I spent a whole, long night with him. Talking through bars. In jail.
I arrested him for trying to break into my friend’s house.
He said, “Call her husband. Tell him he needs to come save the fettuccine.”
What the F gang code is that?
Turns out, it’s just his nickname.
Massimo F*cking Tucci. Aka Fettuccine.
Hockey star. Walking headline. Owner of a panty-melting ass.
Italian Latin Lover with too much charm and zero boundaries.
He came to spend the off-season in Fairwick.
My town. My rules.
The Fettuccine keeps breaking the law—deliberately, I’m convinced—just to get under my skin.
Or under my sheets.
He keeps saying women with handcuffs turn him...
I spent a whole, long night with him. Talking through bars. In jail.
I arrested him for trying to break into my friend’s house.
He said, “Call her husband. Tell him he needs to come save the fettuccine.”
What the F gang code is that?
Turns out, it’s just his nickname.
Massimo F*cking Tucci. Aka Fettuccine.
Hockey star. Walking headline. Owner of a panty-melting ass.
Italian Latin Lover with too much charm and zero boundaries.
He came to spend the off-season in Fairwick.
My town. My rules.
The Fettuccine keeps breaking the law—deliberately, I’m convinced—just to get under my skin.
Or under my sheets.
He keeps saying women with handcuffs turn him on.
But when law and order start slipping in Fairwick,
I end up deputizing the one man I don’t trust to follow any rules.
We clash on everything—except the tension that keeps getting hotter.
Do I now regret arresting him?
Hell, no.
I ain’t pucking sorry.
