Page 3 of Her Puck Daddies (Game On Daddies #2)

ERIC

“ B ut Greg’s been our masseuse for the past eight years,” I counter. Maybe it’s stupid to argue, but I don’t like the idea of her laying hands on us like that—especially not this woman.

Hell, even looking at her right now is enough to send my brain straight to the gutter. I can still feel her riding my face, her intoxicating scent flooding my senses as I savor her sweetness, her perfect little cunt dripping down my chin like she was made for me.

My dick twitches at the thought.

See? Call me crazy, but walking around with a constant hard-on doesn’t seem like the best strategy for the upcoming season.

“I was told that he’s retiring.” She lifts one shoulder and lets it drop. Like it’s no big deal. But it’s a big deal to me .

Sure, female reporters bust into the locker rooms sometimes, and Penelope “Penny”, our assistant coach, has caught us in our skivvies, or less, on more than one occasion. But I’ve made it this far in my career without letting a trainer, doctor, or masseuse work on me unless they’ve got a dick.

And it’s not because I don’t like women. Just the opposite. I like them too much. Or maybe I should say my body does. Because the second I’m attracted to one, my cock jumps up like an untrained puppy, desperate to be petted. It’s even worse when I’ve already fucked her .

Yet as much as my body is always down for sex, I’m not exactly great at being a boyfriend. I can wine and dine a woman, treat her like a queen, but keeping my hands on just one? Not my strong suit.

But this... this feels like disaster waiting to happen.

I keep remembering how good she felt the other night, how I could lose myself in her.

How she could be a game changer—not just for how right she feels wrapped around my cock, but because there’s something else about her.

While Levi’s first reaction was anger, thinking she had an angle, I felt fear.

She’s genuine, laid-back, nothing like the desperate women we usually deal with.

And that’s what scares me. What if I can’t resist her?

Every damn clause in our contract basically screams 'no mixing business with pleasure,' like they’re trying to make sure we don't turn into a bunch of soap opera characters.

I probably didn’t know about this because I suck at keeping up with the insane email dumps from Barb, our publicist. The woman sends out as many as ten a day during the season. Even now, leading up to it, she’s already flooding us with crap I have no patience for.

That’s why I have Sven and Levi to keep me in the loop. I just hate reading. My attention span barely survives one page at a time.

“Shit,” I gripe under my breath, unable to help it. Then, I turn to my boys. “You two hear about this?”

“Seems like I might’ve heard something about Greg leaving,” Levi winces as he mentions this, scratching at his bearded chin. He knows how I hate being out of the loop.

“Didn’t know about the replacement, though,” Sven adds, eyeing Hottie. “But it might’ve been in an email while we’ve been up here in the air.”

As if his words are some sort of signal, the pilot comes over the PA system. “All passengers and staff, please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts in preparation for our descent into Denver. ”

“I promise that I’m fully qualified,” Hottie tries, but I can’t even look her way right now.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement as she thrusts out her hand, ignoring the pilot’s request. I shift my gaze just in time to see the flight attendant nudging her toward a nearby row, but she doesn’t stop talking. “I’m Ava Sterling.”

Learning her name doesn’t make this any less awkward as I force myself to meet her eyes and shake her hand. Her palm is as soft and velvety as I remember, which leads my brain to flash images of how soft and velvety her tits were. Well, except for the hard little nubs of her nipples.

And right on cue, my cock rears up in my pants like some bucking bronco.

Perfect.

Never in a million years did I imagine we’d run into one of the women we hooked up with, much less find out she works for the same jersey. Some random woman turning out to be our new masseuse? What a goddamn nightmare.

I can’t help but shake my head over this clusterfuck. And the sinking feeling in my gut just keeps growing stronger.

This is such bad news for me. It’s not that I can’t handle change.

It’s just that I don’t like it. Once I get things set the way I want, I’d rather they stay that way.

Especially since this woman has been one of our hotties, which usually means someone we’d never see again after one night of no rules, just pleasure.

But she’s sure as hell right here in person.

What are the chances of the four of us running into each other like this? One in a thousand? One in ten thousand?

I want her. Despite everything. If she let me, I’d frog-march her to the bathroom and make her a member of the Mile High Club while I got my rocks off.

See? This is why we only have those kinds of hookups outside of Denver. It was Levi’s idea, and it’s a damn good one. He and Sven are both smart, with a solid understanding of logistics.

The constant tug-of-war between wanting her and pushing her away is seriously messing with my head.

Normally, I can cope better than Levi since I have a more laidback nature, but not right now.

Right now, I’m wishing we could go back in time and warn ourselves away from the pretty brunette with her blonde highlights and dark eyes.

We would never have mixed business with pleasure if we’d known Cecille was going to hire Hottie—Ava Sterling—to rub us down.

Fuck me .

Pretty please?

I grunt under my breath. I’m such a manwhore. Funny how a part of me doesn’t mind. And take a wild guess which part that is?

But dragging Ava off like some caveman isn’t an option now, so I’d better get my head out of the trash.

“Gentlemen, you must return to your seats now,” the flight attendant says now that he’s managed to get Ava seated, but Sven’s gaze never leaves Ava.

“Did you know who we were?” my captain asks her. I’m wondering that, too. “You acted like you had no clue about our identities. Were you faking?”

“No, not at all. I don’t follow hockey… or any sport really. I’m not into all that.”

