Pucking Dirty (Pucked Up Love #1)

Chapter Seven

Emilia

" H ey, Jordan." I glance up from my desk, surprised to see him standing in the doorway to my office, scowling. "Do you need something?"

"Yeah." He stomps inside, his hands shoved in his pockets. He looks uncomfortable as hell as he paces around my office. "I need you to psychoanalyze me or something."

"Okay…" I say carefully, trying to mask my surprise. I tried to get him in here a week ago and he told me hell no. I figured hell would actually freeze over before he ever willingly walked through my door. Logan is not cooperating either. Surprise, surprise. The rest of the team has been a lot more willing, but these two? It's been an uphill battle the whole way. "What's going on?"

"We're playing the Bucks tomorrow," he says.

Crap. He played for the Bucks for a few years before he and a teammate, Jamison Peters, came to blows midgame. It got ugly. Jordan knocked him out in front of an arena full of people. That fight almost upended his entire career. He was sent down to their minor league team before they eventually traded him to the Carvers. He's turned it around since, but it hasn't been an easy road for him.

"You're still dealing with the fallout of what happened between you and Peters," I guess.

"Fuck him," he snarls, turning those steely gray eyes on me. "He deserved what happened between us."

"Okay," I murmur, inclined to believe him. Jordan may be difficult, but he's not the kind of guy who starts fights with his teammates for the fun of it, especially not fights as bad as that one reportedly was. It still tops lists as one of the worst fights in hockey history.

"He sent his fucking sister to try to talk me," he says. "She ambushed me in the parking lot the other day, begging me to talk to him."

"Ah." I sit back in my chair. "And you don't want to talk to him?"

"He should have been banned from the game for life." Jordan mutters a curse. "But she doesn't know that. He fed her some bullshit about it being a misunderstanding."

I eye him silently for a long moment. "What's her name?"

"Sutton," he says, his tone soft.

"You like her."

He whips his head around, glaring at me.

I smile gently, not buying the act when I heard the truth in his voice. He has feelings for her. Intense, complicated feelings. "You're allowed to like her, Jordan. Just because you have issues with her brother doesn't mean you have to have issues with her."

"She's his sister."

"There's no rule that says you have to forgive him." I shrug. "That's up to you. But you don't have to punish her for whatever he did."

"She doesn't even know." He resumes pacing. "How the fuck am I supposed to tell her what he did, Lariat?"

"Do you want to talk about what he did?"

"Hell no," he barks. "Not with you."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to tell her?"

He shrugs, which makes me smile. He really likes this girl. Interesting.

"Then don't tell her. You can hate him and what he did and still protect his relationship with her. That doesn't mean you're doing it for his sake, Jordan. If they're close, let it be for her sake."

"Yeah," he mumbles after a minute. "Yeah, maybe I can do that."

"Then problem solved."

He grunts, shooting me a look. "You don't suck at this."

"Surprised?"

He holds his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "I had my doubts after the whole lizard dick, circle jerk fiasco, Lariat. But…you might actually make it around here."

"Might?" I arch a brow at him. "Don't flatter me too hard, Silvestri. I might begin to think you actually like me."

He grins, striding toward the door. "Who me? I don't like anyone."

"Right," I say, chuckling as he disappears into the hall.

Alice pops her head in not even sixty seconds later. "Did I just see Jordan leaving your office?"

"You did."

"Wow," she says, clearly impressed.

"I know, right?"

She laughs softly. "I'm going out to the arena to watch them practice. You want to come?" She waggles her brows at me. "I heard that a certain defenseman is out there."

I glance at the paperwork on my desk and then at her. "Hmm… paperwork or staring at Whatley's ass," I say, pretending to think about it. "Tough call."

"Girl, get your ass out of that chair," she says, cackling.

I bounce up with a grin, tossing my pen down.

"Morning." I lift up on my toes to kiss my dad on the cheek before sliding into the cracked leather booth across from him. This early in the morning, the diner down from the practice arena is mostly empty, but the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon permeates the place, making my stomach growl.

My dad glances up from his phone, his expression softening when his gaze lands on me. "Morning, kid."

