Filthy Puckers (Masked Men #10)

Chapter One

Leila

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, adjusting the oversized hockey jersey that practically swallows my frame. The name KANE stretches across my shoulders like a neon warning sign that screams: Do Not Date This Girl.

“I wouldn’t say I’m a serial dater,” I mutter, pulling my hair through the collar.

Abigail snorts from where she sits on my bed, painting her nails a bright shade of red. “Leila, you went on three dates this week.”

“And?”

“With three different guys. And remind me what the last one did wrong?”

I grimace. “He sneezed.”

“Everyone sneezes.”

“It felt like a personal attack.” Turning to face her, I plant my hands on my hips as I add, “And I’m not opposed to three guys—that sounds like a good time if you ask me.”

“Leila Jane, you wash your mouth out!” Abigail gasps dramatically, her tone laced with sarcasm. “If your brothers heard you say that . . .”

I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my head. “The infamous Kane brothers. Yeah, I know all about the all-star hockey players destined for the NHL.” I flop down beside her on the bed with a groan. “They’ve cockblocked me, I know it.”

“You cock-block yourself.” She waves her nail brush at me accusingly. “And have I mentioned how fine your brothers are?”

“Ew, gross. You know Levi picked his nose until he was eleven? And Landon used to tell me wedgies felt good!”

“Maybe he has an ass fetish,” Abigail says with a perfectly straight face.

“Double ew, that’s my brother!” I toss a pillow at her. “Now, Bodhi Andrews, he’s fine as hell.” We both fall into a fit of manic laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt and tears stream down your face. “And Keiran, he could do warmup stretches over top of me any day.”

“Oh my god, your brothers would murder their own teammates,” Abigail manages to say between giggles.

She isn’t wrong. They are what you’d call protective. The kind that involves intimidating stare-downs, and not-so-subtle displays of their athleticism whenever a guy shows interest in me.

“Come on, we need to leave soon or we’ll miss the warmup.” I grab my keys from the dresser. “And trust me, you’ll want to watch it.”

Abigail caps her nail polish and blows on her fingers. “I still can’t believe you’re making me go to this. I don’t know anything about hockey.”

“But I’ve been giving you crash courses for weeks!” I protest, slipping on my sneakers. “Besides, it’s not that complicated. Big guys on skates hit a rubber thing with their sticks until it goes in a net.”

“A very eloquent explanation there, future sports broadcaster,” she quips, and I flip her off as we head out of our dorm room.

The hallway buzzes with pre-game energy. Students wear the team colors, most sporting the black and silver of my college, Gravepoint, while I proudly display my brothers’ blue and white. The distant sound of blasting music echoes through the halls.

“I still can’t believe you went to your brothers’ rival school,” Abigail teases as we trek across campus to where I parked Levi’s truck.

I refused to use what little money we have to buy a car when everything I need is close by.

If I need to go anywhere, Levi lets me borrow his truck.

Landon’s, on the other hand, I wouldn’t want to even sit in.

If you were to run a blue light over his seats, you would probably puke.

“I wanted independence, but not too much,” I reply, clicking the key fob.

The massive black Chevy Silverado chirps, its lifted frame making it tower over the surrounding cars.

“Plus, Gravepoint has been kicking their asses for three seasons straight. I figured I should see what all the fuss is about from the inside.”

“Jesus Christ,” Abigail breathes, staring at the beast of a vehicle. “How do you even get in this thing?”

“Very carefully.” I show her by grabbing the “oh shit” handle and hauling myself up into the driver’s seat. “I think Levi is compensating for something, but he says he just likes being able to see over the traffic.”

Abigail struggles her way into the passenger side, muttering about needing a stepladder. Once she’s buckled in, I fire up the engine.

“This truck is ridiculous,” she complains, but she’s grinning as I back out of the space with the help of approximately one hundred cameras and sensors.

“Wait until you see the other guys’ rides. Hockey players have a thing for big trucks and expensive cars.” I navigate through campus traffic, heading toward the highway. “It’s like a peacocking situation, but with horsepower.”

The drive to Stormhaven takes nearly an hour with the evening traffic, and it gives me plenty of time to refresh Abigail’s hockey education.

