Grudge Puck: A Hockey Romance

by June Winters

  Because, as much as I didn't want to admit it, that was a personal rule of mine for a reason. I knew how easy it was to get unreasonably attached to a guy once you'd let him in. Once you'd kissed him, and you knew the pleasure of your tongues dancing together? Once you let him between your thighs, and you sensed his intimate, throbbing arousal inside you?

  Something happened.

  Something animal, something biological—whatever it was, something happened.

  I thought I was strong enough to fight it off. But the truth was, Beau fucked the gooey, sappy emotions right into me. With his big, thick, perfect penis. The penis that I now wanted all to myself, and the idea of it ever entering any other woman filled me with a jealous rage.

  I felt like smacking my head.

  Because now—as we lay in bed, both of us glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, the smells of hot flesh and salty fluids all around us—the veil was lifted. And I knew that no matter how much I lied to myself, I couldn't separate sex and feelings. I couldn't just fuck Beau because he happened to be great at hockey and let him walk away and feel nothing over it.

  But I'd told myself that I could do exactly that—and that was a ruse, a lie. That was just my body's way of luring me into bed with him. Sometimes, your body can be like an animal with a mind, and urges, all of its own. Something in me craved a man like Beau—powerful, imposing, aggressive—and it'd do anything to have him. Again and again. Beau filled some irrational animal need that I would never understand with my rational mind.

  Not to say I regretted this moment with him; not at all.

  But as I stared at him, his softly-shut eyelids, and ran my fingers over his jaw, his chin, his incredibly handsome facial features … I felt so sad that now I had to let him go. I'd had my turn with him, and now some other women would, too.

  Plenty of other women, by the sounds of it.

  Sure enough, before long, I noticed that Beau had slipped into the habit of checking the time on the alarm clock.

  “Do you have to be somewhere?” I asked him.

  “Our curfew's at midnight. Which means Hunter has to come back here.”

  Which meant we only had a few precious minutes together—and I'd have to leave soon.

  My heart sank, and I hoped it didn't show. I buried my face against his shoulder and nodded.

  “So what is your team doing tomorrow?” I asked, trying to focus on anything else.

  “We're on a road trip. Tomorrow, it's up to Boston. From there, we head to Toronto, then Montreal,” he trailed off.

  “Oh … sounds busy.”

  “Yeah. Life of an athlete.”

  His tone suggested he'd already grown bored. He probably wanted me out of his room just as badly as I wanted to stay. I sat up so I could dress and get out of his hair, but—

  Beau surprised me again.

  Chapter 20

  Straight and Narrow

  Beau

  “Wait,” I said. I caught Camille around the waist and pulled her back into bed with me. “Don't go yet.”

  “But Hunter's coming back soon. I should get dressed and leave you—”

  I hoped she wasn't regretting this like she did the other night. But the fact she was in such a hurry to leave told me she probably was.

  “Just a few more minutes,” I asked. Quietly, I mumbled, “I wish you didn't have to go.”

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Really.”

  She looked relieved. “I thought you were sick of me.”

  “Sick of you? Ha. No.” I stroked her hair. “Camille, I don't know how to explain it. When I'm with you, it's like … man.”

  I tried to find the words, but they didn't come. A long silence filled the air instead.

  She laughed. “You really don't know how to explain it.”

  “You're right. I don't. Maybe I can say it like this: when you texted me that I played like a goon now? That struck me deep.”

  “So that's twice I've hurt you,” she said shamefully.

  “No, I don't mean it hurt me. I mean, you're right. Those words resonated in my head and I came back so fired up to be the hero of the game. I used to score goals, Camille. I used to be a better player. You know? Hell, Leroux said that in his pre-game quote, too. Somewhere along the way, I got so focused on being this pest type of player. Well, I know why: I do it well, and my coaches have always seen that, and they put me in that role because I'm effective at it.”

  I stroked my chin, hoping to coax out the right words.

