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

This is crazy. This is such a bad idea. Why did I let Colin talk me into this? I should go back upstairs, get Karro in the car, and drive until we hit Canada.

Okay, no, that’s good. Get all the bad ideas out now, Teddy.

I jog down the concourse, weaving through the throngs of fans in line for the bathroom or concessions.

“Hey, Teddy,” says Marjorie with a wave, guarding the tunnel access door.

I find her a smile. “Hey, Miss Marj.”

“You on duty tonight too?” She’s been a volunteer at the arena since long before I was an intern. She’s this eighty-year-old white lady who weighs, like, ninety pounds. And she always has candy.

“Not tonight,” I say, flashing her my access badge. “Just forgot something earlier.”

She reaches a bony hand into her pocket. “Want some candy, honey?”

I pause. “Actually, you got any mints?”

She hands me a peppermint in a twisty plastic wrapper.

“Thanks. You’re an angel.” I give her a wave as I pop the mint in my mouth.

The break between first and second period is only seventeen minutes long. And the buzzer went off as I made my way over to Marjorie. The clock is already ticking. I hurry down the stairs, passing the last set of security guards with a wave of my access pass before I’m in the tunnels.noveldrama

What am I even doing? Am I just gonna charge into the dressing room, lock eyes with Henrik, and shout, “Colin is straight!”

I round the corner and nearly crash right into Cody, one of the EMs. “Whoa,” he says with a laugh, juggling a bundle of hockey sticks. “Close call. You on tonight?”

“Nope.” I dart around him. “You seen Henrik anywhere?”

“Who?”

“Karlsson. Where is he?”

“Uhh … beats me.” He shrugs, rattling the jumble of sticks. Someone calls his name down the hall, and he takes off. “Later, Ted!”

This is a sign, right? Cody doesn’t know where he is, so I should just give up now. Probably head back upstairs. This was a bad idea anyway—

“Teddy!”

I flinch, turning around. Brady is in the hall, waving me down. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I thought you weren’t on shift tonight.” He looks me up and down. “What are you wearing?”

“Umm …”

“Whatever. Look, if you’re working, go hunt down some ice packs. Someone moved all our shit around. When I find out who, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they literally came in and moved a whole goddamn freezer. And apparently no one on my staff fucking noticed until now! It’s gone, replaced with a fridge full of electrolyte water.”

“Well, I’m not actually on shift—”

“Whatever. Just find me that freezer and get some ice packs to the guys waiting in the PT suite. Help me out with this, and I’ll give you all the cash in my pocket, you greedy fuck.”

I laugh, crossing my arms. “Why do I get the feeling there’s no cash in your pocket?”

“Teddy, go!”

“On it.” Spinning on my heel, I’m emboldened with my new mission: Find Freezer.

Actually, this is helping. I’m not even thinking about the devastation that could come when I go to Henrik and throw myself at him. Again.

This has to be some kind of record, right? It’s only been four days since the man of my dreams confessed to feeling not nothing for me. Since he said he’s willing to try feeling something. And then I had to go and invite Colin fucking Holliday to a game. Now the something Henrik is feeling is pain and regret, thinking Colin is here as some kind of date.

My god, as if. Colin Holliday? The man eats yogurt with a fork. He wears boot-cut jeans. He thinks Lunchables are an acceptable form of charcuterie. I quite literally would never.

I duck into the first room I find with an unlocked door. There’s nothing remotely freezer-shaped in here. Just some janitorial equipment and dusty boxes of who-knows-what. I slip back into the hall and try the next room. This one is packed full of folding chairs.

“If I were a freezer, where would I hide?” I say to myself, hurrying back out to the hall.

Down around the corner, there’s a food prep room. It’s kind of out of the way, and too small for the needs of the team. As an intern, I’d go in there sometimes and use the microwave. Worth a shot, right? Maybe some asshole decided the freezer was lonely and needed to be reunited with a proper kitchen.

I break into a jog, taking a left, then a right, sliding to a stop in front of the door labeled, “101-A.” Reaching out, I jiggle the handle. It opens. I shove the door with my shoulder, step inside, and turn on the lights. They hum to life in that way fluorescents do.

“Aha!”

Sitting under a flickering light panel, right next to an industrial fridge, is a small deep freeze. There’s even a peel-and-stick Rays logo stuck to the front. I flip open the lid. Stacked inside are a ton of gel ice packs in a range of sizes. There’s no way I can just drag this whole freezer down the hall. It’s not on wheels. Someone’s gonna need to get a dolly.

Looking around, I hurry over to the sink and open the lower cabinet.

“Yes!”

I snatch up the roll of garbage bags and tear one loose. Opening it with a furious shake, I grab several different sizes of ice pack and shove them in the bag. The plastic strains with the weight of the packs as I sling the whole thing over my shoulder like some kind of sporty Santa Claus. Dashing from the room, I cut the light and run down the hall towards the PT suite.

“’Scuse me,” I call out, ducking around the guys milling in the hallway.

Around the corner, the EMs are furiously sharpening skate blades, getting ready for second period. The high-pitched squeal of the sharpener pierces the senses, leaving the faint smell of burning metal in the air.

“Coming through!” I shout. “Hey, open that door!” Someone pulls the PT door open, and I stride in. “I have ice packs!”

There’s a flurry as the other PTs rush forward, digging into the bag as I set it down on the first empty massage table.

“Sweet!”

“Where the hell did you find them?”

“You’re our hero, Ted.”

“Karlsson, you want some ice for your knee too?”

