Page 11 of Her Puck Daddies (Game On Daddies #2)

ERIC

E ver since Ava got me off during our first and only massage session a week ago, things between us haven’t been cool.

Every single time that I come across her, whether it’s in the training facility or once, at the stadium’s employee entrance, she’s pivoted on her heel and gone in the opposite direction.

“Don’t you have to go in, too?” I asked her that time.

“I’m good.” She waved at me without bothering to even glance over her shoulder, disappearing from sight.

That pretty much clinched it. The woman’s avoiding me like the plague. The good news is I don’t have much time to dwell on what weirdness is going on between the team masseuse and me. The team is too busy preparing for our upcoming games, half of which are in different cities.

The next one we’re prepping for is in Tampa, Florida. The difference in the feel of Tampa compared to Denver is night and day, but then, we’re used to traveling all across the U.S. and being in different climates.

And really, we don’t spend much time outside, anyway. Ice is ice to some degree, even if each arena has its own vibe and personality. I’ve always been grateful that once the season’s draft is over, my teammates—Sven and Levi, especially—stay the same.

The team and staff take up one solid floor of hotel rooms, as usual.

This time, in Tampa, Sven is across the hall from me, and Levi’s next door.

We do our official regimen of working out at the crack of dawn, showering, then having a fairly large breakfast. We need the carbs and protein for our practice tonight, then we’ll repeat this so we’ll have plenty of energy for the game tomorrow night.

We’re heading down for lunch at the restaurant inside the hotel when I glance down at my wrist. “Shit.”

“What?” Levi barks, surlier than normal. But then again, our goalie can be moody as all hell. At least the trainers cleared him to play after that muscle pull in his shoulder last week.

“Forgot my watch.” It’s not like I actually need my watch since I have my phone, but I’m used to it. Unless I’m on skates, I always have it on .

Sven shrugs. “Go back and get it, then. I’ll order your root beer for you.”

Levi shakes his head at me, but he doesn’t bother saying anything.

We all have our weird pre-game superstitions, and mine happens to be wearing one of my lucky watches while drinking root beer.

At least I don’t sit there scraping my thumbnail down my necklace like our goalie does when he’s nervous—that’s way more annoying than sipping a soda.

I jog back to my room, barely noticing the faint smell of fresh linen from whatever they use on the carpets. Good—I don’t need to set off sneezing.

When I reach my door, I tap my key card against the lock, and the green light flashes. I push inside, head straight for the bathroom, and grab my watch off the vanity where I left it.

I strap it onto my wrist as I step back into the hallway, just in time to hear the elevator ding.

“Wait,” I holler, vaulting toward it. “Hold the door, please.”

I sprint toward the alcove where the elevator is, hardly noticing that the hand keeping it open is distinctly feminine.

I burst inside, my first step landing a little too forcefully—kind of like one of Levi’s overly dramatic gymnastic moves. A rushed, breathless thanks gusts out of me before I even realize who’s in the elevator with me.

Then, I glance up. The hand belongs to none other than Ava.

“Eric.” She nods stiffly, her features smoothing into a blank, unreadable mask.

“Ava,” I say, clearing my throat. Shit. “You, uh… you doing all right?”

“Very well, thank you,” she replies, her voice clipped and prim, like some strict old-school teacher scolding a kid for chewing gum in class.

When I saw her for my appointment, her hair had been back in a long ponytail, but now it’s down, long and wavy around her shoulders.

The artificial light in here makes her golden sundress with its skinny little straps glow.

I imagine what it’d be like to lift that sundress over her head to see that hot bod underneath.

Also, her tits seem perky even though I can’t detect any bra straps.

How is she keeping those puppies up like that?

God, she’s such a stunner. And those hands of hers are magic. Both for massage and… well, other things. Maybe I shouldn’t have let her get me off. Maybe as soon as I realized what she was up to, I should’ve stopped her .

But I’m a flesh and blood man, after all. Despite me not touching her back, she seemed to enjoy herself. That thought makes me pause. As the elevator reaches her floor, she zooms away from me as fast as a ping pong ball.

“Ava?” I call out. But she’s already gone.

Is she acting allergic to me because I didn’t offer to return the favor?

The idea claws at me for a while. God knows I’m as far from being a genius as it’s possible to be, but something about this math isn’t mathing.

If Ava wanted me to take care of her that way, she has to know that I’d be more than willing anytime she asked.

Fair’s fair, after all. Plus, we’re keeping this on the down low.

If no one finds out, then the rules we’re breaking won’t matter.

But if someone were to find out, I have no idea how it would play out. Nothing good, that’s for sure. Coach would lose his shit—yelling, maybe even benching me for a few games. A suspension? Possible.

Firing me? That seems extreme, but who knows?

I’ve never seen them cut a successful player without damn good cause.

Usually, it takes something big—breaking the law, getting tangled in a scandal so messy there’s no way to sweep it under the rug.