  “But … I'm realizing how I've let that role sort of consume me, and define me as a player. But I don't have to be a pest, and only a pest. And I don't want to be, either! I have more to give to this game. And I owe that to you. When you texted me, and it was obvious that you were actually worried I was hurt? Hell. Something inside me clicked. I didn't want you to think I was just this goon who went around hitting people. I wanted to impress you. I wanted you to see that I could score, like I used to. And I just felt this inspiration, this motivation, to go out and be the hero—something I hadn't felt since my high-scoring high school days, before I was Beau Bradford, Career Pest.”

  “Wow,” she stammered. “I um, I don't know what to say?”

  I grabbed her hand and held it in mine. We locked eyes.

  “Say you'll see me again.”

  “What?” she let out a high-pitched laugh, the laugh of someone who doesn't believe the words they're hearing. “You are not serious right now, Beau.”

  “Dead serious.”

  “Wow, um. See you again—when?”

  “After we play Montreal, we swing back to play New York one last time before we head back home to Colorado. So we'll be back in the city seven days from now.”

  “A week,” she said contemplatively.

  Her features were heavy and serious and I was sure I'd overplayed my hand, and she was only figuring out how to gently let me down. Had I really expected otherwise? After all the shit I put her through?

  “Beau …”

  I nodded grimly. “You don't want to. It's okay.”

  “It's not that I don't want to.”

  “Right,” I said with a shrug.

  I didn't care to ask for an in-depth explanation why she wouldn't see me again. I'd broken enough hearts to know that the words that followed were always just vague enough to avoid giving any real reasons why things between us wouldn't work out.

  “No, seriously, Beau,” she said, as if she could read my mind.

  “Hm? Seriously what?”

  “I'm not just saying that; I truly would like to see you again. But … I'm kind of crazy.”

  “You do have a boyfriend, is what you're saying?”

  That was another thing with the type of girls I hooked up with: they always said they were single, but later, come to find out, they weren't.

  “What?” she laughed. “Jesus, no. Where did you come up with that?”

  “Nevermind.”

  “I say I'm crazy, Beau, because I was just lying here a second ago thinking about how much I might actually like you. But deep down? I'm sorry, Beau, but … I can't trust you. I just can't. I'm so sorry.”

  Oof.

  Like a punch to the gut.

  Hell, that was way worse than any of the terrible lines I used to dump girls.

  “Why not?”

  “You're handsome. You're sexy. You're a famous athlete, you're rich, you dress well. Even if you're a bit of an asshole, you've got a magnetic charm that draws attention to yourself.”

  I started to smile. I liked the new path this conversation was taking; I always loved to hear about all my positive attributes. “Yep. All true.”

  “See? A little bit of flattery, and you soften up like butter.” She gave a playful, but still somehow serious, roll of her eyes. “Everywhere you go, you stand out. Because you're tall and good-looking and muscular and sexy. Back at the diner we ate at? The hostess couldn't keep her eyes off you.”

  “What hostess?” I asked earnestly
.

  “You didn't even notice, did you? You're probably so used to getting that kind of attention from women, you don't even notice the way women look at you. Hell, every girl we walked past on the sidewalk was smiling at you, pushing out her chest and trying to get your attention, too.”

  “Uh, okay. Why does any of this matter?”

  “Because I'll be driven insane, Beau, thinking about all the girls that want you. Thinking about how you're always on the road, in new cities, living this young millionaire life, having women throw themselves at you.”

  I didn't get why this had suddenly turned so serious. I wasn't asking her to marry me or anything. “But I'm—I'm only asking if you want to meet up again in a week. I don't get why you're being so serious?”

  “Oh, Beau.” She put her hand against my cheek. “That's exactly the issue. We see things differently. At dinner, you said you only sleep with people you don't care about, and I only sleep with people I do care about. We couldn't be any more different in that way.”

  I frowned. I hated that this was beginning to feel like a struggle—you couldn't argue someone into caring about you.

