Grudge Puck: A Hockey Romance Read online

  The Blizzard team doctor ran along the ice, dodging fist-fights and discarded equipment along the way, until he knelt next to Beau.

  “I can't watch, it's too awful,” I said, burying my face against Piper's shoulder. “I'm a monster.”

  She hugged me. “It's not your fault.”

  Moments of agony passed. Finally, Piper broke the news.

  “Hey Cammy, look. He's okay, he's getting up.”

  I took a peek. There he was—climbing to his skates. He looked shaky, like a newborn calf trying to stand for the first time. A river of crimson flowed from his face, splattered his jersey and spilled to the ice. The doctor thrust a towel into Beau's face to stop the bleeding.

  Doubled-over at the waist, Beau glided slowly to the bench. Once he made it there, the doctor escorted him down the tunnel and away from the game.

  Beau did not look alright.

  “Serves that asshole right,” a fan nearby us said.

  The person next to me wanted a high five. I gave that fan a dirty scowl instead.

  Chapter 15

  Busted Open

  Beau

  “Hurry,” I growled at the team doctor, Jordan, as he worked a needle in and out of the skin just above my eyebrow. “I need to get back out there.”

  “Be still. I'm going as fast as I can,” Jordan reprimanded me. “But no matter how soon I get this done? No one's letting you out there until you pass a concussion screening.”

  “What the fuck for? I'm fine.”

  “You looked awfully shaky out there, Beau.”

  “Yeah, I just got my face rammed into the glass.”

  “Which is why the league will make you pass concussion protocols,” Jordan answered.

  “But I'm telling you, I'm fine.”

  Jordan shrugged.

  In his eyes, it wasn't up for debate. And maybe that was a good thing. Because the truth was? The hit from Leroux fucked me up, and yeah, I was still a little dazed. But I've had my bell rung enough to know this wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

  The worst part of that hit was that it happened right in front of Camille. I'd just spotted her for the first time tonight—and my heart jumped into my throat. Not only did she come to the game after all, she dressed a little gothic, like she used to way back when.

  Surely that wasn't a coincidence. Was she sending me a message? Did she wanna hook up again tonight?

  Then I noticed that middle finger she held waiting for me, right between her boobs. Welp. Guess not.

  And then, well, the next thing I knew, my face was plastered into the glass, everything went black, and I woke up on the ice. When I finally got up again, I was seeing double. But even that wasn't so bad—I saw two Camilles behind the glass.

  Jordan finished sewing me up and gave the wound a healthy dousing of iodine. “There we go. All patched up. So the league's sending their concussion-spotter down to check you out. Gonna be a few minutes before he gets here, and if you pass all his tests, you'll be good to go back out there.”

  “Alright. Hey, Jordan, you mind getting me my cell phone? I should probably tell my Mom I'm alright. She watches every game and she's probably freaking out right now.”

  “Sure thing, bud.” Jordan went into the dressing room and came back with my phone.

  I called Mom and let her know I was alright. Mom sounded like she'd been crying. Watching my games can be hard on her.

  “I'm fine, Mom, alright? Don't worry. I'll talk to you later. I gotta get back into the game. Love you. Bye.”

  I hung up, and then my phone buzzed with a text. I opened it—it was from Camille.

  “Oh my god, please don't actually die! I didn't mean it! I'm so worried about you … please tell me you're going to be okay!”

  I cracked a smile—what, did she actually care about me now?—and texted her back.

  “Hi. Not dead yet. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  I could practically hear the sigh of relief when I read her reply.

  “Fuck! Why do you have to scare me like that???”

  “Next time I take a brutal cheapshot from behind, I promise I'll give you advance warning.”

  “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

  “I'm surprised you're pretending to care.”

  “Shutup. I do care, dick.”

  Reading that text gave me a smile.

  But the next one she sent brought a frown.

  “P.S. You play like a goon now. You used to be a goal-scorer. What happened?”

  “I dunno,” I answered, groaning.

  “Well hurry up and come back and score a goal, idiot! Your team needs one to tie it. I was rooting against you, but after these NYC jerks cheered when you got hurt, I'm on your side. Fuck these assholes.”

