Pucked Off (The Pucked Series)

by Helena Hunting

  The time we got caught in the locker room was an isolated incident she manipulated me into.

  “You hear anything else from Tash this week?”

  “Other than text messages and voicemails telling me I’m an asshole and she hates me, nope.”

  “Man, you must’ve really pissed her off.”

  “Yup.”

  “You wanna talk about it at all?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay. Just know if you run into problems with her, or she shows up looking to cause trouble, you can always call me and Lily.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got it handled.” That’s untrue. I don’t have it handled at all, but I’m not about to drag Randy and Lily into my messed up BS.

  I’ve never told Randy, and probably never will, about the why behind the actions. Explaining the whole mess with Tash would require far more than I’m interested in divulging to him, or anyone else, about my messy, fucked-up past and the shit I had to deal with as a kid. I tried telling Tash, and I know where it got me.

  We arrive at the gym with lots of time to change and warm up before the workout starts. I check my phone in case I missed a message from Poppy, but there’s nothing, so I toss it in my bag and stuff that in my locker, hoping I’ll hear from her by the time I’m done at the gym.

  I’m slow and uncoordinated during the training session, and the ache in my lower back gets progressively worse, as does the twinge in my neck.

  Smart finds me in the locker room before I have a chance to get changed and pulls me aside, looking less than pleased. “Did you make another appointment with the massage therapist like I told you to?”

  “I tried, but she was all booked up this week. I’m on a list for a cancellation.”

  “You need to see someone today, or you’re not getting on the plane tomorrow morning.”

  “What?”

  “You were sloppy and all over the place today. You can’t get on the ice the way you are, and there’s no point in having you come to a game you’re not even going to be able to play.”

  “You think Coach will go for that?”

  “He’s the one who told me to give you the options. You’ll be stiff as hell tomorrow if you don’t get this taken care of, and I don’t need you out before the season’s even started.”

  “Well, what the hell can I do if she doesn’t have an opening?”

  “I can get you in with someone else this afternoon.”

  I run a hand through my sweat-soaked hair. Panic forces a shiver down my spine. “I don’t want someone else. Can’t you call that clinic and get them to rearrange her schedule so she can fit me in?”

  Smart snorts. “The world doesn’t revolve around your wants and needs, Romero. I can get you on a table before the end of the day, but it’s gonna be here, not at the clinic. That was me calling in a favor so we don’t lose a good player with the beginning of the season right around the corner. I’m trying to ease Waters back in to it, and we need strong defense. Butterson can’t do it on his own.”

  “What if I can get the clinic to take me?”

  Smart raises an eyebrow. “You wanna risk not coming to the game by banking on a cancellation?”

  “No.” I rummage around in my locker for my phone. Poppy’s gotten back to me, but it’s not with good news. She doesn’t have any openings—not at the clinic, anyway. I cross my fingers that she’s not in the middle of a massage as I pull up her contact and hit call.

  Smart crosses his arms over his chest while I hold up a finger and wait for an answer. She picks up on the fourth ring.

  “Hello?” Her voice is soft and warm, the way her hands felt on me.

  “Hey, hi. Are you busy? Did I call at a bad time?”

  “What the hell are you doing? Planning a date?” Smart asks, incredulous.

  “Hold on.” I cover the receiver. “I’m seeing if I can get in with the massage therapist.”

  He shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

  “Poppy? You there?”

  “I’m here. What’s up? There haven’t been any cancellations since I messaged you half an hour ago.”

  “Yeah. I figured. Look, do you think you could fit in a home appointment like we talked about?”

  There’s silence on the other end of the line for a few long seconds.

  “I might be able to schedule something tomorrow night.”

  “That’s too late. It has to be tonight.”

  “I’m here until eight thirty.”

  “I could come to you. I mean, if that would work. Unless you have plans.” Fuck. I forgot it’s Friday night. Some people have lives. The possibility that she might be going out—on a date even—makes the volcano inside me bubble. What the fuck?

  More silence follows.

  “Please, Poppy? The team trainer says if I don’t get another massage before tomorrow morning I’m not gonna be able to play on Sunday. It’s an exhibition game against the team who put us out of the playoffs. I don’t wanna miss it.”

  “I don’t have plans.” She sighs. “Okay, fine. You can come to me, but make sure you’re there at nine.”

  “Okay. Nine o’clock. At your house, right?”

  “At my house.”

  “You’ll send me directions?”

  “I will.”

  “Great. Thanks, Poppy. I really owe you.”

  “You’re welcome. I have to go. I have a client in a few minutes.”

  “Right, of course. See you tonight.”

  “Bye.”

  She hangs up, and I flash a grin at Smart as I pocket my phone. “Guess I get to play on Sunday after all, aye?”

  He doesn’t return it. “A home appointment?”

  “Lots of massage therapists do home appointments.” At least I think they do.

  “Don’t make me regret cashing in that favor.”

  “It’s not like that, Smart. I’m not gonna hit on her.” I don’t want to have to deal with someone else. I already know things with Poppy work.

  He gives me a look before he turns to walk away. “Make sure you stretch and use the sauna before you take off.”

