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

“Okay, and does this hurt?” I gently massage the side of Perry’s knee with my thumb.

“Ahhh—fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. “Yeah, Doc. It fucking hurts.”

“I still think it’s just sprained.” I reach behind me and snag his compression bandage off the table and rewrap his knee. This isn’t even a hockey injury. The asshole went running with his dog this morning and it took off after a squirrel. Nearly jerked Perry’s arm out of his socket and sent him twisting down to the pavement. “I think you should—”

“Don’t say it.”

“Sit out a game,” I say over him.

“Fuck,” he mutters again.

“It’s just one game. And we don’t want to make it worse, right? For now, some ibuprofen should help reduce pain and inflammation. We can get you an ice wrap too. And elevate the knee tonight.”

“Hey, Doc—” He grabs my arm as I step past. “Don’t tell the guys how this happened, alright? Like, don’t write it down. Tell them I did it doing squats or something.”

I pat his hand on my arm. “Sure thing, man. It can be our secret.”

He sighs with relief as I step away to wash my hands.

It’s been a week since the epic fallout with my family. All my sisters have tried to call, but I haven’t answered. Excuse the fuck out of me, but I need another minute. They sat back and watched as Mama tore into Henrik. They judged me. They doubted me. I won’t leave them on read forever, but I’m not rushing this either. I’ll answer when I’m good and ready.

For now, I’m throwing myself into work. And this has been one hell of a crazy day. The team leaves tomorrow for some away games, so most of them are taking it easy today. No gym time, no practice. But the staff is all here, and everyone seems to be putting out a fire.

Some of the new PT equipment was delayed, so Caleb Price has been storming around on the phone all afternoon, angrier than a tornado, calling out tracking numbers to a confused warehouse foreman. Apparently, our shit is somewhere in Jacksonville—it’s just not here. And the PTs need to check it over so the EMs can get it all loaded. It’s a mess.

I’ve been so distracted by all the walk-ins that I skipped lunch. My stomach growls as I tug a couple paper towels out of the dispenser and dry my hands.

“Hey, Teddy?” Caleb appears in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“The PT shit is here. You free?”

I sigh, tossing my paper towels in the trash. I guess my cold chicken parm sub will just have to wait. “Yeah, I’m free. What do you need?”

Two hours later, I’ve finally reached the end of my shift. I swear, this day has felt like ten. I’m putting away some of the stretching equipment when I hear a familiar voice and groan.

“Hey, there he is! Looking good, Teddy.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Lukas Novikov strutting into the PT suite. “Keep walking, Nov. I’m headed out the door.”

From the other side of the room, Brady chuckles, pushing his glasses up his nose, as he reviews my treatment protocols for the day.

Novy feigns innocence. “You don’t even know what I want.”

“I know exactly what you want, and my answer is no. I’m not massaging you. Ask Brady.”

“Brady uses his thumbs too hard,” he whines. “It feels like I’m getting massaged by the Terminator.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Brady calls from the corner.

Novy rounds on him. “Hey, if the skate fits, lace it up. Besides, it’s not even an insult. Some guys like a firm hand. I just prefer Teddy’s magic touch. It’s like getting massaged with warm butter.”

I frown. “Eew. Use a different analogy.”

Novy considers for a moment. “It’s like—”

“No.” I hold up a hand. “I changed my mind. No more analogies. And the answer is still no.”

“Come on, bud. My calves are so fucking tight. Do you really wanna risk me not playing my best? Do you want a big, fat ‘L’ on your conscience?”noveldrama

“Novy, you are not my patient. And I was off the clock two minutes ago.”

“I’ll pay you. Come on, you know I’m good for it.”

With a sigh, I drop my backpack down to the chair. Crossing my arms, I glare at him. “How much?”

“I am not hearing this,” Brady mutters, tapping away on the tablet.

Novy stares me down like we’re in the Wild West. “One hundred dollars.”

I snort. “Nov, I’d pay you a hundred bucks just to let me leave.”

“Fine. Five hundred dollars.”

“You know I know your salary, right?”

He groans, dragging a hand through his short hair. “I’ve only got five hundred cash on me.”

The man looks so pathetic. And I guess I do have the time. Henrik’s home with Karolina. He took her to PT this afternoon. “Fine. Five hundred bucks. For five minutes.” I hold out my hand and wait.

“Five minutes? Are you shitting me?”

“Hey, five minutes is plenty of time to get one good calf massage … or two kinda good massages.”

Muttering under his breath, Novy digs in the pocket of his shorts for his wallet and pulls out the cash: five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.

“Thank you.” I pluck the bills from his hand. “Hop up on the table. You want one massage or two?”

