Revenge Puck (Shot at Love #1)

Chapter 9

9

Elle

I t feels so incredibly…intimate in this booth with Preston so close and almost everyone else around us busy making out in the dark club. At least that’s what they were doing when we first sat down. Now pretty much everyone is staring at us. And holding up their phones to take photos.

I hate being the center of attention. Now I’m really glad I touched up my makeup and decided to take my hair down from the ponytail and style it with waves before coming out.

“You, ah, you don’t want to go celebrate with your teammates?” I ask Preston before lifting my sweaty glass of water to take a sip. Preston watches the move intently for some reason.

“Nah. My teammates are all scared of me.”

“Scared of you?”

“Yeah. I’ve been told I’m not the friendliest guy to work with on the ice, that I’m judgmental, and too violent during practice.”

“Why is that?”

“I just call them on their shit when our coaches don’t. Apparently, the guys hate being told when they screw up or when I check them too hard in practice.”

I nod my head in understanding. Preston is apparently just intense all the time. And he likes to hit his own teammates?

“Have you ever thought about not checking them so hard or calling them out for every little thing?”

“Then how would they get better, or be adequately prepared for our games? The assholes we go up against don’t pull any punches. They all just need to toughen up and quit whining like a bunch of babies.”

“If you say so,” I reply softly. “You seem to take hockey very seriously.”

“It’s my job, how I earn a living. I have to be the best defensive man on the team, or I’ll be replaced with someone bigger, stronger, more violent.”

“I’m not sure there are many men bigger, stronger, or more violent than you, Preston.”

“Younger then, faster. I don’t want to get replaced, so I try to give it my all, even in practice.”

“That dedication has obviously paid off.” I don’t bother telling him that Christian would often wake up late and show up to practice when it was nearly over because he thought he was already the best at everything.

“I may only have another eight good years left in me if I don’t get hurt. If I’m lucky. That’s why I save as much of my checks as possible now.”

“That must be tough, never knowing if one game, one practice, could be your last.”

“It’s not easy.”

After that comment, he glances away, as if he’s thinking about all the pressure he’s under. When he frowns, I follow his gaze to a man recording us on his phone with the flashlight on.

“Everyone is still looking at us.”

“I’m used to it at home and traveling to other cities,” Preston says. “Although it’s not usually this bad. One growl from me telling them to fuck off and they scurry away.”

“Didn’t you hit someone for taking your photo?”

“He deserved it.”

Okay then.

“Well, all this is because you have a reputation for not dating, right?” I ask.

“Right.”

“A reputation you’re deviating from today.”

“No kidding.”

“You really don’t date, or do you just keep your relationships quiet?” I can’t help but ask.

“I don’t date period,” he remarks.

“Why not?”

“Like I said, my career could end any day. I’ve already had five good years in the majors. I need to take every game seriously, play my best until I can’t anymore.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you don’t have any time for distractions?”

“Exactly,” he answers faster than a speeding bullet. “Dating would just be a huge waste of my time. I’d rather be in the gym, running, or sleeping. Doing something more productive than…well, you know.”

Oh yeah. I know exactly what he’s saying. Hockey is more important to Preston Lawrence than dating and sex because he only sees both as a waste of his precious time.

Which is super awkward. Lowering my voice, I ask, “Isn’t this, us fake dating, a pretty big distraction, especially during the championships?”

“This is a good kind of distraction. A necessary one,” Preston says, making me feel a little better. “Nobody thought I could make it through an entire game against Riley without getting ejected.”

“Why not?” I ask, my brow furrowed in confusion.

“Because I’ve never done it before today in the pros.”

“Seriously?”

He nods slowly. “Thankfully, since we’re in different divisions, we’ve only met twice since we both went pro five years ago.”

“And you were ejected from both games?”

“I didn’t even make it through the first period of either of them.”

“Wow.”

“My team lost both times too, which makes it even worse. I didn’t want to let my teammates or the fans down by getting booted out of the first game of the finals.”

“No kidding. You must really hate Christian.”

“I really do.”

“Why? What did he do to you?” I can’t help but ask.

“It’s…complicated.”

“Complicated? Are you just trying to tell me nicely that it’s none of my damn business?”

“Pretty much.” A corner of his lips lift behind all his facial hair. “Glad you can read between the lines, cupcake.”

The nickname for me, while it sounds sort of sweet, still rubs me the wrong way. I’ll never forget what he told me, about how he might think I’m cute, but he would never be tempted.

“I get it. That’s fine. You don’t have to tell me. I owe you for going along with my request for a photo without knowing who I was or if I was nuts.”

“What exactly did Riley do to you, Elle?”

“What did he do besides dump me out of the blue? Well, he also, almost in the same breath, told me that I was a nobody, and informed me he had been sleeping with lots of other women when I thought we were together.”

“Got it. He was an enormous dick.”

“A gigantic dick. And I get it. He’s a star. I’m just a woman who cuts hair that he met when he wandered into the salon, after practice one day. I should’ve known better than to think a guy like Christian would give up other women for me.”