“So remind me again, what’s icing?” she asks, fiddling with the radio.

“When you shoot the puck from behind the center line all the way past the goal line on the other end.”

“And offside?”

“When you enter the offensive zone before the puck does.” I merge onto the highway, careful to leave enough room for this monster. “Think of it like . . . you can’t cherry-pick in basketball.”

“I don’t know anything about basketball either.”

I laugh. “Abby, what sports DO you know?”

“Does Netflix count?”

“Only if competitive binge-watching becomes an Olympic event.”

By the time we pull into Stormhaven Arena’s parking lot, I’ve managed to explain the basics of hockey again, and why fighting is technically illegal but also totally expected.

“This place is huge,” Abigail says, awe in her voice as we climb down from the truck.

“Division one, baby. These schools take their hockey seriously.” After I lock the truck, we join the line of people heading toward the entrance. “Fair warning, my brothers’ teammates get a little crazy when they play at home.”

“Define crazy.”

“Last time they won against Gravepoint, they threw so much blue-and-white confetti everywhere that the janitors were still finding it weeks later.”

“At least it’s not little dicks.”

“Nah, that’s Gravepoint’s thing.”

Inside the arena, the energy is something else. Students pack the stands wearing blue and white—Stormhaven’s colors—while a smaller section of black and silver represents the visiting Gravepoint fans. It includes several of my classmates, who spot me in my Kane jersey and give me confused looks.

“Oh my god,” Abigail blurts as we find our seats near the glass in the home section. “They’re so big!”

She’s not wrong. Even from here, the players look massive in their gear, gliding around the ice with a grace that seems impossible for guys their size.

I spot my brothers immediately. “There’s Levi,” I point out. “Number 91. And Landon is 19.”

Abigail nods, then her gaze drifts to the Gravepoint players warming up on the other end of the ice.

“Holy shit, Leila. Look at number 1.”

Following her gaze, I take in the Gravepoint goalie. Out of his gear, he is tall, lean, and every girl’s wet dream. My classmate’s wet dream, technically. “That’s the goalie,” I explain. “Riven Kruger. They call him The Iceman.”

“More like the Ice God,” Abigail mutters, then suddenly grins. “Oh, this will be good.”

I look over to where the players have started warming up. It’s almost the best part of the game—except for my brothers.

My friend starts quietly humming under her breath, but I take a second to recognize the tune, and when I do, I nearly choke on my own spit. “Abigail Rose, are you serious—”

“Daddy’s home,” she starts singing softly, nodding toward the ice. I lose it completely, falling into a fit of laughter that attracts the stares of nearby fans.

“You did not just sing that while they are stretching!”

“What? I’m appreciating the athletic art and”—she points at the team—“that is not warming up. That is the start of hockey porn,” she says innocently, while fighting back her laughter.

“You’re the worst!” I say between laughs. “But also not wrong.”

Warmup continues, and I point out more players to Abigail, including Bodhi and Keiran from my brothers’ team.

She makes appropriately appreciative comments about their “form” and “technique,” which only makes us laugh harder.

As the teams head back to their locker rooms for final preparations, the anticipation builds as fans settle into their seats. I’ve got the familiar pre-game buzz in my chest, and it feels good to be back on home ice, even if I technically go to the enemy school now.

“I think I’m going to like hockey,” Abigail announces, still watching the tunnel where the players disappeared.

“Just wait until they hit each other.”

Twenty minutes later, the lights dim and dramatic music fills the arena. The teams emerge from their respective tunnels to thunderous cheers from their fans. The Stormhaven crowd is deafening, and I can’t help but cheer along as the home team takes the ice.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice booms over the crowd. “Welcome to Stormhaven Arena for tonight’s preseason match-up between your Stormhaven Hounds and the visiting Gravepoint Havocs!”

The home crowd erupts, and I focus on my brothers as they line up for the national anthem. When it ends and the teams circle around the ice to take their positions for the opening face-off, the announcer continues his introduction.

“For your Stormhaven Hounds, leading the charge tonight, it’s a Kane train coming down the ice! Ladies and gentlemen, the brothers of brutality, the Kane boys!”

