6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Spotted! Power plays, Ping-Pong, and now air hockey.
Shep Landon and new coach Merri Wylie were spotted last night at Rails n’ Ales and every report from the Puckleberry Field Team—says pucks weren’t the only things flying between this pair.
Sparks. All kinds of sparks. Let’s all sit up and pay attention now. ~Penni’s Puckleberry Tea
Shep
She looked at me like I’d released the Demogorgon. Pretty emerald eyes wide, delectable mouth popped open in a wide O. “What did you say?”
I whipped my Renegades cap off and scrubbed my hand through my hair. “A twelve game skid is no laughing matter.”
She plopped the mallet down on the edge of the hockey table with a loud smack and crossed her arms over her chest. She wore another bit of yellow, some sort of floral number that left her shoulders bare, dipped between her breasts enough to make my brain spasm and only reached mid-thigh.
She’d kept her boots on this time, and the top of her head hit right about chin high. Perfection.
She slapped her hands on her hips, like some sort of sexy school marm gearing up to chew me into next week. “You scored plenty in your last game, Landon. Don’t try to guilt me into letting you keep my Pop.”
“I did score. And maybe the curse is broken, but do we really want to risk it? You’re new to the team and all, but surely you want the Renegades to win? We owe it to the fans.”
Her eyes narrowed and she fiddled with the gold necklace dangling low on her chest. I kept my gaze glued to hers when they narrowed down on me. “Where’s my Pop?”
I sighed. “In the truck. But seriously, Merri, let’s work out a deal.”
She whirled on her heel and strutted down to the exit, only stopping long enough to reclaim her coat at the door. “We made a deal. You’re just turning into a worm.”
“A worm?” I tossed aside my mallet and scrambled around the table after her. “How d’you figure?”
“Are you or are you not trying to worm out of our deal?”
The back of my neck burned. “Not exactly.”
She stopped under the portico. “You have my Pop in your car?”
I pointed to my pewter gray Dodge Ram with its fat tires and lifted suspension. “I do, but I think you should give me a minute…”
“Nope. You made a deal. You gotta keep your deal.” Her voice held the fierce determination of a schoolmarm straightening out her students. Too bad her strut made the bottom of her dress swish around her thighs and wrecked any possibility of me learning my lesson.
“Merri, have mercy.”
She stopped at the driver’s side door. The handle hit her at shoulder level. She waved at the door. “Why does this overcompensating display of manhood not surprise me?”
I bounced my truck keys in my palm. “You like off-roading?” The street lamp caught her eyes, turning them forest green. “I’ll take you to Potts Mountain. Yeah! How’s that for a deal? I’ll take you off-roading and you let me keep the little dude for the rest of the season.”
Her hands slapped onto her hips, head tilted like she’d caught the scent of bullshit. “No.”
“Come on, now. I’ll show you my favorite spots.” My neck burned under her stare and I rubbed at the heat. “Lemme keep the Pop a couple more days, at least. Where’s the harm?”
“Give.” The word cracked like a whip.
A sigh escaped before I could catch it. I clicked the truck’s unlock button, and climbed in to dig the doll out of the console. “You’re sure? I mean, I’m not superstitious, but what if you trigger another drought? Are you prepared to deal with the consequences?”
She stepped back as I hopped down from the truck, her pretty lips flattened into a cruel line. “You are one piece of work, Shep Landon. Blaming me for your slump.”
“Hey now, let’s not jinx anything here. I don’t do slumps. And my charm’s gotten me this far.” The old defense rolled off my tongue smooth as honey.
“Save the sweet talk for your fans. I know exactly what you are. Hand it over, superstar.”
I passed her the doll. “Don’t come crying when we lose Thursday.”
She studied the figure, chest rising with a deep breath that drew my gaze like a magnet. No game until Thursday meant two days to figure out how to get that Pop back in my locker. I’d be heading to Shy’s place for dinner hatless, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
Her emerald gaze locked onto mine, a little wrinkle appearing between her brows. “Really think this little toy controls your game?”
I scrubbed my hand over my chest where an ache had settled. Pure superstition said, “Yes”. Logic said, “No way in hell”. The truth? Having her Pop gave me an excuse to circle back, to see that spark in her eyes again.
“I’ll be fine. No worries. Two-time Hart Trophy winner standing here, remember?” My thumb hooked toward my chest, cocky grin in place. “Think I need luck?”
“Awesome.” She grinned up at me and my pulse jackhammered. “Thursday’s game will be my first. If anyone needs Joonie’s calming presence, it’s gonna be me.”
“Joonie?”
She ducked her head, but the street light caught the flush climbing her cheeks. “Long story.” She stepped back, creating distance. “Thanks for tonight. See you at work.”
“Hold up.” I fell into step beside her. “Car’s this way, right?”
