Pucking One Night Stand

1. Blake

Chapter one

Blake

B OOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

The bass rattles through my chest, vibrating the floor beneath me. It’s loud as hell in here—thick with bodies, neon lights flashing, and the air is a mix of sweat, expensive perfume, and top-shelf liquor.

The Aurora Hotel’s club, Sin City , is heaving. It’s one of those places where the music never stops, the drinks keep coming, and bad decisions are made on a nightly basis.

McAvoy and Thumper are shoving each other like a couple of kids, laughing too hard for whatever shot they just threw back. Peters is shit-talking Bishy over God knows what, and I’ve lost track of how many rounds we’ve had.

Doesn’t matter. It’s that kind of night—booze, adrenaline, and nothing but time to kill.

Then, all at once, the energy shifts.

The guys go still. Heads turn. The conversations around us fade into background noise.

I glance toward the entrance and, yeah. I get it.

She moves through the entrance, completely unfazed by the packed room, the pounding bass, or the fact that every single guy with a pulse just lost track of whatever they were doing.

Long legs. Golden-blonde hair. A body poured into a skinny black dress that should probably require a permit. She’s young, early twenties at most, but carries herself like she’s seen it all before.

Like nothing in this place could possibly impress her. That kind of confidence? It either comes from money, experience or knowing damn well every man in a ten-foot radius is trying not to stare. Probably all three.

But it’s not just the dress, or the body, or the way she moves. It’s her face. Delicate features, high cheekbones, and a perfect oval shape, like something pulled straight out of an old Hollywood film.

The sleek updo isn’t helping. It makes her look even more put together, like she walked off a red carpet and somehow ended up in the middle of a Vegas club.

And those eyes, damn! Sharp and expressive, like they’ve already sized up the room and found it lacking. There’s something else in them, too. Just a flicker. A challenge. A little bit of mystery, just enough to make a guy want to dig deeper.

Hell. Now she’s smiling. Bright. Devastating. The kind that doesn’t just happen, it’s deliberate. A weapon she obviously knows exactly how to use.

Riley, our Vegas Aces Player Media Liaison, is with her, which probably means she’s someone important. That doesn’t stop every hot-blooded idiot in the room from staring, me included.

“Jesus Christ…” I let out a low breath. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of that.”

Bishy barks out a laugh and, because he’s an asshole, rakes a hand through my hair like I’m a goddamn child.

“Not a chance,” he snorts. “She’s way out of your league.”

I shove him off, glaring, but he just grins. I’m trying not to stare at her, I really am, but my eyes keep tracking her in my peripheral vision.

She walks straight to the end of the bar with Riley and orders a drink as if she doesn’t have half the club drooling in her direction.

And for the briefest second, I'm sure she looks right at me.

It’s quick. Barely anything. A flick of her gaze before she turns away.

Still, it’s enough.

I smirk, rolling my shoulders. “Watch this,” I shout over the music. “I’ll show you how the master does it.”

I’m just about to push off the bar when Bishy grabs my arm, stopping me.

“Five hundred bucks says you can’t get her.”

I don’t even hesitate. I turn back, spit in my palm, and hold it out.

Bishy grins and shakes my hand.

“You just lost five hundred bucks.”

The bass drum pounds as I shove my way through the crowd. The usual happens, heads turn, eyes widen, and phones lift like they’re about to snap a shot of some rare sighting in the wild.

A few people call my name, and a couple of women do that thing where they casually brush against me, making sure I notice them. I don’t.

I’ve got one target, and I’m closing in fast.

Then, of course, some other guy beats me to it.

Damn it.

I slow my stride, watching as he leans in toward her, his sweaty face way too close for comfort. She steps back, pressing a hand to his chest, shoving him away. He stumbles but doesn’t take the hint, moving right back in.

Her body stiffens, one hand curling into a fist. Defensive. Unimpressed.

I should turn around, head back to Bishy and the guys. Not my problem.

Then I see Riley step in, her expression full of fire as she gets between them.

The guy’s mouth moves, her brows snap down, and the way she stabs a finger in his direction tells me she’s letting him have it.

The woman beside her, my target, is still trying to shake the asshole off, her face tight with irritation.

Alright. Screw it.

I head straight for them.

Right as the guy grabs my target’s wrist, she shoves his hand off, looking ready to throw a punch.

“Sorry, but is everything okay?”

Riley turns to answer, but the woman beats her to it, her voice dripping with venom.

“Well, it would be if this ASSHOLE would leave us alone.”