“One,” he growls. “Left calf. And you better make it good.”

“I will do my absolute best work,” I assure him, pocketing the cash. I make a show of setting my phone down on the table by his head before tapping the timer and starting his countdown. Oiling up my hands, I massage his calf. Following the lines of the musculature, I work to ease his tightness. He chokes back the sex noises as best he can, pressing his forehead to his folded arms.

“Pressure good?”

“So good,” he mutters.

I smile. I really do take pride in my massages. And Novy’s not the first client to tell me they prefer me to all the other PTs. He’s just the most obnoxious.

My phone dings and Novy perks up. “Karlsson just texted.”

“What’s he saying?”

He props himself up on his elbows, my phone in his hand. “He’s asking, ‘Are you ready?’”

I go still. “What?”

“Hey, that was not five fucking minutes.” He shows me the ticking timer on the phone. “Keep going or give me my money back.”

I keep massaging. Did I miss something? Am I ready for what? My phone pings a second time.

“Karlsson again. He says he’s outside. Want me to call him and tell him you’re occupied?”

“I—”

“Oh wait, never mind. He’s calling you.” Before I can stop him, Novy answers my phone, turning it on speaker. He puts on an airy receptionist voice. “You’ve reached the office of Doctor Theodore O’Connor. May I ask who’s calling?”

I groan as Brady chuckles again from his corner.

Henrik is clearly confused. “I … what? Who is this?”

Novy snorts, switching to his normal voice. “It’s Novy, asshole. What do you want? Your husband’s busy right now.”

“I thought he was off at five.”

“I was,” I call out. “I’m being held hostage by a Canadian brute with tight calves!”

“He’s mine for the next three minutes,” Novy shouts into the phone. “You can have your precious husband when I’m done with him.”

“But we have reservations,” comes Henrik’s voice.

Oh fuck, was that tonight? No, no, no. I wrote it down. It was next week.

“Oooh, reservations where?” says Novy.

“High Tide,” Henrik replies.

FUCK.

How did I confuse the days for our first Poppy-orchestrated fake public date?! And what the hell am I supposed to do now? High Tide is a swanky seafood restaurant set right on the beach overlooking the ocean. It’s the kind of place with white tablecloths, and glass stemware, and a cocktail menu as long as the regular menu.

“Oh, nice,” says Novy. “Hey, get the whole branzino. And they do this dessert that’s a flight of mini cheesecakes. It’s so fucking good.”

“We have to make our reservation first,” says Henrik.

They keep talking about the menu while I totally spiral out. I didn’t bring anything to change into. Henrik’s probably out there in his Porsche in a suit, and I’m standing here with oil on my hands, rubbing Novy’s calf while wearing a Rays polo, Nike athletic pants, and a pair of running shoes. Fuck me, this is gonna be our Swedish wedding all over again. Poppy has arranged for a cameraman to be there!

In the middle of my freak-out, my phone timer goes off. Novy’s five minutes are up. He turns off my alarm, still talking to Henrik. “Hey man, we’re done here. I’ll send your guy out, okay? Don’t call the police on me. Hostage crisis over.”

I drop my hands from his calf and stand there like I’m frozen.

Novy rolls over, my phone still in his hand. “Man, I am so fucking jealous that you get the full Teddy treatment whenever you want. Coley likes to think he gives good massages, but honestly, he’s as bad as old Iron Fingers Brady.”

“Fuck you too, Novikov,” Brady says in parting. “Teddy, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I just nod.

As Novy stands from the table, he tries to hand me back my phone, still talking to Henrik. “Well, you two lovebirds have a nice time tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, especially with a camera there.”

“I’m waiting outside,” says Henrik.

Snatching my phone from Novy, I force out something that sounds like, “Great, I’ll be right there.” Then I hang up on him. Novy goes to step away, and I grab his arm. “Please tell me that by some miracle you have a suit in your locker or your car.”

“What? Why?” He looks me up and down. “Aw, come on, you look dynamite.”

“I look like a high school gym teacher! Poppy’s gonna be spreading these pictures all over the fucking internet, and this is not how I want to present myself to the world. Novy, please. Do you have a suit or not?”

He narrows his eyes, flashing me the smirk that has devastated hearts in two countries and counting. “Give me my five hundred bucks back.”

I gasp, glaring at him. “Seriously?”

He grins, holding out his hand. “Dude, you’re gonna look so good. You might not even make it to the restaurant. Karlsson’s just gonna jump your bones in the car.”

Yeah, fat chance of that.

Seeing as I have literally no other option, I fish the money from my pocket and slap it back into Novy’s greedy hand. “I hate you.”