Justice for Puck Bunnies

Chapter Three

Vin

What the fuck am I doing?

Isabelle Sutton—that Isabelle Sutton—is sitting in our living room, sinking into Trick’s overstuffed couch and fiddling with a half-filled wine glass from my only bottle of white. Her phone is charging in the kitchen, so she doesn’t have a distraction. It’d be rude for me to use my own to save myself.

After I convinced her to follow me home, I had the entire car ride to panic. I didn’t have her number, so there was no way to withdraw the offer. I did text Trick and Mason at least. They’re in some preseason briefing because Mason’s new and Trick is an alternate captain. They probably have their phones off.

Well, maybe not Mason. He’s been texting someone all week, but he refuses to tell us who—which means it’s probably the woman sitting in our living room.

There’s a lot of danger in her mere presence here. All week, Brad’s been pushing himself and us harder than I’ve ever seen. The preseason doesn’t explain it. The only difference between last week and this is the woman who followed me home.

“Can I get you anything else?” I ask and shift awkwardly on my feet. I don’t know where to go. I don’t want her to assume I brought her back because she’s a bunny. Do I sit next to her on the couch? There’s no other furniture in the room aside from the coffee table and an enormous wall-mounted TV.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she replies and sets the untouched wine glass on the thick oak coffee table.

Maybe I should get a chair from the dining room. I can’t sit on the floor.

My sisters raised me as much as my mother did, but they never prepared me for this. Every option seems risky. Risks shouldn’t be taken haphazardly.

Except when it comes to Izzy Sutton, apparently.

I wish Trick were here. He’d be able to handle it.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “Have you been over before?”

She tilts her head at me, her eyes narrowing.

“I’ve never slept with Wyatt, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Her tone is crisp, and I immediately know I’ve stepped in it. I thought she needed somewhere to escape to, someone to talk to, but maybe I miscalculated.

“I just . . I was only making conversation.”

Her chin juts out, but it’s not really a nod.

It occurs to me then that she’s as thrown off by being here as I am.

“I thought you might want to go somewhere that wasn’t so public,” I offer.

“I’m not with Brad anymore but I’m not not with Brad, if that makes sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“You’re a good-looking guy, but sex is not on the table.”

Time stops while the thought of Izzy here for sex spirals in my mind. A fantasy materializes of her blowing me on this couch while we watch a game. My fingers massage her scalp while I cum down her throat.

The image is an aggressive beast stalking around in my thoughts, but I trap it as fast as I can. She already has the wrong impression, and I don’t want to make it worse.

She said it so casually, and I finally grasp what she thinks she’s here for.

“Oh, no! No. I didn’t bring you back for that. Not that I wouldn’t... I mean, you are...” I pinch the bridge of my nose and comb my hair back out of my eyes.

This is going downhill so fast.

“I thought you might want someone to talk to,” I finally get out.

This woman, this force of energy, caves in on herself. She sinks deeper into the couch, draws socked feet up, and hugs her knees so she’s a little ball of stress.

Ah, fuck it.

Settling into the space beside her, I do the only thing I can think of—I turn on the TV and find a recorded game playing on one of the hockey channels.

We’re silent for several long minutes. We silently watch a replay of an Airmen’s game from last season.

“This is the one where they pull the goalie,” she says, and I cover my surprise. It was probably wrong of me to assume she wasn’t as much a fan of the game as the players.

“Yup,” I reply. “Stupid move here. Their line isn’t good enough to sustain that, even in the last 40 seconds.”

“It’s a Hail Mary. You just don’t like the goaltender not being on the ice.”

“I am biased. The goalie’s the most important position.”

“Uh-huh.” She elbows me, and we go back to watching in silence.

A commercial break interrupts the game play, but neither of us move. We continue facing the screen like we’re afraid to look at each other.

She’s so close, and that spicy-sweet taste from the kiss lingers in my memory.

“Why were you really upset?” I murmur.

Her body stiffens and her lips tighten.

“My best friend is getting married, which I’m thrilled for, but also we’re roommates and I’m losing my apartment.”

“You can’t find another roomie?”

“Her apartment.”

“Sublease?”