I eye him critically, not missing the deep shadows beneath his eyes or the weary lines around his mouth. They had the game against the Bucks last night that went into a second overtime before Archer managed to cinch a win for the team with a backhand shot the opposing goalie didn't see coming.

I have no idea what time they got back into town. Nash texted me from the locker room after the game, but I passed out on him before they made it to the airport.

I woke up to him wrapped around me in my bed this morning, snoring in my ear. He looked every bit as exhausted as my dad. I didn't wake him before slipping out for breakfast. I figured he could use the sleep.

"You look like hammered crap," I tease my dad. "What time did you guys get in?"

"Two."

My eyes widen. "Dad. You could have skipped breakfast!"

"Fuck that," he grunts. "The only time I ever see you outside of work is at breakfast once a week. I'm not missing it to sleep in."

Guilt pricks at me because he isn't wrong. We've barely seen each other in weeks. I spend every waking moment with Nash, carefully avoiding my dad. I've been freaking terrified he'd see the truth written all over my face, and that would be the end of Nash's career. But I've had a lot of time to think since my conversation with Nash last week.

Too much time, perhaps.

I want to be honest with my father about Nash. I hate feeling like I have to hide this big, important part of my life from him. I'm not ashamed of Nash, and I never want him to think I am. Yet, the longer I drag this out, the more I risk making him feel like he's some dirty secret to me, or like our relationship is something I don't value.

That couldn't be further from the truth. I'm so in love with him that I can't breathe through it most days. He consumes every thought in my head. No one has ever set me on fire and made me feel so safe, so seen, and so heard at the same time.

I want him to feel seen and heard too. I need him to know that he matters to me. And I can't do that the way he deserves if I'm too damn scared to even tell my dad that I'm in love with the man.

My whole life, my father has warned me away from hockey players, preaching that they'd screw up my life. I don't think I ever fully grasped how I internalized those talks until the other night in Nash's arms. He was right, though. I think I have spent most of my life believing that I ruined my dad's career…and a little afraid he regrets having me as a result.

My mom walked away, but he didn't. He's always been my hero for choosing me when she didn't. It'll crush me if some part of him wishes he'd made the same choice she did, so I've never asked. I've never wanted to face the possibility of having that fear confirmed. But…I don't have a choice any longer. I'll never move beyond it if I don't face it.

And Nash and I will be stuck in a perpetual limbo, constantly hiding. That isn't what I want. It isn't what he wants either. As fun as it is for him to drag me into every dark corner of the arena to fool around…we can't keep going like this forever.

It isn't fair to either one of us.

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask my dad, fidgeting with a napkin.

"Depends on the question, Emilia." He eyes me sideways. "I don't know how to answer half the shit you ask when I've had a full night's sleep. I'm running on far less than that today, kid."

"I'm not that bad."

He snorts, sipping his coffee.

"I'm not!" I protest.

"Really? So you didn't accuse the team of engaging in group masturbation?"

"Oh my god." I stare at him in shock. "You heard about that?"

"Oh, I heard about it." He chuckles, shaking his head. "Circle jerks, Emilia? Really?"

"I told you I panicked when I walked in, and they were all naked!" I whisper-hiss, squirming in my seat. I cannot believe they ratted me out to my dad! "And just so you know, trying to conduct therapy sessions with men you can no longer look in the eye—who can't look you in the eye—is all kinds of awkward and uncomfortable. I blame you."

"How the fuck is any of this my fault?"

"Meet me in the locker room, kid," I say, pitching my voice low to mimic his gruff voice. "And then who wasn't in the locker room? Uh, that'd be you. But guess who was in the locker room? Oh, just an entire team of naked hockey players!"

His lips curve into a grin. "You were supposed to knock."

"When have I ever?" I cry, throwing my hands out wide.

His shoulders shake with the force of his laughter. "Ask your question."

I hesitate as the waitress cuts across the checkered floor toward us to take our order. My stomach is in knots, so I just order eggs and toast. My dad orders half the menu, like usual.

"Do you ever regret giving up your career for me?" I blurt, chewing on my bottom lip as soon as she walks away.

"What the fuck?" he growls, his brows winging together as he glares at me. "What kind of bullshit question is that, Emilia?"

