Forbidden Puck: A Hockey Romance

by June Winters

  “Yeah, same here,” he said with a smile in his eyes. Then his eyes darted down to my arms. “I was going to say, you've got some guns, girl.”

  “Yeah. Lance taught me how to work out.” I flexed my bicep for him, and his lips cinched into an impressed o-ring. “Wanna feel?”

  A small smile appeared on his lips, and Radar wrapped his hand around my arm. His enormous hand made my bicep look minuscule. Gently, he gave a couple squeezes.

  “Daaamn. So Lance was good for something after all,” he joked.

  I snickered. “I think I like you, Radar.”

  He whisked me out of the fitness center, and down the hall, to the building's indoor swimming pool. They also had a private room with a hot-tub.

  “Did you bring your swimsuit?” he asked.

  “I did. I was actually all packed up to go to Key West.”

  “Key West? Oh, that's right, Lance mentioned you had plans that fell through—”

  “Yeah. Don't ask. It's a long story.”

  Radar bobbed his head with understanding. “Ah. Well. That's pretty much it for the tour. I guess there's also a rooftop—”

  “Show me!”

  He laughed. “Alright, alright. Let's go.”

  ***

  The rooftop had a full lounge, complete with a bar and seating area. And, of course, a wonderful view of the wharf and the not-so-distant downtown skyline.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” I asked him as I pulled my wallet from my bag.

  He looked a little surprised. “I was going to offer to buy you one.”

  “No, I insist. You gave me a tour like I asked, and you're putting me up for a few days. Let me treat you to a drink, Radar.”

  He chuckled and agreed. “Well, alright, sure. Next one is on me, though.”

  We took our drinks to the ledge of the rooftop and watched the Boston marina traffic.

  “Those are water taxis,” he told me. “On game days, Lance and I take one across the harbor to get to the arena.”

  “Oh, that must be fun! We have those in New York, too.”

  “How do you like living in New York, Ella?”

  “It's nice. Hectic, but nice.”

  Radar smiled at me. “Yeah. Any time we visit New York, I'm amazed at how busy it is—everywhere you look, all you can see is people, cars, and buildings. Boston's a big city but it doesn't really feel big, you know?”

  “Mm. Yes. I know what you mean. I don't see myself living in New York forever. But as long I'm building a name for myself, I have to.”

  “How's your business going, anyway?” he asked with a genuine interest.

  “Good, good. I don't take much time off because I'm always busy. But I'm doing well, so at least there's that.” I paused. “I'm not doing as well as you and Lance, of course, but hey.”

  He laughed and bumped my shoulder with his. “Hey, I'm not doing nearly as well as Lance either. He's the superstar, making the big bucks. I'm eating the table-scraps.”

  “Lance. Superstar.” Playfully, I rolled my eyes. “Somehow, I don't think I'll ever be able to reconcile that word with the idea of my brother.”

  Amused, his big blue eyes sparkled at me. “Must be weird,” he said.

  “Sure is.”

  We sipped our drinks and quietly watched the boats motoring by, to and fro. The waves rose and fell in the boats' wake, lapping at the harbor.

  “I don't watch much hockey,” I said. “Correction, I don't watch any hockey. But an ex-boyfriend once told me that you and Lance have a good thing going out on the ice. That you're a sort of—what'd he say—oh yeah, that you're a wrecking ball on the ice, hitting guys left and right.”

  Radar smiled at me bashfully. “Yeah.”

  “You seem too nice, too humble, to be this violent guy.”

  He shrugged. “It's nothing personal. I just have a job to do.”

  “Which is?”

  “Create space for your brother. And protect him.”

  “He needs protecting?”

  “I'm not sure if you realize how good he is, but he's our best player, Ella. If anything happens to him, the team is pretty much screwed. That puts a target on his back; guys want to hurt him to take him out of the game.”

  “How grotesque.”

  “I guess. Of course, I'm always trying to teach him not to run his mouth out on the ice … he has a habit of talking shit to these huge guys. And then I have to step in and fight them.”

  I giggled. “Now that sounds like my brother.”

