Page 49 of How to Puck Your Boss (L.A. Hawks Hockey #3)

“Promising.” She nodded. “By the way, I’m going to be a doctor, so I know a lot about the human body. So, if you have any lingering questions, you can always ask.”

“Cool. I always like to learn new things,” Leon said appreciatively.

Matt laughed loudly. “Where’s the popcorn when you need it?”

“Stop it!” Dax snapped, annoyed, and pulled her back by the shoulders.

“You’ve made your point. Thank you very much for the horrible images in my head.

I just want to say that you should find someone nice who will look after you and make you happy for the rest of your life.

Not a hockey player, for God’s sake! They’re all idiots who fuck around. ”

“ You are a hockey player.”

“And the best proof of that,” he said meaningfully.

She snorted. “God, I need a drink.” She turned abruptly and hurried toward the bar.

“But not one with alcohol in it!” Dax called after her. “You’re too young to drink!”

Anna gave him the middle finger over her shoulder.

“I don’t quite understand,” she heard Leon say. “Your sister doesn’t seem in on this no-hockey-players deal.”

“Alvarez,” Dax growled, “I swear if you have one more immoral thought about Anna, I will…”

Anna pushed open the door out and let it slam shut behind her.

Sighing, she rubbed her face. She loved Dax, but whenever she was out with him, she was denied her own identity. She was no longer Anna, but Dax Temple’s sister. And that was getting on her nerves!

God, she was so exhausted. She had no desire to study, but she didn’t want to fight or debate, either. Would she seriously only be able to switch off in a year, once her last exam was over?

Shaking her head, she wondered if she should just retrieve her jacket and leave, get in a few more hours of studying before going to sleep. But the cloakroom was currently unstaffed, She turned to the bar, where a man was sitting on a stool. He was hard to miss. Even seated, he was huge.

Hesitantly, she bit her lip and swallowed. He wasn’t wearing a tuxedo, just a white shirt and a thin black tie. But compared to him, all the other men in the banquet hall looked like they were wearing garbage bags.

Anna couldn’t say what it was, but for a moment, she forgot to breathe.

Maybe it was his broad shoulders and the way his shirt clung to them as if they were lovers who hadn’t seen each other in ages.

Or maybe it was his muscular back, or his tanned forearms visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves, their tendons and veins clearly visible as he turned a beer bottle in his hand.

It could be his hair — black as ink. It fell over his forehead but was short on the sides. Or maybe it was just the dark, crackling energy that he radiated. It warned her not to get too close — yet, at the same time, lured her like a magnet.

She knew immediately who he was: Lucas Moreau, the Hawks’ goalie.

A few months ago, reporters had tried to give him the nickname “Killer” because he had the charisma of a serial killer and decimated every goal attempt. But he had commented on the nickname, growling, I don’t like it , and no one dared to use it anymore.

Moreau had his chin lowered and his eyes closed. He was steadily turning the beer bottle in his hands, which made a scraping noise on the wooden counter. He breathed deeply. She saw his chest rise and fall evenly while the bartender gave him anxious glances.

Anna understood the bartender’s apprehension. It seemed as if he was trying to calm himself, but it was unclear if he was succeeding.

Was he angry?

She couldn’t say. His face was in the shadows and difficult to see, so she carefully took a step forward and glanced at his profile. She studied his sharp jaw covered in dark stubble, high cheekbones, and large hands. His eyes were closed.

He looked tired. Stressed. A bit…lost.

When Anna thought about it, he looked exactly how she felt.

Maybe that was why she hesitantly approached the bar, why she still couldn’t look away from him…when, suddenly, he opened his eyes.

Her mouth went dry. He stared straight ahead into the mirror behind the bar. At first, Anna thought he was looking at himself, but when she found his reflection, she realized she was wrong.

He was looking at her as if he had sensed her staring at him.

Immediately, her diaphragm contracted and her heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t look away, though, because his light gray eyes were so clear and challenging…

“Hey,” she said slowly and stepped next to him before nodding to the bartender and ordering a gin and tonic. The youngster nodded frantically and got to work, visibly relieved to be able to turn his back on the Hawks goalie.

Anna slowly sank onto the stool to his right and turned her head to him. Moreau was no longer looking in the mirror — but directly into her eyes. And the message she read in it was unmistakably clear: Why the hell are you sitting next to me?

