For Pucking Keeps: A Hockey Romance (The Seattle Vipers Series Book 1)

2. Tor

TWO

“Tor! You were on fire out there tonight.” Devan pats me on my back a little too enthusiastically, causing me to almost lose the grip on the towel as I leave the shower. He hoots excitedly as a chorus of shouts rings out around the locker room. I don’t even have the heart to give him shit about almost exposing my dick. I smile instead. The high of the first win of the season is thick and heavy in the air. With the near win of last season, we all skated on the ice determined to redeem ourselves. This is the first step of many, but the team morale for the rest of this series will be high, and I plan on capitalizing on it for us to win the next three games. As team captain, I have to keep it that way. Everything is riding on me to carry us through to the Stanley Cup final, no distractions, my focus will be absolute. Not that I have much in the way of distractions these days as I live and breathe hockey.

Devan Scott, one of my lifelong friends and one of the best defensemen in the league, jumps up on the bench near his locker and turns the music up on his phone. All of us stand around in various states of dress, knowing that we won’t leave the room without his celebratory song and dance. It’s a post-win tradition Devan took upon himself to start. I’m smiling so hard my jaw aches, because Devan is nothing if not a showman both on and off the ice. He has no problem with ‘dropping it low’, the show-off. Originally from Dallas, he trained as a figure skater until he was approached by a local hockey coach who took one look at his footwork and convinced him to try hockey. It didn’t take him long to climb the ranks once he left college. He played for the Dallas Galaxies as a first-round draft pick. He was traded to Seattle four years ago, and the rest is history.

“This fool.” I chuckle, gesturing to Devan over my shoulder with my thumb as I make my way over to my locker next to my best friend and forward, Ridley Masters. The beginning beats of Rhianna’s, Bitch Better Have my Money has the team going wild. Devan begins to pump his hands in the air as he mimes the song, ass shaking in a slow twerk. I laugh at his antics, finding myself bobbing my head right along with everyone else. My teammates whistle, egging him on as they all shout the chorus. Uncoordinated dancing ensues; everyone’s hyped and genuinely enjoying themselves. This is what it feels like to win. To bask in the giddiness of our team’s success. I know it’s one win, but this is the level of confidence we need to maintain to get through to the playoffs and eventually the cup. Before I know it, some of the coaching staff join in, everyone getting swept away by Devan’s theatrics.

“You did that, Tor. You came out on the ice swinging tonight. I expected nothing less. You haven’t stopped. While the rest of us took a break during the off season, you kept training, and it shows. The rest of us are just trying to get on your level,” Ridley says as he continues to check out his bruised and cut face in the mirror on his locker.

As a defensemen, hits, cuts, and bruises are something he is used to, but that asshole on Toronto’s team was gunning for him tonight. I blow out a breath. I feel physically and mentally at the top of my game. When the playoffs slipped between our fingers last season, I made a vow to work harder for myself and my team. This is my seventh season with the Seattle Vipers. How can I call myself the team’s leader and not deliver the cup this year? How can I justify my salary after all this time if we continue to hit and miss?

Ridley presses the swollen bruise on his cheek and winces. “Foster was goading me all night. I don’t usually let it get to me, but when he started talking shit about Lia, I lost it.” He blows out a breath in frustration, running his hands through his still wet hair.

Ridley was signed up straight out of college and joined Seattle at the same time as I did. He and his sister, Lia, moved here together six years ago, having lost their parents in a car accident during Ridley’s senior year of college. Hence his uber protectiveness of his younger sister. She is all he has left, I get it.

I nudge his shoulder in support of his actions. As team captain, I don’t condone dropping gloves, but sometimes a throw down can’t be helped. Plus, Lia is like a little sister to me as well, she is my family, just like her brother. I protect what’s mine, including the man sitting next to me. He is my ride or die. Hell, if Foster hadn’t finally shut up from his beatdown I probably would have joined Rid in the sin bin. At the mention of Lia’s name my thoughts turn to earlier and the woman wearing my jersey. “Speaking of Lia, who was the?—”

“Bailey!” My head flies up at the sound of the head coach’s voice and I immediately snap to attention. All thoughts of the woman I saw sitting next to Lia go flying out the window. “The circus awaits outside, and the mob is getting restless,” he says with an annoyed smirk as the music dies at his arrival. The team hustles to get dressed and leave the locker room. I am not a fan of the press but most nights the duty falls to me to face the media. Or the firing squad, depending on whether we’ve played well or like shit on the ice. Tonight, it should be quick and painless.

“On it, coach!” I shout as I hurry to finish dressing. The sooner I get this over with the better.

“You coming out tonight?” Ridley asks as a text received chimes from his phone. He looks up at me. “Lia wants to come to the bar with us, so you know I have to make sure these assholes keep their hands to themselves,” he says absently, possibly answering his sister, or in Ridley’s case, his latest conquest.

I know for a fact Lia has no problem putting any of these players in their place. Ridley is just an overprotective big brother. It’s almost laughable because it’s Lia who does the protecting whenever we are out these days. Oh, how the tables have turned. . .she does more wrangling of him now.

