Page 19 of Pucking Sweet

“What’s wrong?” asks Morrow.

“What’s wrong is we need another flood,” I say, shoving my phone in my pocket. “Only this one needs to target incompetent rookies.” Turning on my heel, I march away.

“Hey—you better not be pranking Poppy,” he calls after me. “Novy, I’m serious. Leave her alone!”

I just wave over my shoulder. “Sorry, I’ve gotta go bust some balls.”

Before Doc notices her keys are missing.

7

Florence & The Machine pulses through the sound system of my little sports car as I pull into the practice center parking garage. I bop my head to the beat, flipping my sunglasses up onto my head.

For once, I had a nice, relaxing morning. I get better internet back at my apartment, so I took a series of important fundraising calls from my lanai. I also treated myself to a proper homemade breakfast: avocado toast, a poached egg, and two cups of caramel iced coffee. I even squeezed in ten minutes of breathing meditation.

My afternoon, however, is stacked with in-person meetings downtown. I wouldn’t have even come to the office at all today, except I told Lukas Novikov to meet me here at ten o’clock. That flashy showboat somehow has the ability to ruin my day without even trying.

I blink in the sudden darkness of the garage, slowing my car to a crawl as I look for a parking spot. With a gasp, I pump the breaks, both hands tight on the wheel. “What the…?”

Speak the devil’s name, and he shall appear. Lukas Novikov and two of the rookies are standing in the middle of the garage. They spin around, eyes wide. They look like I’ve just caught them in the act of moving a dead body.

I gasp again. “Oh my…”

Clutched between them is something large and lumpy, wrapped in a black trash bag.

“Oh, sweet heavens, I donotget paid enough for this,” I hiss, jerking my car into park. I fling open my door and pop out the side. “Honeys,pleasetell me that is not a human body! Or an animal body!”

Lukas lets out a laugh that echoes in the empty concrete space. “Seriously, Poppy? Do you really think we’re down here moving bodies?”

“Well, I don’t know,” I cry. “Why do y’all look so suspicious then?”

“Maybe because you rounded the corner and flashed your lights at us,” he replies.

I take a breath. “Okay that’s good because I cannot be a witness to a murder this morning. My goodness, can you even imagine?”

“Uhh, boss…what do we do now?” the tall one mutters.

Lukas stands upright, still holding his side of the lumpy trash bag. “We greet the nice lady, Patrick, and we let her go on her way.”

I glance around the garage. “If you’re not moving bodies…then whatareyou doing?”

“Just hauling some gear,” Lukas replies. “You know—sticks and pads, some smelly jocks. Nothing to interest you.”

“Mhmm.” I cross my arms, still peering around.

“I think there’s some open parking spots down that row,” says the raven-haired cutie, pointing to the sunlit corner of the garage.

I level my gaze at him. This is the one. He’ll break for me so nicely. Lukas is a steel vault, and the tall blond is a brick wall. But Raven Boy? He’ll crack like an egg.

I leave my car in park, the headlights shining on their malfeasance, and saunter forward. My stiletto heels click softly on the concrete. I give my hips a little sway in my camel pencil skirt, feeling the flip of the fabric against my calves. I shift my long hair off my shoulder with a practiced flick of my wrist and stand before him. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Don’t tell her anything,” Lukas mutters.

Raven glances between us, lips slightly parted. “Uhh…Flash. Flash Gordon…ma’am.”

I smile, batting my lashes. “What’s yourrealname, sweets?”

During my time in the professional hockey world, I’ve found the players’ constant use of nicknames to be clever shields. Sure, it creates a sense of camaraderie, but it also helps these men hide who they really are. Which is why I’m out here like a perky, blonde Rumpelstiltskin, collecting names, growing in my power. I widen my smile, encouraging him to spill.