Page 15 of Puck Me Twice

“Nobody does.”

She shrugs. “Well, my friend Bex made this big deal about me getting back on the horse. I need to put myself out there again. And I guess… I went too far. I overcommitted.”

I give into the urge to coil one of her curls around my finger.

“I know a little about overcommitting.”

She raises her brows at me, encouraging me to elaborate.

“My singular focus for the last fifteen years has been hockey. It’s the only thing that matters.” I lift my shoulders. “I’m good at hyper focus. That’s my jam.”

Vanessa’s soft smile makes my stomach hurt. “What else is your jam?”

Toeing off my shoes, I pull off my jacket and toss it on the desk chair, then settle back against the pillows of the bed. She does the same, sliding off her heels and then coming to lay opposite me, her cheek on the pillow as she gazes up at me.

“I’m really good at chess,” I admit. “I was in several competitions back home.”

“Finland?”

“Sweden,” I correct. “I’m from a small town outside of Stockholm.”

“That must be nice,” she says wistfully. “I’m from Oregon, right on the border next to California.”

“Tell me about it. What’s it like?” I card my fingers through her hair, cupping her cheek because I just have to touch her.

Her hand comes to rest on mine, holding me to her.

“It was fine.”

When I snort out a laugh, she smiles.

“It’s fine,” she repeats. “My parents live two towns apart, so I spent a lot of time going between their houses.”

“Do you have siblings?”

She shrugs. “I mean, my parents both got married and had new kids. But they’re not my siblings. They’re just my parents’ kids.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

“How do you know the bride and groom?”

“We were on the same lacrosse team at Michigan,” Vanessa says. “I’ll miss her next year. I have two years left.”

“Jackson and I play on the same line,” I contribute. He’s a left winger and I’m on the right side.

We talk idly, learning about each other. She likes junk food and salad though not at the same time, hates bell peppers, is moderately obsessed with pesto sauce, and has no idea what she wants to do after she graduates.

“I’ve never had a one-night stand before,” I admit.

“Me, either,” she whispers.

Slowly, I bring my lips to hers. Her eyes flutter closed, and she exhales against me, melting into the pillows. She tastes sweet, like the champagne she was drinking earlier, and I don’t know how I’ve lived this long without doing this.

Vanessa squirms closer, her hand on my chest. I want to put my hand somewhere—do I hold her waist again?—when she takes my hand and presses it to her chest, in the same position as hers on mine.

Her breasts are round and plush. The sensation is nothing like I’ve ever felt before. Twisting my wrist, I cup her and run my thumb over the pebble in the center of the swell, and she lets out a soft moan.

Her fingers tweak my nipple, and I swear my cock goes rock-hard in about two-point-seven seconds.