Ridley had been in a long-term relationship with a famous musician, but when two people’s lives and worlds were polar opposites, one of them was bound to break. Brea walked away from him the day Ridley proposed marriage, and my best friend hasn’t been the same since. In the end they both wanted different things, and Brea didn’t want to sacrifice her career to be with him. Two years later Ridley has a different woman almost every night.

Grabbing my bag I sling it over my shoulder, about to walk away. I stop and turn back to Ridley, who is still typing away on his phone. “I guess I can come out tonight. Lia might need help keeping bunnies at bay,” I say as I head toward the exit, mentally preparing myself for flashing lights of multiple cameras, and God knows what types of questions the reporters are going to throw at me tonight.

“Oh please, you say that as if you won’t have your own puck bunnies forming a line for your attention. Don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior,” he says innocently, but we both know he will be anything but.

He’s not wrong, but I’ve managed to keep the bunnies at bay for years now. Fucking just to fuck doesn’t appeal to me. . .well, not anymore. There was a time when my face was plastered all over social media with my latest conquest clinging to me hopefully. That all ceased when I lost the most important person in my life. My life spiraled for a while, but with the help of my teammates, I found my way back. When I became team captain I cleaned up my image, hoping to lead by example. I need more in my life. After watching my best friend fall apart from his unravelling relationship with Brea, I need one hundred percent commitment from the person I will eventually share my life with. So, I can’t tell you the last time I got my dick wet. My hand and I are doing just fine, well, until I chanced a glance up into the stands earlier tonight. Fuck. I don’t think I have ever had such a visceral reaction to someone in my life and I couldn’t even see her face completely. I mean, how the hell is it even possible to feel something, a pull or connection to someone without getting a good look at them?

“Sure,” I reply with an eye roll and head out of the room. As soon as the door closes, I’m bombarded.

“Torrance!” one reporter shouts, waving his phone at me to get my attention.

“Torrance, how do you feel about the Vipers’ chances this year?” another reporter hollers from somewhere near the back. At six foot five I see the woman struggle to push her way through the thrum of taller male reporters and I make a mental note to answer her first.

“Torrance, are you afraid you will be traded if you don’t deliver this year?” A reporter right in front of me points his phone in my face, making me step back. The question catches me off guard and I can see the team’s communication manager fidget next to me as I fight back the scowl I want to direct at the reporter.

The shouts continue until I finally clear my throat, shifting my gaze to the left of the reporters where the families of the players usually wait out of the way. I spot Lia easily; Ridley’s jersey looks like a dress on her petite form. She smiles, her curly brunette hair is wild and loose, making me smirk as she offers me two thumbs up. I offer her a nod in return, the gesture was small so not to pull the reporters attention in her direction, but I’m grateful for her little gesture of encouragement. I open my mouth to answer the barrage of questions, but I hesitate as I take in the goddess standing next to her.

I shift as I feel unsteady. My eyes lock with hers. Those eyes. God, brown, gray and green all at once. Not hazel like my own, no, it’s as if an artist couldn’t decide what color to choose, opting to leave her with two perfect ever-changing orbs. She is stunning, with plump red lips, and brown freckles dotted over her nose and cheeks. I clear my throat attempting to focus on the reporters.

“Tonight was important to the team. Winning our first game tonight is a great motivator. I am looking forward to the upcoming season and our chances. . .” I pause. My eyes wander over curves, so many curves, my cock twitches at the sight of her round hips, thick thighs, and the soft light brown skin of her stomach that peeks out from underneath the knot she tied in my jersey. Focus. “. . .our chances. . .” I’m completely distracted by the beautiful woman who’s caught more than my eye. “. . .I think the chances of us getting through the playoffs and eventually to the Stanley Cup final are looking great. One game, one series at time, though,” I finally state, feeling as if I’ve climbed Mount Everest with the Herculean effort it took me to stay focused and answer one question.

I answer the next few questions effortlessly, keeping my eyes trained on the reporters as I continue to give calm, confident, and collected answers that have been drilled into me for moments like this. I can’t believe how discombobulated I feel in the presence of this mystery woman standing next to Lia. Just one look and she’s thrown me off my game. She’s trouble, and I don’t even know her name. I want to run in the opposite direction but also gather her up in my arms and ask her where she’s been all my life in one swift move. This woman is my own personal wrecking ball, and she doesn’t even know it.

I don’t remember the rest of my time with the press, my focus remained on her throughout, the silent conversation between two souls who’ve finally found each other. I don’t wait around for Rid and the rest of the team, I don’t stop to chat to Lia; I’m too flustered to approach due to my warring emotions. I know I won’t be able to avoid the eventual collision with the supernova who found her way into my orbit so suddenly. My ‘no drinking during the season’ rule suddenly comes under intense inner scrutiny because damn it, I want at least two or three drinks in me before I try to convince myself that I am not looking at the beginning of the end. Water will have to suffice though; I need to be stone cold sober to keep myself from falling into the deep end with a stranger. The scary part about all of this is that I am ready to welcome it—welcome her.