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

The moment Henrik turns the corner and heads back out to the ice, I jerk my phone from my pocket and craft a scathing response to Fish Lips, aka Corey Lamont, middle-string forward on the Chicago Blackhawks.

I meant every word I said to Henrik. Corey and I were nothing. Less than nothing. I was a lonely college kid, and he was a handsome professional hockey player, arranging gay hookups on the sly. We matched in Chicago, and I was stupid enough to agree to meet up with him.

Online, he was charming, but that was only to get me to say yes. In person, he was arrogant, rude, and clearly only interested in a quick fuck. After the game, he took me way outside the city center to some seedy bar and grinded on me for half an hour.

I finally ducked away to use the bathroom, and he followed. He cornered me and stuck his tongue in my mouth, slurping at me like a fish until I made some excuse about actually needing to use the bathroom. Then I bolted out a side exit and took a taxi back to the hotel.

That’s it. That’s the epic love story of Teddy O’Connor and Corey “Fish Lips” Lamont.

Henrik doesn’t need to know about that chapter of my life. I was a horny, reckless kid. I went with a man I’d just met to a part of town I didn’t know to a bar where I felt unsafe. And all for what? A chance at a love connection? It was dumb. And so fucking dangerous. And the taxi back to the hotel cost me, like, forty bucks.

In truth, that disaster of a date with Fish Lips was the last time I ever took that kind of risk. I deleted my account on all the dating apps. I just hated the way he made me feel. So small and dirty. Utterly disposable.

Thumbs flying, I type out my message, then read it back.

There. No room for misinterpretation, right?

Feeling better, the righteous indignation flows through me as I hit Send. Then I block Corey’s number with a muttered, “Goodbye, Fish Lips.”

I didn’t conceal his name to protect him. I did it to protect Henrik. My husband means far too much to me to see him get in trouble out on the ice over something as trivial as a bad date six years ago—

“Oooooh!”

“That’s gotta hurt.”

“Hey, Ted, Karlsson just got checked pretty bad!”

Zapped out of my stupor, I look around the PT room. “What?”

All the guys are huddled around our TV. The second period has already started. Dustin Evers, one of the athletic trainers, steps back, pointing at the screen. “Chicago just did a shift change, and number nine came busting out like a freight train. Slammed Karlsson down to the ice. He’s okay though,” he adds as I dart across the room.

“What?” Heart in my throat, I catch the tail end of the replay footage. Henrik takes possession of the puck, but he only gets in one good stride towards the goal before a flash of white and red barrels into him, knocking him down to the ice. The player has a big number nine on his jersey. Above the number, his name is stitched in thick black letters: “LAMONT.”

“Oh … fuck.”

The game ends 4-1 with a Rays win. Corey chased Henrik all over the ice for two periods, scrapping like he had something to prove, but Henrik still earned two of the goals. My throat feels like it’s on fire from how much I cheered for him, even if I was only watching it on the TV in the PT room.

The second goal was wild. Henrik hooked it on the end of his blade, a lucky pass from Lindberg, and did a kind of pirouette around Corey, flicking the puck into the top of the net. To my surprise and delight, he’s kept “Money Maker” as his goal song all season. It’s ridiculous and makes me love him so much I fear I might literally pass out each time I get to watch him skate around the rink in a victory lap.

The game ended twenty minutes ago, and I’m deep into all the cooldown routines. I’ve got DeGraw back up on the table, helping him stretch out.

“Well, Doc?” he asks. “Did you hear?”

“Hear what?” I say, putting pressure on his hip as he turns.

“About Roshni,” he grunts, breathing through the stretch. “Is she coming?”

Oh, fuck me. With all my personal drama, I forgot to even ask. “I …”

He must read my face. “It’s okay, Doc. I’m sure she’s not coming. She doesn’t come to anything.”

“Does she know she’s invited? Meaning have you invited her?”noveldrama

He just grunts, rolling to his other side.

“I’ll take that caveman sound as a no?”

“She’s so far out of my league,” he mutters, gazing off at the poster-clad wall. “Plus, workplace romances, eh? Who needs ’em?”

I snort a laugh, helping him into a deeper hip flex. “Uhh, judging by the dynamics of this team? Like, literally everyone. Myself included. I was so head over heels for my workplace crush, I went off and married him. So, careful with that talk, DeGraw, or you might just be next.”

He chuckles through his deep exhale. “Yeah, Doc. Good advice.”

By the time I get DeGraw off the table, most of the other guys are clearing out, fresh from their showers.

“Hey,” Novy calls over to me. “Rip’s tonight. I’m bringing Coley. You guys in?”

“We’re coming,” I say with a wave.

“Any chance you’ll get Karlsson on the mic?” says Paulie.

I just laugh. “Doubtful. But, hey, if you can find someone to be our Chilli, I’m up for singing ‘No Scrubs.’”

“Cool. Do I get to be T-Boz?”

“Hell no. I’m T-Boz. Always.”

Laughing, he waves me off.

I find Henrik waiting for me in the hallway, dressed in his charcoal suit. He’s fresh from a shower, the hair at his nape still wet and curling slightly. “Hey, babe. You ready? Karaoke time.”

Once I’m close enough, he pulls me in with his free hand and kisses me rough. I sigh with relief, opening my mouth to take his tongue. The kiss is powerful and claiming, leaving me in no doubt of where his mind is at in this moment.

“Hen,” I gasp as he pulls away.

“We’re going home.”

“But karaoke—”

“I’m taking you home,” he says over me, his voice practically a growl. Then he loosens his hold on me, his shoulders relaxing a little. “Teddy, please.”

I nod, brushing my hands down the lapels of his jacket. “Yeah, okay.”

“Hey, you two lovebirds,” Jake calls from down the hall. He wanders closer, one arm around Caleb’s shoulder. “Karaoke starts in twenty. Don’t be late.”

“Uhh … I think we need a rain check,” I say.

Caleb just snorts. He definitely knows what’s up. But Jake shakes his head. “We must be noble in victory, just as the Hawks will now be generous in their defeat.” Seeing the looks on our faces, he rolls his eyes. “Come on, guys. Just stay for two songs. Then you can go. Captain’s orders,” he adds with a stern finger point at Henrik.

“Fine,” Henrik mutters.

I brighten a little, equally as excited by the prospect of a little social time with Henrik as I am alone time. This way, I’ll get both. Sounds like the perfect night to me. Before he can change his mind, I weave my fingers in with his and pull him along after Jake and Caleb towards the parking garage.