Puck Me, I’m Yours (Hawthorne University Hockey #1)

9. Breck

9

Breck

Things have been good. Really good, actually. Great even. We’re texting constantly, and every conversation feels like a step closer. But it’s just texting. That’s all it is. I still make a point to watch her practice whenever I can, but that’s... well, that’s not the same, is it?

Every time I’ve tried, albeit subtly, to take things beyond the screen, she shoots me down. Not harshly, but enough to make me second-guess myself. Hell, I called us friends the other day, and she didn’t exactly argue with that.

So, is that what I am? Just a friend? Did I somehow friendzone myself before we even got started?

Fuck, I hope not. Because my dumbass is already head over heels for this girl. And I’m not sure how to stop it.

She’s got this fire in her, you know? Like she doesn’t need anyone—but I can’t stop hoping she might want me anyway.

It’s like every time I think I’ve got a handle on what she’s about, she surprises me with something new.

Like tonight—she posted some random playlist on her Instagram story, and I swear to god, half of those songs had lyrics that felt like they were written just for me. And I’m not talking about some cheesy love ballads, either. We’re talking about gritty, raw shit—songs that get under your skin and make you feel like the world’s just a little bit smaller than it really is. That playlist? That’s the kind of thing I’d listen to when I’m on a late-night skate, pushing myself past my limits.

I think I’ve listened to it, like, five times already, just so I can feel that little connection. Every time I press play, it’s like she’s right there with me, even though I know she’s a few miles away, doing whatever it is she does when she’s not at the rink.

Okay, yeah, this is definitely getting a little stalker-ish.

I glance down at my phone again. Still no new text from her. It’s been a couple of hours, but I don’t even care about the time. I’ll keep checking until I get that message. Maybe I’ll hear from her after her practice. Maybe she’s just busy, but... what if she’s ignoring me? What if I’ve been way too forward? I mean, I text her about her schedule, then I throw in that little joke about her ‘cheering me on’ at a game that doesn’t even exist yet. Am I coming on too strong? Or does she like that?

I run a hand through my hair, letting out a slow breath. No, she wouldn’t text me back if she didn’t like talking to me, right? That’s what I keep telling myself. I’ve been texting her on and off for days now, and it feels different from any other casual fling I’ve had. It’s not like I’m after some quick hook-up. Hell, I haven’t even thought about hooking up with anyone else since I started talking to Del.

"You thinking about making a move?” Micah flops down into the seat beside me.

I don’t answer right away. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. But I don’t want to rush things with Del. It feels... different. I don’t know how else to explain it. There’s something about her that makes me want to be patient, to figure out who she really is beyond just the surface-level interactions.

“Not sure yet,” I finally say, shrugging. “We’re still just talking. It’s fine.”

My friends laugh, but I know they’re just messing with me. They’ve seen me get distracted by girls before. I don't hook up with a new chick every other night like some of my teammates—lookin' at you Axel. They don't call you Sin for nothing—but I'm not a saint. But this... this feels different. I don’t want to mess it up. I want to get it right.

We’re at The Penalty Box tonight. Winslow isn’t a big town, but it’s got two bars that cater to the college crowd—The Penalty Box for hockey and Gridiron Bar & Grill for football. You can always tell where the mood’s at based on which one’s busier. Right now, it’s all about the ice. Football’s big, but hockey's the main show on this campus.

Normally, I’d be all in for the fun, but tonight just feels off. My eyes drift across the bar, scanning the crowd of Hawthorne sweatshirts and tipsy coeds. A group of girls near the pool tables keeps glancing our way, giggling behind their hands. Puck bunnies, no doubt. I suppress a sigh.

I take a long swig of my drink, grateful for the burn in my throat. It's not that I don't appreciate the attention—I'm only human, after all. But lately, it all feels so... hollow.

"Looks like we've got some admirers," Micah remarks, nodding towards the girls.

"When don't we?" Jett smirks, running a hand through his perfectly disheveled hair.

"Earth to Breck," Axel waves a hand in front of my face. "You with us, bro?"

I blink, realizing I've zoned out. "Yeah, sorry. Just... thinking about that botched play from practice."

It's a lie, but easier than admitting where my thoughts really were. Or rather, who they were with. I can't get those green eyes out of my head, no matter how much I try to drown them in cheap beer.