  “I wasn't saying that I was opposed to the idea,” I said. “Just that it's never happened to me before.”

  “Beau, it's just that I think I might be more of a traditional girl than you're used to seeing. Or, at the very least, I'm wise enough to know that I'm playing with fire. And if I keep fucking around with fire, I'm going to get burned sooner or later. Badly.”

  I hated what was happening inside my chest; the awful, crushing tightness, like I was being buried under stones.

  Another anxiety attack? Great.

  “Traditional how?” I asked.

  “When I'm dating a guy, I want to be exclusive—even before we're officially boyfriend and girlfriend. I don't fuck around on someone I'm dating, and I don't want him to fuck around me, either.”

  “Wait,” I laughed, “that's it? You wanna be exclusive? That's what this is about?”

  “Well … yeah, but that's not all.”

  “Dude. I wish you'd said that earlier, because that's fine with me. I told you, I like you, and in a way that I haven't liked anyone else. Ever.” Possessively, I grabbed her tiny body and brought her closer into mine. “And I do not want any other guys even getting near you! That thought makes my blood boil.”

  She pushed against my bare chest with her delicate hands. “But how can I trust you? You've got that app, MeatMarket, where all those young, cute, air-headed girls are just a thumb-tap away—”

  Without a word, I whipped out my phone. She watched silently as I deleted my account and then uninstalled MeatMarket.

  “Done,” I said simply.

  She snickered softly. “Sure, but you could easily reinstall it and make a new account when you're on the road.”

  “But I won't.”

  “What about all the clubs you and 'the boys' hang out at? All it would take is one night when you have too much to drink. And then whoops, you end up taking some girl back to your hotel, and you can kick out Hunter of the room while you fuck her, just like you did with me. And I'll never even come close to knowing about it, because I know you guys would never rat each other out.”

  “Hey, I might be an asshole, but the one thing I've never done is cheat on anybody. The guilt would tear me apart.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. And as far as the club goes? Fuck it, man, I don't need to hang out at clubs so much anymore. I'll start spending more time with Hunter. He's always wanting me to spend a little extra time in the gym anyway. If I'm working out like I should be, I'll be too damn tired to go out and party.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You're serious?”

  “Yeah. I told you, I want to dedicate myself to my hockey career now. I can be better. I know I can.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “You uh, you guys done in there?” Hunter called from the other side. “Curfew's in ten minutes.”

  I rushed to the door, cracked it open and told him to give us just a few more minutes.

  “Sure thing, bud,” Hunter said.

  Camille and I both started to frantically dress while I made my final arguments.

  “Just give me one week, Cam. Call it a trial week. We'll be exclusive. If I do something, anything that rubs you the wrong way or makes you doubt me? Then you can call it off.”

  She tried to fight it off, but a huge smile began to break across her face. “See … this is exactly what I didn't want to happen …”

  “What?”

  “You're making me get my hopes up, Beau.”

  I smiled back at her. “That's a good thing.”

  “I barely know you as anything else but this guy I couldn't stand for years, and yet—”

  I neared and quieted her with a long, passionate kiss.

  “I wish I didn't have to leave,” she said. “We've been together all night, and yet it still feels so short.”

  “I know it.” I paused. “Tell you what. I'll call Coach and let him know I made curfew. Then we'll sneak down and get a room of our own. We can spend the night together, at least.”

  She began to break into a smile, but quickly reined it back in. “But won't you get in trouble for that?”

  “Only if Coach finds out.”

  She snagged her lip between her teeth. “I don't want you to get in trouble.”

  “Let me worry about that,” I said as I picked up the phone. I dialed Coach's room and let him know that I was in for the night.

  I hung up the phone and wandered over to the window. I popped them open and the draft from outside began to suck the air out of the room.

  “Gotta air this place out for Hunter.”

  Camille put a hand to her face. “We're so raunchy together, Beau. Getting frisky in cabs, ruining bed sheets, stinking hotel rooms up with sex …”

  “Don't forget the show you gave that lady outside the elevator.”

