Page 45 of Breaking the Pucking Rules (LA Vipers #1)

CASEY

T he hours after a Vipers’ road game have become my favorite part of the day.

I’ve always loved watching the guys play, but since this thing with Kodie started, it’s hit a whole new level.

My infatuation with him was always borderline obsessive. But now…fuck. He’s completely ruined me.

He’s not even in the same state and yet he consumes every single one of my thoughts.

If I’m not planning my next celebratory dirty picture, then I’m obsessing over the previous one.

I still think the first one is my favorite. My ass looked particularly good in that shot.

So far, they’ve won all four of their games. They’re having a killer start to the season, and I’m buzzing for them. But realistically, their winning streak has to come to an end eventually, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I’m loving sending him filthy images more than I should be.

Although, I can’t lie…I have a very good idea about what’s going to happen when they lose.

I fight to hold back my smirk.

So far, this little thing hasn’t been tit for tat.

There has only been tit. And I am so ready for the tat.

I’m not even going to be greedy and hope for a full-frontal. Just his arms, pecs, V lines. Fuck, give me a shot of the man’s thighs and I’ll be a happy lady.

I haven’t revealed anything in my photos yet. So far, they’ve been very tasteful and the ultimate tease. But there are only so many ways I can drive him wild wearing his jersey and a green pair of panties. At some point, I’m going to have to up the ante.

A mixture of nerves and excitement shoots through me at the thought of sending him a more revealing picture.

It’s not like I haven’t dabbled with naughty pictures in the past, but I’ve never sent one to an NHL god. I’ve never sent one to the man I’ve spent all my teen and adult years lusting after.

My stomach knots anxiously. Sending any kind of photo is always a risk, especially when it’s to someone as high-profile as Kodie. If someone were to snatch his cell…

I make a mental note to talk to him about locking those photos down. I mean, I’m sure he does. The last thing he needs when he’s back is to find Sutton looking at me.

Sutton.

I squeeze my eyes closed as my heart clenches.

Sutton and the Polar Bears won their game on Sunday. It was incredible, watching them dominate the ice. I was one proud mama bear. I loved every second of it, and all I wanted to do was pick up the phone, call Kodie, and tell him just how amazing his daughter is. But I couldn’t.

He hasn’t said anything about my new job, so I can only assume Sutton hasn’t told him. Guilt eats at me. I need to tell him before someone else does.

I just…I keep finding much more exciting things to talk about instead. And also, I don’t want to do it through text. That needs to be a real conversation, and as of yet, we haven’t had one of those.

I’m desperate to hear his voice instead of just reading his words, but I also understand the position he’s in. He’s sharing a hotel room with Linc, so we have to be discreet.

I guess there’s a part of me deep down that knows he could be lying when he tells me he gets off during our down-and-dirty messaging.

That he could have Linc on the bed next to him as they watch the game highlights.

I smother the sigh that wants to spill from my lips, trying to look like I’m paying attention to the design meeting I’m sitting in.

When I said Kodie has stolen all my thoughts and focus, I wasn’t lying.

“ N o, come on, you motherfucker,” I scream at the TV as one of the Hurricane’s D-men slams Linc into the boards.

Linc spins on him and gets right in his face.

We’re down two to one, and there are only a few minutes left in the third period. We don’t have time for Linc to lose his shit and end up in the box.

“Get it together, Storm,” I mutter.

I’m standing on my coffee table like a fucking lunatic, wearing Kodie’s jersey, my lucky panties, and a pair of Vipers athletic socks like they’re leg warmers.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I cry when Linc launches an attack and the whistle blows. “Moron,” I grunt, jumping down and lowering my ass to the couch as Linc skates toward the box with blood dripping down his chin.

Irritation and desperation ripple through the team as they get into position to start again.

With Linc out, everyone has to work harder to avoid giving away another goal.

It must be a bitter pill to swallow after four incredible wins.

“Come on, Handsy. You’ve got this,” I cry, surging to my feet again as Killer and Brit fight to stop the Hurricanes offense getting close to the goal.

“Yes, yes, yes. NO,” I scream when they suddenly take a shot, and it flies straight to the back of the net.

The goal horn sounds, and the Hurricanes fans go wild.

Linc is released from the box, but it’s too little, too late. Only a few minutes later, the game ends with our first loss of the season.

We all knew it had to come, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting.

The guys look totally defeated as they congratulate the winners before skulking off the ice to lick their wounds.

“Fuck,” I hiss before turning the TV off, unable to bear watching the Hurricanes soak up the praise from their home crowd.

