Secretly Pucking: A Why Choose Hockey Romance (Bay Rebels Book 2)

Chapter 1

Captain’s Hall, Freedom

Robyn

“Are you writing a smut book along with those hockey stickmen drawings?” I struggle to sit up on the bed, pushing my tangled wavy, flame-red hair out of my emerald eyes.

The gorgeous man who’s sprawling in the covers next to me, as if he’s not doodling sexy stickmen on a blank page, shoots me a cocky smile.

Of course he does because he’s Jude fucking D’Angelo.

Captain of the Bay Rebels NHL hockey team, my best friend from college, and the man who I’m desperately in love with.

Also, a grumpy dick.

But you can’t have everything.

D’Angelo’s bedroom is large and overlooks the pasture at the back of Captain’s Hall ranch. The drapes are open. The pale morning light streams over the stunning antique silver bed, which is lavish and elegant.

The floors are carpeted and white like the walls. The entire far wall is a mirrored walk-in closet.

“Are you judging my first attempt to write romance?” D’Angelo replies, coolly. “Being trolled to my face by my own girlfriend will at least thicken my skin to cope with such a tough industry. But still, harsh.”

“More wondering why you’re illustrating that romance with pictures of…is that doodle holding a tentacle dildo?” I blush.

D’Angelo looks like he’s struggling not to laugh. “Can’t you tell? I even drew on the suckers.”

“How did you find out about my vibrator?” I splutter.

I curse that I was ever convinced into reading monster romance by my bestie, Neve.

It doesn’t matter how interesting the double or even triple peens are in those books. Useful as they’d be (and they would, so it’s a shame that evolution can’t keep up), they’re not worth the embarrassment factor that owning certain items has caused me.

“You’re dating three men. We talk. And if you want to try that tentacle thing out for real,” D’Angelo’s lips twitch, “use it on our good boy Shay.”

My mind short circuits at that image.

D’Angelo’s six foot three with olive skin and piercing ice blue eyes that are so frosty they make me shiver. Raven curls frame his strong face, as he tips his head forward to concentrate on drawing boobs onto the stick person who’s caught between three others like she’s having a seriously good time.

With my vibrator.

Is it anatomically possible though?

I need to test it out, right?

Purely for science.

I’m a committed truth seeker.

D’Angelo’s dressed in an immaculate designer navy suit and waistcoat with the sleeves rolled back to reveal his strong forearms, while I’m naked with sticky skin and puffy eyes.

Allergies suck.

“Isn’t it problematic to represent the woman like that?” I glance significantly down at my breasts, or as I call them in my head, my bouncy crumb catchers. Don’t judge. “She looks like she has two watermelons with cherries on the top stuck onto her.”

“Don’t insult your beautiful breasts that are, admittedly, fruit shaped.” D’Angelo looks affronted. “Can’t you see the drawing’s curly hair? It’s clearly meant to be you. I must be hungry because now I think about it, her hair also looks like spaghetti. But I never claimed to be Leonardo Da Vinci.”

“More like Picasso.”

“Or Leonardo DiCaprio. I do pull off a tuxedo well like he does. It was rather hard, principessa, to subtly capture your klutzy charm and love for monster romance in a simple drawing.”

“You made a good effort.” I huff. “Klutzy charm, huh?”

“Have you counted how many times a day you fall over? Do you think that we should take out extra insurance?”

Damn, he knows me too well.

Plus, it’s a good point. Especially with the Prince twins in the mix, who get into more accidents than I do.

When I reach over and trace the scruff of stubble on D’Angelo’s chin, his gaze softens.

I know that it must be love, when he can look at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world, when I’m a hot mess with smudged mascara around my eyes like a panda.

One who’s allergic to bamboo.

Of course, it’s D’Angelo’s fault that I look like this.

Although my other two boyfriends, Shay and Eden, must take an equal portion of the blame.

My brow furrows. “Where are Shay and Eden? I’m sure that our terrible twins collapsed in your bed with us last night.”

“They did,” D’Angelo replies. “Shay was wrapped around you like a limpet. I refuse to tell either of you how cute you looked.”

Except, he just has.

I sniff the air, letting out a delighted sigh at the delicious smell of coffee. “Eden’s cooking breakfast for us.”

“He always gets up at the crack of dawn. He should have been in the military, especially since he’s a gym bunny. Can I help it, if I look better lazing in bed, draped over a piano, or with a cocktail in my hand? Shay’s taking a shower, which means that he could be quite literally minutes. Do you think that he has a button that plays him at slow-motion?”