  I grinned and fired off another text. “Sweeten the pot.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If I come back and score a goal? I get to treat you to dinner after the game.”

  Up until I proposed that idea, we'd traded back-and-forth texts in rapid-fire fashion. But now, minutes rolled off the clock without an answer from her. I wondered if I'd gone too far and now she was giving me the cold shoulder.

  Hm.

  But then, finally, my phone buzzed again.

  “Really, Beau? Is that really what you want?”

  “Hell yeah it is.”

  “Fine. Get back here, score a goal, and you've got a deal. P.S. I'm only agreeing because I know you can't score goals anymore.”

  My nostrils flared. I knew she was only trying to light a fire under my ass, but goddamn—she sure knew how to press my buttons.

  “Better start thinking about what you wanna do after we eat,” I texted her back. “Because now I'm scoring two.”

  I set my phone aside and yelled at Jordan. “Where the hell is this concussion guy at?!”

  After a few more minutes of waiting, the concussion-spotter finally made it into the room to check me out.

  “Took you long enough,” I growled at him. “What happened? Hit your head and get lost on the way down here?”

  He peered at me over his spectacles; he wasn't amused. “Remember: I'm the guy who decides if you get to return to the ice or not.”

  My shoulders dropped. “Fine.”

  ***

  I got cleared to return to the game during the second intermission. When the third period started, I took the ice with the rest of the team. When they saw me again, the crowd went wild with their boos.

  Hunter elbowed me. “Guess they're glad to see you back, huh?”

  “You know it.”

  I skated by Camille's seat and gave her a wink. She sat with folded arms. Her eyes glowed, but her lips were cinched tight—like she was fighting back a smile with every ounce of willpower she had in her bones.

  And that was when I realized something.

  You know. I really do like that girl.

  Unfortunately, Coach took me off Hunter's line and started the period with my ass stapled to the bench. Coach apparently didn't think it was 'safe' for me to return to the game yet.

  “Why the hell not?” I roared. “They cleared me. They said I'm fine.”

  “It's not about that. The game's gotten too chippy with you out there, Beau. I've gotta worry about the other guys on this team. If I throw you back out there, it'll be like throwing gas on a fire.”

  “You don't understand, Coach. I need to get back out there.”

  “Why, so you can exact revenge?”

  “No. Coach, I wanna get even on the scoreboard.”

  “That's rich,” Coach said with a doubting laugh. Some of the boys around me laughed, too.

  No one believed me.

  Coach shook his head. “Just hang tight and take it easy, Beau.”

  Wow.

  Coach was really going to bench me. After coming back from that huge hit, he wasn't going to put me back out there. And after I bragged to Camille that I'd score two goals, too. Coach might as well cut my balls off and throw those out on the ice while he was at it.


  I stewed on the bench, watching my team slog through the game like uninspired, emotionless robots.

  After every mistake, every flat play, I shot Coach a nasty look that said, see? Put me out there and that won't happen.

  But he turned away every time, too damned proud to look me in the eye.

  Until the Scouts scored again—and we went down 2-0 with ten minutes left to play. As soon as that puck went into our net, I stared at Coach.

  “Alright, Beau. You've got one shift to make me change my mind.”

  He tapped my shoulder and sent me out with Hunter's line for the next play.

  Yes.

  I leaped over the boards with piss and vinegar flowing through my veins. As soon as the ref dropped the puck, I let pure instinct and rage guide me on a tear.

  We took the puck into the Scout's end. In the corner, I crushed a Scout, savoring the crowd's cringing oof—a sound that told me the hit was so hard, I might as well have punched each and every fan in the gut personally.

  Which I would've really enjoyed, after all their booing tonight.

  I snatched up the puck that bobbled free after the hit. I sent it to Hunter, who streaked into the offensive zone and pulled a defender to himself.

  I sneaked into the open ice and cocked my stick, ready to fire.

  I didn't even have to call for the puck—that's how good Hunter is. He saw me get open and knew, knew, that I wanted to put my mark on this game after that hit.

