Tricky Puck: a Fake Fiancee Hockey Rom-Com (Portsmouth Whalers Hockey Romance)

Chapter 11

Fuck. Shock smacks me and shakes me down to my suddenly excited dick. All it knows is she’s the best thing that ever happened to it. My dick doesn’t care that she’s a complication I don’t need this season—especially now that coach has threatened to trade my ass if I make another wrong choice.

And something tells me Delaney is my number one wrong choice.

Stick to my priorities. Hockey is my priority, not Delaney.

But what about Grandma?

She’ll understand. She’s been my biggest supporter, doing everything she could for my hockey career.

Delaney holds her smile for the beat of silence it takes me to process her presence, but I have a hard time coming up with something to say that’s not what the fuck?

“What a surprise to see you here.” My eyes drill hers, and I think I’m successfully communicating the unspoken question—why the fuck are you here?

“Grandma sends her regards,” she says, and that answers my unspoken question. It doesn’t even matter whose grandmother is responsible for her presence; they’re both too fucking determined to see us together.

Delaney and her sexy ass need to go. She’s a distraction from my top priority if there ever was one.

Up until now, I’ve been gliding along on a cloud of euphoria as the biggest chick magnet on the team, and it hasn’t caused me to fuck up like this. She has me twisted in ways I couldn’t have imagined a week ago.

Hell, the sports reporter for the local TV news station just invited me to participate in a charity auction on live TV that they’re airing for Christmas—as a bachelor up for grabs. Now, with Delaney in the picture—forced by Grandma or not—I have to think twice about agreeing to it, even though the auction benefits the area’s disadvantaged youths. That’s exactly the kind of benefit I’m all about.

I’m sure Coach would appreciate it—along with my improved shot and goal count.

“Way to welcome your new girl, Milano,” Jason says as he tags up beside me, punching my shoulder like we’re still in the locker room. “What took you so long with the media?” Jason says with a mischievous gleam in his eyes and a wide smile. He knows all about the invitation to be auctioned off. He was invited, too.

“Jason, this is Delaney Collins, my new girl…friend.” Shit. I trip all over the foreign words. Thank fuck Jason and the other guys stifle their smirks or whatever they have going on under their hands. I’m going to take such fucking shit for this later.

But that’s the least of my problems. I stare at Delaney, and she stares back with no hint of what she’s thinking. Shit. I doubt she understands the kind of trouble she’s causing.

“No wonder you wanted to move into your own place,” Jason says, reaching out to shake Delaney’s outstretched hand. I can’t tell if she’s uncomfortable because she’s in her ultra-cool zipped-up mode, all shut down like a New York City tenement.

“Yeah,” I say to Delaney, “This is my teammate and former pal, Jason Hall. Otherwise known as Hallway.”

Jason and the others snort. “Hallway? Really? Since when?”

“Since I put you on detention for bad behavior in front of a lady.”

“Woe, buddy.” He clutches his heart, and the others laugh, including the ladies.

Delaney gives me one arched brow like she’s still weighing her options—one of them being to take off back to New York City right about now.

“You didn’t mention your girlfriend Delaney would be visiting,” Sabien says. “Nice surprise. Let’s go eat.” Shit. I shouldn’t have introduced her as my girlfriend to these guys.

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”

Delaney gives me a wary look.

“We’d love to get to know you better, Delaney,” Emery says. “We’re going out for drinks and dinner.”

“That’s right,” I say, grateful, not for the first time, for Chase’s sweet woman. She’s a lifesaver in more than one way as an ER nurse by day and super hockey wife by night—if you believe Chase.

I watch Delaney closely and put an arm around her, the memory of our one night together intruding to make me consider her staying over. But I can see the hesitation as she returns my stare for a beat.

“I’m kind of tired after the trip up from New York, and I was thinking?—”

“No pressure,” I say. “We can go straight back to my place for the night.” Shit, that sounded weird coming out of my mouth and not even one bit real. I feel like an actor in a sci-fi flick—and the last thing I want to do is turn this charade into a rom-com. But it’s the charade I signed up for, thanks to Grandma.

My chest tightens when I remember how frail she felt and how much less sparkle there was in her eyes and her laugh when I left. Shit. I tighten my grip on Delaney and look at her like I mean it.

She glances up at me and then at the others, reading the room like the New Yorker she is before making her decision, strategically and without any hint of that poet hidden underneath. If I hadn’t heard her sing—after winning the bet—I’d be skeptical of her having one cell of romantic poet in her body.

She’s like two people, and the thing is, I can’t decide which one I like more. She’s way too fucking intriguing. Way too complicated.

“I’ll join the crowd for a drink,” she says. “Link is probably ready to eat a side of beef by now.”

“Damn right,” I say, uneasy that she’s so right, and we move out of the crowded locker room lobby to the garage exit. The others are ahead of us, and I slow down, keeping my voice low. “What the hell are you doing here? You drove up?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t bother answering my real question. Probably because she knows I already know the answer. The matchmaker and grandmas conspired and applied their ridiculously powerful form of influence—the impossible-to-ignore kind. Still, popping up at my game in Portsmouth without notice is extreme.

“We’ll take my car and come back for yours.”

“If you think it’s safe to leave it in an empty parking garage after the game. All my worldly belongings are in that car.”

“All your worldly belongings?” The panic seeps into my voice just enough for her to notice as we find my car a good distance away from the others.

“Calm down, Milano. I had to bring my stuff. I sublet my studio to my uncle, so I had to pack up all my things.”