Puck Me Twice (Power Play Off the Ice)

Chapter 1

Vanessa

one

. . .

“Love you,” Bex says.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you better.” Nonetheless, I get out of my chair to top off her red solo cup of white wine and hand her the last s’mores bar treat. Even though it’s my favorite.

“Aw, you guys are like an old married couple,” Elsy says, looking between me and my best friend.

“QPR for the win,” Bex says, grinning.

A quasi-platonic relationship is the closest either of us will get to a real relationship these days. Taking my seat around the circle, I sip from my own plastic cup of wine. Our book club meets the third Thursday of the month. It’s easily the highlight of my social scene. Work has been full-on the last few weeks leading up to the start of the season.

It’s really freaking cool that I get to work with a professional hockey team. Like, I’m not discounting that. But it’s even more awesome that I get to help the players settle into their roles here in Boston.

As the club has made several big moves gearing up for the young season, I’ve been helping the players and their spouses: navigating renting out their homes and finding new ones, figuring out the school systems, finding doctors and establishing care, legalities with visas and residency requirements, and all the general logistics that are involved with moving clear across the country—or more often, internationally, as players move between teams in the US and Canada and leave their club team home countries to play for the big squad.

But tonight? I’m going to sit back, relax, and hang out with my girls. I don’t get to do this enough.

There are about twenty of us who regularly attend the book club meetings in the back of Sadie’s downtown bookstore. I’m lucky enough to call them my friends. We vary across ages, professions, sexual orientation, socioeconomic levels, and backgrounds.

One thing we all have in common? Our love for books. Specifically, romance books.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and as I pull it out, Bex groans.

“No more work,” she says, making a grab for my phone.

It’s definitely not social, since most of my friends are here, and I don’t talk to my parents more than once or twice a year, so she’s not far off in her prediction.

Ducking her hand, I unlock the screen and scroll through the new message. It’s the waiver wire—and this time, my team is listed.

“Trade alert,” I report.

“Anyone good?”

“Not Wyatt.” He plays for Philadelphia and is starting the last year of his contract.

She scoffs. “Please. My brother would tell me before he signed a new contract.”

“It’s a trade,” I remind her. “And besides?—”

“He might not have a chance before it gets leaked to the press.” Bex sighs. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Who is it?”

“Theo Reynolds. From Vancouver.”

“Don’t know him.” Bex shrugs. “I’ll ask Wyatt if he’s any good.”

“He played with Mitch in the minors,” Elsy says. Her best friend plays hockey, too, so she knows the lifestyle—and the lingo.

I swear, sometimes it seems like hockey has its own damn language, and even after a few years working with the club, I still don’t know how to translate.

After a few more minutes of chatter, Sadie calls the group together, and we gather in to talk about this week’s trope topic: second chance romances. My least favorite storyline.

“Ugh. Pass,” I mutter quietly.

Not quietly enough, though, because Ceci grins at me.

“I think there’s a story there,” she teases.

Shaking my head, I take a sip of my wine. “College sweetheart. We were together for two years. We were talking about getting married. And then he dumped me on my twenty-first birthday. So, no, there is no possibility of a second chance happening.”

“And there’s been nobody since?” Arielle asks curiously. She’s engaged to a long-time friend, and they’re adorable together. But just because she’s getting her happily ever after doesn’t mean the rest of us will.

“A few one-night stands or casual flings. Nobody that would really justify a second chance. I barely gave them a first.” I shrug. “Sue me, I’m picky.”

“As you should be,” Sadie tells me firmly. “You get to decide who you let into your heart.” She winks. “And your pussy.”

“Except maybe not too picky,” Bex chimes in. “How long has it been since you got laid?”

She had an epic hook up with a dude last summer, and even though they went their separate ways, she still talks about it.

My cheeks heat, and I roll my eyes to cover my discomfort at the teasing. I can deal with attention; I don’t like being made fun of. Does anybody, really?

“Long enough that I need to invest in some new batteries.”

Johanna grins at me. From the little I’ve spoken with her, I know she’s a big fan of toys. It’s weird that I know more about what she likes to get off than I do about her personal life, but then again, we are a romance book club… and she’s not exactly shy.

None of us are, really. Even quiet Arielle is a freak in the sheets, though if her roommate Sadie is to be believed, she’s not really all that quiet.

Sometimes it seems like everyone else is dabbling in more interesting sex. Everyone else is playing with kink. I’ve been there, done that. I’m not that interested in it. Sure, I’m more inclined to fem-dom than “traditional” male-led BDSM. But I don’t like domination to begin with; I want equality and parity in bed, or at least egalitarianism.

Madison cuts in, and then Rachel pipes up, and slowly, the attention is pried away from me.

Bex glances at me over her wine cup. “You good?” she murmurs.

Rubbing at my eye, I nod. “Just a long day.”

She flattens her lips into a straight line. “It’ll be okay.”

“Oh, I know,” I tell her, even though I don’t. Not for sure, at least.

“Hey, at least Robby isn’t playing hockey anymore,” she says with a sly grin. “There’s no chance of running into that asshole anytime soon.”

Knocking my plastic cup against hers, I force a smile. It feels more like a grimace.

“I’ll drink to that.”

After book club ends, Bex, Elsy, and I head back to our apartment across town. I’m quiet on the train. Bex keeps trying to get me to talk, but I’m not in the mood.

I’m not upset. I’m not embarrassed. I just…

Robby Andrews broke my heart. I thought we were forever. Maybe I was young, maybe I was naive. He was my first “real” grown-up boyfriend. We talked about getting married when I graduated from college. He was a year older than me, and he was planning on leaving school as soon as the team holding his rights wanted him in the league.

As it turns out, he did get called up by Toronto a few weeks later—for a pleasantly short playoff stint. If there’s one thing I love, it’s dunking on Toronto.

I don’t hate our Original 6 rival Montreal; we have a begrudging love-hate relationship and mutual respect for each club’s longevity and history.

Toronto, though? They can rot in hell.

And since moving to Boston… yeah, it’s even more fun for me, now.

I don’t know what Robby’s up to. He got sent down to the AHL for a few seasons, and he made a few appearances in the NHL over the years for a few different teams, but not with any consistency. He’s never played against Boston, and I don’t deal with the minor league players very often.

It brings me great satisfaction that his career is in the toilet while mine is thriving. Maybe it’s petty of me, but a part of me will always resent the time and energy I spent helping him with hockey at the expense of my lacrosse teammates and my own studies.

At the end of the day, I guess I’m grateful to him for one thing. He ended it; he didn’t cheat on me, or string me along. When he was done, he got out. It could have hurt more than it did if we had let it go on any longer.

I’ve learned a lot in the last eight years since we broke up. I’m a whole new person.

One thing’s for sure: I am never dating a hockey player again.