  He sent the puck sailing through the air back to me. I let out a battle roar and leaned into the shot, giving it everything I had. Off my stick in a hurry, that rubber disc was only a streaking black blur through the air, over the goalie's shoulder, under the bar, and into the net.

  We were still down 2-1, but I'd just scored that dinner.

  My teammates mobbed me with hugs, but I managed to break free from the group to skate by Camille. Her hands were excitedly clasped together—and the smile, the look on her face?

  Man.

  I'd do anything to see that look on her face again and again.

  Chapter 16

  Gentleman

  Camille

  My heart fluttered as I watched Beau race up the ice, charge into the corner and out-muscle his opponent. Ever since he came back from that hit, he came back looking like a new man.

  I never imagined I would've been excited for the chance of a dinner date with Beau Bradford—especially after what happened last night. But as soon as I took him up on that bet, I started secretly rooting for him. And as soon as the coach finally gave him his first shift? He did it. He scored a goal just seconds after he took the ice.

  “Wow,” Piper gasped in awe. She patted my thigh. “That boy looks like he really wants that dinner.”

  He played with speed, power, and skill—qualities that he hadn't shown in the first period. Sure, he still had a hard, physical edge; but now, instead of it bordering on nastiness, he only employed it in small measures, and only to tilt the balance of the game in his team's favor.

  I answered hoarsely, “Yeah, guess so.”

  “Must be a good feeling,” she giggled.

  I answered shyly, “It is.”

  Truth was? It wasn't just a good feeling. The idea that I had enough of a tug on Beau to impact the events of a professional hockey game … well! That was very, very flattering.

  No—more than that, it was a rush of power, and I thought of Helen of Troy, whose face launched a thousand ships.

  I watched Beau chug around the ice like a man possessed. He threw his weight into an opponent and knocked the man to the ice, snatched up the puck and fired another rocket at the goalie.

  He was doing it all to impress me. Which, yes, was sort of a primitive, caveman mentality—and something I probably would've found unbecoming only 24 hours ago.

  But you know what else was primitive and unbecoming? The way his demonstration of alpha power and masculine bravado inspired a sweltering warmth that spread between my thighs.

  Some things you just can't help being attracted to.

  Beau got the puck again. Bearing down on the Scouts goalie, he rushed the net. With a fancy move, Beau coaxed the goaltender out of his crease and deftly maneuvered the puck around the goalie's body, and easily stuffed it into the open net behind him. Piper and I both launched out of our seats to cheer—and earned a few nasty looks from the fans sitting around us.

  It was a tie game, 2-2. And now, thanks to the terms of our bet, I was obligated to spend more time with him after our dinner date.

  I crossed my legs and secretly indulged in the toe-curling throbs and pulses between my legs. Quietly, under the idle droning of the crowd, I moaned softly.

  “Aw.” Piper put her arm around my shoulder. “Look, your cheeks are all pink. Are you embarrassed? You shouldn't be! It's so cute. I can't wait to hear about your date.”

  “Well, we'll see,” I stammered. “I'm not exactly letting my guard down just yet … who knows what Beau really wants, after all.”

  But even if it was just sex …? After seeing him play tonight, as shameful as it was, some animal part of me wouldn't even mind. If he only wanted to use me for one more night of pleasure? Fine. He'd left me feeling so impressed—by his prowess, his brute strength, his determination to claim me—that now, I knew I needed him tonight more than I needed anything else.

  ***

  When the final horn sounded, the Blizzard, led by Beau, won 3-2.

  The life had been sucked out of the stands at MSG. Over the stunned silence of the crowd, we could hear the cheers of the Blizzard boys as they congratulated each other on the ice. When Beau broke free from the group, he glided by my seat.

  He gave me that infamous smile and a wink. Then Beau pointed at an imaginary watch that would be around his wrist.

  “One hour,” he mouthed. “Dinner.”

  I smiled and mouthed back, “Okay.”

  We watched as he skated off, and his teammates attacked him again with more hugs and butt-spanks. They skated off the ice in high spirits.

