Page 31 of Her Puck Daddies
I realize I’ve been blocking the automatic doors from closing by standing in the doorway, so I step fully into the elevator car, letting the sensor signal the doors to slide shut. The car starts its descent, and that familiar feeling of defying gravity sends my stomach into a half flip. A soft ding overhead signals that we’ve passed another floor, but her reaction doesn’t change, her face still frozen in whatever state of distress she’s trapped in.
“Did I scare you somehow?” She’s been staring unfocused out into space but now she peers down at her pretty high heeled shoes as if afraid to look at me. “Because if I did, I didn’t mean to.”
For the first time since I entered this elevator, Ava’s eyes meet mine before flickering away again.
“It’s not your fault,” she says.
“Then, whose fault is it?”
She seems distracted as she rubs her hands over her arms more briskly, her gaze flitting around the carriage as if something or someone else could be hiding in here. “What?”
“If scaring you isn’t my fault, then whose fault is it? I’ve never gotten into an elevator where someone was yelling at the top of her lungs. You’re upset, and I need to know why.”
“It’s nothing,” she says, frustrating me. “Just me being stupid.”
I wait her out. Something I’ve learned over my years as a captain on a professional hockey team is that most players aren’t truthful about things that cast them in a negative light. Missed a pass because of being hungover? Covering up a lack of concentration due to fighting with your wife and staying up to take care of a sick kid?
It happens. The men who rely on excelling at this sport to make their living often conceal so much beneath the surface. I’ve seen all the signs too many times—the shifty glances, the fidgety movements, the struggle to maintain their composure, no matter how hard they try.
And that’s precisely how Ava is behaving right now.
“You didn’t think I’d honestly come after you, right? Grab you or something?” I toss out, keeping her under my scrutiny.
“N-no.” There’s that stammer again. “Of course not.”
“Yet you shrieked. You were basically screaming bloody murder.” I pause for long enough to gauge any reaction she might have. Mostly, she continues to twitch around like someone enduring little shocks of static electricity. “Are you telling me that’s your regular elevator behavior?”
Finally, her expression alters from pale and terrified to annoyed. I’m glad to see the change, actually. It means she might be coming around.
“I thought you were someone else, that’s all,” she huffs out.
“Someone like who? Who did this?” Who the hell would make Ava feel so uncomfortable in a confined space like this? Has one of the guys been acting up? Pestering or even intimidating her?
“No one,” she whispers. “No one you would know.”
So, someone outside the league has been responsible for this, for scaring her. My hackles rise, and my fists tighten. As a power forward, I don’t get into as many scraps as our defensive enforcer, Schroeder. But I’ve never hesitated to drop the gloves when it’s necessary. And if someone’s been harassing a woman in our organization, especially Ava, they’ve got one hell of a reckoning coming.
“No one with the organization?”
“No.”
“I need a name. Who did this to you? I can’t stand seeing you like this.”
Shesighs. “Like I said, it’s no one you—”
“No one I know,” I cut her off. “I heard you the first time.”
“Then why—”
"Because if someone is threatening you or upsetting you to the point where you scream when another man gets too close, that means you’re living in constant fear. And Ava, that doesn’t sit right with me. No one gets to make you feel that way.”
My tone is aggressive, but I don’t give a damn. The idea of her feeling this vulnerable does something to me. My skin prickles like a live wire, and suddenly, I need to hit something. I’m not the guy who throws punches just for the hell of it, but if someone put that fear in her, I’d gladly make them regret it.
You don’t mess with a woman under my watch.Especially not this one.
She’s mine. Not just because I’ve had her—moaning, trembling, completely undone beneath me—but because I see her now. The real her. Genuine. Sweet. Hardworking. A woman who doesn’t chase the spotlight, who deserves more than the world has given her. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone take her safety, or her sense of peace away from her.
Despite the inner voice warning me not to, I can’t help myself. I reach over, cupping her chin, tilting it just enough so her gaze lockswith mine. Her skin is softer than I expected, but far too cool for the warmth of a luxury hotel. Yet, the second my hand makes contact, a jolt of electricity surges through me, sending a slow, molten heat flooding my veins. It doesn’t just warm me—it burns, seeping deep, pooling low below the belt, stirring my cock to life with an ache that demands more.