“You don’t deserve to be treated that way by anyone, especially him.”

“Thanks.”

“So, you cut hair?”

“Cut, color, style. I share a salon with my best friend, Audrey. She was with me at the game.”

“Right, yeah.” Preston rakes his fingers through his shaggy black hair. “My hair could use a trim, couldn’t it?”

“Yes, it could. And I would be happy to fit you in while you’re in town waiting for game two. I’ll give you one of my cards with our address on it and you can come by whenever.”

“Okay, cool.”

My eyes lower to his beard, wondering how he would look without it covering the majority of his face.

“You want to shave my beard off, don’t you?”

“I really do.”

He gives the bottom of it a tug. “Too bad. It’s bad luck to touch the beard during the playoffs.”

“That is a big load of superstitious bullshit guys use as an excuse so they don’t have to tend to their facial hair for weeks.”

“Maybe,” he agrees as his hand strokes the long, thick bush. His voice deepens when he adds, “I might be persuaded to shave it off if you can make it worth my while.”

A tug in my lower belly instantly responds to the offer hanging in his rich, rumbly baritone.

“Oh yeah?” I ask nervously, as his dark eyes hold mine hostage. “H-how might I be able to persuade you?”

“That kiss today was pretty hot.”

Wow. I guess I wasn’t the only one who felt the sparks. Maybe he was tempted after all…

“Yes, it was,” I agree.

“Hot enough for a repeat?”

He wants to kiss me again?

Yes, please.

Wait. No. I shouldn’t.

But I want to, I really do. However, I’m not going to cave without getting a little something from him in return.

“Hot enough for a repeat, if I could see the face I’m kissing.”

Again, he tugs on the pointed end of his facial hair. This time it’s a harder tug, as if he might pluck it all out himself, right then and there. “I’ll think about it.”

So, no kiss tonight? Did I just kiss-block myself with a silly little demand from the man who doesn’t date that he shaves his face? What is wrong with me?

Oh, I remember now. I need to think before diving into more than kissing with any man, especially another hot shot hockey player. One with a major temper and ulterior motives.

“I’m glad you came out with me tonight,” Preston says into the silence.

“Me too.”

“Do you think we could keep up our game? Keep pretending for a little longer?” he asks.

All those hateful comments at the game and on social media have me wanting to say no and run for the hills. But it’s nice having a little male attention after crashing and burning with Christian. And seeing him furious for consorting with his enemy, even if he’s not jealous. I think I’m also flattered that the man who is known for not dating women wants to even pretend with someone like me.

“Well, our fake relationship wouldn’t really look authentic if we weren’t seen together after one night.”

“Very true,” Preston agrees. “The longer we keep it up, the better. I can’t get thrown out of any games or the Warhawks won’t extend my contract. Not to mention I don’t want anyone thinking Riley stole you back from me.”

“Oh.”

Why didn’t I think of that explanation? Preston needs to keep his temper down to win games and stay on with the Warhawks next season. And it makes sense why he wouldn’t want our fake dating to fizzle out too fast. It would make him look bad, lose ground on messing with Christian, defeating the original purpose of our scheme.

Preston wants to keep up our fake dating for a million different reasons, none of which have anything to do with me personally.

“You know, I have an early appointment coming in tomorrow,” I tell him as I slide out of the booth.

“You just got here. You’re leaving already?”

He obviously only wanted me to come tonight for more photos or videos to be spread online. Mission accomplished.

“Yeah, it’s late. I should get home.”

“Let me walk you out.” Preston gets up and follows me since I can’t exactly stop him from going downstairs. I remind myself that everything he does is with a bigger purpose in mind—winning games and getting his contract extended.

A few moments later and we’re outside on the busy downtown street, people going from one bar or club to the next since it’s a Saturday night.

“Well, congrats again on the win and goodnight,” I turn around, looking up to tell the tall man.

“Oh, no. Save your goodbye, cupcake, because I’m walking you to your car.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I do. Which way?”

“I left my car over at the salon.”

“Good. Now I’ll know where to go tomorrow since you forgot to give me a business card.”

“Oh. Right.” I dig into my purse and pull out a card from my wallet as we start walking.

“Thanks.” The card disappears into his jean pocket as we make our way across three more blocks.

“Well, this is me.”

Preston turns to look over the darkened front windows with our logo on it and the black awning. “Cute place. I’ll see you here tomorrow.”

“Only if you decide you want a trim. No pressure,” I say, giving him a half smile, the most I can manage after the long, crazy day before heading to my car parked in the alley.

“I do want one. And Elle?” Preston says, following behind me.

“Yeah?”

“I’d be willing to bet that Riley wasn’t with you because you were convenient or easy. He wanted to be with you for the same reason I do—because you’re beautiful and sexy. Christian Riley may be a lot of things, but he’s not blind.”

“Thank you, Preston.” Now I give him a real, honest smile before I open my car door and slide inside.

What a day indeed.