  “Now what?” Piper asked me.

  I shrugged. “I guess I have to kill an hour.”

  ***

  Piper and I passed the time with margaritas at a nearby bar. I texted Beau to meet us when he was free.

  An hour later, Piper suddenly looked over my shoulder.

  He's behind me, isn't he?

  Sure enough, the weight of his massive hands settled gently on my shoulder. A tingle charged up my spine. Beau bent down, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and his familiar scent filled my senses.

  “Hi Beau,” I said, my stomach twisting and tightening as soon as his stubble scraped against my cheek.

  “Good evening,” he said politely.

  I giggled, and remarked sarcastically to Piper, “Oh, tonight he's a gentleman.”

  “Yeah.” Beau smiled. “Thought I'd try a little, anyway.”

  He almost looked like a gentleman, too—minus the fresh set of stitches that ran through the pink and swollen skin just above his eyebrow. But he didn't look bothered by it; he looked perfectly happy. His skin was otherwise bright, his eyes glowed, and he wore an expensive cobalt suit. The well-tailored suit hugged his wide frame nicely, hinting at the hunks of muscle that I knew laid just beneath.

  “Hey Beau!” Piper said. “Great game tonight.”

  “Hey Piper.” He greeted her with a peck on the cheek. “By the way, the boys wanted me to thank you two for the cupcakes. Everyone was joking afterward that we won because of the extra boost from the vegan desserts.”

  “Really? They liked them?” I asked.

  “Yeah. No joke. Might have to be a regular thing when the team visits New York.”

  “Oh, that's so good to hear!” Piper said. And with that, she jumped out of her stool and offered it to Beau. “Well, I'll be off, but you two have fun tonight …”

  “Aw, c'mon, I don't want to chase you off. You should finish your drink, at least,” Beau said with a hint of concern.

/>   “No need!” Piper blurted out. She grabbed her purse and gathered herself. “Remember, Cammy, I'm opening the bakery tomorrow, so you enjoy yourself tonight! Gotta go, bye!”

  She almost ran for the door.

  Beau slid into her stool, a brow raised in suspicion. “What's gotten into her?”

  “I don't know. She's definitely in a hurry for something.”

  “Well. Anyway.” Beau stared at me like he wanted to drink me up. His eyes slaved over my breasts and trailed up and down my body and, at last, he gave a soft exhale. “Wow, you look lovely, Camille.”

  “Thank you,” I said quietly. I fought the urge to reject his compliment. Instead, I think I probably turned red from embarrassment. Next to Beau? I looked like a scrub. I hadn't dressed up for a fancy dinner … I'd dressed to get Beau hurt.

  Which, y'know, was exactly what I did.

  Eep.

  “And you look very handsome in your suit. And also very, um.” Tenderly, I touched my finger to his skin, just outside his sutures. “Bad-ass?”

  He grinned. “Glad you think it's bad-ass and not disgusting.”

  “Oh, it's that, too.” We both laughed. “But more on the bad-ass side.”

  Beau watched as I finished my drink in a hurry.

  “Ready to eat?” he asked.

  “Sure. So where are you taking me?”

  “Hey, I asked you to think of where you wanted to go. You're the New Yorker—what's good around here? And don't be shy. You can pick some snobby French place if you want. Or, hell, some weird vegan restaurant.” He gently ribbed my side. “I'm up for anything.”

  But I looked down and gave my outfit a grimace. “Would it be alright if we did something simpler? I don't feel dressed for something fancy. There's a diner nearby that I like. Everyone raves about their burger, fries and milkshake, and they've got options for me, too.”

  Beau smiled. “That sounds amazing. Dream date, actually.”

  I laughed. “You're such a guy, Beau.”

  “Guilty as charged.” He stood and offered me his arm. “Shall we?”

  I took his arm, and we left the bar and headed for the diner. The sun had set, but twilight kept the sky caught somewhere between day and night. Walking the city streets with my fingers wrapped snugly around Beau's bicep, I felt stuck between two states of mind. It wasn't all that long ago, after all, that I felt nothing but disgust and revulsion towards him.