I freeze, heart in my throat. Slowly turning, I see Henrik sitting on the farthest massage table. He’s got the top half of his kit off. His shoulders look pink, like someone was just massaging him, loosening his tight muscles. I knew he took a hard hit out there. First into the boards, then down to the ice. I told Karro he was fine in the moment, but I saw the way it zapped his speed.

“I got it,” I say, taking the ice pack from Jeremy’s hands.

Henrik looks as tense as a cornered lion as I walk up to him, my humble offering of ice in hand. He says nothing as I step up to the table and drape the ice pack over his shoulder. I grab a wrap and gently secure the pack in place. He lets me, still saying nothing.

I can’t bear this fucking silence. I’m crawling out of my skin. Leaning in, I whisper, “Henrik, Colin is just a friend.”

He stiffens, leaning away.

“We’re not—we’ve never.” I place a hand on his unwrapped shoulder. “He’s straight. Plus, I’m totally out of his league,” I add with a weak smile.

He looks up at me with those sad eyes, the denim blue of his irises looking so faded and tired.

On instinct, I cup his bearded cheek. “Please don’t look at me like that. It’s not fair, okay? I didn’t do anything wrong. Meet Colin after the game, and he’ll tell you himself. He barely tolerates me. He calls me ‘hopeless.’”

Lifting a hand, he covers mine on his cheek. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, his voice low.

“Do what?”

“Want you.”

My gaze darts to his beautiful, sad eyes. “Henrik—”

I gasp as he wraps his arm around me, slipping his hand up under my leather jacket. His fingers splay possessively across my back. Then he reels me in until I’m practically straddling his leg. He’s still in his skates and hockey pants. His other hand drops to grip the front of my T-shirt. He pulls me closer. I can smell his faint athletic musk, practically taste the salt of his perspiration. Our noses brush as he breathes me in. “Du är min man,” he growls.

Then he’s kissing me.

Oh my god, Henrik Karlsson is kissing me. I can’t even process it. His hands are on me, I’m practically straddling his thigh, and he’s kissing me. And what did he say? Fuck, why did I never learn Swedish? Two semesters of Latin utterly wasted.

His lips press to mine, his beard prickling my chin. The second I stop thinking and actually start kissing him back, it’s like a volcano erupts in my chest. I’m molten with need, fingers gripping his face, as I press back into his kiss, lips parted, eager for more.

Both his hands go around me, splayed on my back as he pulls me in. My cock is pressed against his padded hockey pants. Thank god. Maybe he won’t feel how hard I am. When you’ve been wandering in the desert for as long as I have, that first drop of water was always bound to send the senses haywire.

I try to memorize this moment—the feel of his iron hands at my back, the bitter taste of salt in his kiss, the warmth of his breath panting with mine. I groan against his mouth, my fingers brushing down the column of his sweaty neck. With a tease of my tongue, his lips part for me, and then we both detonate. I gasp again as he pulls me in tighter, arms banded across my upper and lower back. I’m on my toes, straddling his thigh. My hands brush into his sweaty hair, and I’m flying. He tastes so good, like power, and strength, and raw fucking passion.

“What are we doing?” he groans against my lips.

“Flying too close to the sun.” I kiss him again, never wanting to stop.

“Alright, break it up you two!”

“Yeah, jeez. Keep it in the bedroom.”

I gasp as Henrik suddenly pushes me back. I’m left reeling as he locks his elbows, placing me firmly away from him. Oh fuck, what did we just do? I glance over my shoulder to see everyone in the PT suite staring at us. Yeah, I definitely just climbed onto my half-naked husband’s lap and rode his thigh while he choked me with his tongue. In front of a live audience.

That just happened.

That was our first kiss.

Henrik drops his hands away from me, and I’m left swaying on the spot. Thank god I’m turned away from the room so no one can see my raging hard-on. Stage fright already has it deflating fast. Some people are into public displays, but that’s never been me. I was just so desperate for Henrik to see me, hear me, that I didn’t care that we weren’t alone.

Henrik.

He sits on the edge of the table, ice pack wrapped around one shoulder, hair a mess from my hands. His lips are parted, still wet from my claiming kiss. And he’s looking at me like I’m the answer to every question he’s never thought to ask.

I have to remember this moment. I want it tattooed on my brain. The way he’s looking at me now? He’s not seeing Teddy the intern, who once walked into traffic, or Teddy the PT, who wraps ice packs on shoulders. He doesn’t even see Teddy the caretaker, who over-bakes cookies and braids Karro’s hair. For the first time in six long years, the man I’ve loved and longed for sees me.

And I think he likes what he sees.

This is all too much for my brain to handle. I feel like Icarus again, tumbling through the air, feathers flying. “Good job out there,” I say, offering him my hand like a total asshole.

Confused, Henrik shakes it, his hand calloused and warm as it wraps around mine.

I pull away, stepping back. “So, anyhoo … I guess I’ll just see you at home. Glad we could get that cleared up. Okay, bye.”

He stands. “Teddy …”

I turn around, heart in my throat. “Yeah?”

He towers over me in his skates, and it’s such a fucking turn-on. In reality, the skates only add, like, an inch or two. But I’m still fighting the desperate urge to blurt out the words, “Hold me.”

Instead, he only holds my gaze, uncaring that the room is full of his teammates. “I asked for two ice packs.”

I grin, heart flipping. “Get the intern to help you. I’m off the clock.”

Feeling like that’s a much cooler line to use as my exit, I flee the room to the sounds of the laughter and whooping cheers of our friends.