Wrong Pucking Move (Humbled Superstars #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

I f I’m getting engaged today, I’m not getting caught in sweatpants and Crocs, I told myself happily as I smoothed the pretty yellow fabric of the flowy dress over my generous hips.

If this was going to be the first day of the rest of my life, I wanted the pictures to be good, so that my kids wouldn’t look back and say, “Mom, what are those things on your feet?”

And Jesse would probably give me that teasing grin and say something like, “I guess your mother just didn’t give a shit about getting engaged.”

But I did . I wanted it so badly.

My boyfriend was always sunny and cocksure, always trying to get a rise out of me so he could pull me in his arms and nibble teasingly on my ear. An engagement in the middle of the week like this without warning would be such classic Jesse. We had been together since junior year of college. When I spotted him across the room at a party, I couldn’t believe someone that gorgeous was ten feet away from me with a beer in one hand and a hockey stick in the other, asking who else wanted to play street hockey in 32 degree temps.

And of course they all wanted to. People just did what Jesse Wi?niewski wanted them to. He was the kind of popular guy it was impossible to hate even though he had everything—looks, charm, dripping with sex appeal, athletic talent.

Along with the rest of the party, I trooped outside to watch Jesse and the other guys play. But everyone’s eyes were on Jesse, especially after he peeled his shirt off to reveal broad shoulders and a thick chest with well-defined bands of muscles. I heard the whispers that he was the new captain of the hockey team, that he was a star, that the bulge in his gray sweatpants was all him. . .

I didn’t think I had a chance with a guy like that, but somehow I didn’t go back inside, my eyes reluctantly glued to the way he moved, the big cocky grin, the easy way he blew past all the defenders.

A blush flooded my cheeks as I watched the muscles contract in his back, an embarrassing amount of heat pounding between my legs.

A guy like that would probably only go for the most beautiful and stunning models, but oh god, I wished he was mine. . .

And when he dislocated a finger slapping a long shot into the goal, I was the only one who didn’t run screaming away.

I was in school to be an elementary teacher and that shit was something we had to take in our stride.

Jesse laughed as I popped his finger back in place.

“This doesn’t gross you out?”

“I just supervised a 5th grade project about different types of beaver dung, so no, this doesn’t gross me out.”

His hand in mine was so massive, and I dropped it quickly, afraid he’d notice how my skin had broken out in goosebumps.

As I stood up, I met Jesse’s eyes and I felt something turn over deep inside me, a hunger that heated my bones. He grinned at me again, that perfect golden boy smile. Up close his eyes were so blue, an unusual shard-bright ice color.

Then he asked me out, and ever since then we’d been inseparable. Five years together.

Five years of not missing a single game. College play, minor league games, and now, finally, a signing with our local NHL team the Philadelphia Heat.

It was something he’d wanted so badly, something he’d worked so hard for.

And now this was Jesse’s big chance to finally show the world what he could do, and after supporting him and cheering him on for five years, I couldn’t wait to see what came next.

And what would be more romantic for my cocky boyfriend than to give me no details whatsoever, get me to my favorite restaurant, and then ask me to marry him?

I walked up to the restaurant with anticipation building in my gut. Maybe we could go out for ice cream after.

I smoothed my dress over my curves. Heavy, big tits, curvy stomach, round ass and thighs. Jesse had always loved my body. He was the first man who ever made me feel completely confident in my own skin.

Fluffing my long dark hair out, my hands clutched my purse tighter as I saw Jesse through the window. He was sitting at a table in a baby blue polo shirt and long dark slacks. The most gorgeous, most beautiful man I had ever seen. Golden blonde hair, ice-blue eyes, tanned skin with the most exquisite cheekbones. Sensual lips that knew just how to lick their way down my skin, make my body sing for him.

He was massive , enormous wingspan with broad shoulders, a muscular chest and narrow waist. One of his thick thighs was bouncing up and down as I grinned to myself.

My sweet boyfriend must be nervous.

Oh, god, how I loved him.

I had never met a man like Jesse. His brutality on the ice contrasted with his playful cockiness off it. He had never missed an important date or an anniversary. He was sunny and friendly and magnetic, and up for anything, any date idea I had, and we loved to do everything together from kayaking, hiking, rock climbing, to sip & painting.

I couldn’t imagine my life with anyone else.

Just as I put a hand on the front door, someone walked up to him and for a moment I thought it was a fan. People had started to approach him more after getting signed with the Heat, and only a few weeks into the season Jesse was already on fire .

I was so proud of him.

But it wasn’t a fan. It was Taylor, one of the PR specialists for the Heat.

