me a smile that makes my heart melt and my cock twitch.

“You noticed, but you didn’t do anything about it. Where’s that insight for the game, Mita? Or are you all washed up after that last suspension?” Her smile is wide and playful, but the words are laced with fire.

I glance around. Everyone else is still out on the ice. Parker and I were here an hour earlier than everyone else to start drilling, so it’s unlikely anyone is about to walk in.

“I’m not answering any questions for free. Not even from an ace reporter like you,” I reach past her to open my locker.

Dakota slams it shut, stepping lithely between me and the clean clothes inside. Those green eyes are flashing.

“Name your price,” she says, squaring her shoulders. “I need this story, Mita.”

Everything about this screams trouble.

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