Pucking Strong: An MM Workplace Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 4)

Henrik keeps his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel as he drives us in the direction of the apartment. There’s a low hum in my ears as I watch the streetlights flash overhead. The memory of getting in the car already feels hazy. I know Henrik opened my door for me. Then he was in too. Then the engine purred to life. He pulled us out of the garage, waving to the parking attendant.

Just down the street from the arena, we pass a row of bustling bars and clubs. The thumping bass of the music creates a discordant buzzing in my chest. Henrik slows the car to a stop at a red light. The Mexican restaurant on the corner is overflowing with late-night diners. Some of them are wearing Rays hockey jerseys.

The light changes, and the Porsche glides forward.

I can’t take the silence for another second. “What did you mean when you said you’re broken?”

Henrik sighs, flexing his hands on the wheel. “Honestly? I don’t know. It’s just how I feel. It’s how I’ve always felt.”

“But, like, broken how? Like, does it all work down there?”

“Teddy …”

I throw up both hands. “Hey, it’s totally fine if it doesn’t. Plenty of men struggle to get and stay erect. And there’s a lot you can do to try to address it, from homeopathic remedies to over-the-counter stuff—”noveldrama

“I can get an erection,” he says over me.

“Okay.”

“That’s not the problem. Physically, it all works.”

“So then what is the problem?”

His eyes stay locked on the road as he takes one of the last turns before we’ll be back at the apartment. “It’s my head.”

“Your head is broken?”

“I don’t know. My head … or my heart. Perhaps it’s my spirit. A combination therein. All I know is that I’ve always felt that sex was something I was meant to want. It’s something all men want, right?”

“Well, no. Not particularly.” I glance his way, taking in his face in profile under the passing streetlights. He looks confused and frustrated, brow furrowed, hands clenched on the steering wheel. “Walk me through it. You say you feel like you’re supposed to want sex. Why do you feel that way?”

He shrugs. “Look at my life. Look at what I do. Look at the men who surround me.”

“You think because you’re a professional athlete, you’re supposed to be having lots of sex? Why, because your teammates are doing it?”

“All my life, I’ve watched as men around me have chased after women. I’ve heard the stories of their conquests in the locker room. I’ve caught countless roommates in shared hotel rooms bouncing a naked girl in their lap. I’ve been to the after-parties and the clubs. I’ve seen the open hedonism firsthand.”

“Yeah … but, Henrik, most of that behavior is toxic as fuck. It’s rooted in the misogyny and sexual exploitation of women that plagues the NHL. Sex scandals and payoffs, messy players getting their hookups pregnant, then marrying them, then divorcing them. Wash, rinse, repeat. Honestly, that you’re not a part of that culture is a fucking relief. Do you wanna be like those assholes?”

“Not all of the players are like that,” he assures me. “I’ve skated with plenty of good men. Family men, loyal to their partners. And even they all seemed to just need sex. I’ve seen teammates twitching with eagerness to get off the plane. It’s like they ache with it, like the act of sex is somehow as essential as food and water.”

“For some people, it is.”

Henrik just hums, pulling the car into the garage under the apartment building. “Well, it’s not for me.”

“Can I ask … well, have you ever had sex before?”

He parks the car in his assigned spot and cuts the engine. We sit there in silence. “Yes,” he finally admits.

“More than once?”

“Yes.”

“With more than one person? Not, like, at a time,” I quickly correct. “I mean that you’ve tried having sex with different people. Or maybe it was at the same time, who am I to judge?”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Yes, Teddy. I’ve had sex with more than one person. And no, it wasn’t at the same time.”

“And was this in relationships? Or just random hookups?”

“What does that matter?”

“Trust me, it totally matters. And I’ll not judge you either way for your answer. I’m just trying to understand. Did you know the people you had sex with? Were they, like, your girlfriends?”

He considers for a moment. I brace myself to hear him admit to having past fiancées. Petty Teddy is not above some light internet stalking. I swear to god, if she looks anything like Hanna, I’m gonna walk into the ocean.