The guy turns on me, standing a little too straight, puffing up his chest like he’s about to make a very, very bad decision.

I step in close and lower my voice. “Look. I advise you to leave these two nice women alone. Or you see that massive security guy over there?” I nod toward the approaching bouncer. “I think he’s headed in this direction. So, I suggest you apologize, then walk away while you still can.”

The guy hesitates, eyes flicking between me and the security guard now stalking over. He clearly weighs his very limited options, then lets out a huff. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I apologize.” He turns and walks off, muttering under his breath.

I meet the bouncer’s eye, giving him a look that says it’s handled. He slows, nods, then turns back toward the entrance.

Riley lets out a breath. “Appreciate that, Blake.”

The woman looks at me, expression unreadable. “Yeah. Thank you…Whatever.”

I nod. “Can I get either of you a drink?”

Riley shakes her head. “No, thanks. I’m okay. Oh, this is Cassy—”

But the young woman shoots her a look, and Riley shuts up.

Interesting.

Now, not to blow my own trumpet, but to be honest, I’ve never had any trouble getting a woman I set my mind on, but something tells me this one isn’t going to make it easy, or even possible. Not to mention trouble with a capital T.

I watch her for a moment, then decide to test the waters. “Cassy,” I say, “I think that’s what Riley just said your name was, can I…”

Before I even finish, she tips her head back, looking up at the ceiling like she’s asking for patience. “NO! I’ve got a drink. Thank you very much.”

I throw my hands up, all polite surrender. “No problem. I understand. But if you change your mind, I’ll just be over there.” I flash Riley a smile, completely ignoring Cassy, then turn to leave.

I don’t get two steps before—

“So, what? You’re just going to give up? Just like that?”

A smile tugs at my lips. I wipe it away before turning back around.

I walk back toward her, slow and deliberate, tilting my head like I’m trying to work out a complex equation. “Give up?” I let the word roll off my tongue like it’s foreign. “I was only going to offer you a drink.”

Cassy’s lips twitch as she lifts her drink, her perfectly manicured black-painted nails tapping lightly against the glass. “Well, okay then, but only if you insist.”

This woman.

I’ve dealt with a lot of different types, but this? She’s got me a little lost. I don’t quite know what to do with her.

I flag down the barman, keeping my eyes on her. “Can I have—” I pause, waiting for her to tell me what she wants.

She stays silent.

Of course, she does.

I glance at the drink in her hand, taking a wild guess. “A large J?germeister, please.”

Something flickers in her expression, impressed, maybe? It vanishes before I can pin it down.

Riley perks up. “I’ll have one if that’s okay.”

I turn back to the bartender. “Make that two… no, three of your largest J?germeister's.”

The glasses hit the counter a moment later, dark liquid sloshing as I pick one up and hold it out. “Cheers.”

Riley clinks her glass against mine. That Cassy? She just takes a sip, like she’s doing me a favor.

Then she looks me dead in the eye and, in the rudest tone possible, says, “Don’t go thinking just because you’re some big-shot hockey player that it means in any way you’re going to get into my panties.”

Riley nearly chokes on her drink, looking both horrified and delighted.

I laugh. “Don’t you dare go thinking that just because you’re some beautiful, leggy blonde that means you in any way are going to get into my pants, because trust me, sweetheart, you’re not my type.”

Cassy’s expression flickers, shock? Amusement?

I don’t get time to analyze it because, from across the bar, Thumper’s booming voice cuts through the crowd. “Hey, Riley! Over here!”

Riley points toward the guys. “I’ll just be over…”

Cassy raises an eyebrow as Riley walks off, leaving us alone.

She studies me for a second, then smirks. “Well, I must admit, at least you’re original…” Then, under her breath, like she’s talking to herself, “Not your type.”

I sip my drink, keeping my face blank. “I’m not joking. You could offer yourself to me on a plate, and I’d turn you down.”

That gets her.

Her body shifts slightly, something calculated in the way she steps closer, her gaze locking onto mine.

“No, you wouldn’t.” She tilts her head, voice dropping into something softer, silkier.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere quiet and…” Her eyes flick to my mouth, her lips parting slightly. “Fuck all night.”

For half a second, I nearly fell into her trap.

I know exactly how this plays out, if I say yes, she’ll just laugh, lean back, and hit me with a smug told you so.

I refuse to give her that.

“Nah…” I take another sip, then set my glass down. “But thanks for the offer.”

I turn and walk away, cursing myself internally.

Shit. Think I played that one all wrong.

But, as in most cases, reverse psychology takes its time to work.