"I don't know," I whisper, dropping my gaze to my hands. "You hate the thought of me dating a hockey player so much. It took me months to convince you to let me take this job! Part of me has always felt like it's because the association between relationships and hockey is so negative for you, personally. And I guess I wonder how much of that is because of me." My shoulders bounce in a shrug. "If you hadn't decided to keep me, you'd have been able to play a lot longer than you did. Maybe you and my mom would have worked out. Without me, your life would have turned out a lot different."

"You're right," he says, and an entire section of my heart shears away. Tears spring to my eyes. I blink rapidly, keeping my gaze firmly on the table. "My life would have turned out differently. I would have kept playing. Maybe your mom would have stuck around a while longer. And I would have missed out on the best goddamn thing I've ever done."

I jerk my gaze up, staring at him in shock. The look on his face… Good lord. It makes my damn soul quiver. I've seen my dad angry before. I've seen him disappointed. But I don't think I've ever seen him look so righteously furious.

"I didn't choose being a father over my career. There was no choice. You're my daughter ," he growls. "You will always come first. And you will always be the crowning achievement in my life. A few more years playing a sport will never compete with that, Emilia. Your mother sure as hell didn't. You think I wanted to tie my life to someone willing to walk away from a child we created? You aren't the reason I lost her. You're the reason I found out who she was. I don't regret that, Emilia. Not for a second."

"Dad," I whisper, flinging myself out of my seat. I crawl into his side of the booth, snuggling up against him like I used to do when I was a little girl.

He drops a kiss on my forehead and then sighs. "It pisses me off that you don't know that already, kid."

"I know it," I say. "I just…"

"Just what?"

"I guess I'm just trying to understand why you're so dead set against me dating a hockey player." I glance up at him in time to see his brows slash together, suspicion ripping through his gaze.

Crap.

"Who the fuck are you trying to date, Emilia?"

"No one," I lie, sliding away from him. "I'm just curious."

"Why?"

"Because I don't understand you! You act like they're terrible guys who can't be trusted, but you love them. You've dedicated half of your life to supporting them. It doesn't make sense. I've spent time around them now, and most of them are incredible men. I mean, some of them aren't the greatest when it comes to relationships, but some of them are amazing."

"Give me a name, Emilia Anne," he growls.

I think about it. For about five seconds, I consider telling him that I'm in love with Nash. But I see the stubborn intractability stamped across his face and the fire in his eyes, and I know exactly how that'll end. He doesn't want a name because he's going to be rational about it. He wants one so he can put a stop to what he thinks is a mistake on my part.

He's never going to approve of this. He's never going to see reason. To him, I'm always going to be the little girl he needs to protect. I can work for the team. I can be an adult in that way. But in his eyes, I'll never truly be capable of making my own decisions for my life, especially if they involve a member of the team.

Nash will never be good enough for me as far as he's concerned, simply because he plays hockey. And the real irony of the situation? The part that's the most fucked up? He's the only one who has ever seen me for me instead of as my father's daughter. He's exactly the guy my dad would have chosen for me if he weren't so damn biased because he's on his team. But he'll never think Nash is good enough, simply because Nash plays this sport.

How incredibly demoralizing.

"There is no name," I mutter in defeat. "There's never been any name except yours, Dad. It's the only one anyone has ever heard. "

"What does that mean?"

"Why do you think I've never dated anyone? All they hear is your name, and suddenly, they either want to date me because I'm your kid, or they won't come anywhere near me because I'm your kid. Your name is all they hear. It's always about you," I sigh, sliding from the booth. "What I want never even enters the equation. It's never even been on the board with the equation. That's never going to change."

"Emilia–"

"I've gotta go." I lean down, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "See you at work."

"Emilia, dammit. Wait."

For the first time in my life, I ignore him. He'll never get it. I don't think he wants to get it. But, being the Coach's daughter sucks. Sometimes, well, sometimes it sucks sweaty hockey balls.

Today is one of those days.

By the time my workday ends, my nerves are frayed to the breaking point. My mind hasn't been on my work. It's been on my dad. It's been on Nash. It's been all over the freaking place.

The roar fades to silence as soon as Nash appears in the doorway, his eyes locking with mine.