“I would call them acquaintances,” he says at last. “Not strangers, but not girlfriends either.”

Thank fucking god. I let out a breath. “And the sex wasn’t any good? With any of them?”

“It was nothing,” he replies, his voice sounding hollow. “Truthfully, I just felt numb the whole time. It was like I knew what I should be doing, so, in the moment, my body did it. But my mind? I felt so detached from the whole thing, so wholly disinterested.”

Not gonna lie, he’s describing what sounds like my literal worst nightmare.

Personally, I love sex. I love the passion that comes from sharing energy, time, and sweat with another person. I love the physicality of it all. I love the feel of my body pressed against another, muscles straining, hands trembling. God, I can’t even imagine going robotically through the motions of sex and not feeling attached to the other person.

My problem is that sex typically comes first in all my relationships. It’s only after I’ve let myself become addicted to their physical energy that I realize their mental and emotional energy is a total mismatch with me. My most toxic trait is that I’ll usually stick around a month too long because the physical feels too damn good. I let it cloud my rationality.

Could I ever try it Henrik’s way and go without sex altogether?

Perhaps for the right person …

I gaze across the car at him. Henrik and I really do seem to click in all other ways. We’re a case study in opposites attracting. His quiet more than matches my loud. He’s calm where I’m chaotic, rational where I’m emotional. But he’s a quiet lion who still knows how to roar. Which is the turn-on of the fucking century. It looked so effortless for him to put the press in their place tonight. Even my mother looked a little rattled. God, I wish one of my sisters had been recording it.

Maybe it’s possible.

As if he can read my mind, Henrik glances my way. “I won’t lead you on, Teddy. If I have already, I’m sorry for it. You’re just such a passionate person. I know you must be seeking that in your partner.”

I turn in my seat. “But you’re so passionate too.”

“Right,” he mutters.

“You are. Passion isn’t only sexual, Henrik. You’re fiercely protective of Karolina, and loyal to your teammates. You care deeply about justice and fairness. You saw my family treating me unfairly tonight, and you threw yourself toe to toe with my mom. And you held your own pretty good. Seriously, you have to show me how you did that. You have your convictions, and you stand by them. That’s passion, Henrik. That’s heart. What did you call me in Sweden?”

The corner of his mouth twitches with a smile. “Rent hjärta. Pure of heart.”

I think he called me that again last night. He was tired, so it was sort of mumbled. I reach across the center console and place my hand on his knee. “You have a pure heart too. Don’t let anyone dare tell you any different.” An idea sparks in my mind, and I drop my hand away, not wanting him to think I’m making some kind of pass. “Have you ever been in love?”

His smile disappears. “No. Why?”

“Well, maybe that’s your problem.”

“What?”

“You’ve never been in love with the people you’ve had sex with. You never put in the work to have a deep, meaningful connection with them. You know, for some people, sexual attraction can only come after there’s a relationship built first. Maybe you just needed a little more trust and emotional security. Only then could you start to see that person with an eye towards romantic interest.”

“And you know people like this?”

“I do. My friend Carrie in college identified as demisexual.”

“I don’t know that word.”

“To be demisexual is like …” I try to think of the right explanation. Latching onto an idea, I turn back to him, smiling. “It’s like Caleb and Jake Price.”

“How so?”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, Caleb has always been pretty confident in his sexuality. What do you think would have happened if he’d professed his love to Jake back in their bunny-wheeling college days?”

Henrik considers. “Jake probably would have turned him down.”

“Oh, big time. Caleb’s intensity would have sent Jake running for the hills. Because he wasn’t ready for that kind of relationship with Caleb. They both had to put in the work first. They built a friendship for years. By the time they started sneaking around during my intern year, they were basically two gnarled trees, all twisted up and grown together. The team was already calling them domestic life partners. It’s lucky there was any room left for Doc Price to squeeze herself in there.”

He smiles faintly, his mind clearly humming with this new information.

“No one would ever say that Jake Price is broken,” I add. “He just had to learn Caleb’s language first. Once he did, they could finally communicate. And just look at them now, happy as clams.”

