6. Goose
Chapter 6
Goose
“Yo, Goose! Delivery came for you!” Trent, our head equipment manager, walked into the locker room with an open box in his hands.
“Whatcha got?”
He came to a stop where I sat at my stall. “New mask.”
Fuck yes. I’d commissioned the artwork on a new helmet a few weeks ago, and my guy up in Canada had put a rush on it when I told him how important it was to me.
Uniforms were just that—uniform. Everyone looked the same on the ice, but goalies always stood out. Not only did we wear different, bulkier gear designed to block hundred-mile-per-hour slap shots, but we were also allowed a bit of self-expression in the form of unique artwork on our helmets.
My excitement over this design had me vibrating from head to toe. I stood, peeling back the protective packaging inside the box Trent held, before lifting my brand-new helmet out to inspect it.
On the right side of the mask was my trademark goose, sitting on a nest of eggs. Goose was a nickname that stuck pretty early in my youth hockey days—a play on my last name, Gusev, and also the word it was derived from in Russian. I’d never minded it, especially since a goose egg meant a score of zero, so I had used that to fuel my mental game. I took pride in being the shutout leader in the league for two years running. There was a satisfaction in knowing that guys on opposing teams laid awake at night replaying when I’d robbed them of scoring on an exceptionally skilled shot that most goalies wouldn’t be able to save.
The top, which would rest over the crown of my head, featured a red racecar. It was a little fancier than the Speed logo, but it was an homage to the team that drafted me and gave me my big break in the league. Now that I was on a long-term contract, I hoped to retire here. But not for a very long time, and hopefully, with more championships under my belt.
But it was the design on the left side that I was particularly stoked about.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, turning the mask over in my hands. When my lids raised, my permanent smile widened to the point where it made my cheeks ache.
It was fucking perfect.
The smooth fiberglass featured a collection of brilliant, cut gemstones in various colors. Above them in script, was the name always sitting at the back of my mind—Gemma.
I was itching to see her again, but I hadn’t had a moment to spare between practices, games, and traveling. I’d sent her flowers so she would know I was still thinking about her, even if we weren’t physically together.
“Thanks, Trent. It looks great.”
Our equipment manager gave me a smile. “She must be something special to make it onto your helmet.”
I huffed out a laugh. “One in a million.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “Happy for you, man.”
Trent left the locker room as my teammates filed in one by one. It took longer for me to gear up, so I was usually the first to the rink for practice.
Braxton dropped down beside me, shucking off his street shoes before stripping off his sweats to reveal the skintight base layer underneath. His eyes caught on the shiny new mask resting on the bench.
“Another one? Didn’t you get two new ones when the season started?” he asked.
“Yup.” I nodded. “This one is special, though.”
He cocked his head. “Oh, yeah?”
I handed over my newest prized possession. “Here. Take a peek.”
Jenner walked over, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Who’s Gemma?”
“Oh, she’s—”
“Goose! There’s some woman trying to get through the press door, claiming she needs to see you?” Nick, the head of the security team’s gruff voice boomed through the open space. He shook his head. “She called you Sasha. Not sure I’ve ever heard anyone use your real name before.”
Could it be . . . ?
Instantly on my feet, I asked, “Tall, dark hair, cute little scowl?”
Nick nodded. “Yep, that’s her.”
“Let her in and tell her I’ll be right there.”
“You got it.”
I bent in half, frantically searching for my slides beneath the bench.
“Where’s the fire, Goose?” Asher asked from across the locker room.
Shoving my socked feet into the open-toe rubber sandals, I spun around, explaining, “My girlfriend’s here.”
Jenner held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Back up. Girlfriend? Since when?”
Shrugging, I tried to move around him, eager to lay my eyes on Gemma again. “Couple weeks. Met her when I went to get a new license.”
Braxton shot off the bench in my peripheral vision. “Are you insane?! The DMV Diva?”
“The what?” I spun around to meet his wide eyes.
He reached into his discarded joggers, pulling out his cell. Tapping on the screen, he flipped it around to show some kind of amateur video of Gemma and me at the DMV. God, she looked amazing—fists clenched, face red, eyes burning bright with passion.
Tossing his phone back into his stall, he used both hands to grip my shoulders. “Goose. Please tell me that’s not the woman you’re talking about.”
“That’s my Gemma,” I declared, unable to wipe the goofy grin from my face at the memory of our first encounter.
“ That’s Gemma?” Jenner asked from my right.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded. “Isn’t she great?”
Braxton shook me by the shoulders, bringing my attention back to him. “Look, buddy. You’re eccentric; we all get a kick out of it, but this is taking it to a new level. That chick is seriously unhinged. The level of crazy lurking in her eyes is enough to keep most men awake at night, afraid of the nightmares they’ll cause.”
Asher chimed in as he tied his skates. “And he just told Nick to let her inside the building.”
I snapped my fingers. “Can’t keep my woman waiting. If you’ll excuse me.” I dipped down, breaking Braxton’s hold on me and striding away. “Catch you guys at practice.”
Behind me, I heard Braxton mutter, “Delusion is a disease for which there is no cure.”
