Pucked (Pucked 1)

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m totally serious. I’m not passing up a chance to see Darren Westinghouse play.”

“Charlene, what if I don’t want to go to a game? What if I never want to talk to Alex ever again?”

Charlene turns my laptop toward her and checks out the interview again. I’ve probably made her watch it half a dozen times, dissecting the content or lack thereof. She seems far less offended by his non-responses. In all fairness, she hasn’t slept with him.

She props her chin on her fist, eyeing me speculatively. “He told me you agreed to coffee, so you must want to see him.”

“Who says I’ll see him again after this?”

“I understand the media stuff bothers you, but he seems to be honestly interested in you. I mean, it’s been weeks and he’s actively pursuing you even though you keep blowing him off.” A smug smile is plastered across her face. “Oh, and nowhere in this interview does he say he’s done that Hat Trick thing. All he does is give evasive answers.”

“He doesn’t refute the claim.”

“He was probably coached.”

“As if that’s any better.”

Even my best friend is on Waters’ side. I blame it on his damn smile.Today makes every other long day seem short by comparison. Meetings drag. Lunch takes forever. I’m distracted all afternoon working on one of the new accounts. I keep daydreaming about Alex’s unit, comparing it to household items.

At five, I freshen up in the staff bathroom. I swish with my emergency mouthwash and give my teeth a quick brush. It’s bad practice to go into a meeting with coffee breath, or garlic breath, or any kind of offensive breath. I’m applying the same logic to coffee dates. Although I’ll negate the fresh breath as soon as I order a coffee. Regardless, I have no intention of kissing Alex. I think.

I reach the lobby at quarter past five. Alex is sitting on the arm of a chair, staring at the elevator. He stands, smoothing his hands down the front of his pants. I follow the movement and, of course, my eyes go right where they’re not supposed to—his groin. I can’t see anything exciting going on there. He’s changed since this morning and now wears a pair of dark wash denim jeans and a button-down shirt. The material conforms to his hot body, showing off every deliciously cut inch of chest and biceps and shoulders. Why does he have to look so good? I’m so pucked.

“I thought we were meeting at the coffee shop.”

“I thought we could walk over together.”

“And you didn’t want me to stand you up?”

His smile is lopsided, one dimple popping out. “Something like that.”

“I could still run.”

“You could try. I’m pretty fast if I’m chasing after something I want.”

The butterflies flitting around in my stomach reach tornado level flutters. Images of him moving across the ice, power and speed propelling him forward, come to mind. Alex chasing after me with the same kind of singular, intense focus is a huge turn on.

He extends his hand. “It’s only a drink and some conversation, Violet. That’s all I’m asking.”

The way he says it reminds me of the night in his hotel room when he told me he just wanted to hang out and then I had sex with him. I slam down the gauntlet on those thoughts. I have to remind myself of the bad reputation he has yet to refute properly. I don’t want to be one of his hockey hookers.

It’s dark out. Fat snowflakes drift lazily from the sky as we cross the street to the little café. I used to come here when I was an undergrad. Right now is prime time for those kids between afternoon and evening courses. It’s still my favorite place to go for coffee and snacks.

A fire crackles in the wood-burning fireplace. The table in front of it is empty, with a reserved sign. It’s the comfiest spot in the café and romantic with the fire and the low lighting. I’m almost glad it’s unavailable.

“Why don’t you have a seat and I can order something for you?” Alex sweeps his hand toward the table by the fireplace.

“It’s reserved.”

He leans in and whispers, “I reserved it.”

Of course he did.

I follow him to the counter to check out my options. I already know what I want.

Alex wraps his fingers around my wrist when I go for my wallet. “I’ll get it.”

“I can buy my own drink.” I sound harsher than I mean to. He’s being so attentive and considerate. It makes me nervous, but I like it.

“I invited you; please let me get this.”

The way he’s looking at me breaks my damn heart. “Okay. Fine.”

A hint of a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. His palm settles low on my back, and he strokes my spine. It’s distracting. “What would you like, Violet?”