Page 74 of Puck Love

Eager to workout someof my frustrations, I hit the rink early, but when I arrive the coach and the head trainer, Paul, are adamant that I don’t get ice time until I’ve seen a doctor. I wanna hit something, feel the flex of my stick in my hand, and hear the ringing clap of a hard slapshot across the ice in a quiet rink, but instead of joining my team they have me peddling miles on the fucking bike. When the rest of my team heads out onto the ice to practice, I hit the hot tub and sauna, as per Paul’srequest.

I’m in the locker room, fresh from the sauna and pouting, when the team finishes the morningskate.

Eli sits on the bench beside mine. “Rough break about Stella, eh? You wanna talk aboutit?”

I glare at him. “Jesus, does it look like I want to talk aboutit?”

“Nope.”

“Then why the fuck are youasking?”

Eli smiles. “Because she got under yourskin.”

“Yeah, well, now she’s not anywhere, isshe?”

“And you’re going to take that lying down?” He gives me a quizzicallook.

“I don’t see what other choice Ihave.”

“Well, you could always go to Nashville. Gettraded.”

“Location isn’t really the problem. She lied to me, man. Besides, my home is here. This is myteam.”

“So, what? Women lie all the time, and you’ll make Nashville yourteam.”

I stand up, tired of his bullshit riddles already. I’m not leaving my goddamn team, not for a woman who spent the last three weeks lying to my face as I shoved my dick inside her. “What the fuck are you doing, man? Are you trying to get rid ofme?”

“I’m trying to get you to pull your head outta your ass. Girls like Stella don’t come along everyday.”

“Nope, but puck bunnies do.” I waggle my eyebrows suggestively, but the idea of fucking a bunny leaves a sour taste in my mouth. You could fill a whole rink with bunnies and not one of those girls would measure up to StellaHart.

He gets up and shakes his head. “You’re a fuckingidiot.”

I’m done talking, so I pull on my clothes. I’m not sure I want to stay around any longer to suffer through another of Eli’s attempts at sage advice. I’d much rather just get out of here before it can start again, but once my shoes and jacket are on, I don’t make it far before Coach is pulling me into hisoffice.

I sink down in the chair opposite his desk. The small TV mounted to the wall is on, but the sound is muted. Coach holds a newspaper in his hands and slaps it down on his tabletop. My pixelated bare ass greets me from the front page. I look savage as I hold the piece-of-shit pap by the collar, my fist raised in the air and my face screwed up in anger. I smile, but it quickly disappears when Coach’s face turnspuce.

“What the fuck is this shit? I let you off for a week and you bring me a whole fucking media shitstorm involving you and some country musicsinger.”

“Sorry, Coach,” I say, but it’s about as genuine as my ball sack is fresh rightnow.

“Sorry? You broke that paparazzo’s nose. I got the league calling for a four-gamesuspension.”

“That’s bullshit. I wasn’t even on the goddamnice.”

“It doesn’t matter. You know the rules. You break ’em, you fucking do the time,kid.”

“They were at my house. What was I supposed todo?”

“Suck it up, princess. That’s your fucking job—you show up, you play the game, and you give me your best. You don’t go beat on a bunch of paparazzo for taking pictures of your pretty little girlfriend while you’re supposed to be resting and recuper-fuckin’-rating.”

“I screwed up. It won’t happenagain.”

“You’re damn right it won’t. You pull a stunt like that again and you’ll be hanging up your damn skates for good. Now, get the fuck out of here,” he says. I nod and glance at the TV as I get up, and there she is, my cuddle bunny, standing beside a redhead in front of twenty microphones that are thrust toward her. I recognize the logos of several sports channels as well as a bunch that read ACM and CCMA. “Coach, turn itup.”

“What?”

“The TV,” I say, but I’m already moving toward his desk to grab theremote.