  The sauna part I’ll do here; the stretching I can do at home. Rookie’s in there hanging out with Miller and Randy when I open the door.

  “Romero!” He holds his fist out for props, so I hit him up. “Man, that was a killer party the other night.”

  “Glad you had a good time.” I drop down on a free bench and try to get comfortable, which isn’t possible with the way my back feels. Smart has a point about me not being able to play like this.

  “Good time? Man, those chicks were up for anything.”

  Ballistic’s eyebrow lifts. “Sharing your contact list with the newbie?”

  “He can consider it my welcome gift.”

  “Best gift I ever got in my life. They gave me their numbers, said anytime I wanted to hang out just to call one of them.”

  I snort, but inside I feel hollow. Here’s this kid from buttfuck nowhere, and I’ve managed to taint him before the official start of the season.

  Miller blows out a breath. He’s been different with me lately, not hanging around as much. I have to wonder if it’s about more than his becoming a dad.

  “Me and a couple of the guys are thinking about hitting Paris Club tonight. You guys wanna come?” Rookie asks, looking around the room.

  “Nah, man, I’m staying in with my girl tonight,” Miller says.

  “Same,” adds Randy.

  “I’ve got an appointment for a massage, so I guess it depends how late that goes.”

  Miller’s brow furrows. “You mean Poppy? From the clinic?”

  I nod. “Yeah. She’s doing me a favor and treating me at home ’cause she didn’t have any openings and Smart and Coach won’t let me play if I don’t get one.”

  “You’re shitting me, right?” Miller looks from me to Randy, his expression incredulous.

  Randy shrugs, because this is the first he’s heard about it.

  “Dude, you fucked h
er friend,” Miller snaps.

  Rookie barks out a laugh.

  I don’t know what Miller’s problem is. I can’t get a gauge on him. “I apologized, and she was cool about it.”

  “You apologized?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “For fucking her friend?” Miller looks like he’s about to have a brain aneurism.

  “Not exactly, but I told her a censored version of what you said, about knowing her, and then I apologized in case I was an asshole. She said it wasn’t a big deal, so—”

  His mouth drops open. “Jesus, Romero, you’re fucking clueless.” He shakes his head and turns to Randy. “I gotta go. Sunny’s having some kind of craving. I’m gonna cook burgers so she can huff the barbeque smell out of my shirt.”

  “I should probably go, too. I’m taking Lily out for dinner when she’s done at the rink.” Randy looks to me. “You good if I catch a ride with Miller?”

  Miller’s already halfway across the room. “I’ll meet you in the locker room,” he calls over his shoulder to Randy. The door slams into the wall as he opens it with extra force.

  “What’s his problem?” I ask.

  “He’s got a pregnant girlfriend, and we have to go away. He’s stressed.”

  “Well, yeah, but why’s he so pissy with me?”

  Randy runs his fingers through his beard. “Do you remember that night you screwed Poppy’s friend?”

  “Nope. I got nothing on that except what he’s told me.”

  “Yeah. Other than the shots, it’s vague for me too. Maybe you should talk to Miller more about it, ’cause he’s the only one who seems to remember much of anything.”

  I look to the door. “You think I should do that now?”

  “Probably not. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Sure. Right.”

  Randy leaves, and it’s just me and Rookie. Rook then goes into great detail about the events that took place in one of my spare bedrooms the other night. It really just makes me feel worse.

  Once I get home, I spend an hour stretching and another hour in the hot tub trying to relax the muscles in my back, but they’ve gone into spasm, and no amount of ibuprofen seems to be helping. I could go for something stronger, but then getting to Poppy later could be a problem. There’s no fucking way I’m going to miss having her hands on me for another hour.

  At seven I take another shower, shave, and get dressed. At seven twenty, I whack off. At, seven fifty-five I whack off again. It only takes ten minutes, which is twice as long as the first time. At least I’m killing time, and it would be really nice to avoid the hard-on part of the program this evening. I’ll be at her house, for God’s sake. Stressing out about that, I wander around my house until eight twenty.

  At that point I’m too antsy to wait any longer, so I get in my car and follow the directions to Poppy’s place. She lives in Bucktown in one of the little row houses. It’s a familiar area, not too far from where my aunt’s house was when I lived with her. It’s a cute little neighborhood. Poppy must make a solid living as a massage therapist, or maybe she has a boyfriend she lives with. I don’t particularly like that idea.

  I park a couple of houses down and look for her Mini, but I don’t see it anywhere, which makes sense since it’s only 8:41.

  I’m already semi-hard again, which is crazy since I’ve whacked it twice in the past hour and a half. I drum on my dash while I wait. At eight fifty, she finally shows up. I cut the engine, check my reflection in the rearview mirror, and get out of the car.

  “I’m a little early,” I call out as I walk up the sidewalk toward her.

  She startles and drops her keys. Her fingers flutter to her throat.

  The same fingers that are going to be touching me soon.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I figured you would’ve seen my car.” I thumb over my shoulder.

  Poppy follows my gaze. “I must not have been paying very close attention.”

  “I guess not.” I bend over to pick up her keys. Instead of dangling the chain, I hold them out in my hand.

