Hot Puck (Rough Riders Hockey 2)

John pushed into her mind, and a nagging ache pulled deep inside her. Eden slid a hand over the discomfort with a soft “Goddammit.” She needed to let the past go. She thought she had. But when she darted a glance toward Beckett and found him almost meditatively staring at his phone, waiting for her response, a little voice in her head kept asking, Why? Why me?

She looked for the two young women who’d come in earlier

and found them cozied up to Beckett’s teammates. They were pretty and fit, and Eden couldn’t help but wonder why he’d hooked them up with teammates instead of keeping them for himself. Eden truly didn’t know whether to be flattered that a man as confident and good-looking as Beckett had shown an interest in her, or concerned that his interest stemmed from some victim vibe she emitted.

Eden? Did I lose you?

His text pulled her out of her own head. God, she was a bigger mess than she’d realized. Coming out to meet Beckett had prodded insecurities she thought she’d overcome. And, man, this really pissed her off. She was sick of living like a goddamned psycho woman, locked in her tiny apartment when she wasn’t at school or work.

Still here. She typed, then murmured, “Breathe, Eden.” And added How about if we share dessert? What do you like?

When she chanced another glance at him, she saw his smile was back.

It would probably be inappropriate to say you, so anything with chocolate and whipped cream would be my second choice.

Tingles erupted all over her body. Good tingles. Tingles that made all the icky feelings disappear.

“Oh God,” she whispered, her heart beating hard and fast against her ribs. She pushed herself with “Type, Eden.”

Then I’m ordering the Sticky Chocolate Pudding Cake. Make your way over to me in the corner when you’re ready to indulge.

She took a breath, whispered, “I can do this,” and hit Send.

His smile slowly faded as he read. And it seemed like forever before his head came up. As the waitress passed, Eden caught her attention and placed the order. Beckett looked straight ahead, his brows drawn in a little furrow before his gaze jumped to all the corners of the bar, landing on hers last. Surprise lit his eyes, and his lips moved with something she couldn’t hear but what looked like “Holy shit.”

She rested her chin in her hand and grinned while her belly did somersaults and triple flips.

He pushed off the jukebox and started toward her, dodging other people in the bar with an expression of excitement and determination. Eden stood to meet him, but when he stopped short a few feet away, and scanned her from the top of her head all the way to her toes, a fresh surge of self-consciousness prickled along her limbs.

This was an outfit she wouldn’t have thought twice about wearing a few years ago. An outfit she’d worn to parties and events she’d attended with John in Los Angeles. She loved the sweater dress for its soft texture, beautifully stylized pleats, gently flared short skirt, and the way it showed all her curves without clinging like Lycra. Her black suede boots had three-inch heels, rose above her knees, and were adorned with rhinestones.

She used to feel pretty and sparkly and comfortable in this outfit. But now, she wasn’t sure it worked—in this city, in this bar, for this guy, or even for the woman she’d become. And the way Beckett was looking at her—like he’d been hit with a puck between the eyes—she was pretty sure her original feeling of going overboard was accurate.

Before Beckett spoke, a young man approached with two drinks. “Bro, you left your drink at the bar.” He pushed one into Beckett’s hand. “That tonic water’s expensive, and the lime? That shit’s like gold.” Then he turned his smile on Eden and offered his newly freed hand. “I’m Tate Donovan. We met briefly when you were wheeling Beck to the ambulance and he was acting like an ass—”

“She doesn’t need any reminders,” Beckett cut in, his gaze sharp on his teammate.

“Beckett’s right,” she said, teasing him with a grin before refocusing on Tate. “I do remember. Good to see you.”

“You too. And, wow, you look amazing. Way too hot for this guy.” He gestured toward Beckett. “Would you like to join—”

“Donovan,” was all Beckett had to say.

“All right, then. Well, if this guy turns back into an ass, you know where to find the good guys.”

As he walked away, Beckett glanced over his shoulder and groaned. Eden pulled her attention off his delicious body and the way he filled out that suit to follow Beckett’s gaze. She found all the other guys watching from the bar, their expressions filled with joviality and an edge of mischief.

“I didn’t think this out very well when I suggested we meet here,” Beckett said, returning an embarrassed look to her. “The guys are great, but sometimes they’re like—”

“Bratty little brothers who put bugs in your shoes, then make fun of you when you freak out over them?”

He laughed, and the man’s smile made her stomach float. “Sounds like you’ve experienced this.”

“From several bratty coworkers who are about as well-behaved as your teammates when we’re out together socially.”

Beckett set his drink down on her table. “Then you probably wouldn’t be surprised to know how mercilessly they’ve been razzing me about screwing up with you that night you took me to the ER.”

Eden’s nerves ratcheted higher. They were going to eat her alive if she didn’t act. A little voice inside her head started a chant, and it got louder and louder. Live, Eden. So she did what she’d learned to do two years ago when fear threatened to immobilize her—she forced herself to push through.