  Radar gave a careless shrug. “Anyway, like I said, it's my job. I bounced around the league for years, from one team to the next, before I ended up here full-time in Boston.”

  “Traded, you mean?”

  “Traded, or waived, or demoted to the AHL, or not offered a contract renewal … you name it.”

  “Huh. Why? If you play with Lance, you have to be pretty good, right?”

  “Sure, I'm good. Just like the other 800-some players in the NHL. The elite are head and shoulders above the rest, but everyone else is very, very evenly matched. Every one of those guys can skate and shoot. But to keep a job in this league, you have to stand out. You have to have one skill you excel at.”

  “And your one special skill is?”

  “Missing,” he said with a wide and infectious grin—and that's when I realized he was missing a tooth.

  “Aw, just like your tooth!” I said, smiling back at him.

  “Oops.” His hand shot up to cover his mouth. “Sorry. Yeah. Caught a slapshot to the kisser four years ago. I've got a magnetic implant-thingy that I wear when I'm out in public.”

  Normally I found missing teeth a serious turn-off, but on Radar, it was cute in a genuine, folksy sort of way. I grabbed him by his meaty forearm and pulled his hand away from his mouth.

  “Don't cover up. I promise you I don't mind,” I told him. “Anyway, sorry, I interrupted you. You were saying that your one special skill is missing.”

  “Right. Until I had a try-out with the Brawlers and played with Lance. The coaches weren't sure about me, since they knew I hadn't stuck in the league so far. But Lance? He liked playing with me so much, he went to the front office and told them to offer me a contract. He's the star of the show, you know. He gets what he wants.”

  “And now you're like his bodyguard,” I teased.

  He chuckled. “Sort of. I do more than that, but yeah, I guess that's fair.”

  “What if something happened to Lance out on the ice?”

  He pondered that question gravely. “I dunno. Wouldn't be good for me, though.”

  We finished our drinks. Radar bought the second round, like he promised. But the evening had grown brisk, with a bone-chilling breeze coming off the water, and I shivered.

  Radar must've noticed. “You're cold. Want to head back inside?” he asked.

  “Yeah, let's go.”

  Chapter 6

  The Crazy Nastyass Honey Badger

  Radar

  Drinks in hand, the two of us burst through the door, laughing and acting more than a little tipsy.

  “Lance? Laaance?” Ella called.

  He still wasn't home yet. But after spending a little bit of time with Ella, I wasn't nearly as worried as I had been earlier. She was a cool chick, and not nearly as crazy as Lance had made her out to be.

  Actually, deep down, some twisted part of me might even have been happy that Lance wasn't back yet—at least for a little longer. I liked being alone with her, getting to know her.

  “I can't believe he's not home yet!” she said. “Where the heck is he?”

  “Yeah, I dunno. He's been spending a lot of time with Lindsay lately.”

  “Lindsay? That's his girlfriend?”

  She sat on one of the living room lawn chairs. She patted the seat of the other one to summon me. When I neared, she pulled the seat closer to her before I sat.

  Sneaky, I thought with an amused grin.

  “Girlfriend, or something, I'm not sure,” I said, as I sa
t next to her.

  “Okay, Radar. Spill it. Tell me everything you know about her.”

  “I hope I don't get in trouble by showing you this.” I pulled up Lindsay's Instagram page and passed my phone to Ella. “But here she is.”

  “Oh … My … God!” Ella scrolled through one photo after another. “Every single picture! They're all of her ass!”

  Her finger swiped up and down, again and again, marching through the butt parade until she got the point. She handed the phone back to me.

  “I see what Lance likes about her,” she said. “I can't really blame her, though. Girl's got a great butt, and she clearly works for it. In half the pictures, she's doing squats at the gym. Rock it, girl, rock that ass.”

  I laughed, and so did she, and then a silence came over us. Not an uncomfortable one—not at all. She kicked off her ballet flats and crossed her legs, took a sip of her drink, and so did I. And then I noticed that she'd touched her tiny foot to my leg. Her foot was so light, I almost didn't feel it against me. Her touch was so light, I pretended I hadn't noticed.