Well, she was having a bad day and wasn’t going to let any man tell her what she could or couldn’t do, not even a broad-shouldered demigod. She watched his gray eyes reflect the dim light.

“Everything okay?” she asked softly, not knowing if she was asking because his jaw was so tense or because he seemed so somehow…lonely.

Either way, he didn’t answer.

Instead, he let go of his beer bottle and tilted his head almost imperceptibly. He peered down at her calmly as if it were his right, after she had so shamelessly stared at him.

Goosebumps scurried down her back as his gaze wandered over her bare neck, briefly stopping at the spot where her pulse was beating far too fast. Then, he worked his way down her upper body and legs to her ballet flats.

Heat gathered in her abdomen, and Anna pressed her thighs together.

The high-neck, black dress reached her knees and was neither particularly provocative nor tight.

Nevertheless, she had the feeling that Lucas was seeing too much. She felt naked under his gaze.

In the…in the best way.

Heat now filled her chest and cheeks. Good God. Since when had her body been so responsive to eye contact ?

She cleared her throat audibly, happy when the bartender handed her the gin and tonic across the counter so that her hands had something to do.

She took a quick sip. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Moreau do the same.

He put the beer bottle to his lips and took a deep pull.

As his Adam’s apple rose and fell, her grip on the glass tightened.

Anna was doing her residency at a facility specifically geared toward sports injuries. Every day, she was confronted with muscular men who shamelessly flirted with her. She was immune to good looks! At least, so she’d thought.

“You’re Lucas Moreau, aren’t you?” she asked in an unpleasantly hoarse voice, just to fill the silence. “The Hawks goalie.”

He didn’t react, apart from slowly letting the beer bottle sink back onto the counter.

“Well, I’m…” she continued.

“Anna,” he said calmly.

She opened her lips and a shiver ran down her spine. It had been just one word. Her name. But his voice… It was rough, as if he rarely used it, but at the same time, so soft and dark. It felt like black velvet wrapping around her shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she replied slowly.

He nodded. “I know.”

“How do you know my name? Do we know each other? I don’t think we’ve…” She broke off and her shoulders sagged. “Oh my God. Dax showed you a photo of me and warned you that I was coming, right? So that no one would even think of flirting with me.”

Moreau didn’t answer, but there was no need.

“Fantastic,” she said through her teeth and downed the rest of her gin and tonic in one gulp. Tonight was one of those evenings. “The asshole gave me a de facto chastity belt!”

Moreau’s mouth moved toward a smile, but he remained silent.

“And none of you heroes flipped Dax the finger and explained to him that I’m an actual person, not his pet?”

“No,” the man next to her replied indifferently.

“Why not? Are you all afraid of him?”

Moreau only commented on that with a soft chuckle, followed by a shake of his head.

She sighed. For one thing, her brother was truly the worst, but also, Moreau’s laugh was sending tingles up the back of her neck. The bottom line was that she urgently needed another drink! She tapped on the counter to signal to the bartender that she wanted another gin.

“Sorry, but we’ve run out of gin, ma’am. We’ll probably have some inside at the main bar, but…um, should I get some more?” he asked hastily when he saw her dissatisfied expression.

“Yes. Two bottles would be best.”

The young man nodded and abruptly left the bar.

“He called me ‘ma’am,’ did you hear that?” she asked Moreau. “Women who get called ma’am can decide for themselves who they want to go to bed with, right?”

“That’s certainly one plus of being a ma’am,” the goalie replied dryly.

She suppressed a smile. “Exactly! And if I wanted to fuck around as much as you stupid hockey players, I could!”

He toasted her. “Thanks for that vote of confidence.”

Anna grimaced. “You know what I mean.”

He said nothing, and silence reigned again.

Anna wasn’t good with silence. In her youth, it had always been the calm before the storm. So she asked, “Aren’t you going to join the party?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Mandatory event.”

“Ah.”

The conversation came to a halt again.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

He remained silent.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a dark, authoritative aura that would probably silence more timid people?”

He turned his head slowly to her and raised a single eyebrow.

She grinned broadly. “I’ll take that as a yes. I’m a little jealous. Nobody would forbid you from flirting.”

Moreau shook his head almost imperceptibly. “I never flirt.”

She laughed. “ Never ? But then how do you get women into bed?”