She led the way to a sensible blue sedan, keys jingling between her fingers. The lock clicked and she glanced over her shoulder. “Such a gentleman.”
“That’s me. Perfect gentleman.” I rocked back on my heels, hands shoved in my pockets to keep from reaching for her.
She slipped behind the wheel with another smile that had my stomach doing warm-ups. The engine purred to life and she pulled away with a wave that felt more like a challenge than a goodbye.
Forty-eight hours to get Joonie back where he belonged: in my locker. And if that gave me a reason to see my new coach outside the facility, so much the better.
Thursday afternoon, I rounded the corner into the hallway leading to Merri’s shared office, a swagger in my step.
I’d left her on the other side of the building in the staff dining room, her hands flying as she talked, her laughter echoing across the room.
Wilson, the lucky schmuck, nodded along as he inhaled a plate of chicken wings.
I’d lingered, captivated, longer than necessary before making a break for their empty office.
My stomach twisted. Not the unease I’d become used to with my scoring drought. This felt different. Like the moment before a perfect shot—anticipation and certainty tangled into something that felt dangerously close to interest. Real interest.
They’d left the office door open. An invitation if ever there was one. No press, no teammates, no one to witness my thievery. I beelined to her desk in three long strides.
Yellow daisies decorated her workspace, transforming the standard-issue black equipment into something fresh and feminine.
The splash of color stirred my curiosity, but fit with what I’d come to know about Merri.
Just as the soldier precision of the seven little figures marching across the front of her desk fit, too.
She’d just joined the team, but we could already feel her influence in the quality of clips she sent to our tablets.
She didn’t shy away from sharing her opinion, either.
My fingers traced the printed flower pattern. The brush of contact triggered thoughts of other touches—her skin when our hands brushed during the Ping-Pong match, the way her hair would feel wrapped around my fingers, the curve of her waist under my palm—
Heat flashed through my body. I yanked my hand back like the flower burned.
The turquoise-haired Pop watched from between her laptop and a charging stand, those painted yellow glasses judging my invasion of her space. I snatched it up, victory singing through my veins. Quick steal, clean getaway. I wasn’t the king of breakaway goals for nothing.
But then the Stallion hat caught my eye, dangling off her middle shelf like a dare. The trucker hat molded perfectly to my head after countless games, countless wins. My fingers twitched toward it—
“Don’t you dare.”
Her voice snapped through the silence. I spun, shoving the Pop behind my back. Merri filled the doorway in a dark gold dress that hugged every curve God gave her. Black buttons marched down her front from throat to waist, each one a challenge I ached to accept.
The glimpse of her collarbone above the neckline sent my pulse sprinting. I dragged my gaze to her face, but the suspicion in her eyes and that damn dimple in her cheek only made it harder to rein in the impulse to touch her.
With a delaying smile that came as easy as breathing, I weighed my options. Better to attack than defend. I tipped my chin toward the shelf. “Why, lookie there. It’s my very own cap.”
Her finger wagged but that dimple deepened. “Don’t even think about it. You’re a menace.”
I prowled closer, the Pop pressed against my spine like a guilty secret. “Weren’t you having lunch with Wilson? Saw you there myself not five minutes ago.”
“Just wanted to grab my tablet.”
The tablet that lived beside the Pop. I snatched it off the desk and held it just out of her reach. “This one?”
She stepped forward, hand outstretched. Something flickered behind her eyes—uncertainty maybe, or challenge. “Yes, please.”
Every instinct screamed to hand it over and get out. But her presence drew me in like center ice under the spotlights—dangerous and thrilling and exactly where I needed to be. “Wilson waiting on you?”
“Yes.” The sharp edge had melted from her voice, replaced by a tremor that shot straight to my gut.
I crowded closer, keeping the Pop hidden while my pulse hammered against my ribs. “Then why’re you still here with me?”
She backed against the wall but lifted her chin, eyes shooting fire. “Because some hotshot hockey player thinks he can charm his way into stealing my hat.”
“Charm?” I stepped back, pressed a hand to my chest. “Ms. Wylie, you wound me. I’m just a humble athlete trying to break a slump.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth quirked up as though stifling laughter. “I don’t have time for your shenanigans.”
With a sassy flip of her long hair, she swept back through the doorway, the clickity clack of her heels a defiant rhythm echoing down the hall.
I trailed behind, taking in the sway of her skirt over her rear before she disappeared down another hallway in the direction of the dining hall.
The figurine safely in hand, I jogged through the maze of corridors to the locker room. Most of my gear would be handled by the team’s equipment staff, but I couldn’t risk them discovering my pilfered prize. I tucked her Joonie into my personal bag. He’d travel with me.
Puck luck lived in the strangest places. And something told me Merri Wylie’s lucky charm might change more than just my scoring streak.