Double Pucking Trouble (Sabertooths Hockey #2)

Prologue

Gail

E ven though she can’t see it, I flip Luce, my bestie, off as she and her husband Sawyer disappear into the night, leaving me alone with his two best friends and teammates, Mickey and Soren. It’s a little weird. I’ve seen them around when Luce has brought me along to Sabertooths’ games and functions, but I don’t think we’ve ever exchanged more than names and casually shallow pleasantries.

Well, when life, or in my case, your bestie, gives you lemons, at least I’m left with some serious eye candy instead of lemonade.

Soren’s so put together in his dark navy shirt that hugs his body just right, showcasing the muscle underneath without showing off. His jeans are dark and perfectly tailored, fitting him like they were made for him. Polished brown boots complete the look, giving him a relaxed yet refined edge despite his many tattoos. He’s not flashy, but the clean lines and effortless style make him stand out. A simple watch on his wrist catches my eye, understated and classy—just like him.

Mickey, on the other hand, exudes a completely different vibe. His black leather jacket fits perfectly over his broad shoulders. The dark gray band t-shirt beneath clings to his chest, the faded logo adding a hint of rebellion. His jeans are dark and snug, low on his hips, paired with scuffed black boots. A silver chain around his neck catches the light, and a black leather cuff on his wrist adds to his rugged, effortless vibe. Mickey doesn’t have to try to command attention—he just does.

Oh, and did I mention that they’re, of course, both drop-dead-fuck-me-all-night handsome? Yep, yep, and yep. It’s not fair. I have to keep it in my pants in case I suddenly become busy for New Year’s, which is right around the corner.

“Fucking hell,” Soren gripes, running a tattooed hand through his short, dark hair as he looks after our disappearing friends.

Frowning, Mickey adds, “Talk about being pussessed ,” blowing a few strands of his shaggy, white hair out of his eyes. He doesn’t sound any happier about being ditched like this.

“Pussessed?” I question, arching an eyebrow.

Mickey waggles his eyebrows playfully, but it’s Soren who answers, sounding put out. “You know, pussy obsessed.”

Can’t say I blame either of them for being annoyed since they literally just arrived at O’Jackie’s with Sawyer just for him to take Luce home within minutes. “Or dickmatized,” I laugh. “Luce is no better than Sawyer. Worst friends in the world.”

I don’t actually mean it; Luce is, in fact, a saint on the friend front. She’s the best, a queen who’s put up with my shit for over a decade. But none of that means it’s okay to leave just because she’s horny and in love.

The two hockey players turn to me, both wearing matching expressions of incredulity and intrigue. “Dickmatized, eh?” Soren chuckles.

Jesus, can a sound be sexy? If so, the deep notes flowing from him are just that. “Yep,” I nod eagerly, immediately regretting the motion when the room starts to spin. I’m way drunker than I thought. Wait… drunker? More drunk? Drunkest?

“If you think you’re the drunkest, we definitely have some catching up to do.” Mickey lazily runs a finger across my bare shoulder blade, which makes a delicious shiver run down my spine.

“Oh!” I gasp, realizing I spoke the words out loud and didn’t just think them. “Anyway, I sshould head home asss well. Call it a night.” Damn, I’m still slurring my words.

Soren shakes his head and wags his finger at me. “Sorry Gail, we can’t let you leave just yet. Lucia specifically told us to take good care of you, and we can’t do that if you leave, now can we.”

She said that? Oh, right, she totally did. “Okay,” I agree easily. I mean, staying isn’t exactly a hardship.

We move from the table to the bar, the guys joking that they need to be close to the alcohol if they’re going to catch up with me. They’re not exactly wrong since I’m several shots of tequila ahead of them.

While we wait for the bartender to come over and take their orders, we talk about the holidays, and our shitty friends who abandoned us. I can’t help noticing the puck bunnies circling around us like sharks, waiting for an opportunity to insert themselves into the conversation. But I seem to be the only one noticing them, both Mickey and Soren are only looking at me.

