Page 3 of Puck Your Bunny

Kirsty gives me a skeptical look. She steps into the aisle, blocking my easiest path to the exit. "Vinny loves Brendan. You already set aside the emergency fund for this month. Stay for a few minutes, V. One drink. To celebrate my brother making the playoffs."

I shift my weight from foot to foot. "Kirsty, please. I'm exhausted. I smell like a stale pretzel."

She reaches out and tugs on the edge of my sweater. "You smell fine. Come on. Henry promised the entire first line will be there. You get to meet the star players. The guys you watch on TV all season."

I want to go home, crawl into bed, and make sure Brendan is breathing evenly in his room down the hall. But then I think about Emmett and Hale. They were massive Reapers fans. They would lose their minds at the chance to meet the team's first line in person. They would drag me to the lounge by my ankles.

I let out a long breath, giving in. "Fine. One drink. Half an hour, max. Then I order a ride."

Kirsty beams and links her arm through mine, steering us toward the VIP elevators. "You won't regret this. It'll be fun."

Walking through the concourse, I look at the people around us. I feel a hundred years old compared to the college girls walking past us in their oversized jerseys and flawless makeup. They look carefree, buzzing with the adrenaline of the win. Theironly cares in the world are who scored the winning goal and where they get pizza after.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the screen. Zero missed calls or texts from Ben.

Brendan is fine. I tuck the phone away. The knot of worry in my stomach refuses to loosen. I hope staying is the right call.

Chapter 2

The bass from the speakers vibrates through the floorboards of the arena lounge and travels up my boots. The room is packed wall to wall with people celebrating the win. The air is warm and thick with the smell of expensive perfume, stale beer, and the leftover adrenaline of the game.

I lean my shoulder against the edge of the bar and take a sip of my club soda. My muscles ache with a dull, satisfying throb. It's the soreness that only comes after grinding out a win against a team fighting for every inch of ice. We played a brutal game tonight. The opposing defense tried to trap us in the neutral zone, but we broke through right when it mattered.

I replay the final goal in my head. Henry set me up with a blind drop pass right in the slot. It was a risky move, but he put the puck right on the tape of my stick. I just leaned into the slapshotand fired it home. Hearing the goal horn blast through the arena never gets old. It feels like validation for the endless hours of practice and the grueling conditioning drills.

We have a solid run going this season. We're sitting in first place in the standings with a comfortable point cushion. For the first time in my career, the Alpha Cup feels like a realistic goal instead of a distant dream. The entire locker room feels it. The energy is different this year. We're clicking on the ice, anticipating passes before they happen, and trusting the systems our coach put in place.

Despite the win, I can't seem to settle down. I roll the cold plastic cup between my palms and scan the VIP lounge, trying to shake a weird, restless itch under my skin. Fans and corporate sponsors crowd around the high-top tables, shouting over the thumping music to be heard. I spot Kel by the entrance. He wears a dark t-shirt showing off the ink trailing up his neck, arms crossed over his chest. A couple of Omega puck bunnies try to catch his eye. He scowls at the wall, ignoring them. Kel is our enforcer on the ice and off it. Small talk gets on his nerves.

Simon is on the other side of the room, working the crowd. A bright smile takes over his face as he charms a group of guys wearing suits. Simon is the speedster on our line. He handles the PR stuff better than Kel and I combined. Usually, having my pack nearby keeps me grounded in a crowded room. Tonight feels like something is missing.

"Hey, Cap!" Henry shouts my name from somewhere in the thick of the crowd.

He waves his arms over his head to get my attention. He points to his empty hands, holds up two fingers, and mouths the words for two beers and a water.

I nod and turn to the bartender. The lounge is loud. I hold up two fingers, point to the taps, and then point to the water pitcher. A minute later, the bartender slides three plastic arenacups across the counter. Two are filled with beer and the other with ice water.

I group the cups together. Balancing two beers, a water, and my club soda in two hands is a precarious setup. I'm dead tired. My legs ache like lead blocks. My usual move involves flagging down a rookie to run these over. Standing here against the bar only makes me more antsy. My boots feel too tight. My skin runs too hot. My instincts hum with a wired energy I can't pinpoint.

I need to walk it off. Plus, I want to give Henry a proper pat on the back for that perfect assist.

I push off the bar and grab the drinks. The second I take a step toward him, the vague restlessness in my system spikes. A sudden pressure tightens in the center of my chest.

It hooks behind my ribs, a magnetic pull dragging my attention through the packed room. My boots shift on the floorboards. I pick up the pace before my brain registers the urgency.

Resting my knees gets pushed to the back of my mind. I navigate through the crowd, keeping a tight grip on the plastic cups to avoid spilling them. I dodge people waving their hands and sloshing their own drinks as they talk. The thumping bass of the music fades into the background noise. My focus zeros in on the path ahead. The tug in my chest gets stronger with every step I take away from the bar.

I weave past a group of guys debating a penalty call from the second period. My skates left blisters on my heels. I ignore the sting. I push through the crowd to see what is pulling me across the room.

I make it halfway across the lounge before the scent hits me.

It cuts through the suffocating cloud of cheap cologne, spilled beer, and fried bar food like a blade. Lavender and honeysuckle. The smell has an acidic edge, like flowers rotting in a vase, butit still calls to me. It wraps around my senses and steals the air right out of my lungs.

I stop walking. The crowd shifts around me. People bump my shoulders as they pass. I ignore the contact.

My Alpha instincts wake up with a violent jolt. Heat flares under my collar as my body reacts to the sudden spike in adrenaline. My heart hammers against my ribs, pumping energy through my tired muscles. Everything inside my head narrows down to one absolute certainty.

She's an Omega, and she's a scent match.