The Pucking Player

3. No Means Maybe

3

NO MEANS MAYBE

SOPHIE

I ’ve been dreaming about Liam O’Connor ever since I was a teenager. Back then, it was exciting. Safe. Because it wasn’t real .

But now, with his fingers wrapped around my arm, pulling me into an empty hallway, I don’t feel safe at all.

Don’t lose your head, Sophie. Remember who you are.

The mantra echoes in my mind, the same words I’ve repeated to myself for years, words that have been my anchor every time I’ve watched my mother disappear into my father’s world. Margaret Chen: top of her class at Columbia Law, on her way to making partner by thirty…until she met Mark Novak. Until his dreams swallowed hers whole.

And now Liam O’Connor—towering, magnetic, too much in every way—is looking at me like I’m his next meal.

And he seems to be starving.

His sudden movement catches me off guard, and I stumble slightly, my body colliding with his solid frame. His hands steady me, one gripping my waist, the other pressing lightly against my hip. His touch burns, even through the layers of my blouse.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t step back. Instead, his hands stay exactly where they are, firm and grounding, as if he’s afraid I might run.

And maybe I should.

Instead, I lift my gaze to meet his, and my breath hitches in my throat. For a moment, I can’t think. Can’t breathe . There he is—Liam O’Connor, the man I used to scribble about in my journal, the star athlete I’d daydreamed about for years, standing so close I can feel the heat radiating off him.

He’s devastating. The epitome of every whispered dream and silent yearning I’ve harbored since my teenage years. With his effortlessly chiseled features that seem to mock the very notion of imperfection, he draws in the gaze of anyone fortunate enough to behold him. He’s the one who haunts the dreams of countless girls, the object of desire for every woman who crosses his path. His sharp jaw clenches as he studies me, and those piercing blue eyes—so luminous on the ice, so calculating on camera—flicker warmly as they trace the contours of my face.

This is how it starts. This is how it must have started for Mom too—a moment of weakness. A magnetic man with all the right moves, making you forget your plans.

He lifts his hands and braces them on the wall on either side of me, his arms caging me in without even touching me. There’s still space between us, but it doesn’t feel like enough. The heat of him is smothering, overwhelming every nerve in my body.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper .

His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smirk, but his gaze stays unrelentingly locked on mine.

My body is traitorous. Liquid warmth pools low in my belly, and I feel the unmistakable buzz of desire coursing through me, unraveling all my carefully laid defenses.

I’ve spent my whole life promising myself I wouldn’t end up like my mother. That I wouldn’t lose myself in someone else’s orbit. And yet, here I am, barely holding it together in front of a man who has “trouble” written all over him.

Liam leans in, his breath brushing against my lips, and it takes every ounce of strength I have not to close the small gap between us.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly and low, like a secret meant only for me. “Alone.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry. I force myself to remember my plans—med school, my future, my independence. “Okay,” I say slowly, dragging the word out as I try to regain my footing.

His smirk finally breaks through, infuriatingly charming and entirely self-assured. “Can I have your phone number, angel?”

I blink, thrown completely off balance. “My phone number?”

“Yeah,” he says smoothly, his eyes dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second before meeting mine again. “I want to call you. Ask you out.”

I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears, my heart hammering against my ribcage like it’s trying to escape. “You want to…ask me out? Like on a date?”

He chuckles, a low, velvety sound that spreads through me like a warm drink on a cold day. “Yeah, angel. A date. Dinner, dancing, maybe a movie…the classics. I’ll make it memorable.” His gaze drops to my mouth again, lingering, an d I swear I can feel the phantom pressure of his lips on mine.

My face flames, heat spreading from my cheeks to the back of my neck. This has to be a joke. Liam O’Connor— the Liam O’Connor—wants to take me out?

I can practically hear my father’s voice in my head. This is a bad idea, Sophie. Stay away from him. He’s a player.

And Dad isn’t wrong. Liam O’Connor is a player. The definition of trouble.

The thought slices through the haze of lust clouding my brain, sharp and sobering. How many times have I heard the story? Star player sweeps young professional off her feet, promises her the world, only to expect her to revolve around his world instead.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to remember who I am. Who I’ve worked so hard to be.

“I’m sorry, but it’s impossible,” I whisper, my voice trembling even as I try to stand firm.

The air between us crackles with tension, and for a moment, neither of us moves.

Liam straightens slowly, his hands dropping from the wall, but instead of stepping back, he wraps them around my waist, pulling me closer. His touch is scorching, sending a shiver through me as his body presses against mine.

“Why not, angel?” he asks, his lips so close to mine that they almost graze. “If you’ve got a boyfriend, you’ll have to send him packing. I don’t like to share.”

He leans in further, his mouth brushing against the shell of my ear as he fists a hand gently in my hair, holding my head steady.

My knees feel weak, and my body arches instinctively toward him, betraying me completely .

“I…I don’t have a boyfriend,” I admit, my voice barely audible.