Then again, finding out the team masseuse jacked off one of the players is pretty scandalous, I guess.

And here I am, teetering on the edge of disaster.

Not sure what they might do to Ava, though.

She’s brand new to the team, barely has a record yet.

It’s not like she’s out there killing it on the ice, either, so if they wanted to, they could probably cut her loose without a second thought.

Don’t let the door hit you where the good Lord split you—that kind of thing.

So far, I haven’t heard a single bad word about her. No complaints, no whispers of trouble. But she doesn’t have the history with the organization that I do, which means she’s got even less room for error. If they decide to make an example out of someone, it won’t be me. It’ll be her.

We didn’t have sex, yet what she did to me was definitely sexual. No gray area, no way to spin it otherwise. And fuck—if it wasn’t wrong, if it wasn’t risky, then why the hell have I replayed it every damn night in the shower since?

I should take her out—just the two of us—reassure her or something. Let her know I meant what I said about keeping my mouth shut. I’d never rat us out.

So, after eating with the guys, I try to track her down at the opposing team’s stadium, scanning every hallway, every corner. But she’s nowhere to be found. Likely buried in back-to-back appointments.

Later that evening, I step out of my hotel room, ice bucket in hand, heading for the alcove by the bank of elevators. The machine is slow as molasses, plinking the cubes against the plastic by only a handful at a time, when I catch Ava stepping past the automatic sliding doors.

“Hey,” I greet her, my bucket only halfway full. At the sound of my voice, her shoulders shoot up around her ears.

Holy shit. Did she just cringe?

As if hesitant to talk to me, she gradually pivots in place. “Yes?”

“Want to grab some dinner or something?”

“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

“But you have to eat,” I remind her.

“Already have.”

I don’t buy it. Not for a second. She takes forever just to push her hair behind her ear, and she still won’t meet my eyes. Instead, her focus stays locked on the swirling pattern of the carpet, like it suddenly holds the meaning of life .

“Did you uh… Did you still want that appointment two hours before the game tomorrow?”

Wouldn’t have made it if I didn’t. The snide response rolls through my head, but I bite it back, keeping my tone neutral. No point in making this more awkward than it already is.

“Yeah, if you can swing it.”

She glances down the hall one way, then the other, like she’s mapping out the fastest escape route. Like just standing here with me is unbearable.

I glance around, too, but not because I’m looking for a way out. I just need to make sure no one else is around. Then, before she can bolt, I reach out and catch her arm. Not rough, not forceful—gentle. Just enough to make her stop. To make her listen.

Because all she’s done since our last appointment is freak out . At least around me. And I need her to not do that right now.

“Ava, I…”

Before I can say another word, the elevator dings, and Jax and Ryan step out, pizza boxes in hand. They nod as they pass, the smell alone enough to make my mouth water any other time.

Right now, I don’t care .

Ava’s still tense beneath my touch, and I need to talk to her before she slips away again.

“I’ve equipped the room next to the gym for appointments,” she blurts out, yanking free of my grip like my touch burns her. She barely takes two steps before the other elevator pings open.

Levi troops out.

“There you are,” he says, his focus locked on me—until he notices that I’m reaching for Ava.

His steps slow and his expression changes. His gaze flicks between us, sharp and assessing, taking in the tension thick enough to choke on.

Ava freezes mid-step and I lower my arm, aware of how this looks.

For five long, charged seconds, none of us move or say anything. Levi is trying to piece the situation together just by looking at us. His jaw ticks.

Then, Ava backs away as if as uncomfortable around Levi as she is around me.

What’s that all about? I don’t ask, though.

“I’ll be there,” I tell her. “For my appointment.”

She doesn’t nod or wave or acknowledge my words in any way. In fact, she disappears so fast down that hallway that she could be the hockey player rather than me.

Once she’s gone, I twist around to see what Levi wanted, but he’s not even looking at me. His eyes still locked on Ava, his expression unreadable, but so damn focused that I half expect him to take off after her.

He doesn’t. But he wants to. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers flex at his sides. I don’t press him on it. The last thing I need to do is bring her up around anyone else, not even the goalie who’s practically family to me.

I clear my throat, hoping to shift the focus. “Why were you looking for me?”

“Dinner,” he says after a beat, but his attention still flickers between me and the hallway Ava disappeared down.

The whole situation makes my skin itch. I drag a hand across the back of my neck, trying to shake it off. “Great, I could eat a horse.”

“Fine,” he says, finally looking at me. “But I want to take the stairs.”

Something is off, but I don't question it. Even if he just took the elevator to get here. I don’t mind the cardio anyway .

But as we head down, I feel his eyes on me, scanning like he’s trying to read a secret message scrawled across my forehead that he can’t decipher. Still, I keep quiet.

Levi knows me too well not to sense something’s off, but the last thing I need is for him to bring up Ava. It’s not about keeping secrets from him or Sven. I don’t want to keep things from them, but I gave her my word.

Whatever’s going on between us, stays between us.

At least for now.