I immediately jump out of my chair, rushing toward him.

"Fuck," he grunts, catching me with his hands on my ass as I practically leap into his arms, desperate to feel them around me. I don't even have to ask him to kiss me. As soon as I wrap my legs around his waist, he kicks my door closed, backing me up against it.

His lips come down on mine, his kiss hot and hungry. I thrust my hands into his hair, holding him to me as I kiss him back the same exact way. I want his air in my lungs and his hands all over me. Maybe then I'll forget what a coward I am.

"I'm packing you in my bag next away game," he growls, kissing his way down my chest. His lips close around my nipple, his sharp bite delivering a shot a bliss right to my clit.

"Yeah? You think I'll fit in there beside your giant jock strap?"

"Giant, huh?"

I kick my flats off, hooking my toes into the back of his sweats to drag them down. "Let me take a look, and I'll get back to you on that."

He chuckles, burying his face between my breasts. "I fucking missed you, Emilia."

"I missed you too."

He lifts his head, grinning at me. "Yeah? You ready to show me how much you missed me?"

"Depends. You ready to put me down so I can?"

His eyes light up as he steps back, slowly lowering me down his body to the floor. I tug his hair just hard enough to hurt before releasing him and then drop to my knees at his feet.

"Fuck," he groans, tipping my head back with his fingers beneath my chin. "You belong on a goddamn throne, but I love the way you look on your knees, princess."

"I know. The proof is right in front of me." I lick my lips, staring at his cock. "Take it out, Whatley. I have measuring to do."

"Nah, baby girl. You're running this show. You take it out."

"Fine." I reach up, planting my hands against his stomach. My gaze locks with his as I embed my nails in his skin through his shirt, raking downward.

He hisses, throwing his head back as his eyes turn my favorite stormy green. "Goddamn, you little minx."

"You said I was running the show," I remind him, yanking the front of his sweats down. His dick immediately springs into view, nearly smacking me in the face. "No underwear? Mighty brave of you, Whatley."

"Figured you'd appreciate that. Get to work, princess."

"Feeling bossy, huh?" I smirk up at him and slowly lean forward, flicking my tongue out. I don't touch his cock, though. Instead, I swirl it over his hipbone.

"Feeling feisty, huh?" he growls, his hands sinking into my hair. "You want me to be bossy with you and take what I want? Is that it?"

"Maybe." I blow across his cock, fascinated at the way he trembles above me. "Or maybe I just want to torture you for a little while, see how much you can take before you beg."

"Not much," he says, a rasp in his voice. "I haven't had that perfect mouth on me in two days. I haven't been inside you in just as long. I'm already losing it."

My heart flutters, my stomach clenching. Lord, he's good at saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. It's not an act or manufactured charm with him, either. It's like he can't help but tell me exactly how he really feels. We'll be teasing, and the truth just spills from his lips because he can't contain it. That's so damn sexy to me.

I lean forward, plunging down on him.

"Fuck!" he growls, bucking his hips.

I moan around him, already in heaven. There's just something about this man with his dick in my mouth that's utterly irresistible. His hands tighten in my hair, his hips rocking as if he can't stop the involuntary movements.

"Keep that up and I'll be taking more," he warns me when I reach up to fondle his balls.

My womb clenches, a heatwave rolling through me. I have the power here, but he's still the one in control. Maybe I shouldn't love that so damn much, but I do. The exchange of power is intoxicating.

I roll his heavy balls, tugging gently.

"Fucking hell. You're trying to kill me."

He isn't wrong. I like him out of control. I like him wild. And I really like when he's so turned on that he can't think about anything but me.

He grips my hair, angling my head as he thrusts forward. His dick hits the back of my throat, my lips stretched wide around him.

"Damn, you look beautiful like this, Emilia. Exactly like a fucking angel on her knees," he groans.

I whimper around him, slipping my hand into my pants.

"Oh, fuck yeah, baby girl. Play with my pussy for me."

I should not love that he calls it his pussy as much as I do, but I'm soaking wet as I flick my panties aside, my fingers flying across my clit. He grunts, his eyes locked on my hands as he fucks my face harder. His cock hits the back of my throat again and again, each thrust driving me higher, making me wetter. So does every filthy, devoted word that leaves his lips.