“So how come you weren’t around for our last game before the Christmas break?” Mickey asks, brushing a loose tendril of my hair away from my forehead. The small movement is enough to make my breath hitch.

“Did you guys move closer?” I ask, narrowing my eyes when it becomes clear I can barely move without brushing against either of them, and Mickey barely had to stretch his arm to reach me.

“Are you complaining?” Soren asks, smiling cockily.

No, I’m not complaining, but I am curious since I didn’t even notice it. I’ve been too busy staring at them and telling my brain to stay away from the gutter. “Not at all,” I confirm.

The bartender finally comes over, apologizing profusely when he realizes who he made wait like commoners. “I’m so sorry, Mickey, Soren. What can I get for you?”

When the guys take too long to make up their minds, I decide to help out by mentioning how amazing the tequila is here, as is evident by my buzz. The bartender arches his eyebrow when they promptly order eight tequila shots, and when I mention I’m not having anything but more water, they make it ten. Thankfully, that’s the total, and not each.

I happily sit out while they quickly do four shots each, both of them pulling faces as the tequila slides down their throats.

“Why did you order tequila if you don’t like it?” I laugh.

“You said it was good,” Mickey deadpans. “Clearly you can’t be trusted.”

I roll my eyes. “Clearly,” I agree, dryly.

Soren mumbles something about Mickey having no taste before reaching for the last two shots, downing one. “I’ve had worse,” he smirks. “But I’ve also had my tongue coated in wetness that tasted a lot better.” My cheeks feel like they’re aflame, which makes them both laugh.

Thankfully, Mickey takes pity on me and asks, “Another round?” His voice is a smooth caress against my buzzing senses. His silver eyes catch the dim light as he signals for the bartender, who nods.

“Make it two. No, three. Gail can’t keep sitting out,” Soren interjects, his gruffness a stark contrast to Mickey’s silken tones. He slouches in his seat, every inch the brooding alpha, but there’s a flicker of amusement dancing in his green gaze.

I take the last shot, throwing it back with gusto. “Trying to get me drunk?” I tease.

“Sweetheart, you’re already three sheets to the wind,” Mickey chuckles, leaning closer, close enough for me to catch the scent of his aftershave—something woodsy and intoxicating.

“Maybe I am,” I admit, my words still slightly slurred. “But it takes more than alcohol to make me lose control.”

“Is that a challenge?” Soren rumbles, edging his chair nearer until our knees knock together. The contact sends a jolt straight through me, setting every nerve ending alight.

“Could be,” I reply, biting my lip, aware of the heat pooling low in my belly. “Depends on the game.”

What the hell am I saying? I can’t be flirting. Just because they both look at me like I’m a snack they have a hankering for doesn’t mean I can let loose.

“Let’s play ‘Truth or Dare’ then,” Mickey suggests, his gaze dropping to my mouth before snapping back up to meet my eyes. “No lies, no backing down.”

“Sounds… dangerous.” But I’m intrigued, and really liking their attention.

“Only if you want it to be,” Soren says, and there’s an edge to his words, a hint of a dark promise that excites me.

“Truth,” I say, because I’m not nearly brave enough to choose dare, not with these two looking at me like I’m the last piece of meat on the savannah. I really wish my brain would stop making me food in these weird metaphors I keep coming up with.

“Ever thought about being with two men at the same time?” Mickey’s question is direct, unapologetic, and it hits me like a freight train.

My cheeks flush, but I hold his gaze. “No,” I confess. It’s true—I’ve never fantasized about it, but the way they look at me makes me think I should have considered it. Especially if the men were Mickey and Soren.

“Is that so?” Soren asks, leaning back when the bartender comes over, placing more shots in front of us.

This time Mickey’s having gin, Soren vodka, and me, I’m once again staring longingly at the delicious tequila. Needing to focus on something other than the two of them, I quickly empty the small glass, gesturing for the bartender to refill it before leaving.

I shouldn’t be surprised by their question. I’ve heard enough stuff about all the Sabertooths players from Luce to know that Mickey and Soren like to share. Hmm, I wonder what it would be like to be with both of them.

