Puck You: A Reverse Harem Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Her Hockey Harem Book 1)

by Mia Wilde

  I don’t like it, but I understand. In a team where every guy is at least 6’2 and 200 pounds of pure muscle, I still stand out as the biggest of the lot. At a lofty 6’6, I dominate the goal with my physical presence. I’m not just tall, but broad-shouldered, barrel-chested and layered with muscle too. Add to that my thick beard and slicked-back blonde hair, like Chris Hemsworth in those movies, and it’s no surprise that I have the nickname “Seattle’s Thor”.

  Which is better than the nickname Madeleine tried to give me. A few years back, I got an argument with our old coach and he threatened to ship me out. Next thing you know, there are rumours of me begging to be traded off the team and she’s calling me “the Russian Turncoat”. Not only was I not in favor of the move, I barely even think of myself Russian. I went to college here. I got drafted to play here. I’ve lived in Seattle for as long as I ever lived over in Moscow. It took a long time to win back the trust of my teammates and our fans after her bullshit. I might not show my anger as easily as the other guys, but I still owe her for that one.

  No sooner do I think of her than she appears, entering the stands close to the edge of the rink. She’s already had a good look at me. Now, it’s my turn to get a very good look at her. She’s clearly trying just as hard to try and tame us as we are to break her, using her looks and that tight little body to try and convince us to do as she says. It’s nearly working, too. As my eyes pass over her curves, anger mixes with desire and I know I’d like a piece of her in more ways than one.

  When Ash skates out onto the ice just a few moments later with a smug grin on his face, I can tell right away that he’s been needling her. Adding even more pressure. Given how she’s staring down at us all right now, I’m starting to think it’s working, too. The question is how long it’s going to take her to give in. How quickly she’ll run away once we’re done with her.

  I decide to have my own little bit of fun. Skating to the edge of the rink, I look up at her in the stands. She’s staring out at Chase, Donovan and Jared, our front line. I’ve seen looks like that on the faces of some of our fans before, usually before they get taken back to Don’s place for one of his liaisons. Don’s stamina is legendary. Three, four women at once is just another Tuesday for him. Me, I prefer to have my women one at a time. All the better to focus on exactly how my moves make them writhe and whimper, buck and moan.

  “Hey,” I call out.

  She’s so lost in her gazing, she jumps when I speak to her. Probably didn’t even hear me skate up to the edge of the rink. People think that I’m the quiet one on the team. Maybe that’s true. Between Donovan’s confidence, Jared’s aggression and Garrett saying whatever shit pops into his head, it’s not like I have to do much talking. But when I do say something, I find that people tend to listen all the more.

  She may not have noticed me before, but she’s listening now. The way that she focuses on me, I can tell that she’s just as captivated by me as she is any of the other guys. It only took a word to her to make it happen, too. Now that I’ve finally got her attention, I intend on making good on it.

  “I need someone to do stick save drills with. None of the guys are available. There’s spare skates at rinkside. Get down here.”

  Her eyes widen in surprise. That’s got her. She can dish out dirt on us players all day long. She can talk tough to us when we’re in the locker room or in some PR meeting. But on the ice? I have no idea if she’s ever even seen the inside of a hockey rink before today.

  “No,” she says immediately. She’s trying to sound straightforward and dismissive, but I can tell that she’s also worried. The pros on my own team know how hard it is to score on me. Asking a girl a full foot shorter than me who looks like she wouldn’t know which end of a hockey stick she should hold to come down and try me out? Yeah, she’s right to be scared. “No way. Get one of the other guys.”

  “You were hired to make us a better team. We can’t improve if I have no one to practice with. You don’t even have to skate. Just stand and shoot.”

  It’s a simple offer, but a loaded one. Madeleine’s stood up admirably to our threats so far. She’s stood up to bullying. She even stood up to seeing all of our hard, naked bodies at once. But once she gets out here, she’ll know just how out of her depth she is. In every possible way.

  “I’m a PR rep,” she responds, insistent. “Not a practice dummy.”