  “So how'd you get the nickname Radar?” she asked suddenly, quietly.

  “My name is Ryan Ryder. So it sounds similar, I guess. But a coach in Junior started calling me Radar and it stuck.”

  “Yeah, but why Radar? Is there a reason behind it?”

  “Er—well, yeah, but it's kind of lame.”

  Her green eyes beamed at me. “Remember, you're talking to Honey Badger.”

  I wagged my finger at her. “I want to hear the story behind that, by the way.”

  “Sure. After you tell me yours.”

  “Deal. Basically—and this is in my old coach's words, not mine—once someone gets my attention, I lock onto them and don't let them go. A heat-seeking missile on ice, on a mission to destroy.”

  She covered her mouth while she tittered.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You're right. That is lame.”

  “Hey, what the hell?” I growled, and I stuck my finger into her shoulder and gave her a playful shove.

  “Sorry! It is. But it's not your fault that your coach came up with it.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, it's your turn. What's the story on 'Honey Badger'?”

  She gestured for my phone again. I gave it to her and she loaded up a YouTube video titled, The Crazy Nastyass Honey Badger.

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “The what?”

  “I know,” she said. “Just watch.”

  I watched as a weasel-looking animal, long-bodied and short-legged, came trotting on screen. The top of the animal, from its head to its tail, was covered with a band of white fur—but the sides down to its legs was all black fur.

  “Is this a nature video?” I asked.

  “Just watch!”

  “This is the honey badger,” the video narrator said in a goofy voice. “Watch it run in slow motion. It's pretty badass.”

  I busted up with sudden laughter. “What the hell is this?”

  “Keep watching!” she giggled.

  She huddled closer, so she could watch over my shoulder. I scooted over and made room for her on the chair. She sat on the edge of my chair and our thighs touched.

  The two of us watched as the honey badger climbed a tree to eat a snake, chased a jackal, and ignored the stingers of thousands of bees as it terrorized their hive. Ella and I howled with laughter.

  “Honey badger don't give a shit, it just takes what it wants!” The narrator continued, “The honey badger has been referred to as the most fearless animal in all the animal kingdom. It really doesn't give a shit.”

  She had such a cute laugh, where her whole body shook, and her laugh climbed higher and higher until she reached this lovely, carefree crescendo … like she was experiencing pure joy and letting it flow right through her.

  I didn't know why the sound of her laugh resonated in me so much. All I knew was that I loved it, and I wanted to hear more of it. I figured it was the kind of laugh that could keep a man young; the kind of laugh that a man would eagerly dedicate the rest of his life to hearing.

  But why I had such strange thoughts about a girl's laugh, I couldn't possibly tell you.

  The video ended. We were still sharing my fold-out chair, the two of us side by side. She was so close, I smelled her, her scent alluring and sweet like vanilla. Was it her hair? Her perfume? Her skin? I didn't know, but the smell made me want to pull her closer, brush the golden lock of hair from her face, and kiss her.

  Of course, holy shit, I couldn't ever do that, and even thinking it was a bad idea …

  Still, she locked her eyes on mine. Bright and shining, her green eyes were flecked with radial streaks of a brilliant amber. Her eyes offered me an invitation, and if this were any other girl I might have taken her up on that invite, but—I knew I couldn't, of course.

  “And, so, that video ought to explain it,” Ella said quietly, her eyes still glittering and fixed on mine.

  “What?” I laughed. “That didn't explain a thing. In fact, I'm more confused about your nickname than I was before.”

  Gently, she pounded her fist square against my chest. “C'mon! You don't see it?”

  I leaned back to appraise her from head-to-toe. Of course she didn't actually look like a honey badger. But like I said earlier—the girl was athletically built and, hell, she just seemed tough, even if she wrapped all that toughness in a cutesy package.

  “Okay—I'll say this,” I began. “You've got a certain swagger.”

  “Ah-ha! See, you get it.”

  “So you're actually proud to be like that thing?”