It seemed like she and Jesse had gotten close over the last few months. But I was used to that. Jesse was an incredibly gorgeous man. Women always wanted him. But he was experienced at deflecting their attention away, and I had never had any cause to doubt him.

Once he wore a ring, maybe this attention would calm down.

Taylor was tall with bouncy yellow curls and a tiny waist, perfectly dressed and made-up like an Instagram model.

It was good that Jesse had someone to help him transition to NHL stardom. It was a lot different, and a lot more pressure now.

She bent down to his ear, and I hesitated outside. There was nothing really inappropriate about the way he kept his big hands folded on the table. And there was nothing technically wrong about the way she stood beside him, whispering into his ear.

But I knew Jesse Wi?niewski. Knew him like back of my damn hand.

He was nervous . And she was comforting him. Encouraging him.

What would he need comfort for?

Suddenly, I felt a flicker of unease in my stomach.

Surely I was overreacting.

But there was something worse than flirting between them.

There was something. . .comfortable.

Like he went to her for advice.

Like there was something between them that he was keeping from me.

My stomach in knots, I opened the door and went in.

As soon as I saw his eyes, I knew .

I didn’t even need the reassuring pat Taylor gave him, or the quick flick of her eyes up and down my outfit before she left.

Numbly, I sat down across from the man I’d been madly in love with for five years.

He cleared his throat. “Josie, we need to talk.”

Stubbornly, I waited, clenching my hands into fists underneath the table, digging them into the fabric of my skirt to stop my legs from trembling.

When I didn’t say anything, he cleared his throat again.

“I think—we need to take some time apart. I’ve been really busy lately, and—things are different. I’m going to be gone a lot with the team.”

I couldn’t help remembering a trip I’d gone on with him when he was in the minor leagues. I hadn’t even been allowed to stay with him and of course there was no budget, so I’d spent all my own money to accompany the team all the way from Philadelphia to Seattle.

But I had been happy to go and cheer him on because he was so depressed that the NHL deadline had come and gone with no signing.

The way he had looked the day he hadn’t been signed had almost broken my heart.

I need you he had told me.

I know I won’t be able to concentrate on the games unless you’re there.

And by the time I got to Seattle, all I’d been able to afford was a few nights’ stay in the most godawful fleabag hotel. But it had all been worth it, I’d thought, because he’d started to break out that trip, ease into his post-college play.

But now that he could travel in style, could put me up in a hotel where I wouldn’t get bedbugs, suddenly I simply couldn’t handle it.

What else was he planning to upgrade?

“Are you cheating on me?” I asked directly.

Jesse’s eyes bugged out, and I saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. His hands gripped the restaurant table tightly.

“No. No .”

I didn’t want to know, but I had to know.

“Is there someone else then?”

His eyes flicked away from me then, and I knew.

Jesse never could lie to me.

“I never cheated on you,” he said, like that was supposed to make me feel better, I guess. “But there is someone else. She just—I think she fits with my lifestyle better.”

I felt anger grow under my skin, flood my face with bright painful heat.

“Your lifestyle ?” I shot at him. “And I don’t? Even though I went to every single one of your games in college, traveled to all those games in the minor leagues, watched you practice for hours?”

It was a stupid thing to say, because it was over, and it had been over even before I arrived.

Jesse shifted in his chair, but he looked a little surer, cocky again.

“The NHL is different,” he said. “It’s more high-profile. More demanding. I don’t think you’d enjoy it or fit in. I’m doing you a favor.”

I said nothing.

What a fool I had been to think this meant an engagement.

It meant an upgrade for him. A rite of passage for pro athletes. Time to shed the girl he’d gone to college with for the beautiful model who was more attractive, exciting, probably way better in bed, and loaded to boot.

I was a teacher with loans and she was a hot model with 4 million Instagram followers.

“I care about you, Josie,” Jesse said, but there was nothing in his eyes as he looked at me. “Take all the time you need to move out of the apartment. If you want, I can give you some money for a down payment for a new one. And you don’t have to pay it back or anything. Just a gift.”

He waited, those big tanned hands folded in front of him. The hands that had held mine, comforted and caressed me for so long it seemed like a sick joke that they wouldn’t anymore.

I didn’t see anything in his ice-blue eyes but pity. Just pure neutral pity for me.

Forcing my shaking legs to move, I slid out of the bench and stood up, my stomach plummeting to the floor realizing that this would be the last time I’d get to be so close to him. From now on, he’d have security at the games, go to entirely different restaurants and bars. Our paths wouldn’t cross.

“Keep your goddamn money,” I said. “I don’t want it.”