  Her eyes grew wide and her jaw fell. “You bring out the worst in me, Beau Bradford! You know that?”

  I grinned. “Well, I hope that's not true.”

  We gathered up our things and headed out. We found Hunter in the lobby of our floor. I told Camille to grab the elevator while I caught up with him.

  “Hey bud, what's up?” he asked.

  “Listen. I told Coach I'm in for the night.”

  Hunter's eyes grew worried. “Beau—I hope you're not sneaking out …”

  “No, man, it's not like that. Look, we're just getting a room here, okay? I'll be back in the morning before 7.”

  “Oh, okay. That's not so bad. Just be careful not to get caught.” Hunter let out a breath of relief. Then he gave me a coy smile. “So, what's up? Can't stand to be apart from her now, eh?”

  I gave him a punch on his shoulder. “Shutup, man.”

  “Ahhh, I knew it. I see your smile. Hey, that's alright. You don't have to be embarrassed about it. She seems like a cool chick.”

  “Yeah. She is.”

  “And if she's the reason for the way you played tonight? Hell, the team should offer her a contract just to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

  I gave him another punch.

  The elevator opened, and Camille waved me over.

  “Gotta run, bro.”

  “Later Beau.”

  A trip to the front desk got us a new keycard, and Camille and I raced to our new room like lovers on a honeymoon. I closed the door, and when I turned around, Camille was already wiggling her cute butt out of her jeans.

  “Damn,” I grumbled. I stared and watched the sexy striptease that made my cock quickly grow long and plump between my thighs all over again.

  She sprawled out naked on the bed, though she kept her nipples modestly hidden beneath her hands. “Well? Aren't you going to come over here?”

  “I was just admiring you.”

  She giggled. “Well hurry up and get over here so you can admire me up close. I want you so bad, Beau.”

>   I liked hearing that. “Yeah?”

  “But this time, you're not allowed to move. I want to ride you until you come.”

  “Damn.” I shrugged off my suit jacket and neared.

  She bolted upright, unzipped my trousers, and pulled my boxers down. My cock sprang out for her, eager for her cheeks.

  Her luscious tongue swirled all around my glans until I pulsed with agony.

  She wrapped her sweltering lips around my throbbing manhood, and the blissful suction of her mouth swallowed me whole.

  Oh, yeah.

  Chapter 21

  Can't Leave You

  Camille

  I woke to the soft patter of Beau shuffling out of bed and quietly sneaking into the bathroom for a shower. Tired after a long night, the shower's gentle hiss quickly lulled me back to sleep.

  I woke up again some time later when Beau's lips—warm and fresh and clean from his shower—gently pressed against mine.

  “Morning Camille.”

  With a sleepy moan, I stirred and stretched in bed. I opened my eyes and saw that Beau was already dressed and ready to go. He looked handsome as hell and well-dressed in a new suit and tie.

  “Mm. Good morning, Beau.”

  He sat on the mattress next to me. His weight cratered the mattress, and I tumbled over, sliding towards his mass.

  “I have to go,” he said quietly, wearing a frown.

  “Already?” I made a sleepy noise of disapproval and checked the clock—it was just after 6:00. “But it's so early. You said you don't even have to leave until 7:00.”

  “Yup. But team breakfast is at 6:15, and if I'm not there, it'll raise some eyebrows. I gotta run up to the room with Hunter before anyone realizes I'm not there. Because if I get caught, that'd land him in trouble for covering for me. And trust me, you don't want to get the captain in trouble, or you're really fucked.”

  My brow must've furrowed, because Beau chuckled and ironed the creases out with his fingers. “Aw. Don't be sad. Remember: one week and I'll be back.”

  “I know. I just wish you could stay. Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay, Beau?” I stuck my hand between his legs, found his package, and gently rubbed it. Quickly, he began to grow in my palm. “Just a little while longer?”