  “I used to hate it. Because Lance first started calling me Honey Badger as an insult. Then, one day, I showed the video to my Mom to tattle on Lance. But she saw it, and she just couldn't hold back her laughter. She said, 'I'm so sorry, sweety, but Lance is right. You really are a honey badger.' I couldn't believe it! I was beyond pissed, but that only made the problem worse. Soon, the entire family was calling me Honey Badger. At a certain point, I stopped fighting and embraced it instead.”

  I chuckled and quoted the video: “Honey Badger don't give a shit.”

  She smiled at me, looking deep into my eyes, and I smiled back at her.

  “Honey Badger just takes what it wants,” she quoted back at me.

  I looked at her lips, so pink and full, and she looked at mine. I had a terrible feeling I knew what was going to happen next … that I wasn't strong enough to stop it …

  But a conflicted voice inside me screamed, You guys have been drinking! Do not do anything stupid! This is Lance's sister, you moron!

  But she was so close, I felt the warm, gentle puffs of her breath against my face. Her scent, her pheromones, whatever it was, smothered that screaming voice and lured me closer.

  I had to taste her lips …

  I reached my hand for her cheek, when—

  Kthunk!

  —a sound made me freeze. The sound of a key inserted into a lock.

  For a second, I froze. Deer in the headlights. We both paused, face-to-face, eyes huge, as if to say to each other, is this really happening?

  Then we heard the sound of the key turning, and the deadbolt popping free—cli-thunk.

  Ella jumped out of my lap, and I hurried across to the far side of the room.

  Like my life depended on it.

  Because, well, it kinda did.

  ***

  Lance never had a chance to suspect anything. The second he stepped through the door, Ella was already half-way across the room and advancing on her brother like a lion about to ambush its prey.

  “Uh, hey, Ella,” he said nervously. He was carrying a large plastic shopping bag from the sports store. “How are you?”

  “You lied to me, Lance!”

  He played dumb. “What do you mean?”

  “You only invited me out here to decorate your place! You know you could've just asked me to, right? I would've done it! I would've been happy to do it! But no, all becaus
e . . .”

  I watched, wide-eyed, as Ella berated her brother and jammed an angry finger into his sternum again and again. The tops of her breasts swayed from side to side in her tank-top. No—I still wasn't looking, and I wasn't ever going to. But it'd be impossible not to notice that they were there.

  In fact, after our close call, I vowed never to look at Ella like that or be alone with her again. Shit, we'd come so close to making such a huge mistake. If I'd actually gone ahead and kissed that girl? If Lance walked in on us kissing? It could very well be the end of my hockey career.

  I couldn't believe how close I'd come to betraying not only Lance, but also myself. Was that really all it took? A couple drinks, a few laughs, a little closeness? I'd throw my whole life away that easily?

  The hell's wrong with me?

  Meanwhile, the brother and sister feud continued. Lance pleaded his case, but he didn't sound very convincing.

  “That's not the only reason I invited you. You're my sister! And uh, I love you! I told you, it's been way too long since we've hung out!”

  “Oh, bullshit, Lance. You lied about this just like you lie about everything else.”

  “I didn't lie about anything!”

  “Yes you did. Lying by omission is still a lie,” Ella griped at her brother, her voice like a honeyed growl. She might have been his little sister, but there certainly wasn't anything fragile about her.

  “Oh, come on! Now you're expanding the definition of a lie to include things I haven't said?” Lance complained.

  “What if I had to cancel plans with friends to come out here?”

  “Friends? You? Yeah, right!”

  I smacked my forehead. Yeah, that's not how you defuse this situation, bud.

  “Asshole!” Ella slugged Lance on the shoulder with a hard right.

  “Ow!” Lance yelped, rubbing his shoulder. “Besides, I thought you'd be happy to do it. You're always telling me how much you love your job, right? And to be honest with you, I think you owe me this. I put you through school, after all—and a pretty pricey one at that! Not that I ever get any thanks for it …”

  “I have too thanked you! I thanked you every time you paid my tuition! I wrote a huge letter when I graduated about how thankful I was! You want me to thank you again? Thank you, Lance! Thank you! Now how about you thank me for all the sacrifices I had to make for your hockey career?”