Pucked Page 61

“Waters, I’m not going to tell you again. Get away from my sister.”

Buck’s tone has changed to the quiet-calm voice he uses when he’s so furious he can barely function. I’ve seen him like this a couple of times before. Usually over Xbox. It’s not good. I have a feeling he’s going to try to break Alex.

Alex spins to face him. Since I’m looking at the floor, I see his dick swing in the process. I hold back the inappropriate laughter when I hear it slap against his thigh. I love his penis. I want to give it a sponge bath and dress it up like a super hero.

Peeking over his shoulder; I see a few more team members standing behind Buck, gawking rather than going about their business. I can’t blame them. This is rather entertaining.

Buck shifts his angry glare from Alex to me. “What’s wrong with you?” He’s back to yelling.

“Pardon me?” I ask, all snarky.

“Do you think we could get a towel?” Alex asks.

“Screw you! I’m not getting you shit,” Buck replies.

“It’s not for me, asshole. It’s for Violet. Unless you’d like the entire team to see her naked.” Alex matches him, even voiced and calm.

Darren, who’s valiantly trying to keep his eyes averted, tosses a towel to Alex, who in turn hands it to me. Once I’m wrapped up, Buck takes a swing at Alex. It’s totally unexpected; at least I don’t expect it. Apparently Alex does. He grabs me around the waist and moves us out of the way. I feel the whoosh of air on my cheek as Buck’s giant fist misses my face by mere inches.

Alex sets me down and shoves Buck, hard. “What’s wrong with you? You could’ve hurt her.”

Buck still has skates on; he stumbles backward, struggling to stay upright. Darren and Kirk move in as if to break them up.


Gripping my towel with one hand to keep it in place, I put a palm on Buck’s chest. It’s gross how sweaty he is. His jersey is drenched. Alex is right behind me, his chest against my back. I’m a miniature person compared to the two of them; they glare at each other over my head.

“What the hell are you doing with him?” Buck spits on my face as he yells.

This is so repulsive. I’ll never have sex in a locker room again. I could get plantar warts from standing on the dirty floor without shoes. Okay, so the floor isn’t dirty at all. This is like a damn hotel room except it smells like sweaty men, hockey equipment, and sex—thanks to Alex and me.

“Can you quit it with the yelling? I’m standing right here. I can definitely hear what you’re saying just fine without you trying to shower me in saliva and shatter my eardrums.”

Buck gestures to Alex, his expression reflecting his disbelief. “He fucks anything with a pulse!”

“Says the walking venereal disease.” God, I’m good today.

“I bag my shit! I don’t have fungus growing on my dick. I can’t say the same for this asshole.” Buck points an accusatory finger at Alex.

“What the hell is going on here? The coach comes in, surveying the scene with a critical, confused eye. “Who hired a hooker? You know the policy on that.”

“Oh my God.” I grip the towel tight and hide behind my hand, utterly mortified.

“Watch it, Coach. That’s my sister.” Buck’s tone, while controlled, holds warning and a lot of pent-up anger. I’m thinking that’s mostly due to walking in on the locker sex—oh, and the fact that I’m now being pegged as a puck bunny of the lowest form.

“Your sister’s a hooker?” Coach asks.

What the hell? Is everyone in this room below intellectual average other than Alex? More importantly, do I look like a hooker? I suppose my nakedness paints me as such. I peek out from between my fingers—I’ve ascribed to the childish notion if I can’t see anyone, no one can see me either.

Alex hulks out again, taking a protective stance in front of me. “She’s not a hooker; she’s my girlfriend!” he roars.

Literally, he roars. It’s loud and guttural. It makes my ears hurt since he’s so close.

Getting caught having sex is only the tip of the embarrassment iceberg. Now that the coach has accused me of being a prostitute, Buck looks like he’s going to blow. I’m waiting for the top of his head to pop off and steam to come pouring out along with the limited amount of brain matter he keeps in there.

I look up at Alex and whisper, “Can I get dressed now?”

Coach blows a whistle around his neck and the chatter stops. “Show’s over. You better hope no one caught wind of this shit, Waters, or you’ll have one hell of a mess to clean up. Take your friend and her clothes to the lounge; then come see me.” His disapproval is clear. “The rest of you, get changed.”

Alex picks me up by the waist and carries me over to my discarded items while the coach pulls Buck aside.

Once I’ve secured my clothing, Alex takes me through a door to another room. Couches and a giant flat screen occupy most of the space.

“Why did we have hot, angry sex against lockers if we could’ve had it here, on this couch? I mean God, Alex, you could’ve just bent me right over and . . .”

His jaw clenches and a muscle twitches in his cheek. “There’s a couch in my condo I can bend you over tomorrow night if you want. Right now, you should get dressed.”

Holding the towel in front of me, he checks over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure we’re alone.

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