Page 7 of Never Pucking Ending

We both know it isn’t. Bodhi Hoffman doesn’t let us off easy if we fuck up, even if we’ve known him for years on the ice before he traded his hockey stick for a playbook. “I’ll talk to Head and see what the plans are. But no drinking.”

He gives me a look. The one that says I’m an idiot for thinking that will be an enforced rule. Him and I may be smart enough not to get plastered for the good season we’ve had so far, but some of the others are young and still enjoy the perks of being signed a professional hockey team. They recover faster than us older fucks.

I roll my eyes. “Just text me the details, Moskins. I’ll be there.”

He bumps my fist and puts his helmet back on. “Will do, Cap. And bring Belle. I miss her.”

Normally, I’d flip him off for bringing her up. But since he’s gotten a girl, I don’t find him much of a threat anymore. Not that I should consider him one to begin with. I get enough flack for my overprotectiveness as it is. But if people knew what I’d kept buried down for a long time, I’d never hear the end of it.

“I’ll mention it, but no promises,” I tell him as he skates off.

Belle hasn’t been joining me as much on my outings with the new team, and I don’t know if it has to do with her transition in careers or something else. But I have to admit…

I miss her too.

*

The house is dark when I get home a few hours later, long after practice ends, and I soak in an ice bath to treat my sore muscles. As much as I hate doing it, I’ve learned the hard way that skipping them only makes game days harder.

“Belle?” I call out, dropping the keys onto the kitchen counter and flicking on the light. I didn’t check to see if her car was in the other garage bay when I pulled in. Normally, she’ll text me if she has plans or leave a note and tape it to the protein shake that she always leaves for me.

When I open the refrigerator, there’s a protein shake waiting for me on the top shelf. No note.

With a frown, I walk upstairs and head to the farthest room at the end of the hallway. Belle isn’t one to take naps this late unless she has a migraine, which makes concern wash away the confusion of the otherwise silent house. I knock softly on her bedroom door, afraid she may be sleeping. I’ve been through enough of her migraines to know to keep quiet.

After there’s no response, I test the doorknob. I don’t think she’s ever once locked it, even though she can. It twists easily in my palm, so I push it open to check on her when—

“Shit,” I cuss when I see her bare upper torso completely exposed to me. There’s a towel on the floor and steam coming from the attached bathroom, and the sound of my voice makes her jump and turn around.

Jesus. I know what I should do, which is close my eyes or look away. But my feet are cemented to the ground and my eyes are locked on the full breasts right there.

“Oh my God,” Belle squeaks, stepping back and tripping on the discarded towel by her feet.

I dart forward when she starts to fall, not thinking twice before hooking an arm around her waist and tugging her into me.

Her hands go to my upper arms to steady herself. Her breasts press against my team sweatshirt, and I can feel her hard nipples through the fabric. My dick twitches involuntarily, and I have to shift my hips away from her, so she doesn’t feel the instant reaction I have to her naked body against me.

A deep, red blush coats the entirety of her face as she looks up at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to not look lower than her eyes. I clear my throat. “I knocked but you must not have heard.”

We’re still touching, both frozen in the current position. Her skin is soft to the touch and warm under my fingertips, and her damp hair smells like the familiar strawberries and cream scented shampoo she’s used for as long as I can remember.

She lets out a hallow breath. “I was listening to music,” she tells me, the blush on her face traveling downward. I follow its path despite myself, my fingertips twitching on her arms even though I have no reason to hold onto her still.

My tongue drags across my bottom lip, and her eyes track the movement. And dammit if my dick doesn’t react to the attention of that focus.

Unfortunately, she moves enough for her thigh to brush against the obvious bulge behind the denim. Her sharp inhale has her eyes darting up from my mouth, and I swear to fucking God her nipples get harder.

My Adam’s apple bobs as I step away, trying to come up with an excuse. I could lie and say my keys are in my pocket, but she’d see right through it. We both know the key fob I have to my car isn’t that big.

“Shit,” I cuss again, scraping a hand down my face. Before I can stop myself, my eyes dip down to her breasts. Why the hell am I torturing myself? I rasp out, “Sorry. I’m—”

Fists clenching by my sides, I take a step back to put distance between us. I should blame my lack of manners on a long day of practice. Tell her that I haven’t gotten laid in a long time. Neither are justifiable excuses to stare at her tits though.

I squat down and collect her towel, careful not to brush her body as I stand and extend the thick material out to her.

And…