“I’ve already inspected him thoroughly, and if he does, then it’s not on the outside.”

“Internal search it is then, which sounded sexier and less prison strip search in my head.”

I laugh. “Shay enjoys playing the sexy prisoner at my mercy. He’d probably love that roleplay.”

I’ve woken up each morning for the last few weeks thankful for these three men, who each meet a different need in me, in the same way that I do for them.

I’m lucky to have found them on my return to my hometown of Freedom.

I never knew that I could experience this type of love, but after a marriage that trapped me and made me feel owned, it’s liberating and empowering.

I’ve never felt so seen.

Adored.

The guys kept me up almost all night celebrating the news that D’Angelo and Shay had been selected for the NHL Bay Rebels team for the new season.

And by celebrating, I mean the type of fun that my illustrated self is having in D’Angelo’s drawing.

Perhaps, you can have everything.

At least, I’m able to have this polyamorous relationship with three men, with whom I’ve been falling in love.

Shay Prince is the golden retriever new star of the team who brought me to life with his sunniness. Plus, he’s loved equally by D’Angelo, fitting between us in a way that none of us knew that we needed but now can’t live without.

And Eden is Shay’s introverted and tattooed twin, who’s lost his career through injury but spends his time caring for and protecting all of us. He’s also going to be D’Angelo’s PA.

After my divorce from the star NHL player, Talon Wilder, who abused and cheated on me, I never intended to be around hockey again.

I schemed never to date another hockey player.

Certainly, not to fall in love with one.

But here I am: PR Director in the Bay Rebels and secretly dating two players and their PA.

Robyn McKenna, twenty-seven.

Successful businesswoman.

Independent.

But serious player magnet.

Yet a bone-deep joy and contentment warms me. I’m exactly where I want to be in this found family, and shit, I’ve never experienced that before.

Except, D’Angelo is writing his romance in the book, which I created to try and strengthen my resolve against these gorgeous men.

My eyes narrow. I wriggle closer to D’Angelo, squinting against the light at the thin, pretty book that D’Angelo is balancing on his knee.

At first glance, it looks like a hockey strategy book in arctic blue and white with lines, arrows, and arcs on the front.

There’s also a crude puck and hockey stick.

I know because I drew those.

I also wrote the scrawled words, which are along the top:

A GUIDE TO AVOID DATING HOCKEY PLAYERS

The AVOID is scratched out.

During my yearlong nightmare divorce proceedings with Wilder, I created it as a guide, which explains the reasons that I should never, ever date a hockey player again.

It includes photographs and press clippings.

There’s an entire chapter on D’Angelo, including photographs of him pole dancing.

My favorite is the one of him wearing a horse riding outfit like he’s Darcy in Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. The outfit’s so tight that my mouth becomes dry every time I see it, along with the way that his knuckles are white, as he clasps a riding crop against his thigh.

The Guide was more positive (according to my therapist), than cutting out the ass on all of Wilder’s hockey pants or using his bank account to sponsor a dung beetle to be named after him at a local zoo for $25,000.

Wait, I did those too.

Yet I’m back in Freedom now.

This is my second chance with D’Angelo.

We were both played by the narcissistic Wilder. He kept us apart for years.

All that time, D’Angelo never stopped loving me.

“The stickmen who you drew of me,” D’Angelo drawls, “weren’t having such fun.”

I blush, remembering that I’d drawn them having hockey sticks used in creative but painful ways on them.

And their asses.

Okay, valid.

“What are they doing with those hockey sticks?” I point at the page.

D’Angelo gives a wicked grin. “They’re not sticks.”

Oh, hell.

I snatch back my hand.

My blush deepens. “So, this is meant to represent all of us then. Are they secretly pucking too?”

I take a deep breath of D’Angelo’s masculine scent, as I tangle my legs over his.

D’Angelo arches his brow. “Are you questioning my artistic ability? The one with the big, puppy like smile is Shay. The serious one with the big dick vibes is Eden. You’re obvious because you’re the one being worshiped in the middle. And I’m the one in charge with my hands on my hips.”

“Impressive.” I tap the page. “You have high hopes about my flexibility. Can non gymnasts really bend like this?”

D’Angelo’s eyes flash. “Let’s see, principessa.”

He drops the book onto my lap, which protects my modesty.

It’s actually a shock to realize that I have any modesty left, after the wild and earth shattering night that I’ve just spent with my three lovers.

D’Angelo twists to me.

