Page 32 of Her Puck Daddies

I should pull away. I know I should. Because I can’t rush this.

Holding her like this, feeling the faint tremble beneath my fingertips, makes me want to drag her into my arms, bury her against my chest, reassure her she’s safe.

But at the same time, it awakens something darker, something deeper, something hungry. A craving. For her heat. For her surrender. For everything I know she’s capable of giving me.

Once another three pings chime from above us, the elevator bounces to a halt, and Ava breaks free of me.

“This is me,” she says.

“Yeah, it’s me, too.”

Pursing her full rosebud lips, she bounds off, whisking by me as if all I’ve been to her over the past few minutes is an inconvenience. The jaunty march she uses makes her ample breasts jiggle and her flawlessly shaped ass move like a dream as she stompsdown the corridor. The thick carpet muffles her steps as she locates her room halfway down.

When I stop at my room three doors down and on the opposite side of the hall, she crosses her arms and mutters, almost indignant, “Wonder how we ended up on the same floor.”

“All of us share the same floor whenever there’s enough rooms to hold us on away games,” I explain. “Well, except for coach. He claims that we’re all a bunch of hoodlums who can’t stay quiet, so he likes to keep himself separate whenever possible.”

That’s why he has Cecille book him upstairs in the pricier suites, supposedly. Personally, I think he just has expensive taste.

Ava doesn’t bother responding. She slips behind her door without so much as a glance back, shutting me out completely.

I take the hint and head into my own room, more than ready to kick back. I like coach’s parties as much as the next guy, but after a night like this, I need a breather.

Still, if I wanted to, I could keep an eye on whoever comes and goes from her room just by looking out my peephole.

About forty-five minutes later, the familiar sounds of the team filtering onto our floor break the quiet—laughter, footsteps, doors slamming shut. Each time I hear movement, I peek out, casually noting who it is.

Normally, I wouldn’t bother, but tonight’s different. Ava’s different. I need to make sure no one is lurking around who shouldn’t be.

Another half-hour passes, and more footsteps echo down the hall. I mute the game on my TV, instincts kicking in as I glance through the peephole.

This time, it’s not one of the guys.

A man I don’t recognize steps out, not scanning for his room number like a lost guest, but moving like he’s skulking,like he doesn’t want to be seen. From my angle, there’s only one room he could’ve come from.

Ava’s.

Just like that, I’m bolting down the hallway and slamming my fist against her door. As much as a part of me wants to run after the guy and beat him to a pulp, I have to see to her first. When she doesn’t immediately show up, I pound harder, calling out her name.

“Ava? Are you all right? Open up, please.”

There’s a crash from the other side of her door, followed by an unmistakable yelp, and I nearly lose my shit trying to bust it down. Then, the door swings open, and I see red oozing from her chest, red like blood.

What the fuck did I just walk into?

Chapter 12

AVA

I’ve never seen the usually cool-headed Sven Hinter with such wide eyes and pale features. He looks like he’s just seen a ghost. As if I’m the ghost.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his hands gripping my shoulders. His tone is one of pure horror. “Ava, you’re… oh my god…”

I glance down at myself to see the t-shirt and sleep shorts I put on covered in goopy red. The aroma of garlic and tomato sauce surrounds me, too. Leave it to me to make a mess of everything, even something as simple as carrying a pizza box.

“I dropped it,” I tell Sven. “The pizza box. Well, after I opened it to get a quick sniff.”

Pizza is my comfort food. Always has been. And while I had a flute of champagne and nibbled at some of the finger foods there at the party, it wasn’t really what I wanted. Not that I mention that to him. Not now that he seems so shaken with worry.