Revenge Puck (Shot at Love #1)

Chapter 29

29

Elle

T he morning after with Preston isn’t the least bit awkward. Yesterday, he was in a hurry to leave for practice, but even then, I never felt like he was rushing off to be free of me, of the consequences of the night (and the morning).

There’s no regret, no wondering if Preston is plotting some sort of escape plan on his side of the bed, silently facing me with a sleepy grin and bedhead.

Christian used to tell me he was starving for—just fill in the blank that constantly changed—and could only get said food from a shop or diner on the other side of town. He never once asked me if I was hungry or if I wanted to go with him. It was clear that he was just ready to get away, to flee my bed or his own.

That was usually the worst, having to do the walk of shame out of his fancy penthouse apartment to make my way back to my little shitty one wearing last night’s wrinkled clothes.

“We need food,” Preston eventually says, as if he overheard my internal thoughts. But he’s not abandoning me—he used the word “we.” “What are you in the mood for?”

“I’m not picky,” I assure him. “And I could use a shower before I think about leaving this bedroom.”

“Same,” he agrees, rolling to his back to stretch his thick arms over his head. “I had no idea bareback was so…”

“Messy?”

Chuckling, he turns his face to look at me. “Messy, but in a damn good way. Totally worth it if I’m so sticky down there that I may have to shave my pubes.”

I can’t help but giggle at his ridiculous TMI comment.

“What are you laughing at?” he asks. “I would be surprised if you can even spread your thighs apart today after the mess I made on them.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Rolling to his side, his big palm smooths its way down my thigh and back up. “I could help you with that if you want.”

“Help me spread my legs? Oh, I’m sure you could. My thigh muscles are aching from how long you kept them apart last night.”

“My new favorite place in the world is being between your thighs with my face in your tits.”

I can’t help but voice the concern I had after every round. “You aren’t worried about tonight, given how many times you came in the past twenty-four hours?”

“Nope. If anything, I’m much more relaxed, less likely to get into any fights. Nothing could drag me down today, not even a little shithead whose name rhymes with Miley.”

“Good,” I say, smiling in relief, hoping Preston doesn’t change his mind if the Warhawks lose. “In that case, would you like to join me in the shower?”

“Fuck yes. I’ll even let you stand in the warm stream,” he offers. Reaching around, he cups my ass cheek, giving it a squeeze. “God, I’m so glad that Maya and Finley had sleepovers last night. There’s no way either of us could have been quiet unless we were gagged.”

“Agreed. Although, I do feel bad about kicking your family out of their home.”

“You didn’t kick anyone out. They left voluntarily.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

“What about tonight?”

“What about it?” Preston asks, hiking my thigh up over his hip, spreading me open and lining a particular part of my body up with his hard one.

“Do you think we should get a hotel room for privacy?”

“Hmm. That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“If the Warhawks win, I’m going to throw a party.”

“A party? You?” I scoff in disbelief.

“Yeah, here at the house. Since it’s the weekend, Finley can stay and talk to all the guys for a while.”

Mr. Grumpy Antisocial wants to throw a party?

Maybe that was some life-changing sex last night.

“And if the Warhawks lose?” I ask him with a wince.

Swatting gently at my bottom, he says, “That’s not going to happen, so we better get a shower and grab some breakfast because we’ve got a party to plan.”

Preston

When I get to the stadium, I am in a damn fine mood thanks to the amazing night before and my surprise shower blowjob. Elle is enthusiastic about giving head. Or maybe it’s just been a while since a woman went down on me. Either way, I could get used to her mouth sucking the life out of me on a daily basis.

I have zero concerns about playing shitty tonight because I blew my load before the game. Several times over.

I’m going to try to put that stupid superstition and the past behind me for good. I’ll give it my best on the ice, and however the game ends tonight, I know one thing for certain–I’ll be going back to my house, to my bed, with Elle.

I still haven’t opened the email on my phone from Tommy with the contract offer from the Grizzlies. It feels like once I read it, it’ll be real that I’m moving to the other side of the country. It may as well be the other side of the world for how far I’ll be from Elle.

I could ask her to come with me, but that’s unlikely since her family, her friends, and her salon are all in or near Greensboro.

Maybe I could suggest that she open up a second salon in California, like a franchise. I could give her the startup money. It could be great.

Another thought suddenly occurs to me.