I beam with pride as my brothers skate a quick victory lap, acknowledging the roar of the home crowd. Then they do something that makes me want to crawl under my seat. They skate directly toward our section and stop, banging their sticks against the glass right in front of me.

“Do a spin for the cameras, little sis!” Levi shouts through his helmet, his voice muffled but still audible.

“Show them the name!” Landon adds, making exaggerated spinning motions with his finger. The entire section is staring at us, and Abigail is practically bouncing in her seat.

“Oh my god, do it! The camera is already on you, look!”

“I hate them,” I mutter, but I stand up and do a slow spin, letting the KANE on the back of my jersey face the camera. The Stormhaven fans cheer, and I catch both of my brothers nodding approvingly before they skate back to their positions.

“That was amazing,” Abigail squeals as I sit back down, my cheeks burning. “Your brothers just outed you as their sister in front of their entire home crowd.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was afraid of. I can cross hockey players off my list of dates now,” I lament, but I can’t help my smile. As the referee drops the puck and the game officially begins, I settle back to watch.

“Okay,” Abigail says, leaning closer as she squints at the ice. “Now I definitely need you to explain what happened, because I think number 24 just tried to murder someone.”

I grin, falling back into my element. “Welcome to hockey, Abby. Buckle up, and remember, we go to school with half of these guys who want to kill my brothers.”

Abigail and I make our way outside to wait for Levi and Landon. Fans stream out of the arena behind us, and players’ families gather near the team exit.

Soon the doors to it burst open, and players walk out, freshly showered and carrying their gear bags.

“Leila!” Landon calls out when he sees me, and he jogs over with his bag slung over his shoulder. “Pretty good game, right?”

“Not bad,” I say with a grin. “Though that turnover in the second period was sloppy.”

“Ouch,” Levi says as he approaches with several other players. “She’s not wrong, though.”

Behind him, I recognize Bodhi, Keiran, and Oscar, all guys I’ve known since they started playing for SHU.

“Leila Kane,” Bodhi says with that charming smile that makes my knees weak. “You look good in our colors.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Bodhi tosses his gear bag into the back of Levi’s truck, and as he does, something falls out onto the pavement. At the sight of the glow mask, my heart stops. I have always wanted to take part in their parties, but my brothers have banned me.

Bodhi quickly scoops it up, but not before Abigail notices.

“What’s that?” she asks, pointing to the mask in his hands.

“Oh, this?” Bodhi grins, holding up the mask. “It’s for chasing girls. A post-victory tradition.”

He slides his arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. “You’ll save a chase for me, right, Leila?”

Before I can even process what’s happening, Landon appears and rips me away from Bodhi’s grasp.

“Over my dead body,” Landon growls, positioning himself between us.

“Are you kidding me right now?” I snap, my temper flaring. “This is exactly why I chose Gravepoint! You two act like I’m a little child who can’t make her own decisions.”

“You are nineteen, Leila,” Levi points out, crossing his arms.

I laugh at how absurd his words sound. “We’re Irish twins, Levi. There’s eleven months between us.”

“Technically Irish triplets,” Levi corrects with a smirk, gesturing to himself and Landon.

“Oh my god, you’re impossible,” I say, throwing my hands up. “Both of you. I’m an adult, and I can talk to whoever I want without my brothers acting like my bodyguards.”

“Not when they are our teammates,” Landon snaps.

“Your teammates who apparently chase girls in masks?” Abigail pipes up, looking between Bodhi and the mask with interest.

Bodhi shrugs, completely unbothered by the tension. “What can I say? We like to have fun.”

“You know what?” I say, grabbing the keys from my pocket. “We’re leaving. Abby, get in the truck.”

“Leila—” Levi starts with a sigh.

“No.” I slash my hand through the air for emphasis as I cut him off. “I’m done with this conversation. I’ll see you guys at the party.”

I speed walk back to my car with Abigail in tow, but as I climb into the driver’s seat, I catch Bodhi’s eye in the rearview mirror, and he winks at me.

Is it wrong to get involved with him, knowing it would piss my brothers off and might cause tension for the team? Maybe, but it also might teach my brothers a lesson: the more you tell someone no, the more they’ll want to do it.