Page 48 of Pucking Sweet

“What do you want me to say? I usually only see you in a hockey uniform or workout wear. Forgive me, but tube socks and sandals don’t really scream ‘fashion icon.’ Now, take the compliment, and take a hike. I’m not in the mood to spar with you tonight.”

“Yo, Poppy,” Sully calls. “Ubers are here!”

I offer my arm, mirroring Compton’s smooth move. To my surprise, she only hesitates for a second before she places her hand on my arm and lets me lead her toward the doors.

“Okay,” she calls out again. “Everyone pick a car. And remember, the presswillbe waiting when we arrive.”

Three sleek SUVs idle by the valet attendant. I follow Comptonand Doc to the first Uber, helping Poppy get in. Langers edges his way past Morrow to snag the front seat. Morrow drops back, giving me a nod before piling into the next Uber with Sanford and the forwards. Does he know something’s up with Poppy too?

I step around to the other side and get in. Poppy and Doc are already mid-conversation, and Compton is just leaning back, eyeing Doc like he’s gonna eat her. From the front seat, Langers calls out for any music requests. The car rolls forward, and I settle in, pretending I’m on my phone. Really, I’m watching Poppy.

Let’s walk this back. I saw her at the hotel’s buffet breakfast this morning and she seemed fine. Granted, it was from the other side of the room, but she was her normal, bubbly self. I don’t think she drinks coffee in the morning. I only ever see her go for the water or juice. She likes grapefruit with cottage cheese and yogurt parfait, I know that too.

So, sometime between breakfast and our game, her day took a serious turn. She’s from DC, right? Shit, maybe it’s a family thing. Maybe I shouldn’t pry. Family shit is definitely none of my business.

I don’t have long to ponder because we pull up at the club in minutes. A scrum of press is waiting. The sidewalk to either side of the entrance is packed with people trying to get in.

“Okay, here we go,” says Poppy. “Smiles everyone.” I don’t even get a word in before she’s out the door. The music hits me, along with the flashing of the camera lenses, and I’m momentarily stunned.

Langley is already out too, one hand on Poppy’s lower back as he waves and smiles. Oh, fuck that. I launch into action, exiting the car and stepping around to join them. I move through the crowd, catching up with Langers and Poppy. I step right in at his back and say in his ear, “Sully wants you for a forward line pic.”

Gullible Langers just nods and drops back, leaving me with Poppy. I replace his hand with mine, steering her into the packed club. As we get our wristbands, I look around. This is a big club. There are some burlesque cage dancers, and a small stage up at the front for the DJ. I feel the beat kicking in my chest. Something about the vibrations soothes my tense mood, and I relax. Next to me, Poppy does the same. Her hips sway to the beat as she stays by my side, unbothered that my hand is still on her back.

I lean down, all but pressing my lips to her ear. “Do you want a drink?”

She turns her face, her lips brushing my jaw as she says, “The bartender should be ready for us. First round is comped. Let’s go!” Then, surprising the shit out of me, she weaves her fingers in with mine, leading me over to the bar.

I follow close behind her, my eyes taking in her sway as she walks. That dress is doing sinful things to her ass. She’s petite, so I just assumed she didn’t have much happening in that department. Either way, her little blazers always tend to cover it. Now I can seeeverythingand it’s fucking perfect. There’s definitely enough there to take a bite.

Okay, fuck me, what is happening?

I slip my hand from hers. Flirting is one thing. Flirting is harmless fun. But have I just spent the last fifteen minutes genuinely lusting after Poppy St. James? I mean, she’s gorgeous, but she’s a fucking pill. She’s a PR princess. A ball-busting, no-fun Nancy, who lives to ruin my good time. She’s got me terrified to even hook up with random strangers anymore because I don’t want to have to fill out a form after. Lukas Novikov doesn’t keep receipts. You can’t be hurt by someone if you don’t even remember that they happened.

As I’m thinking all of this, she leans over the bar, bracing herself on her elbows and popping that sweet little peach in the air. She says something to the bartender, an edgy chick with dyed pink hair and lots of face piercings. I can hear Poppy’s high, pealing laugh from here. Palms flat on the bar, she glances over her shoulder, looking around. Spotting me, she smiles and waves me over.

I cross to her side, and she hands me a cocktail. She’s got a matching one in her hand. “What’s this?”

She takes a sip of hers with extra cherries floating in the ice. “It’s called a Jax Ray. Tina made it.” She flashes another smile at the bartender. “It’s basically just a Jack & Coke. But fruitier. Try it!”

I take a sip of the cocktail and nearly gag on the sweetness. “Is that grenadine?”

“Mhmm. And a splash of bitters.”

“So basically, it’s an old fashioned ruined with Coke.” I take another sip. “Jeezus, Pop. This thing is strong.”

“And it’s gooood,” she hums.

“You better pace yourself. A girl your size could get drunk off the fumes.”

“Don’t patronize me, Lukas.” She takes another sip. “Okay, so I promised you a good time tonight. Wingwoman Poppy is officially on duty.” She gives me a cheeky little salute.

“Not necessary, Pop. But thanks for the offer.”

“What,no,” she cries, her eyes getting all wide and sad like a hurt squirrel. “Come on, I’m a great wingwoman. I don’t want you thinking I’m some kind of HR stiff who can’t appreciate the value of carnal connections.”

“Carnal connections?” I repeat.

“Lustful liaisons? A passionate pounding?”