Every cell in my body screams at me that I should find out for myself, the heat inside me flaring up into an inferno. They’re both overwhelming in their own right—Mickey with his cocky charm and Soren with his dominant presence. Together, they’re a force of nature, and I’m caught in the eye of the storm.

Shaking my head, I banish those thoughts. I can’t… maybe if… no! I really, really can’t.

“Your turn,” I say, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” they answer in unison, their expressions a blend of mischief and desire.

“Are you always this forward with girls you’re interested in?” I ask, partly out of genuine curiosity and partly to buy myself some time to breathe.

“Only the ones who look at us the way you do,” Mickey replies, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a touch that’s far too gentle for the electricity it generates.

“Like how?” I breathe out, my heart racing.

“Like you’re starving,” Soren answers, his hand finding its way to my thigh, his fingers pressing just hard enough to make me squirm. “And we’re the feast.”

Guess I’m not the only one thinking in food metaphors tonight.

Their words wrap around me, binding me tighter to them, and I can’t deny the pull, the sheer magnetic draw. It’s reckless and dangerous, like playing with fire, but I can’t help it—I’m already burned.

As the hours pass by, there’s nothing accidental about their touches, and their questions grow more and more illicit. We’ve covered favorite position, which for me is doggy style, for them it’s one on top and one behind. Then they asked about my dirtiest secret, which had my hands reaching for my phone before I could stop myself. But luckily, I caught myself in time, playing the movement off as a very weird stretch.

The secrets in my phone are for me alone. At least for now.

I’m perched on the edge of my bar stool, teetering dangerously between restraint and reckless desire, when Mickey’s voice cuts through the haze of my arousal. “So, Gail,” he purrs, leaning in so close I can feel his breath ghost over my ear, “how about we take this party somewhere… private?”

The suggestion sends a jolt straight to my core. I turn to look at him, taking in his silver eyes that glint with promise, and then to Soren, whose own gaze is heavy with hunger. The air between us crackles with electricity, thick with the scent of leather and masculinity.

“Both of you?” My voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries all the weight of what they’re suggesting—a ménage à trois.

“Unless you don’t want to be shared,” Soren replies, his hand inching higher up my thigh, sending shivers dancing across my skin. “In which case, we’re out.”

Oh, I want to—I want them both, more than I’ve wanted anything in a long, painfully celibate while. But there’s a niggling voice in the back of my mind, reminding me of my other obligations. “I’m flattered, really,” I start, forcing my next words out like they’re coated in molasses, “but I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Mickey asks, his breath hot on my neck, which does absolutely nothing to help my self-control.

“Both,” I say, even though every fiber of my being screams otherwise. My chest feels tight, like I’m mourning a loss I never had the chance to claim. It’s stupid, it’s infuriating, and it’s so damn unfair.

“Are you sure?” Soren’s voice is soft, coaxing, but behind it, I hear the steel of a man not used to rejection. His fingers brush against mine, and I fight the urge to lace them with my own.

“Very sure,” I lie, my voice unsteady as I pull my hand away from his touch. Their disappointment is palpable, a tangible thing that wraps around us, heavy and suffocating.

“Alright,” Mickey says after a moment that stretches too long, his tone respecting my boundaries even if his eyes still undress me. “If that’s what you want.”

It’s not. God, it’s not. I watch them both, their body language shifting from seduction to an almost respectful distance, and it’s all I can do not to reach out and pull them back to me. “Thank you,” I whisper, because what else is there to say? ‘Please take me home and make me forget my name?’ Not happening.

“Anytime, Gail.” Mickey’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and I feel another piece of my resolve crumble. “You know where to find us if you change your mind.”

They leave me with that, a parting shot that’s more an invitation than a farewell. And as the cool night air replaces the warmth of their bodies, I’m left with a longing so fierce it borders on pain.

Tonight, I walk away. But tomorrow? Tomorrow I have an email to send. Because I think I’d like to find out if threesomes are for me.