Tonight’s game could be the last one I ever play in the Warhawks arena if we win it and game five in Greensboro. And isn’t that a kick in the nuts?

The city may not be my original hometown, but it’s been good to me the past three years. The fans pack the stadium, selling out every game to cheer on the team, even if I’m nobody’s favorite player.

I’ll miss this place, the familiar house I share every minute with my sister and nephew. I think that’s subconsciously the real reason I wanted to celebrate tonight. It’s the end of a chapter in my life.

In a few weeks, I’ll have to start over somewhere else all over again. And I’ll probably have to do it alone.

Whatever happens, I know I’ll always cherish these last few days with Elle, playing in the championships, having all the family I need coming out to support me.

While the team is getting dressed in the locker room, I slam my hand against my locker to get everyone’s attention. “Listen up!”

All conversations stop. The look on my teammates’ faces reminds me of when Finley gets caught sneaking cookies before dinner. It’s a mix of guilty and reluctant acceptance of the berating he knows his mom is going to give him.

Damn. Maybe I am a little harsher than I need to be with my critiques if that’s automatically what all the guys expect whenever I open my mouth.

“Tonight, after we win, getting one game closer to the trophy, there’s going to be a party at my house. I’ll have someone text the address to everyone.”

It’s so quiet I can hear the announcer testing the audio equipment all the way down the tunnel and out in the arena. Testing. Testing 1-2-3.

“That’s all,” I tell the men when they seem to be holding their breath, waiting for me to finish speaking.

“So…there’s a party tonight at your place?” Bryan repeats slowly.

“Yes.”

“And we’re all invited?” Vincent asks, pointing a finger at his chest, then the rest of the locker room.

“Yes. Bring some friends or significant others if you want. There should be plenty of beer and pizza. Maybe even cake,” I add with a grin. “We’ll have earned a night of a little junk food, right?”

I left the food and beverages for Maya and Elle to handle. The three of us spent some time straightening up the place earlier. We don’t have to worry about any breakable possessions since the house is always kid and giant-clumsy-uncle-proof.

Everyone continues to sit or stand so still and motionless that I feel like I’m in one of those creepy wax museums. “If there are no other questions, then get your asses on the ice for warmups.”

Finally, a few shoulders slump, breathing resumes, gaping mouths close.

Still, I’m not even a little surprised when Saul says, “A party at your place sounds cool and all, Pres, but what if we –” That’s all he gets out before the guys on either side of him slap both of their palms over his mouth.

“We’re winning this game tonight,” I assure my teammates. “How do I know? Because this is our fucking year to bring home the championship trophy. Forget the last game. Shit happens. Flush it and get off the pot. Tonight, just play like it’s the last game of your life because it very well could be. And we’re all a bunch of idiots if we take this opportunity for granted. We’re the goddamn Northern Conference champs and we’re only two games away from kissing the trophy that we’ve all dreamed about, the trophy every hockey player in the world dreams about from the moment they lace up their first pair of skates.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Coach Ramsey agrees when he walks into the center of the locker room. “You heard the man—get your asses out on the ice for warmups, then clinch that W tonight.”

He gives me a nod that I return before putting on my gloves and taking my own advice, heading out to the arena.

The first test of my new inner peace comes when the Bobcats skate out of the visitor’s tunnel. I remind my temper, my jealousy, that nothing I can do to Christian Riley will change anything. He’ll still be a prick until the day he dies, and I’ll never forgive him for taking advantage of my little sister and then abandoning her when she needed him most.

After he sent the cash to Maya, I lost it, lost all respect for him for refusing to even talk to her about the pregnancy he caused.

I know it wasn’t Elle leaving the arena that caused me to play awful in the last game. I was so damn worried that Riley would see Maya and Finley in the stands and finally start asking questions. Maya isn’t on social media, and her and Finley didn’t travel for the two away games I got ejected from when playing Riley. Seeing them at game three in D.C. would have been the first time Riley could possibly realize that Maya didn’t terminate the pregnancy five years ago.

I waited for him to come up and ask all three periods. But I should’ve known that the idiot wouldn’t even bat an eye because he’s so self-centered.

His past with Elle is no different. He doesn’t care about her, never did. If he had, he wouldn’t have broken her heart. So, all the talk is nothing but him regretting letting her go and unintentionally sending her right into my arms.

If anything, I should be thanking the prick.