Page 25 of Her Puck Daddies

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 nightand 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.