The Pucking Player

15. Blizzard Benefits

15

BLIZZARD BENEFITS

LIAM

E ventually, we drag ourselves out of bed, hunger spurring us on. The late January sun is already sinking toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the snow-covered landscape outside our window. The world is bathed in a soft, golden light, making the snow glitter like a sea of diamonds. A part of me wants to curse the day for passing so quickly. This unexpected detour, courtesy of Mother Nature, might’ve just been the best thing that’s happened to me in years.

The fading daylight paints Sophie in warm hues, making her look even more breathtaking. I wouldn’t mind getting snowed in for a few more days, or weeks, or hell, even months.

Who knew a blizzard could be such a perfect wingman?

I watch as Sophie slips into the clothes Martha brought up. They are nothing fancy, just a simple sweater and jeans, but damn if she doesn’t make them look like haute couture. The blue sweater generously envelops her curves, and I feel smug knowing exactly what’s hiding underneath.

“You planning on putting some clothes on, or are you just going to stand there staring?” Sophie’s teasing voice snaps me out of my trance.

I grin, not even bothering to hide the fact that I’ve been ogling her. “Can you blame me? You’re a sight for sore eyes, angel.”

She rolls her eyes. Still, I catch the hint of a blush on her cheeks. It’s cute how she gets flustered around me, even after spending the day fucking. Makes me want to see how many other ways I can make her blush.

I grab my pants and shirt from last night, grimacing a bit at the wrinkles. Whatever. I’ve left locker rooms many times looking way worse.

As I button up my shirt, I catch Sophie sneaking a glance my way. Her eyes linger on my chest, where my shirt is still unbuttoned.

“Changed your mind? Want to go back to bed?” I tease, flexing a bit for good measure. “You said you needed food.”

A giggle escapes her, but her gaze doesn’t waver. “I was checking out your tattoo. What does the lion mean?”

I pause, my fingers hesitating on the buttons. It’s not often I talk about the ink, but with Sophie, I want to share. “Got it after my first season as captain. Kinda represents stepping up and leading.”

Sophie comes closer, her fingers ghosting over the tattoo. “It suits you. Strong, protective...definitely not to be underestimated. Dangerous.”

Her touch sends a jolt through me. “Dangerous, huh? Want me to show you again?”

She pulls back, a hint of a smirk on her face. “You’re insatiable.”

“Part of my appeal,” I shoot back with a wink, finishing the last button.

I grab her by the hand, and we head downstairs. It feels natural, coming down the stairs with her by my side. It’s like we’ve been doing this for ages, not just one day.

I’m getting used to this real fast.

The bad boy of hockey, brought to his knees by a pre-med student with a killer smile and a brain that could run circles around the entire hockey league.

Life’s funny that way, I suppose.

As we reach the bottom, I place my hand possessively on the small of Sophie’s back, guiding her to the dining room.

We follow the scent of wood smoke and cinnamon. Martha greets us and directs us to a cozy sitting room adjacent to the dining area. The space is pure rustic charm, all exposed wooden beams and plush, overstuffed furniture. A fire crackles merrily in a massive stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

I settle into one end of the worn leather couch, my eyes glued to Sophie as she curls up at the other end. Maybe it’s the soft glow from the fireplace, or maybe it’s the day we spent in bed, but she looks...transformed.

Content.

The high school jock in me grins, congratulating myself for my prowess.

Gone is the shy pre-med student from last night. In her place is a woman who seems comfortable in her own skin. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, and there’s a subtle flush to her cheeks that has nothing to do with the warmth of the room. She tucks her feet under her, and the simple gesture is both innocent and sensual at the same time.

She meets my gaze questioningly, and I smile at her.

“You’re way too far over there, angel. Come here.”

She shifts on the sofa obediently, and I envelop her in my embrace. Martha bustles in, carrying asteaming teapot and two mugs. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour,” she says, setting the tray on the coffee table. “Thought you might like something to warm you up in the meantime.”

Before she can start pouring, I clear my throat. “Actually, Martha,” I say, flashing her a charming smile. “Would you mind making Sophie an oat milk cappuccino instead of tea? She likes it extra hot, with light foam.”

Sophie’s head snaps toward me, her brows shooting up in surprise.

Martha pauses, her hands resting on the teapot, her face lighting up with delight. “Of course. Give me just a few minutes.” She bustles out of the room, leaving behind a stunned Sophie.

Sophie turns to me, her eyes narrowing, though there’s the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “How do you even know that’s what I like?”

I lean back in my chair, completely at ease, and give her a cocky grin. “I pay attention, angel.” Her cheeks flush, and she tries to hide the way her lips curve into a small, grudging smile.

Soon, Martha returns, her steps soft but purposeful as she carries a steaming cup of cappuccino.

“Here you go, dear,” she says, placing it in front of Sophie with a smile. “Extra hot, light foam.”

Sophie blinks at the perfectly made coffee, clearly caught off guard, before giving Martha a grateful smile. “Thank you so much.”

As the innkeeper leaves, Sophie reaches for the cup, taking a tentative sip. Her lashes lower as the steam warms her face. When she opens her eyes, they land on me, and there’s no mistaking the glimmer of amusement—and maybe a little something more .