I miss the guys. I miss home games. I miss Dad. But more than anything, I miss Kodie.

I’ve watched him from afar for so long that I should be used to it. But he allowed me to get closer; he allowed me a taste, and now he’s been ripped away again. It’s fucking hard.

Reaching for my cell, I pad through to the kitchen to get a fresh drink as I think of what to send him.

Usually, I wait until I know he’s back at the hotel after celebrating with the team. I don’t want to get in the way of the festivities. Tonight, though…

Casey: Number 55 was the hottest player on the ice.

I let out a sigh and second-guess my message as soon as it shows as sent.

Casey: PS the Hurricanes suck

Laughing to myself, I turn to my fridge and grab a can of soda.

The second I get back to the couch, I check to see if he’s read my messages.

He has.

My heart jumps into my throat as I stare at the screen, waiting to see if he’s going to reply.

But the dots never start bouncing.

“Damn it.”

Tapping out of our conversation, I find the one with Dad instead and send him our standard commiseration message after a loss before I turn the TV back on to catch the highlights of the other games tonight.

Every few minutes, I check my cell .

I know it’s ridiculous. He’ll be in the locker room getting reamed by Dad. Either that or showering with the guys.

I quickly shake my head to remove that image.

“Come on, just give me something,” I whine like a needy girlfriend.

I hate myself for it, but I also can’t stop it.

I sit there impatiently as ESPN plays and I scroll through social media. Usually, I’d be taking a million sexy shots in the hope of getting the perfect pose. But not tonight. I’m sticking by my decision.

Annoyed that I’ve still had no response, I tidy up and head for my bedroom to get ready for bed.

The second I’m there, I check my cell again.

Nothing.

I won’t sleep yet, but I want to be ready for him.

When my cell does finally buzz, excitement twists my stomach, but it doesn’t last long.

I feel like the worst daughter in the world for feeling disappointed that Dad is the one who replies first.

It’s over an hour later when my cell finally pings, and the contact I’ve been waiting for illuminates my screen.

In my rush to open it, I catapult it across the bed.

“Motherfucker,” I mutter as I pick it up and swipe the screen.

55: Agreed, they suck.

55: PS Thanks, beautiful.

Casey: How are you feeling?

55: Like I’ve been hit by a truck. Lennon worked his magic, so hopefully, it won’t be too bad tomorrow.

Lennon is the team’s head athletic trainer; he’ll have done a good job fixing Kodie up. I fucking hate the fact that he’s hurting because of those assholes tonight though.

Casey: You let someone else get their hands on you…

55: Trust me when I say it was nowhere near as fun as having your hands on me. Pretty sure someone tortured him in a previous life and he’s after revenge. He’s brutal.

Casey: I’ve heard plenty of players get ‘excited’ during sessions…

55: It was Linc, wasn’t it?

I can’t help but burst out laughing.

Of course, I’m talking about guys Parker has worked on. As of yet, they haven’t been hockey players.

Casey: My lips are sealed.

Casey: What are your plans for tonight?

55: The guys are hitting the bar.

Casey: You all deserve a drink after that.

55: I’m not going.

Casey: Oh?

55: I’m not feeling very sociable. There’s only one person I want to hang out with right now.

Casey: Is that right?

55: I’m also waiting for my post-game photo…

Casey: Ah…about that…

55: What? Don’t tell me that my night is about to get even worse

Casey: So…

I smile to myself as I imagine him staring at his phone impatiently.

Casey: I was thinking…

Casey: You win, and you get a treat.

Casey: You lose and…

55: Trouble?

Casey: You lose, and I’m the one who gets the thrill…

Casey: I think it’s only fair, don’t you? You’re over there collecting all the spank bank material, and all I’ve got is memories.

Casey: You have no idea how badly I want to look at you while I get myself off…

55: You’re bad

Casey: I know. Be bad with me, Big D. Let me see what you’ve got.

I bite down on my bottom lip as if he’s watching me.

55: You don’t know what you’re asking for.

Casey: Oh, I think I do.

I sit there cross-legged on my bed, waiting for a response, but it never comes.

Is he doing what I asked? Or is he ignoring my request?

My head spins with possibilities as the minutes tick on.

If he’s anything like me and needs to take at least one hundred shots before settling on one, then I could be in for a long wait.

“Oh my god,” I shriek when my cell lights up before me.

My hand trembles as I reach out to swipe the screen.

Our chat appears, but the image is gray, still loading.

Until…

“Oh my god. Kodie Rivers, you are a fucking god.”