Pucked Page 26

I wrench open the door, scathing comment ready to fly. Except it’s not Buck.

It’s Alex. He looks like shit. Hot shit, but shit nonetheless.


Alex has a nasty gash over his right eye with one of those tiny fly bandages holding the skin together. He looks like he hasn’t shaved since the last time I saw him. My mind immediately wanders to how his scruff would feel between my thighs. Combined with the slight slump of his shoulders, he looks cashed. I want to hug him and kiss his eyebrow better. I manage to control myself.

“Um, hi. What happened to your face?”

“Hey.” He touches the wound, looking uncomfortable. “It’s nothing. A little on-ice argument.”

“You didn’t get into a fight during the last game.”

A tiny grin appears. “So you watched it?”

Dammit. Now he’ll think I’m watching for him. I nod and shrug. “Yeah. I watch most of the games. That looks pretty bad.”

“It looks worse than it is.” His eyes dart below my neck.

I cross my arms over my chest. It’s cold, and I’m not wearing a bra. “Buck left a few minutes ago.”

“I saw Kirk pick him up. We’re supposed to discuss strategy tonight. I thought now would be a good time to return your glasses. I called last night after the game—did you get my message?”

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. Yeah, you sexy stalker freak, I must be some sort of rock star in bed and it turns me on that you seem a wee bit obsessed doesn’t seem appropriate. I go with the truth instead.

“I was out with a friend. I didn’t get the message until I got home, and it was late.”

His brows knit together. “A friend?”

“My bestie, Charlene. We watched the game at her place.”

“Oh. That’s good.” He ducks his head and peeks up. “Can I come in?”

It’s hard to believe he’s such a player with how sweet he’s being. “Yeah, unless you’re planning on binding and gagging me so you can take me to your lair. If that’s what you had in mind, I’d prefer you stay outside while I call the police and possibly a mental health facility.” And there goes my mouth, spewing crap again.

“Uh . . .” Alex stares for a few long seconds.

His eyes drop to my chest again even though I’m covering the girls. “Not very reassuring, Alex.”

“What?” He shakes his head, his eyes lift, then drop again. “Oh, oh right, no. I’m not planning on gagging you and taking you to my lair. I don’t even have a lair.”

“Good to know.” I half smile and motion him inside. “Come in before I get frostbite on my nipples.”

He looks momentarily ashamed. I can’t fault him since I’m braless again. At this rate, he’s going to think I never wear one. A gust of frosty air follows him inside, making me shiver. He might look as if he’s been sleeping in his car for the past few days, but he smells fantastic.

Alex shrugs out of his jacket. His short-sleeved T-shirt pulls tight across his chest and hugs his perfectly chiseled arms. He’s so built it’s disgusting. I might whistle-breathe as I openly admire his body.

“You look hot.” Alex’s eyes go wide. “Shit, sorry. Please don’t ask me to leave.”

I laugh; we’re two peas in a pod with our awkwardness. “Can I get you something to drink? I have beer, water, milk, and orange juice.”

“A beer would be great.”

I grab two bottles from the fridge, pop the caps, pass him one, and then motion for him to follow me to the living room. Alex sits in the middle of the couch, forcing me into close proximity. Couches aren’t safe where he’s concerned. It’s where we went from talking to making out to semi-naked. I still want to straddle him and grind all up on his shit.

“You’re listening to The Hip.” His scruffy smile is adorable.

It takes me a few seconds to clue into the music reference. “Actually I found a dedicated station. Crazy, right?” I’m so nervous, like a high schooler with a crush. On a guy with a dick the size of Canada.

“I listen to it all the time. I’ve seen The Hip in concert thirty-seven times,” Alex says proudly.

“Thirty-seven times? You must really love them.”

He nods as if it’s normal to see the same band so many times. His gaze sweeps over me. “No Spiderman pajamas tonight?”

“They’re in the wash.”

“Too bad. I liked them a lot.” He’s looking at my chest again. “I like this, too.”

“You liked getting me out of them.” I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling.

I shouldn’t be flirting with him after all the media crap I’ve seen, but he’s sitting in my living room, smelling awesome, looking hot, and my beaver is excited.

His tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip. The split has healed. “I liked that part, too.”

Silence stretches between us as memories of getting naked with Alex resurface. Being alone with him is unwise. My beaver is far too interested in a repeat of those events. In the past week, I’ve received more gifts from him than from all my previous boyfriends combined. Alex has money to throw around, so maybe it’s typical behavior. I’d be less conflicted if the tabloids didn’t paint him in such an unfavorable light.

“Is that why you came by?” I hope it’s not the only reason. I don’t think I’m cut out for casual sex.

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