He wraps his hand in my hair, dragging my head back and exposing my throat.

I swallow.

My breath hitches. Anticipation thrums through me.

When D’Angelo tugs my hair, it sends delicious tingles through my scalp.

D’Angelo skirts the Guide with his free hand, along the sensitive skin of my bare thigh.

“Stay still,” he commands.

I whine.

I bite my lip, struggling not to move.

Then D’Angelo edges his hand underneath the book, and I moan. His fingers explore between my thighs, teasing and featherlight.

He draws me into a kiss, which is passionate and drugging.

I lose myself in it.

D’Angelo is possessive, stealing these moments alone with me, even though we’re in a relationship with two other men.

He pulls back with a final, lingering kiss. My eyes flutter open.

D’Angelo’s gaze is intense as it meets mine. “We agreed that today would be a fresh start. In a week, the hockey season begins. This is a new relationship for us all. So, why not add tips and positions to your dating Guide?”

“Like the Hockey Kamasutra.”

He chuckles. “Was that a compliment, cara mia? I remember everything that you say, you know. I hoard compliments, since our love language appears to be…”

“Banter?”

“It works for us. Anyway, I may be an asshole but I’m also a trained dom. We’ve negotiated contracts, limits, and safe words. Repeat them.”

“Green, yellow, and red. And I’m so, so green”

“Talon was a selfish, useless lover. He made you feel like your desires and fantasies didn’t matter. He didn’t respect your consent, hard and soft limits, or boundaries. That’s never going to happen to you again. I intend to take this week before the season starts to show you that your needs will always be met from now on. You’ll never be made to feel anything but pleasure, as long as you’re mine.” D’Angelo loosens his hold on my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear. “It will never be a case of if you come but how many times.”

I draw in a sharp breath.

Wilder took his pleasure but never bothered about making me feel good. I spent years thinking that if I didn’t come in a certain way or time, then it was my body that was faulty or broken.

Yet my time with these men has allowed me to take back the sensations and power over my own body.

There’s nothing wrong with me.

There never was.

Wilder was the problem.

D’Angelo pushes my head down by the back of my neck to face the Guide on my lap.

I can’t forget for a second what’s happening beneath that book with his caressing fingers, even though D’Angelo’s acting calm like he’s not even touching me.

I struggle not to hump my hips.

My breathing is ragged.

“Read,” D’Angelo whispers.

Is he serious?

“Eden’s the bookworm,” I protest. “Shall we call him in? He can read, while you and I concentrate on what your wicked fingers—”

“Now,” D’Angelo commands, frostily.

I swallow, struggling to focus on the words that he’s written above the naughty drawings.

Robyn’s Number One Rule: Go on a date with a hockey player every week.

Top three reasons:

They look gorgeous in suits, are creative with their sticks, and are mind-blowing at teamwork in bed.

They’ll burn down the world to protect you against your stalker NHL ex-husband and press.

The Prince twins.

But never forget that it all began with D’Angelo...

“You used my glitter pens to write this,” I say in shock.

“You like glitter pens.” D’Angelo smirks. “What section in this book did you use them on again…? I remember now. The one where you numbered and bullet pointed my negative characteristics.”

I knew that he wouldn’t let that go so easily.

Damn.

“I could list some right now,” I pant.

“Don’t worry. I memorized that part.”

“Your name is underlined.”

“Yes.”

“With a wavy line. Three times.”

D’Angelo’s thumb ventures lower. I’m so fucking wet.

Pleasure winds through me but at a lazy pace.

D’Angelo is deliberately edging me.

Still, if this is revenge served kinky, then I’m tempted to get in trouble more often.

“You rewrote my original wording. Is it satire?” I demand.

D’Angelo runs his hand through his silky curls. “Hmm, let me think…”

He looks like a sinful fallen angel.

I can never tell whether he’s a devil pretending to be an angel, or an angel pretending to be a devil.

That’s a fun PR image problem for me to deal with this season.

Suddenly, my eyes widen. “Is this your way of adding a rule that we need to go on dates? A way of asking me out?”

“Is the answer yes? We need to get to know each other. I feel like I’ve been married to you, since I met you nine years ago, principessa. I know that with our arrangement, I can’t legally marry you. It wouldn’t be fair for one of us to get a public and legal recognition like that, while the others are left on the outside in the shadows. But it’s how it feels in my heart.” How can D’Angelo say such sweetly romantic things, when he’s doing such dirty things under the cover of the Guide? “Yet I want to treat Shay and you to a date. We should catch up on the stages of this relationship that we missed out on. Eden deserves the same. This is his first relationship, and he needs the time to experience the wonderful sides of that.”