“This is perfect,” she says, holding the cup up like she’s toasting me.

I lean forward slightly, resting my forearms on my knees, my gaze locked on hers. “Stick with me, angel. I’ve got an espresso machine at home that can make mean cappuccinos anytime you need.”

She shakes her head with a quiet laugh, but the way her cheeks flush a little deeper tells me I’ve scored another point.

“So,” she says, leaning over and pouring me a cup of tea, “the infamous Liam O’Connor. I feel like I know the hockey star, but not the man.”

I take the offered mug, wrapping my hands around its warmth. “What do you want to know?”

She shrugs. “Everything. Where you’re from, your family, how you got into hockey. The real Liam, not the bad boy I read about in the celebrity blogs.”

“You’re following those?” I smirk, teasingly.

“Only when I was online stalking you after you first asked for my number,” she admits, grinning, and takes a sip of her coffee.

I chuckle, self-assured at the idea that she was checking me out online. “I grew up in Brooklyn. Williamsburg, before it became a hipster magnet. Working-class family, Irish roots. My dad’s a firefighter, Mom’s a nurse. We were doing okay. Not rich but getting by just fine.”

Sophie nods, her eyes encouraging me to continue.

“Then when I was fourteen, Dad got trapped in a burning building when the floor collapsed.” I pause, the memory still vivid. “He survived, but he couldn’t work after that. He still has trouble. It’s been a very long recovery, that’s for sure. ”

“That must be hard,” Sophie says, her hand reaching out to touch my arm.

“Mom had to pick up extra shifts, and suddenly, I wasn’t just the oldest kid. I was the man of the house. My sister Erin was ten, and my little brother Kieran was only six. I grew up real fast.”

“How did you get into hockey?” Sophie asks, her voice soft but curious.

I lean back in my chair, swirling the tea in my cup, watching the steam curl and rise as I consider how to answer. “It was my escape,” I finally say. “Hockey was the opposite of the heaviness I felt at home. It was...structure. It was walking into the rink and knowing exactly what to expect. I knew the rules, I knew my role, and for those hours on the ice, everything just...made sense. There were no surprises, no curveballs I couldn’t handle. I could leave all the responsibility behind the second I laced up my skates.” I glance at Sophie, who’s listening intently, her green eyes fixed on mine.

“The rink became my sanctuary. The chill of the ice, the sound of skates cutting through it, the steady rhythm of drills—it was all so grounding. The game wasn’t just about scoring goals or winning matches. It was the one place I didn’t feel like I was failing anyone. At home, I felt like I couldn’t fix anything. But on the ice, I knew what to do. I knew the plays, the rules. Having that kind of certainty was everything.”

I glance down at my tea, the memories as vivid as if I’d just stepped off the ice after practice. “Of course, as I got older, hockey became more than just my escape. It became a way to help my family. Every game, every practice, I felt like I was carrying the weight of their future on my shoulders. But even then, it wasn’t the same kind of pressure as home. The ice still feels like freedom.”

“So, what’s up with the bad boy image?” Sophie asks, her eyes twinkling.

I grin. Just as I’m about to say something more, Sophie’s phone buzzes to life. She glances at the screen, her eyes widening slightly.

“It’s my mom.” She gestures to me to stay silent and picks up. “Hi, Mom! Yes, I’m fine,” she trills in a happy voice. “The phone lines are working again.”

I lean back, watching her navigate the conversation. It’s like watching a high-wire act, and I’ve got to admit, it’s pretty entertaining.

“No, no, don’t worry. I’m safe. We’re at a bed and breakfast in Sleepy Hollow, just a few miles from campus.” She pauses, listening. “Yes, we. Liam’s here too. Remember, the gala?”

I can’t help but smirk as I watch her squirm, trying to dance around the details of our night together.

“Separate rooms? Well, um...” Sophie’s eyes dart to me, panicked. I raise an eyebrow, amused. “It’s a small place, Mom. But don’t worry, everything’s...fine.”

She’s blushing now, and it’s adorable. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“The roads? Oh, they’re still closed. We’ll try to get through when we can, but it might not be until tomorrow.” Another pause. “Yes, I’ll be careful. Love you too, Mom. Bye.”

Sophie hangs up, letting out a long breath. “That was...interesting.”

I can’t hold back my chuckle anymore. “Smooth, Novak. Real smooth.”

She throws a decorative pillow at me, but she’s laughing too. “Oh, shut up. You try explaining to your mother that you spent the night—and day—in bed with the guy who’s plastered all over page six.”

“Hey, I thought we established I’m good…for you,” I protest, still grinning.

“Let’s see about that,” Sophie concedes, her smile widening.

The way she’s looking at me now, all soft and warm, makes my heart do a funny little flip. It’s a feeling I’m not used to, but I think I could get addicted to it.

“So,” I say, leaning toward her. “Looks like we might be stuck here another night. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”

Sophie’s blush deepens, but there’s a glint in her eye that tells me she’s not entirely opposed to the idea. “I’m sure we’ll think of something,” she says, her voice low.

And once more, I’m reminded why I’m falling so hard for this girl.