  “How about a deal, then?” I know how to whet her appetite. She’s always been so keen to prove how clever she is. She wants us to know she can handle anything we throw at her. Time to lay down the gauntlet. “You take five shots. You score on me, even once, even as a fluke, and I’ll do anything you say for the whole season.”

  I can see she’s tempted. Even with just one man out of six under her control, I’d be one less to worry about. Nonetheless, those calm hazel eyes stare down at me, doing mental somersaults as she looks for a catch.

  “How do I know you won’t cheat?” she demands.

  “It’s one hit, one save. No possibility of me cheating even if I wanted to.” I grin at her. I might be a glowering force out on the ice, but people tell me I have a nice smile. Maybe it’ll be enough to charm her down to me. “Trust me.”

  I expect her to still say no. So do all the others, who’ve all stopped practice to watch my little gamble play out. But then she astonishes us all. She stands and walks straight toward rinkside, her chin thrust out in defiance.

  “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  7

  Madeleine

  Piotr’s a professional goalie. He’s so big that he practically fills the net just by standing in it. I should have turned him down. I should be terrified of my chances. I should be worried about embarrassing myself. But getting to bend this boy to my will is enough motivation for me to try his damn “challenge”.

  One goal and I can do what I want with him, and soon enough the others will follow suit. Quiet, well-behaved press conferences. Photo shoots where no one tries to flash the camera. Promo events where no one starts a fistfight. The way that Piotr towers like a mountain of hot masculine muscle as I move down the stairs… I think I know just what I’d like to order him to do first.

  It wouldn’t be very professional of me, but god, it’d be pretty fun.

  I find a pair of spare skates in my size and a stick, remnants from one of the women’s teams. I can feel the team’s eyes on me even as they continue skating, giving us space for our little shoot-out. I’m almost shivering out on the ice, but my still-pounding heart and all this attention from the boys keeps my heat up a little. Time to reveal my big secret. Well, one of my big secrets.

  One thing that few people know about me: I didn’t just write about hockey because the Stormbreakers are such delicious tabloid fodder. Growing up with a dad and three brothers who were addicted to the game, I’ve been hockey crazy for as long as I can remember. And sure, none of my brothers ever made pro, but guess who used to go out onto the ice after their weekly practice?

  Piotr slides the puck at me and I control it with a movement of the stick. As soon as I’ve brought it under control I slap it straight back at him, a low shot across the ice aiming for his left. He gets his stick to it in a cool, quick motion, but I can see that I’ve tested his reflexes more than he expected. Enough to let him know that I’m not here to let him embarrass me.

  I’ve just shown that I mean business and now everyone wants to see what I’m going to do next. With an aggressive little grunt, Piotr returns the puck to me. This time, I skate away, building up some speed. Lowering my stick in a hard strike, I send it to the opposite side of my last shot. He widens his stance, dropping low and thrusting one of his huge pads in front of the puck.

  It bounces out and skitters away.

  Garrett collects the puck from where he’s been standing on the ice with the rest of the guys as he watches me. He sneers. “Beginner’s luck.” He sends it at me, faster and harder than necessary. I get it back under control all the same. “Come on, Pio
tr. Show her what you’re made of, man.”

  Third time’s the charm. I move around like last time, getting up to speed. This time, I turn the stick just so as I strike, feinting that I’m sending it back to his left when I’m actually knocking it high to his right. His composure slips, just for a second, and he has to snap into motion as he raises his hand to block the puck with one of his huge gloves.

  “What? You thought you could just get me down here to embarrass myself?” I call out, widening my stance with my stick in my hands. I’m showboating, mocking the guys. Maybe that’s asking for trouble, but knowing them, I was in trouble the minute I showed up today.

  “You haven’t won yet, Maddie,” comes Donovan’s immediate response. “I wouldn’t get so smug. You’ve only got two attempts left. And we’ve got all season to break you down.”