  Her fingertips graze my skin as she takes them. It’s too quick to really register. I’m nervous now that this massage won’t be the same as last time—actually enjoyable. What if that was a fluke?

  I follow her up the stairs to her house. Her hair is in a ponytail again.

  “Evening, Poppy.”

  “Oh! Hi, Mr. Goldberg. How are you?”

  A little old man dressed in track pants and a loose fitting T-shirt with a Nike symbol on it sits on the porch next door.

  “I’m good. You?” He looks me over, like he’s assessing whether I should be allowed in her house.

  Poppy smiles. “I’m good, too.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “Oh. This is Lance. He’s a client. I’m treating him here as a favor.”

  “Ah.” He gives me another speculative look. “Not your Friday night date, then?”

  “No, Mr. Goldberg. Not my date.”

  “That’s good. Means I don’t need to worry about this one.”

  Poppy laughs. It’s high and a little embarrassed. Her cheeks flush pink.

  “I’ll be on my very best behavior, sir,” I say.

  He raises a brow. “That’s what they all say right before they’re on their worst behavior, son.”

  CHAPTER 10

  NOT SO HIDDEN

  EMOTIONS

  POPPY

  Lance laughs while my face sets itself on fire. Of course my neighbor has to be out tonight. Well, he’s out almost every night, but his timing and pith are unfortunate on this particular occasion.

  Usually Friday night is April and me hanging out, and Mr. Goldberg knows that. I’ve probably had a handful of Friday night dates in the past year, and of course, my neighbor is usually around to witness me being picked up. Then on our Wednesday cookie-and-tea dates, he’ll give me his thoughts on whether said gentleman deserves to go out with me again. It’s rather sweet.

  “I’ll see you later, Mr. Goldberg.” I manage to open the door, slap the light on, and usher Lance inside before he can say anything else.

  Before I close the door, I poke my head back out and give him a look that tells him I’m not impressed. He just winks.

  “Be safe, Miss Poppy. You know what they say about those redheads.”

  I roll my eyes and shut the door. “Sorry about that. He’s a little…” I struggle to find the right word.

  Lance rocks back on his heels. “Feisty? Protective?”

  “Both. Definitely. He lost his wife last winter, and his kids live on the other side of the country. He’s pseudo-adopted me.”

  “Can’t say I blame him. Pretty single woman living alone…makes sense he’d want to watch out for you.” Lance looks around. “You live alone, right?”

  I cough as I drop my purse and keys on the little table by the front door. “I live alone.”

  “No roommates?”

  “That’s usually what alone means.”

  “No boyfriend?”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “What? It’s a legit question. I don’t want some dude walking in while you’re digging your elbow into my ass and I’m crying in pain.”

  I laugh, because I can’t imagine Lance ever crying. He doesn’t seem the type. “I don’t have a boyfriend right now.”

  My internet dating experiences have been lackluster at best, so meeting prospective dates can be a challenge.

  “Good to know.”

  I’d like to say I ignore the way his eyes move over me, but that would be a lie.

  “Follow me.” I lead him down the hall to the living room. It’s the only space in my house open enough for a home massage. “I just need a few minutes to set up. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Juice? I don’t usually have pop in the house, but I can check.”

  “I’m all right. Can I help with anything?” He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around the room.

  I’m suddenly self-conscious about
him being in my personal space. I’ve been inside his massive home. It’s beautiful and polished, despite the things that happen there. He has expensive taste, and my place is middle-class normal. Most of my decorative touches are knickknacks from my parents’ trips around the US and pictures my sister painted when she went to college for art. She never managed to finish the degree, despite her talent. Since I’m not a developer, I haven’t upgraded to the latest and most fabulous furnishings, like most of the other houses on my block.

  “Why don’t you have a seat while I set up?”

  “Sure.” He crosses over and drops down on the couch, stretching his arm across the back.

  “I’ll be right back.” I run upstairs to the hall closet and pull out my travel massage table, two sets of sheets, and some pillows, lugging it all back down the stairs.

  It’s a little weird having Lance sit in my living room while I set up the table and cover it with sheets and pillows.

  “Sorry I was early.”

  “It’s fine. This won’t take long.” I tuck the sheets in and fold them back enough to make it easy for him to get under. “I’ll be right back again, and then we can get started.”

  I make a stop in my upstairs bathroom to grab a lavender candle and my portable speaker. The music they pipe into the rooms at the clinic isn’t my favorite. I can do better here. I bring everything back down and set it up on the coffee table in front of Lance.

  He takes up half the couch with his broad shoulders and wide stance. He’s wearing a collared button down and a pair of jeans. He smells amazing, even from across the room. I wish I could stop noticing these things about him.

  “Would you prefer music or no music?” I ask as I set up the speaker.

  “I’m good with music, as long as I don’t have to dance.”

  I pause to check if he’s kidding, but he looks serious. “No dancing.”

  He smiles a little. “Then we’re good.”

  I look around the room to make sure all the blinds are closed. “Okay. If you’d like to undress in the bathroom, I can bring you a robe or a towel.”

  “I’m cool to do that here.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt.