Page 251 of Risking the Pucking Defense

Anxiety twists up my insides at the thought of being traded.

It’s always a possibility as a hockey player, and it’s a thought that’s always at the back of our minds, even when we’re playing at our best. But now, when I’m not playing at all…well, that thought is no longer lingering at the back.

It’s right at the goddamn front.

My life is here in LA, my teammates, my friends. The thought of leaving it all behind makes me feel physically sick.

“Killer?”

I’m vaguely aware of someone saying my name, but I’m too lost in my own head to respond.

“Killer? What do you want for dinner?”

Nothing.

“Calvin Kellar!” At the sound of my mostly unused full name being barked at me, I’m suddenly dragged back into the here and now. “What the fuck do you want to eat?”

I shrug. What we order in is the least of my worries right now.

“Shouldn’t you be asking your fiancée?” I mutter. She’s pregnant, after all; she’ll be the one with the firm idea of what we’re eating.

“Yeah, but she’ll want everything covered in pickles again. It’s her new thing,” he says before pulling a jar from the bag he’s carrying to prove a point. “This jar right here is gonna get me laid tonight,” he states proudly.

I groan as jealousy crashes into me.

I’m not sure I’ve ever had a dry spell like this. And that’s fucking saying something, because it’s only been just over a week since my accident.

Fucking Cooper fucking Nash.

I want to get laid, damn it. And while I know there are still plenty of willing bunnies out there who’d be more than willing to scratch my itch, I don’t want to be the fucking invalid who can’t perform to his reputation.

“Sweetheart, I’m home,” Rett calls the second he pushes the door open. Hayden catches it behind him so it doesn’t smack me straight in the face.

“Thanks,” I mutter, navigating myself inside.

I wanted to go home after my PT session, but no, these motherfuckers wouldn’t allow it. Apparently, I’m wallowing, and they don’t like it.

Well, tough fucking luck. They’d be wallowing too if they were in my position.

“Whoa, what the fuck is going on here?” Hayden asks the second we emerge into the large living area to find three women with facemasks on and a whole host of beauty products littering the coffee table.

“We’re testing out some new products for the salon,” Bea explains before her best friend pipes up with, “And you’re just in time, because we need some more guinea pigs.”

“I’m in,” Hayden says happily as he drops down beside Hailee and kisses her despite the goo on her face. “Hey, baby,” he whispers before adding, “my skin is dry as hell. Lather me up.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Bea says happily. “Rett, you in, baby?” The second she bats her eyelashes at him, I know he’s a goner. Everett Donnelly might be a beast on the ice, but at home, he’s nothing but a fluffy freaking teddy bear. It’s the weirdest transformation I’ve ever seen.

I’m distracted by my thoughts when my skin begins to burn with all their attention. Okay, no. Not all their attention. Just one of them, really.

“Are you gonna help us out as well, Killer?” a raspy female voice asks, and fuck if the sound doesn’t go straight to my dick like it always does. It also doesn’t matter that her face is currently smeared with purple shit; she’s still the most beautiful woman in the room.

“I think I’ve got enough shit going on over here. Thanks for the offer, though,” I mutter as I maneuver myself toward the couch and drop into it with a groan.

“You need anything, man?” Rett asks, eyeing me cautiously.

“To go home?” I deadpan.