If they gave her a chance, I knew they’d love Gemma as much as I did. Her prickly exterior might give people pause at first, but we would balance each other out. They’d see.
My feet couldn’t move fast enough as I walked toward the press entrance. When it came into view, I was surprised to find Gemma standing with Bristol, chatting low enough that I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“There are two of my favorite girls.” Their heads turned at my greeting. “Or maybe three?”
When I drew close enough, I crouched before Bristol, my large palms dwarfing her tiny baby bump. “How’s our little ’ship baby? Kicking yet?”
“Not strong enough to be felt on the outside. And on the inside, it’s almost like tiny bubbles,” Bristol replied, her hands covering mine.
“Amazing,” I breathed.
I couldn’t wait to see Gemma pregnant with our little gosling someday. Hopefully, sooner rather than later, though, as she was already old enough for any pregnancy to be considered geriatric, and I wanted more than one. The clock was ticking.
“I’m sorry,” Gemma’s beautiful voice sounded from my right, and I peeked at her as my touch hovered over the life growing beneath Bristol’s skin. Gemma gestured between us. “Are you two . . . together?”
Bristol laughed, and I was quick to set my woman’s mind at ease. “Aw, come on, babe. You know there’s no one else for me but you.”
Straightening, I reluctantly dropped my hands, reaching for Gemma instead.
Fear flickered in her eyes, and she stepped back, both hands raised. “Don’t touch me.”
“Hey,” I cooed softly. “Are you okay?”
Gemma swallowed. “Not particularly.”
“If this is about Bristol, you have nothing to worry about. She’s my coach’s wife. I’m excited to be an honorary uncle, is all.”
Bristol offered Gemma a warm smile. “Sorry if I caused any problems. I should get back to work. It was nice to meet you, Gemma.”
Gemma finally dropped her hands. “You too.”
The sound of heels clacking on polished concrete grew distant as Bristol walked further away.
“What’s wrong, babe?” I leaned one shoulder against the wall, crossing my legs.
“I’m not your babe ,” she forced out, jaw clenched tight.
“Right.” I nodded. “You’re my Kitten.”
A flush crept up her neck and onto her cheeks, the same vibrant shade of pink as the first bouquet of roses I’d sent—my new favorite color.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you came to visit me at work,” I began. “I was just thinking—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Gemma’s arms crossed beneath her mouthwateringly full tits, pushing them up. “I’m not here because I want to be.”
“No?” I arched an eyebrow.
“No.” She gave a single sharp shake of her head. “Consider this a verbal cease and desist. The flowers were lovely, but I need you to stop sending them.”
I tsked. “Honey—”
“No! No more honey, no more babe, no more Kitten. No more anything else your psychotic mind can think up. We are not together. We will never be together. So just stop.”
She kept talking, but I stopped listening, too transfixed by the way her mouth moved, how her lips wrapped around every word. Dragging my gaze lower, I watched as her hands flailed wildly and her not-so-tiny feet stomped in emphasis. Uninhibited like this, expressing herself freely—even if it was brought on by anger—she’d never been more beautiful.
Suddenly, I was grateful I wore athletic shorts over my skintight performance leggings because my blood rushing south would have been extremely noticeable. Not that I wouldn’t love to catch a glimpse of her face when she realized how much her ranting was turning me on.
I winced, my erection growing painful and in need of adjustment.
“Have I struck a nerve?” Gemma taunted. “Is this finally sinking in?”
Jesus, this woman was going to be the death of me. The only thing I wanted to sink into was her warm pussy with my throbbing hard dick.
Gemma gave me an expectant look, waiting for my response.
Not wanting to disappoint, I shot her straight.
“No, babe. Watching your claws come out has me so hard my vision is beginning to blur.”
Those hazel depths flared gold for a second before dropping to the vicinity of my crotch. My cock twitched, almost as if it knew it was the center of attention and wanted to say hello.
The bulge, while mostly contained, was still noticeable. I was a big guy; that’s how it went.
Gemma’s lower lip dropped on an exhale. There was no denying she was imagining the kind of power I could wield with the weapon poised between my thighs. And I would be more than happy to offer her a physical demonstration.
The shutters slammed down on the arousal, and she snapped, “Stop sending flowers!” before turning on her heel and shoving through the press entrance and out of sight.
Finally, I reached down, adjusting my cock into a semi-comfortable position. A lesser man would rub one out in the bathroom, but I was conscious of the fact that I was still at work.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder, accompanied by a low whistle. “Christ, she’s scary,” Maddox remarked. “You can’t handle a woman like that.”
I had to laugh at the irony. She was practically the female version of Maddox—all bark but no bite. It had taken time for him to warm up to me as well, and there were still days when I grated on him, but I knew the big lug loved me.
“Maybe not,” I agreed. “But damn, will it be fun to try.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re certifiably insane?” Maddox let out a rare chuckle.
“All the time.” I threw him a wink before heading back toward the locker room.
I’d grant Gemma’s wish and stop sending flowers, but this wasn’t the end for us. Far from it.