“Clams?”

I snort. With how good his English is, sometimes I forget that it’s not Henrik’s first language. “All I’m saying is that it’s possible. Maybe the way Jake is with Caleb is the way you are with all people. It’s not that you can’t enjoy physical intimacy—you just haven’t found the right person who speaks your language.”

He’s quiet for a minute, still considering.

Taking a risk, I lean in a little closer. “Can I ask … back in the parking garage, you seemed like you wanted to kiss me. Was that … I mean, is there a chance you were feeling something for me then?”

“I don’t know what I was feeling,” he admits. “Angry, maybe? Ashamed. Defensive.”

“It makes sense,” I murmur, hiding the disappointment from my tone. “My mom had just tried to rip you a new asshole.”

He leans to the side, propping his arm on the car door. “I’m not good at expressing myself. You already know that. And I don’t like feeling pulled by my emotions. Any emotion—anger, lust, fear, embarrassment. I don’t like …” He sighs, sinking into silence.

“Losing control,” I finish for him.

He nods.

“Henrik, I’m sorry.”

He glances my way. “Why are you sorry?”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been adding to your stress about all this. You’ve got enough on your plate. You don’t need my drama added to it.”

“You’re not the problem.”

“I am, though. Or I’m part of it. Because you’re right, I’m a super passionate person. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I just feel every feeling as loud as I can all the time. And I love sex. I love physical intimacy, and I love being in love. As a double Pisces with Leo rising, I was basically hardwired to be an emotional mess. So, I’m sorry. For sending mixed signals. For stressing you out. For letting my emotions get the better of me until you felt like you were the one spinning out of control.”

Glancing his way, I smile, desperate to do something to ease this tension. “But in my defense, you are exceptionally good looking.”

The hint of a smile crosses his face. “It feels strange for me to apologize for that.”

I laugh. “Don’t apologize. Own it. Henrik, you’re so gorgeous, I wanna cry myself to sleep at night.”

He chuckles. “Well, thank you.”

“I’m serious. You in that suit? Stretched out in the front seat of this sexy little sports car like you’re shooting a damn cologne commercial? It’s the stuff of my wildest fantasies. But that’s my problem,” I quickly add. “Not yours. And I’m gonna do my best to cool it. You’ve set your limits, and I’m going to respect them. Watch and see, I’m gonna be the most platonic fake husband you’ve ever had.”

Now he really smiles. It brushes the soft freckles of his cheeks and lights up his eyes. He reaches over and takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you, Teddy. Truly. For everything. I don’t know where I’d be without your kindness to me.”

I shrug, slipping my hand away. “Probably upstairs already, half asleep in your bathtub with some ancient history podcast playing too loud over the speakers.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough.”

I open my car door and step out into the quiet garage. Henrik follows. He keeps following me, all the way to the elevator and up into our apartment. Where we live. Together. Just like Bert and Ernie. Only they had separate beds, right?

Well, call me irrational if you want. Call me crazy. Call me a glutton for punishment. But our first rule is already broken. If I have my way, it’s gonna stay fucking broken. Henrik and I may be husbands who are just friends, but that man is gonna keep sleeping in my bed.

As soon as Hanna is dismissed for the night, he returns to the kitchen, feet shuffling with fatigue. I was going to draw him a bath and bring him a beer, but I think we’re too far past that now. “Go lie down,” I say, nodding towards my bedroom. “I’ll bring you a protein shake and the JetBoots.”

With a grateful nod, he shuffles away, not even questioning my command. Because my mom is wrong. Henrik does want me. He may not want my dick. That’s too much for him right now, and that’s fine. But he wants me. He wants my comfort. He wants my support, my friendship, my advice.

And for now, that’s enough.

In fact, it’s oddly satisfying. Before now, sex has always been my crutch. I use it to soothe, and mask, and deflect. I use it to hide my deeper relationship problems. I mean, who has problems when you have orgasms, right?

But this is a new era. With Henrik, I get to be a whole new Teddy. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I’m curious to see where it will lead.