  I turn to face him and I can see the way he’s grinning. Even through the layers he’s wearing, I can tell that he’s halfway pitching a tent at the thought of exactly how he’d like to break me.

  I start to turn red again. Not just because of the simmering heat in Donovan’s words, but because of the way that he called me Maddie. I wonder if he even realised he was saying it.

  Half a day on the job and we’re already getting pet names. If we weren’t so determined to rip each other apart, these crushes would almost be cute.

  I turn back to the puck. I don’t try to build up speed this time. Instead, I skate back and forth a while, trying to lure Piotr out. As he emerges onto the ice just a little, I use my aim, trying to land a blow in the space between his legs as he skates forward. He drops, legs splayed, into a butterfly block.

  Close. But not good enough. He sends the puck back towards me for one last try.

  My fifth and final shot. I can see that I’ve unsettled the Russian goaltender. Five minutes ago he was all relaxed bravado, now he’s scowling, coiled like a spring. I know just how to take advantage of that.

  I skate in a wider circle than ever, building up some serious speed. I come in to take the shot at an angle, force Piotr to turn to face me. I put my all behind the puck, send it straight over his left shoulder.

  It’s fast. It’s hard. I’m taking advantage of him being off-balance from my last shot.

  “Bozhe moi!” Piotr snarls, English deserting him as he moves to make the save.

  There’s no elegance at all this time. He careens on the ice as he turns his back, blocking the goal with the mass of his body and taking the puck to his shoulder. It bounces out, but it’s a desperate save. There’s no mistaking it: Were it not for the sheer insanity of his skill, I’d have just about had him.

  “Did you guys know she could do that?” demands Chase, equal parts scandalised, furious and genuinely impressed.

  Five out of five. Piotr’s blocked every shot. But that doesn’t matter. The guys have no smart comments, no clever quips this time.

  Chase’s comment rings in my ears like high praise. They know as well as I do that the last shot would’ve been a goal if Piotr was any other man.

  I may not have beaten his challenge, but I’ve definitely showed them up. If they want to toy with me, I can more than play their games.

  8

  Chase

  Back in the locker room, we’re all still a little stunned. She was just meant to be some stupid girl, a tabloid hack with no talent and no skills—certainly not on the ice.

  So where the hell did she learn to play like that? I’m almost impressed. I know what it’s like to grow up on the ice. I can tell someone with the game in their blood. And the way that she refused to give up until the very last shot... I always did prefer my girls with a little fight in them. Chase by name and chase by nature, I guess.

  “Pure fluke,” Jared rumbles from where he’s changing. “Lucky shots.”

  None of us really believe it, though. I’ve seen my share of flukes. Hail Mary shots that went in against all odds. Little tricks that you didn’t think would ever work out, but miraculously did anyway.

  The way Madeleine handled that puck, that was skill. Not pro skills maybe, but enough to leave us with little room to make excuses.

  I’m not the kind of man who makes excuses anyway. I’m just itching to get even.

  “You see the look on her face as she went off the ice?” Ash asks us, unlacing his skates. “That bitch thinks she’s got one over on us. Gonna be impossible to deal with her now.”

  “We’ll find a way to bring that ego of hers back down to earth,” Donovan says. He’s pulled off his shirt and is pulling off his underwear. He pauses for a second as an idea catches him. Say what you like about our discipline record, but that man knows just what’s needed to pull out a win. Naked, he turns to me. “Chase, you still got the reservations for tonight? The team dinner?”

  I raise an eyebrow. The team dinner’s been a tradition for as long as I’ve been on the Stormbreakers. Before we spend the rest of the season on tightly controlled nutritional meal plans and fitness regimes, we have one visit to Pine Grove, the nicest restaurant in town. We splash out on wine, cocktails, beer, whatever food we might want. It’s a good time, and it’s usually players-only.

  This year, though…we might have to make an exception.

  “You want me to ask if they can make room for an extra seat at our table?” I pick up on exactly what Donovan’s planning. The meal is our last chance to party before things get serious.

