Page 13 of Puck Me With Your Best Shot (Playing the Puck #13)

His eyes drop to my lips, then back to my eyes.

"Um, sure. Now, back to the history of the pink locker room.

" He clears his throat, but I can't get that look out of my mind—like he wanted to kiss me.

"This is the visitor's locker room. We're only using it until our locker room is updated with a fresh coat of paint in our team colors. "

"Oh, I didn't realize that. Don never said." I shrug, willing myself not to drop my gaze to his plush lips, or I'll be imagining those perfect lips wrapped around my hard nipple as his giant hand plays with my other breast. A tiny moan escapes my lips, and I cough to cover it up.

"Are you okay? Do you need some water?" His concern is sweet, but I shake my head, declining his offer.

"No, I'm good. Now, about the pink visitor's locker." I coax, needing a distraction from my obvious attraction to half my players.

Okay, maybe I'm being a little overly dramatic; it's only two of my players.

You haven't met all of your players yet.

That little voice in the back of my head reminds me.

The same little voice that convinced me to dance on the bars in my early twenties, like I was a bartender at Coyote Ugly.

Or swim naked in the ocean at midnight with a complete stranger for one of the best nights of my life.

Only to find him gone the next morning, left with only a first name and a memory of pleasure that still haunts me even two years later—the last time I had sex.

Once I get home and do a little self-care with my battery-operated boyfriend, I'll be good as new for tomorrow's first official day on the job.

"The other teams hate the pink locker room. Some even send their athletic trainers a few hours ahead of time to cover the room with posters or sheets to hide all the pink."

"I could see how it would be distracting," I say, as my eyes scan from the pink walls to the pink lockers to the pink benches. Even the floor is pink. "It looks more like Barbie's Dream Locker Room than a pro hockey locker room."

"That's exactly what Monk said when he saw it for the first time."

"Monk?"

"Yeah, he's around here somewhere. Monk is just a nickname."

I want to ask more about why a professional hockey player would have a nickname like Monk, since it seems a little out of place from the wild lifestyle pro hockey players are known for, but three other players approach King, distracting him from our conversation.

"Hey, King, are you going to goat yoga tonight at Maggie's?"

"And miss the entertainment? Hell, yes, I'm going."

"Coach." Each of the three newcomers nods at me as they pass us on our way to the exit.

"Goat yoga?" I can't help but ask.

"Oh, sorry, I should have introduced you to them. That was Kyson, River, and Bowen. Their girlfriend is a goat farmer, and she brings her goats into town a couple of nights a week into Maggie's studio for yoga."

"You mean girlfriends, not girlfriend, right?" I question. Sure, I've heard all about the Minnesota Norse and their unconventional relationships with guys sharing the same woman. But is that a thing here in Iowa?

"No, you heard me correctly. River, Kyson, and Bowen all share Aubree, or goat momma, as they call her."

Aw, goat momma—that's cute. But back to the matter at hand. "If they all share Aubree, then who's Maggie?"

"Maggie's ours." A group of three more players breezes by on their way out of the locker room, claiming Maggie as their own.

"You wish!" King yells after them, only to be met with a one-finger salute as the door slams shut behind them.

"Oh, okay."

"Don't mind them. They're just butthurt about Maggie.

They've staked their claim on her, but as far as I can tell, she wants nothing to do with them.

She's even taught some of Aubree's goats to headbutt them in the junk during goat yoga.

That's why I never miss goat yoga night.

Do you want to join me tonight? I can introduce you to Aubree and Maggie—and any of the other guys that show up. "

Having a couple of female friends sounds amazing right about now. Besides, yoga is relaxing; maybe I can refocus all my horny energy into something more constructive. "Sure. Why not?"

"Great!" A roguish smile lights up his face, causing my pussy to clench. "Maggie's studio is on Main Street. Give me your phone, and I'll text you the address."

I reach into my pocket, pull out my cellphone, and hand it to King, but his eyes shift over my shoulder.

"Hey, there's Monk now." He waves at Monk to join us.

"Coach Wynn, this is Monk—Monk, this is our new coach, Wynn.

" I turn around only to find myself staring into a startled pair of aquamarine eyes, the same color as the ocean we swam naked in together two years ago.

"We call him Monk because in the two years he's been with the team, we've never seen him with a girlfriend, boyfriend, or even a puck bunny.

" King shifts his gaze back to my phone, entering his contact information, oblivious to the conversation around him.

"Two years, huh?" I find myself saying, desperately needing to know if he even remembers me.

"Yup. I was waiting to see if fate would reunite me with a certain mermaid I so foolishly let slip through my fingers two years ago in Barbados."

Well, shit, this just got interesting.