“Yet hockey is your job?” Levi snarls, his sarcasm and outrage on full display again. His mood swings are ridiculous—hot one minute, cold the next.

“It’s going to be,” she replies, a little defensive, clicking the fingernails of one hand against the nails of her other.

“I don’t need to know much about hockey to treat your muscle groups.

That’s my job, and that’s what I have all my experience in.

I didn’t even know who any of you were until after I agreed to take the position, I swear.

That’s when Cecille sent me the file on all of you, and I realized we had—”

“Gotten to know each other already,” Sven finishes, his tone calm and steady. Levi scoffs, and I snort, but it’s not out of amusement. This situation is far from funny. It’s just… unbelievable.

The flight attendant’s brows shoot up, clearly intrigued, as he pauses his attempts to get us to sit, locking eyes with another passenger who shares the same expression.

Great. Hopefully, they don’t know who we are. Or care.

After a beat, he blinks and refocuses. “Gentlemen, please. We’re about to land,” he insists, more firmly this time.

Sven tilts his head, that knowing look of his suggesting he’s buying what Ava’s selling.

As we shuffle back toward our seats, I’m starting to believe her too.

I might suck at reading the written word, but after all these years, I’ve learned how to read people.

As much as this whole situation sucks, there's nothing about her that screams trouble or bad intentions.

Well, except when she's slipping into that good girl act behind closed doors. Then, things get... very naughty to say the least.

I shake my head, trying to snap out of it. I can’t keep thinking like this .

For the most part, though, I’m pretty sure she’s being straight with us. Even Levi seems less aggravated and more cautious at this point.

Still, if Ava ever lets the cat out of the bag about our kinky sex habits, it could seriously wreck our public image.

I know it sounds selfish, especially with her being under the weather and all, passing out like that.

I don’t want anything bad happening to her—hell, I don’t even want her to feel uncomfortable around us.

But let’s be real... Sven and Levi are everything to me.

The captain’s like the older brother I never had, and the goalie?

He’s my younger brother, the one I’ve always looked out for.

They’ve become my family in a way I didn’t know I needed, especially after losing my parents right after college, and just before I got signed by the Avs.

I depend on them to keep me grounded, to remind me what matters, and honestly? I can’t risk losing that connection.

But Ava? She could disrupt that balance… or just completely destroy it, and I’m not sure how I’d handle that.

I wait for the panic to hit me, for my dick to lose wood at the thought. But it doesn’t happen. My body blindly wants what it wants. The weird thing is, so do I. If she were up to fucking in that bathroom, I would do it, no hesitation.

God, I suck .

It’s only once we’re belted into our seats again that Levi grumbles, “This could go so sideways for us.”

“If it’s bad for us, it’s bad for her, too,” Sven mutters. “It would be smart for her to keep what went down between us to herself, for all our sakes.”

The more I think about it, the more I agree. Our captain is the most patient and grounded of us. He’s also usually right, whether it’s about making plays on the ice or big decisions off of it.

So, I’m going to trust him on this one.

Then, of course, my mind betrays me as the wheels drop and the plane starts its descent. The memory of her pussy tight around my cock in that hotel suite floods my mind, the way her body trembled beneath me as I fucked her deep.

And just like that, my dick twitches to life… again.

So, I do everything I can to get it under control as we touch down. By the time we come to a stop and the seatbelt sign finally switches off, I’ve pictured enough mundane images to get the raging boner under control.

As we step off the plane, Ava’s nowhere to be seen, and honestly, I’m relieved. Just as well, because a group of photographers with professional cameras show up out of nowhere, flashes going off like crazy. It’s blinding, even in the daylight.

“Eric… Eric Schwartz… Over here… Look my way…” I keep my face forward, pretending I don’t hear a word for as long as possible. Then, when ignoring them is no longer an option, I force out a stiff smile and a tiny wave.

“Sven? Hey there, Captain…” Another idiot bounces around like they’re about to start doing jumping jacks.

Sven’s more used to this crap, or maybe it’s just that he knows how to deal with it better.

He’s the captain not just because of his skill on the ice, but because he’s good with his words and has the kind of personality that makes handling the public and press less of a headache.

Still, he doesn’t slow down enough to give autographs. Most of these assholes aren’t real fans anyway. Fans are usually just excited to meet someone they admire skating across the ice. These guys? They’re just trying to make a quick buck, catching us as we travel from place to place.

I don’t mind it so much when we’re on our way to or from games.

We’re in our suits, and being polite in those situations is literally written into our contracts.

But when these assholes track us down at airports or while we’re just out grabbing groceries, it’s different.

It’s like we’re never allowed a single moment of peace. Never a private life.

Not even during the off-season.

“Levi… Hey, Levi…” I watch as our goalie stiffens.

As much as I hate these run-ins, Levi absolutely loathes them with the fury of a thousand suns.

He’s been reprimanded more than once for his less-than-friendly attitude.

But I know that not screaming at them to leave us alone takes all the willpower he’s got at the moment.

We don’t speak until we’re safely tucked into Sven’s black Escalade with its limo-tinted windows, finally out of view. It’s a pain having a famous face, but it’s the price of being in the NHL. That’s why I don’t complain about it—at least not out loud.

Being here, though, with these two guys and bonding like we do, is worth the annoyance. But if anything about what we did with Ava, or any of the other women we’ve hooked up with, ever gets out? It’s game over.

So, it can’t.

And we can’t be with Ava in that way ever again.

That’s all there is to it.