Captain's Curvy Puck (Locker Room 2)

- CHAPTER TWO -

Ellie

“Baby!” I squeal, skipping across to Miles. “I knew you would come!”

Miles’ face is stern. He steams across to me and instantly wraps his arms around my body, glaring around the packed bar with narrowed brows. Warmth fills my insides, and I fall into his firm grasp as if I’m weightless.

Miles. My safe place.

“Where’s Noah?” Miles says, releasing his hold enough so I can look up at him.

My mind goes blank as I stare up into those intoxicating golden eyes. Miles’ face remains hard, but his eyes are soft on me. They always are. I allow myself to sink into his chest once more, drawing in his masculine scent. I feel his firm chest against my cheek, his heart racing inside his body. He’s panting, out of breath, like he’s been rushed inside.

The way he’s gripping me so tightly is making his ripped arms tense against me. He’s owning me, just like he always did. Without even seeing it, I know he’s eyeballing every guy in this place, warning them off me.

Miles Johnson. Captain of the Vancouver Vikings. And my brother’s teammate.

“Ellie?” Miles’ deep voice rumbles inside his chest. “Where’s Noah and the guys?”

The guys.

I’ve been around hockey players my entire life. My older brother, Noah Edwards, is the National Hockey League’s hottest player. It’s been that way for years now, and I’m used to living in his shadow.

I don’t mind, though.

I don’t want fame or stardom.

I’m happy working as a waitress in a coffee shop. I’m okay with my role as the ‘other twin’. I’m the fat sister, and after years and years of playing that role, I’ve accepted it with opens arms.

What I don’t like, though, is when the guy I’ve crushed on for years, Miles, finally has me in his arms and his first question is ‘where are the guys’.

“Do you want to get a drink?” I say, ignoring the question of the whereabouts of the guys.

A pair of panties flies across the room and lands on Miles’ shoulder. Shrieks of laughter from a group of girls across the room makes my hands curl, and when Miles sees, he simply pulls me in closer.

Shaking his head, Miles swipes away the red lace from his shoulder and we move towards the bar. We dodge bodies and wet splashes of spilling beer as Miles parts the crowd. He’s a foot taller than most of the other patrons and I glide through the crowd under Miles’ arm.

We find a space at the front of the bar and I rest my head on Miles’ shoulder.

My legs are trying to skip. My face won’t stop beaming. I’m so fucking happy that Miles is here. His heavy arm is pulling me into him in a way that has me under his control.

And I like it.

I’ve had a huge crush on Miles ever since I saw him. I was fourteen, and Noah had just made the team and our entire family was welcomed into the Vikings crew.

Being one of the oldest guys on the team, Miles didn’t notice me until my twenty-first birthday.

Noah had buddied up with Miles by then and he dragged him along to my birthday dinner. The attraction across the table was instant. I fooled myself for years after that night. I was convinced there was no way that a huge, handsome, bulky hockey player like Miles Johnson would want a curvy, lumpy-in-all-the-wrong-places girl like me.

He could have any girl he wanted, right? Why the hell would he want a plus-size chick like me?

Now, don’t get me wrong… I’m not ashamed of my body. Heck, I own these tits. And my ass? I’m sorry skinny chicks, but you’ve got nothing to back up onto a healthy, long, hard dick like I do. The feeling of my ass cheeks bouncing on a guy while he’s fucking me from behind… I’ve had guys coming within seconds while they gawk at my body, astonished at the way my ass moves.

But with Miles? Nothing happened for a few years between us. From a distance, we would smile, wink and flirt from opposite sides of the room.

Until one summer night at a hockey function in Toronto.

Miles had lost out to a rookie player from New York in the All-Star line-up of the year. For the first time in seven years, Miles wasn’t an All-Star player. They say it was the moment his career started to decline; age was finally catching up with him. It’s bullshit of course, Miles is still a top athlete.

But that night… That night he was so fucking pissed that he stormed outside and started ripping out the small trees that lined the pathway.

I went after him. Unlike anything I’d ever done before that moment of my life, I took a shot. In the privacy of the dark night sky of Toronto, I leaned up and kissed him, hoping to hell it might calm him down. It did. And the sparks were instant.

I’ve been determined to make him mine ever since.

“Just a beer, thanks, Greg,” Miles says, leaning his forearms against the edge of the bar. He turns to face me, and for the first time, he smiles.

“Oh, there it is…” I tease, tracing a finger along his lips.

“Shut up. I was worried about you,” Miles concedes, his brows finally relaxing.

I step in closer, feeling the warmth radiating off Miles’ body. Two beers slide across in front of us and Miles picks his up and downs half of it in a single gulp.

“Aren’t you a sweetie?” I walk a finger up his chest, and when Miles twists his neck around towards the packed bar room, I recognise the searching look. He’s looking to see where my brother is. “Don’t worry. He’s in the back room playing eight ball.”