Hot Puck (Rough Riders Hockey 2)

“Yes,” came from behind the door. The first word he’d heard in over an hour.

Tall guy stopped at the bottom of the stairs, hands on hips. “You heard her.”

“Tell me something,” Beckett said. “When you and your girl are having a fight, do you listen to

everything she says?”

“Nah.”

“And don’t you both say things you don’t mean?”

“Sho.”

Beckett lifted his hands with a shrug.

The tall guy turned back to the door. “Eden, are you sure you don’t want to come out and talk to this dude? He’s been out here a long time, and it’s like twenty-nine degrees.”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure.”

“Twenty-five, feels like nine,” Beckett corrected, “and I didn’t bring my snow-camping gear.”

“Would you all leave me the h-hell alone,” she yelled. “Some of us h-have to work tomorrow.”

The catch in her voice told Beckett she’d been crying, and that cut at his heart.

“Ouch,” tall guy said.

“Whoo-wee,” short guy added. “What did you do to piss her off? She’s always in a good mood.”

“I’m special like that.” Beckett pulled at his hair, which was sticking up in all directions. Then called to the door, “And it’s only eight o’clock.”

They all stared at her door for an extended moment, and when it didn’t open, tall guy crossed his arms and asked Beckett, “What you do for a livin’ to buy that fancy Porsche?”

“I play hockey.”

“Hockey?” He shifted and angled his head to get a better look. “How come I don’t recognize you?”

“Probably because we wear helmets, move real fast, and are usually covered in cuts and bruises.” He held out his hand. “Beckett Croft.”

The expression on tall guy’s face went from skeptical to no shit in a split second. He laughed and took Beckett’s hand. He did some kind of secret hood handshake and slapped Beckett on the shoulder, laughing. “Look at this, Arturo. Beckett Croft is in our hood. You had a great game tonight, bro.”

And the conversation progressed from there. But only for about two minutes.

Eden’s door flew open. “Stop. Just fucking stop already.”

Her hair was up in a ponytail, and she was in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. And she’d definitely been crying. Her face was red, her eyes puffy.

Beckett’s heart plummeted to his stomach. He should let her go. She didn’t have room for this kind of turmoil in her life. Neither of them did.

“Robby and Arturo, thank you for checking on me, but get the hell out of here.” And she turned back inside, leaving the door open.

Robby sucked air through his teeth. “Good luck with that, bro.”

Beckett sighed and stared at the door while the other guys retreated.

“Twenty-five, feels like nine,” she called from inside. “Come in or stay out, but close the damn door.”

Kennedy was back. The tough chick who’d put him in his place that first night. Beckett sighed, stepped into the basement, and closed the door behind him.