“Expires in nine days.”

“Shit. That’s barely enough time to pack, let alone find and fund a new place.”

“Hence the drinking and the burger.”

We’re quiet again. Her story is neither my fault nor my responsibility, but still the situation turns over in my mind while I search for a solution.

I move a little closer to give her some comfort, and she rests her head on my shoulder.

“My problems aren’t your fault,” she whispers. “If anything, I’m the one who owes you.”

It’s so quiet I barely hear it, and I’m not sure she meant me to.

I lay an arm over her bent knees to get her to relax, and she lets them fall over my legs. I stretch an arm across her and cup her thigh to encourage her closer.

She’s not sitting in my lap, but her bent legs rest on my lap as she hugs my arm, and it’s like having her wrapped around me. I rest my cheek on the top of her head because it feels so good to be close to her. I really like physical affection, and there hasn’t been anyone in a long time for that.

“This is nice,” I comment.

She snuggles a little deeper. “Thank you. I needed this.”

By the start of the third period, Mason and Trick come in through the garage. I can hear them making noise in the mudroom between the garage and kitchen, which is still two rooms over.

Izzy and I freeze, neither of us sure how to handle it. We’ve barely spoken since we got here. I have no idea how the guys will take her being here or how she’ll react.

“Vin?” Trick calls out.

The woman wrapped around me startles at the sound of his voice. She bolts to her feet and grabs her purse from the coffee table.

“I should go,” she rushes out.

“Wait, Izzy, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s definitely not.” She desperately searches the room. “Fucking hell, where is my phone?”

“What?”

She leans over me on the couch to whisper the question into my ear.

“Charging in the kitchen.”

“But—”

Trick and Mason sweep into the living room at the moment Izzy’s leaning over me with her face so close to mine during our quiet conversation. They both halt so fast it’s like surprise has turned them to stone.

Their eyes trade between the two of us, with diametrically opposite reactions.

Trick’s blow wide in shock. His shoulders draw back.

But Mason goes through a full range of jealousy and pride.

“Vin, I didn’t know you had it in you!” he exclaims and marches over to offer a fist bump.

“It’s not like that,” I reply.

Trick crosses his arms. I can tell from his expression alone he’s disappointed, but I haven’t done anything wrong. If he wants this pack to work, then he can’t make assumptions or respond without talking to me first.

“Then what is it like?” my alpha asks.

Izzy and I trade glances. Neither of us have any idea how to respond to that.

“We ran into each other at Fluke’s,” I stutter out.

“I don’t see Dane here, so connect the dots to the two of you huddling close in our living room.”

Izzy doesn’t take that well. The emotional shift is subtle, but after only one night with her I sense it. She stands straight and tightens her fists.

“That’s between Bobby and me,” she grits out.

“Bobby?”Mason asks, incredulous. “If he’s Bobby, who am I?”

“Who are you for what?” Trick asks.

“Fuckboy,” she replies.

“Fair,” Mason says with a grin.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Trick barks. “All three of you, on the couch.”

“Actually, I’m leaving,” Izzy says.

“I said, sit.”

Izzy narrows her eyes and tilts her head, but still takes her seat beside me. She ducks her head as if contrite, which doesn’t fool me one bit.

Mason, oblivious to the thrashing approaching, lounges on my other side while Trick paces the room.

“Let me see if I understand this,” he says and points to Mason. “You lied to me when you said the girl you’re talking to isn’t Izzy.”

“She isn’t Izzy in my phone.”

“You knew exactly who I was asking about and lied to my face.”

“I didn’t want to see you this worked up, old man. I care about your blood pressure.”

“Wait, who am I in your phone?” Izzy asks.

Mason opens his mouth, but Trick cuts him off.

“Don’t answer that. All of you are gonna focus for a few minutes.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she mewls, and Mason bursts out laughing.

Trick breathes an aggrieved sigh. “Vin, tell me why she’s here, and I know you know better than to bend the truth.”

“We ran into each other at Fluke’s. She seemed upset, so I invited her back for company. Nothing happened.”

Well, some really great cuddling happened, but Trick doesn’t need to know right now.