"Too bad your mouth is so fucking full right now," he growls, bucking his hips against my face. "I can't hear you moaning my name. You know how much I love it when you're moaning for me like a good little girl."

I moan around him, already on the verge of an orgasm.

"Are you going to come for me? You better," he says, pulling my hair to angle my head. "I'm not going to give you what you want and come down this perfect throat until you do."

I claw at his thigh with my free hand, choking on him as the coil shrinks.

"Christ, you're everything to me."

I shatter like crystal at his confession, cracking apart at the seams. Waves roll over me, annihilating me.

He groans my name, his muscles quivering as he tries to pull back, but that isn't what I want. I follow him, keeping him right where he is. His eyes meet mine, so much emotion in them I can't breathe. I can't think. I fucking drown in him as he growls my name, his seed splashing across my tongue and down my throat.

I swallow eagerly, greedily, drinking him down with my eyes locked with his. Every last damn drop he spills.

"Fuck," he whispers when he's so sensitive he's shaking. He pulls back, slipping from my lips.

I smile up at him…and then I'm in his arms, his mouth on mine as he kisses me, stealing my air and making it his own.

"You fucking own me, Emilia," he breathes against my lips. "You hear me? You own me."

"You own me too, Nash," I whisper.

"Lariat." Logan drops into the booth beside me, grinning. "Haven't seen you around the locker room lately."

We're at a bar downtown with the team. They're flying out for another game in the morning, so we're hanging out while we have the chance. Nash insisted I come with him. I wasn't entirely sold on the idea, but Alice is here too. So is Logan's new assistant, Peyton.

I'm glad I came. It's been a lot of fun.

"And I haven't seen you in my office," I retort, eyeing Logan over the rim of my wineglass. "But I know you've been getting my emails. You've responded to them."

"Yeah, and I responded no." He smirks at me. "That means I'm not coming, Doc."

"Not a doctor. But fine, then I guess I'll be seeing you in the locker room again soon." I eye him levelly, refusing to give up that easily. Between his sister and the way he keeps looking at Peyton, he very obviously has a lot going on in his life. He may hide it behind that devil-may-care attitude, but I'm not fooled. The man needs someone he can talk to about it, and from what I know, he doesn't share much with the guys.

"Jesus Christ," Jordan growls from the opposite side of the table, scowling at Logan. "If she shows up in the locker room while we're changing again, I'm kicking your ass. We still haven't recovered from last time she came in, insults blazing."

"It will be his fault," I agree.

"You are a little shit-stirrer, aren't you?" Logan asks, amusement heavy in his voice.

"Takes real to recognize real, Moreno."

Archer laughs abruptly from his other side. "She has you pegged to a fucking T, man."

"Fine. I'll consider dropping by your office." Logan holds up a finger. "But only to say hey. Not to discuss shit."

"Fine. Then I'll consider not barging into the locker room again," I say sweetly.

Jordan shakes his head, laughing quietly. "You're a fucking terrorist, you know that?"

"Stop flirting with my girl, Silvestri," Nash growls, stepping up behind me. He places a hand on my shoulder, sending a shiver through me.

"Get fucked, Whatley," Jordan retorts, flipping him off. "You're the one who ran off and left her here all alone. You're lucky I'm the one sitting here and not River."

"I went to the bathroom, you dick."

Jordan shrugs, picking up his beer. "Like I said, you left her alone in a bar with River."

"Fuck," Nash mumbles, his worried eyes coming to me. "Was he a problem for you?"

"No." I laugh quietly. "I haven't even seen him, Nash. Jordan is just messing with you."

"River left an hour ago," Micah says.

"Thank God," Nash mutters, pulling me up out of the booth. "I don't want you anywhere near him."

"Sucks for you. I'm his staff psychologist too." It's not like I can't handle River anyway. He flirts with everything that moves, but he's not a Chad by any means. He's just…deflecting. He thinks if he talks a big game, no one will look beyond it to the stuff he doesn't want them to see. Eventually, he'll realize that he's causing more problems for himself than he's solving.

Nash scowls at me.

