Pucked Off (Pucked 5)

“I tried, but she was all booked up this week. I’m on a list for a cancellation.”

“You need to see someone today, or you’re not getting on the plane tomorrow morning.”

“What?”

“You were sloppy and all over the place today. You can’t get on the ice the way you are, and there’s no point in having you come to a game you’re not even going to be able to play.”

“You think Coach will go for that?”

“He’s the one who told me to give you the options. You’ll be stiff as hell tomorrow if you don’t get this taken care of, and I don’t need you out before the season’s even started.”

“Well, what the hell can I do if she doesn’t have an opening?”

“I can get you in with someone else this afternoon.”

I run a hand through my sweat-soaked hair. Panic forces a shiver down my spine. “I don’t want someone else. Can’t you call that clinic and get them to rearrange her schedule so she can fit me in?”

Smart snorts. “The world doesn’t revolve around your wants and needs, Romero. I can get you on a table before the end of the day, but it’s gonna be here, not at the clinic. That was me calling in a favor so we don’t lose a good player with the beginning of the season right around the corner. I’m trying to ease Waters back in to it, and we need strong defense. Butterson can’t do it on his own.”

“What if I can get the clinic to take me?”

Smart raises an eyebrow. “You wanna risk not coming to the game by banking on a cancellation?”

“No.” I rummage around in my locker for my phone. Poppy’s gotten back to me, but it’s not with good news. She doesn’t have any openings—not at the clinic, anyway. I cross my fingers that she’s not in the middle of a massage as I pull up her contact and hit call.

Smart crosses his arms over his chest while I hold up a finger and wait for an answer. She picks up on the fourth ring.

“Hello?” Her voice is soft and warm, the way her hands felt on me.

“Hey, hi. Are you busy? Did I call at a bad time?”

“What the hell are you doing? Planning a date?” Smart asks, incredulous.

“Hold on.” I cover the receiver. “I’m seeing if I can get in with the massage therapist.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“Poppy? You there?”

“I’m here. What’s up? There haven’t been any cancellations since I messaged you half an hour ago.”

“Yeah. I figured. Look, do you think you could fit in a home appointment like we talked about?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a few long seconds.

“I might be able to schedule something tomorrow night.”

“That’s too late. It has to be tonight.”

“I’m here until eight thirty.”

“I could come to you. I mean, if that would work. Unless you have plans.” Fuck. I forgot it’s Friday night. Some people have lives. The possibility that she might be going out—on a date even—makes the volcano inside me bubble. What the fuck?

More silence follows.

“Please, Poppy? The team trainer says if I don’t get another massage before tomorrow morning I’m not gonna be able to play on Sunday. It’s an exhibition game against the team who put us out of the playoffs. I don’t wanna miss it.”

“I don’t have plans.” She sighs. “Okay, fine. You can come to me, but make sure you’re there at nine.”

“Okay. Nine o’clock. At your house, right?”

“At my house.”

“You’ll send me directions?”

“I will.”

“Great. Thanks, Poppy. I really owe you.”

“You’re welcome. I have to go. I have a client in a few minutes.”

“Right, of course. See you tonight.”

“Bye.”

She hangs up, and I flash a grin at Smart as I pocket my phone. “Guess I get to play on Sunday after all, aye?”

He doesn’t return it. “A home appointment?”

“Lots of massage therapists do home appointments.” At least I think they do.

“Don’t make me regret cashing in that favor.”

“It’s not like that, Smart. I’m not gonna hit on her.” I don’t want to have to deal with someone else. I already know things with Poppy work.

He gives me a look before he turns to walk away. “Make sure you stretch and use the sauna before you take off.”

The sauna part I’ll do here; the stretching I can do at home. Rookie’s in there hanging out with Miller and Randy when I open the door.

“Romero!” He holds his fist out for props, so I hit him up. “Man, that was a killer party the other night.”

“Glad you had a good time.” I drop down on a free bench and try to get comfortable, which isn’t possible with the way my back feels. Smart has a point about me not being able to play like this.

“Good time? Man, those chicks were up for anything.”