Fuck, she’s sexy. I want her to huddle closer even now. Temptation is a siren call, and I want to follow it despite Trick.

Maybe even because of it.

“Do you have any idea how bad this would be if word gets back to Brad?” Trick admonishes. “He’s already pissed at us all. He’s gonna run himself and the rest of the team ragged if he doesn’t quit taking out his frustration on us.”

Come to think of it, we could use having a woman around. None of us are any good at domesticity.

She flinches. “That may be more my fault than you know.”

“Explain.”

It was bad enough when Trick and I lived separately, but together and the schedules get crossed... and then Mason is basically a man-child.

“I told him he needed to earn me back but didn’t explain how. He probably thinks I mean his performance as captain. He knows I need... He knows I care a lot about his position.”

Ouch.Brad’s self-centered, but he’s still an alpha. He cares how everyone sees him, especially the woman on my right.

Trick scoffs, but her fists tighten again. Whatever is going on, I don’t think it’s what Trick’s assumed. Izzy’s a fan. It might not be gold-digging. Or at least, not only gold-digging.

“Well, I’m enjoying his tantrums,” Mason says with a laugh. “Keep stringing him along. It’s hilarious.”

“He has been hustling all week,” Trick admits. “He’s normally pretty sluggish in practices, but not this last week.”

She beams at that, and a vein of jealousy pulses in my brain. Mason’s jaw tightens too.

The dots connect in my mind then.

Izzy’s situation—Brad’s renewed vigor.

“Stay with us,” I rush out. “You’re losing your apartment. We need someone to help out around the house.”

“I’m not a maid,” she grumbles.

“We have an extra room.”

“No,” Trick cuts me off. “It’s not for her.”

“Oh, come on, T,” Mason adds. “What’s the matter? Too afraid of temptation?”

“No. She can’t stay in that room.”

“She’s not gonna curse it,” I add. Izzy grips the couch fabric with white knuckles.

“And our captain?” he asks.

“Brad can learn to live with it,” Izzy replies. “If what you say is true, then he’s already on a tear to prove himself. I’d bet he goes off the rails when he finds out I’m living here.

“And I do need somewhere to live, by the way. It’s why I was upset earlier. I’m losing my apartment in nine days and can’t afford a new place on my own.”

“Even better!” Mason exclaims. “We’re gonna tell him you’re our live-in bunny.”

“I’m not”—she stares off while she finds her words—“that’s not what I’m here for. Why is that so hard for all of you to grasp?”

“Aw, come on—”

“It wouldn’t be real,” I cut Mason off to reassure her. “I get you still have some sense of loyalty to him, even now. We can respect that.”

“Do you?” She glares at Mason past me. Sourness twists his lips, and I worry that he’ll say something childish. “Do you think you can keep your hands to yourself, fuckboy?”

“I’ve already got an entire album of pictures to flaunt to our captain. I guess I can suffer the loss of the real thing for the look on Brad’s face when I scroll through ‘em when he’s looking over my shoulder.”

Izzy gasps but then bursts out laughing. She coughs out garbled yesses.

“We aren’t telling anyone shit,” Trick grumbles.

“Aw, come on!” Mason says. “She’s right and you’re right. Brad’s pushing us harder than he ever has. You were worried about him dropping the ball, but Izzy’s got him focused. Besides, the guy’s an egotistical asshole. Don’t you want to knock him down a peg?”

A tickling sensation in my mind screams that this is the only way forward. My instincts are rarely wrong, even when I don’t understand them at the time.

I get to my feet because I know it has to come from me if we want Trick to agree. The other two, they aren’t pack. Mason... it’s too early to think about Mason. I like the guy well enough—that is, when he can keep his chaos in check.

“It’s good for all of us in the short and long run,” I tell Trick. “Izzy gets a place to live and a reformed Brad at the end. We get temporary help around the house and a captain worthy of the title, plus some retribution for his bad behavior.”

My alpha considers us for a long beat. The stiff shoulders tell me he’s unsure, but his face is open.

Please come around, Trick. This will work. I know it.

“All three of you are okay with this?” he asks.

We share a glance, but I can practically feel the mischief coming from both my left and my right behind me.