"Don't even start, Whatley," I warn him. "I can handle River. You worry about yourself."

"I like her more every time I see her," Micah mutters. "She has brass balls."

"Jealous because mine are bigger than yours, Erikson?"

"You wish, Lariat."

"Uh, I've seen yours." I bat my lashes at him. "Mine are definitely bigger."

Jordan stands abruptly. "And that's my cue to get the fuck out of here."

"We should get going too," Nash murmurs.

"We should all head out," Archer says, setting his beer on the table. "Flight leaves early in the morning."

"Don't remind me," Logan growls, glancing across the table at Peyton. "You ready to go, angel?"

"Stop calling me that, Logan."

"Sure." He shrugs. "Just as soon as you stop looking like one, baby."

She rolls her eyes, sliding out of the booth. "It was nice to meet everyone. See you later." She shoots a death glare at Logan before stomping toward the door.

"Shit," he mumbles, hopping up as laughter ripples through our group. She's been giving him hell all night. I kind of like her for it. He needs someone willing to call him on his shit.

"Stop antagonizing her, man," Micah says. "You're only making it worse for yourself."

"Fucking clearly," he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he takes off after her, looking stressed in a way he never has before.

"I don't know why the fuck he hired her," Micah mutters. "He knew she hated him, but he just can't leave shit alone."

"Yeah, well, you don't do the shit I walked in on them doing in the locker room today with someone you hate," Diego snorts.

Everyone turns wide eyes on him.

"They were fucking?"

"All I'm saying is that isn't hate, motherfuckers. That's something else." He drains his beer, standing up. "I'm out. See you in the morning."

"Us too." Nash places his hand on the small of my back, turning me toward the door.

"Wait. Where is Alice?"

"Uh…she left an hour ago," Micah says, an odd expression on his face.

"An hour ago?" Nash asks.

"Yep."

"Alone?"

"Nope."

"Jesus Christ," Nash mutters, shaking his head.

"What? Who did she leave with?"

Everyone avoids looking at me.

Nash presses his lips close to my ear. "She left with River."

"Oh." My nose scrunches. "Oh. Well, good for her, I guess." It's not a choice I'd make, but I am not going to judge her for making a different choice. Who she chooses to take to bed is not my business.

Micah laughs quietly.

"Come on," Nash murmurs, leading me toward the door.

As soon as we're outside, I lean my head against his shoulder, peering up at him. "Thank you," I say softly.

He glances down at me. "For what?"

"For tonight. For bringing me."

"You're part of the organization too, Emilia. You belonged at that table just as much as everyone else there."

"I know. I just…" I shrug, not sure how to explain how much I needed tonight. How much I needed a night to just be a normal couple doing normal couple things without worrying about my dad or any of that. "Thank you."

He turns me toward him, cupping my cheek. "You don't owe me thanks, princess," he murmurs. "As soon as your dad knows about us, we'll be doing shit like this a whole lot more often."

"I tried to tell him this morning," I whisper. "I asked him if he regretted giving up hockey for me."

"And?" Nash asks.

"He doesn't." I pause before sighing. "I chickened out before I could tell him about us, though, Nash. He got all suspicious and cranky and I just…lost my nerve. I'm such a coward."

"Hey." He pulls me into his arms, his lips brushing mine. "You've got brass balls bigger than Micah's, remember? Don't talk about yourself like that."

"I do have brass balls," I whisper, smiling despite myself. "And I am going to tell him. As soon as you guys get back, I'm telling him that we're together and he can just deal with it."

"We can tell him together."

"No, we can't." I touch his cheek, gratitude swirling through me. "This is something I have to do myself."

"You mean I have to let you slay dragons by yourself?"

"Afraid so, Whatley."

"Well, goddamn." He bends suddenly, scooping me up into his arms. "Guess I better get you home and prepare you for battle then. You can't win a war without training."

"Yeah, you think you can train me, huh?"

"Oh, I can definitely train you. We'll start with endurance." He smirks down at me, a dark promise reflecting in his gaze. "And then we'll see how much torture you can take before you break, sweet little Emilia."

"Not much," I moan, pressing my legs together as my clit throbs in anticipation.

"Guess we'll see, won't we?"