"Dude, practice is over," Jett groans. "We're here to forget about hockey for five seconds and have some fun."

"Right," I mutter, plastering on a smile. "Fun. Got it."

As if on cue, the group of girls starts making their way over. I brace myself for the inevitable flirting and forced small talk. But all I can think about is how none of them are her. None of them are Del.

God, I'm in trouble.

My phone burns a hole in my pocket, begging to be checked. I resist for all of thirty seconds before caving, fishing it out and swiping the screen open. No new messages. My heart sinks.

"Bro, you're killing the vibe tonight," Axel says, leaning in close to be heard over the pulsing bass. "Why don't you leave your phone alone for five minutes?"

I take another swig of my beer, wishing it could wash away the ache of waiting. But as the night wears on, one thing becomes crystal clear: no amount of alcohol or distraction can dull the sharp edges of my feelings for Delaney Quinn.

"Hey there, handsome," a sultry voice purrs next to me. I turn to find Zara, a familiar face at every game, every after-party, and often in one of our beds. From what I’ve heard, she can do this amazing thing with her tongue that will leave you cross-eyed. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never indulged. Won’t be tonight either.

Without asking, she slides onto the stool next to me, her legs brushing mine, her perfume thick and sweet, wrapping around me like a cloud. "Buy a girl a drink?"

I tilt my head, forcing a polite smile, leaning away slightly. "Thanks, but I'm good."

She doesn’t seem to care. In one smooth motion, she shifts, leaning into me, her hand grazing my chest. "Come on, Breck. You know you want to," she whispers, her lips brushing my ear. "You look tense. I could help you relax, you know. Take your mind off things."

I’m not dumb. I know exactly what she's after, but it's the way she’s suddenly all up in my space that throws me off. I take a deep breath, trying to keep things cool. "Zara," I start, but she’s already moving faster than I can catch up.

Without asking, she swings one leg over my lap and straddles me, her body pressing against mine, her hands on my shoulders to steady herself. My eyes widen as I instinctively lean back, trying to create space. “What the hell are you doing?”

She smirks, her fingers tracing the edge of my shirt, her touch slow and deliberate. “I think you know what I’m doing. Come on Breck, you know you want me. You don’t have to be shy about it.” She leans in, her breath hot against my neck. “Come on, we’ve both been at this long enough, no reason to pretend like we don’t want the same thing.”

What the fuck is she on about? I’m not pretending shit. Even when I do hook up, it’s not with puck bunnies like her. They’re just... too damn eager. And I’m sure as hell not looking to be eskimo bros with any of my teammates. They might not care, but I’m not about that life.

I try to push her off gently, but she’s stubborn, her grip firm on my arm. “Zara, seriously, I’m not—”

But she cuts me off, her lips brushing my jaw as she pouts. “You’re always so uptight about this. I know you want to. You don’t have to play the good guy for everyone, Breck.”

My mind starts to spin, frustration creeping in. I’m not sure what’s worse—being in this situation in the first place, or the fact that I’m stuck, trying to figure out how to get out of it without making a scene.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I instantly grab it, desperate for an escape. Please, let it be Del.

I glance down, disappointment hitting me like a cold slap. It's just a team notification, not the message I was hoping for. I sigh and look back up, finding Zara still inches from my face, practically daring me to make a move.

"Zara, I really can’t—"

She doesn’t let me finish. Instead, she leans in even closer, her lips brushing mine, just barely. "Just one drink, Breck. What harm could it do?"

I suppress a sigh. How do I make it clear I'm not interested without being a complete jerk? "Look, Zara, you seem nice, but—"

"Why don't we get out of here?" she purrs, her fingers tracing patterns on my forearm. "My place isn't far."

"I’m not interested, Zara. Seriously. Not tonight."

She stares at me, her eyes flashing with something that’s part annoyance, part challenge. She hesitates for a moment, then slides off my lap, finally giving me the space I need. “Your loss, Breck,” she says, her voice laced with a hint of bitterness.

I watch her walk away, my body still tense, and I can’t help but feel like I’ve just narrowly avoided something I’m not ready for.

From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Axel swooping in to smooth things over. He materializes beside her, his trademark smirk in place. Her attention shifts, her frustration with me momentarily forgotten. Thank fuck. And Thank God for Axel.