  And make no mistake, partying with the Stormbreakers requires some serious stamina. If we can’t beat her on the ice, we’ll show her some of the other ways that she can’t match this team.

  I pull the layers from my muscled form and take a good look at myself in the mirror in the back of my locker. The other guys mock me for being vain. It’s really not vanity, though. It’s pride.

  I know that people see me as the black sheep of the Halloway family, the one who joined up with the team of bad boys rather than joining the San Francisco Rush like his golden boy brother and icon dad. But looking good, playing better, it all makes me more than my surname. My own man.

  And just maybe I’m checking myself out because if Madeleine’s coming to dinner, I want to make sure that I look my best. I brush out my feathered blonde hair with my hand, jut forward my square jaw, catch my own sparkling blue eyes, trying to imagine the way that she’d see me. In the right clothes, I know I can clean up pretty well. Maybe not as well as pretty-boy Donovan, but better than Piotr with his wild beard or Jared, who’s way too rough and rugged to ever look comfortable in a suit.

  “You wanna get her liquored up, huh, Donovan?” Garrett interrupts, a lewd grin on his face. “Shame on you. Afraid she won’t go for you otherwise?”

  Donovan smiles, but he’s not going to take that lying down. “Like you’d know how to get a girl to like you other than slapping your ass at them like some kinda monkey.”

  “Oh yeah? Bet I can fuck her first,” Garrett declares.

  A silence falls over the room. We’ve all been thinking about it. The way that Madeleine looks, it’s hard to think about anything else. But he’s the first to finally say it.

  Every guy in the room tenses in response. He’s broken the ice now. We don’t just want to embarrass her, to scare her off the team: We all want to fuck her. She looks too good. She’s too smug for her own good. We’re professional athletes and she’s a rival and a trophy rolled into one. Just imagining having her bouncing on my dick is enough to make me half-harden even in the locker room.

  “No way.” Jared speaks this time. I half expect him to tell us all that we should be focusing on the season ahead, focusing on getting her out of her lives. What he says next surprises me. “You all saw how she was looking at me when she barged in here. That fine little piece of ass is begging to be broken on my cock.”

  There it is. If even a tough guy like Jared wants her, that means we’re all in on this little competition.

  But for once, we’re not competing against a rival team. We’re competing against each other.

>   “Please.” Ash looks confident in himself, straightening up from the bench. “You shoulda seen her when I returned her phone. I coulda pulled my dick out right then and there and beaten you all to her in a hot second.”

  “Why didn’t you, then?” I challenge, letting myself get into it. I’ve never met a competition I didn’t want to rise to—and Madeline has me rising even more than usual. “You remember that profile she wrote about me? I reckon she’s still got a crush.”

  “The one where she called you…what was it? The reject Halloway?” Garrett laughs, bursting my bubble. “You’d think she’d have been a little nicer if she was so in love with you, Chase.”

  Donovan’s stayed quiet until now. That’s not like him. Usually if there’s a conversation about pussy, he’s the first to be bragging and declaring just how easy it’ll be for him to nail whichever girl he’s set his sights on. And with good reason. I’ve never known a guy who could get more action than Don, and it’s not like I do too bad myself.

  “I guess we’ll find out.” Donovan stands up, joining the rest of us as we head for the showers. We’re all naked, the excitement in the room making the air throb with electric energy. Our shared desire for Madeleine. Our need to hate-fuck our mutual obsession she knows she’s owned. “Make sure none of you fill up before dinner. I feel like by the time it’s over, at least one of us is gonna be enjoying dessert.”

  9

  Garrett

  There’s a reason I’m known as the wild card of the team. There’s always something that someone’s not saying, some tension that needs cutting, a problem that can’t be solved.

  I’m the guy who comes up with the solutions to those problems. Sure, it may not always be to everyone’s taste. It’s gotten me into plenty of trouble, too. But it helps keep the guys together as well. They’re my team, as good as brothers to me. And in any family you need the one who’ll keep everything from simmering over, especially with all those macho egos, short tempers and bruising muscles in play.