His grin widens, the wicked glint in his eyes sparking something dangerous in my chest.

“Good,” he murmurs.

I can feel the ghost of his breath lingering on my skin, like a brand I’ll never be able to scrub off. He’s too close, his eyes fixed on mine with that determined, maddening glint that tells me he’s not used to hearing the word “no.”

My pulse is pounding in my ears, my breathing uneven, and I’m sure he can see it—all of it. The flush on my cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of my chest, the way my knees still feel weak.

But I can’t let him win.

Not Liam O’Connor. Not the poster boy for temptation, with his stupidly gorgeous face and stupidly sexy smirk and stupidly cocky promises.

He’s staring at me like he’s memorizing every detail, like he’s already plotting his next move. And I know men like him—men who take what they want without ever asking themselves if they should.

My father was one of them.

“Liam,” I say, my voice finally steady. “This? Whatever you think is happening here? It’s not going to happen.”

“You worried about your father?” He gives me his signature thousand-watt smile, caressing the back of my head, still firmly holding onto my hair.

Like he would be doing if he was kissing me.

“Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him.”

I hesitate but still shake my head, as much as it pains me. He’s too dangerous, a shortcut to heartbreak hotel, just as I’m finishing up my interviews for acceptance to med schools. I can’t afford to get distracted now that I’m almost at the finish line. “It’s not a good idea, Liam. I’m not the girl for you.”

He looks at me curiously, as if he can’t believe that I’m saying no. Then a wide, slow smirk spreads over his face.

“You’re exactly the girl for me, Sophie Novak.”

I swallow, my heart skittering like a rock over thin ice. “You met me literally five minutes ago,” I protest, but he cuts me off with a finger to my lips. Without me wanting to, they part ever so slightly. His eyes turn dark with lust, his gaze heavy and heated.

“Let me have just a little taste,” he murmurs, ignoring all my well-crafted arguments.

Without waiting for a reply, he dips his head, and then his lips are on mine, the world falling away. My mind has been wiped blank. His kiss is gentle at first, a soft, tentative brushing of lips.

This is where dreams go to die. One mind-blowing kiss at a time.

But I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.

“Is this ok, angel?” he rumbles, gently licking my lip. A moan escapes me, and it’s the green light he was waiting for. His tongue pries my mouth open, demanding. I can’t help but melt into him, my fingers tangling in his hair even though I told myself not to touch him. Desire is pounding between my legs, my knees giving out. He’s holding me upright with his other hand, his grip on my waist comforting and reassuring.

This is what weakness feels like, I think hazily. This is how you lose yourself.

Then he steps back, giving a low guttural groan.

“Now that I tasted how sweet you are, I don’t think I can turn back, angel.” He takes a black marker from his pocket. “What’s your phone number? ”

I stay silent, fighting for control. Fighting not to become another chapter in a cautionary tale as old as the women’s movement.

He sighs and scrunches the sleeve of my blouse up.

“W-what are you doing?” I gasp in surprise, while he jots down a number above my left wrist.

“Call me, angel.” He grins, composed and in control again as if he hadn’t just unraveled me.

“Liam—” I start, but he doesn’t let me finish.

“Have it your way, angel. You can call me. And if you don’t, I will chase you.” He pauses, brushing his thumb over my lower lip. “And don’t be mistaken. I’ll catch you no matter what it takes.”

And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

As I’m about to object, he puts his finger on my mouth. “Don’t worry about your father. I’ll take care of the blowback, angel.”

Just like Daddy promised Mom he’d take care of everything.

Thirty years later, she’s finally made partner after decades of “taking it easy” at work to support his career.

I find my words again. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, big guy, but it’s not happening.”

Our gazes are locked, and it feels as if he’s about to swallow me whole. Or maybe he’s just about to lean in for another kiss. My body yearns for it, even as my rational mind screams in protest.

But before he’s able to do it, my sister’s voice echoes down the hallway, shattering the moment.

“Sophie? Liam? Where are you?”

Her footsteps are growing louder. Seeing us pressed against the wall, she slows down, giving me time to snap out of whatever this is.

“Hey, guys, come on. We have a few more kids to visit,” she calls out, her voice bright and chipper as she steps into view.

My sister has known how I felt about Liam since those team barbecues when I’d try not to stare at him like a lovesick idiot while he horsed around with the other players. “Careful, Soph,” she’d tease me. “You’re gonna set the grass on fire with all that swooning.”

It’s the grin spreading over her face now that reminds me that she’s the one who knows me best. But she just turns around without further comment, waving at us to follow.

I breathe out. My sister always has my back. Jessica has always chosen her career over a relationship. She’s never let herself get swept away. The smart one, Mom always says proudly.

I face Liam defiantly. “You’re playing with fire, big guy. Save yourself the time and go knock on someone else’s door.”

He grins, his thumb stroking the skin of my cheek. “I’d rather we burn together, angel. Because there’s no chance in hell I’m letting you get away.”