Now I’m thinking that D’Angelo’s definitely an angel.

I smile. “I may be a rebel, but this is one rule that I’ll follow. Three men and three dates. Although, you’ve set the bar high. Creative with your stick? Mind-blowing at teamwork in bed?”

D’Angelo growls.

Whoops, I’ve poked the bear.

“Is that a challenge? Because I can call the twins in here…”

“Is that meant to be a threat or a reward?”

I don’t even question the burn down the world to protect me part.

I know that it’s true.

All three men would give up their hockey, careers, and reputations to protect each other as well.

“I love you, principessa.” D’Angelo presses his lips to mine, and I melt against him. “Okay?”

He’s checking in with me.

When I nod, he assesses me carefully for a moment, giving me time to process the overwhelming pleasure that’s coiling through me.

Then he presses his cheek to mine in an achingly intimate way. His silky curls brush my skin.

I reach to run my hands up and down his back, wrinkling the soft fabric of his suit.

His muscles are corded and hard, however, beneath the material.

Then he noses down to my ear, licking across its shell, before pressing a kiss to the skin behind it.

It’s the most sensitive place on my body.

That’s cheating.

When I almost levitate off the bed, D’Angelo chuckles.

I’m close.

“I’m going to…” I warn.

Casually, D’Angelo pulls his hand out from under the book and rests it on my thigh.

My eyes widen in outrage. “What are you doing?”

“Take your time.” D’Angelo sits back, stopping touching me altogether. “There’s no rush. Trust me, if you want mind-blowing, then this is how we get you there.”

In shock, his words startle me out of the pleasurable haze.

Shit, I’m in trouble. Because there is a rush.

How could I have forgotten the meeting this morning?

“Dad!” I blurt in panic.

D’Angelo reels back from me, bristling like a disgruntled cat. “Yellow. Don’t call me dad or daddy, especially not in bed. With my past, it has too many bad associations. We talked about honorifics. Now, you’re always welcome to call me Sir…”

I redden.

My pussy is still throbbing. I’m pushing my thighs together, feeling like I have one foot over a cliff, I’m so close to coming.

And I’ve just called out my dad’s name in bed.

Ouch.

Cringing, I wave my hands around like somehow I can erase D’Angelo’s memory of the last few minutes. “I didn’t mean—”

D’Angelo crosses his arms. “There’s no need to be defensive. These things slip out in the heat of passion. It’s not surprising with your daddy issues.”

Daddy issues…?

I sit up onto my knees. “This is not about my — alleged — daddy issues. I wasn’t trying to call you my daddy.”

D’Angelo wrinkles his nose. “Principessa, are you telling me it’s better that when you’re in my arms, you called out your real dad’s name?”

Ehm, no…?

My cheeks flame. “Okay, so it’s worse. But only because I suddenly thought of him.”

Dad, Austin McKenna, was a pro hockey player who won the Stanley Cup. Then he was caught in a scandal that tore apart his life and haunted my brother, Cody, and me all our lives.

Dad took up coaching the Bay Rebel’s new team to redeem himself and offer the same chance to his team of misfits.

D’Angelo’s gaze is icy, as he adjusts his cuff links ritualistically three times. “Uh-huh. I think that this has highlighted how much we really do need to practice dating. I suppose that it’s not surprising since we spent so much time over the last month being stalked, at the ice rink, or simply fighting to be together. I didn’t think that the problem was as dire as this.”

“I mean,” I scramble to explain, “your words about us not being in a rush made me think of Dad. Look, I’d be better at explaining this, maybe, if you hadn’t driven me into a frustrated puddle of…”

“Desire?”

I nod, clenching my hands on my lap and with great self-discipline not inching them to push myself flying over the cliff to ecstasy. “There is a rush. I’m late. I forgot in the midst of the celebrations and then…you…this morning…that I have a last minute meeting with Dad about Bay Rebels’ PR.”

D’Angelo’s expression suddenly becomes serious. “And our secret relationship, I suppose.”

My pleasure simmers down, reduced by worry about the upcoming meeting.

My expression becomes grim. “The twins and you. Dad wants me to continue to manage you twenty-four seven isolated here in Captain’s Hall to ensure that your careers are protected against press scrutiny. The next week will be intense and dangerous. And Dad’s pet peeve is tardiness. If I’m late, we’ll all be in trouble.”