“We are.”

He palms his face and rubs his eyes with a thumb and a pointer finger.

“I’m going to regret this.”

* * *

Izzy

Only a week later, the boys haul my meager belongings up the stairs to a room at the end of the hall. It’s got a nice view of the neighbor’s house, but also two backyards and a high fence separate us.

Yes, this will certainly do for a few weeks.

I will have my revenge on Brad the Cad. There’s an enticing joy in making him squirm and crawl back to me.

Actually, more than that, I’m doing this for puck bunnies everywhere.

The players like to use and discard us—but not this time. This PB is getting a wife card.

May my revenge become legend.

May I be a conduit for all of our feminine rage.

Hell hath no fury like a puck bunny scorned.

Justice for puck bunnies, one and all.

My success is our success. Reforming the world one manwhore at a time.

Besides, I’ve already braved the text to my parents about my change in venue.

There’s no turning back now.

My keys scrape against the tape sealing a box closed. I probably shouldn’t unpack entirely. Who knows how long I’ll actually live with the boys?

There’s something about last week’s conversation that leaves me with the impression Trick doesn’t really want me here. It’s not that he hates the idea. We’ve had a few group chat messages between the four of us since for him to back out.

I don’t get the sense he’d do that, though. He’s the kind of guy who considers his word is his bond or what have you.

No, it was in how he said he didn’t want me in this room. It’s only a four-bedroom house, and the rest are taken, so there wasn’t much choice.

Still, the inflection made me think he wasn’t so much uncomfortable with me being under his roof as he was about me staying in this particular place.

I’ve privately offered several times to sleep on the couch or in the office downstairs. After all, I slept on Jolie’s couch for years. His couch is a cushy dream and a drastic upgrade.

And yet he insists it’s fine. Men are stupid.

The box I’ve opened is full of toiletries and bathroom junk, so I head into the private attached bath to unpack the necessities. My makeup drawers will take up all the countertop space alone, and I’ll need to find a hidey-hole to stash my pills.

Operation Jealous Zealot is under way. This is for every bunny who’s been shafted, and not in a fun way.

Do I want to wash grown men’s socks and clean up after their shaving? Absolutely not. But I wouldn’t mind making them dinner, and I can cope with the rest in exchange for free room and board in what’s actually a very nice house.

This will work. Jolie and I are going to get married at the same time and be bridal besties like we’ve always planned.

Luck rarely smiles on me, so perhaps she’s making up for lost time.

Living with the guys is a truly stellar opportunity. The more I dwell on where I’ve landed, the more optimistic I’ve become.

Brad is going to hate this, which means it’s perfect.

I have a safe, cushy place to live rent-free where the trade-off is minimal. They haven’t said a single word about my expenses and have promised to give me a card for their grocery shopping, which includes me.

All the players are paid pretty well, but none of my guys are known for flaunting their wealth. This house is in upper-middle class suburbia. They drive higher end brands but nothing in the six figures. It’s only Mason’s first year back on pro ice. I’m sure he’s dying for his first big check.

Visions of the guys on the ice, of Vin’s smooth-not-smooth voice in my ear, of Trick’s big hands on me, of Mason’s sly grins...

They are so much the opposite of Brad, with his flashy car that cost more than a house and his penthouse apartment.

If I pushed the physicality with them, it’ll drive my target up the wall.

Maybe I don’t need to be so loyal to Brad after all.

The time unpacking my palettes is spent mulling over my vow of chastity.

Brad’s definitely not waiting around. I’ve heard from three different girls how he’s bringing Livvy out to dinner at our favorite restaurants.

He thinks he can make me bend, but he has no idea what’s headed for him.

Brad won’t be faithful to me while we’re separated, or even when we get back together, so why should I be the only one to suffer? All three of my guys are as hot as fucking Hades. Mason’s begged me every day to rethink his friend-zoning.

Justice can include lots and lots of orgasms, right?

They all smell so fucking good. They have their own auras about them, but together? R.I.P. my panties.

No. Focus, Izzy. Be professional.

I am steel. I am a fortress. I can resist temptation.

What I apparently can’t do is keep my shit together when my new alpha comes to find me.