Page 9 of Pucking Tangled

NINE

Waylon

He had no idea what came over him or what he was thinking when he sent Mia that text about spanking her earlier.

Actually, he knew exactly what he was thinking.

He needed to get laid.

And he needed to get over his stupid crush on the equivalent of his best friend’s sister.

Waylon thought about the entire brief exchange all day. Couldn’t get it out of his head.

A cold shower and jerking off to thoughts of Mia did nothing for him.

Pushing himself to the limit at practice wasn’t enough either.

Christ, he’d been sporting hard-on for Mia since the first time Casey introduced them two years ago.

At the time, he really thought Casey was in love with the girl, so he stayed the hell away, respecting his teammate and honoring the whole ‘bro-code’ thing.

And turned his attraction into stupid kindergarten games where he playfully flirted and teased her like an asshole.

He should have said no when Casey suggested she move in with them.

Now he was driving himself crazy thinking about the fact that she was just down the hall every night when he went to bed. And the fact that it seemed like she was getting closer to all of the guys.

Jealousy was never Waylon’s style. So what if she and Luca were friendly? And it wasn’t like she wasn’t friends with Casey and Owen before she moved in. The other guys were not his competition and Mia was not the kind of woman he could dominate and possess.

Maybe the better idea would be for Waylon to move out.

Get away from the guys.

The house rules.

Owen’s big brother/father figure bullshit.

Luca looked up to him like he was some kind of hero.

He could get his own place.

Escape all the pressure.

He wasn’t rolling in cash like Owen or even Casey, but he had a nest egg. He could afford it and a cleaning service to come in to scrub his toilets, keep the place picked up, and probably even do his laundry.

He could bring home as many puck bunnies as he wanted without worrying about being caught or told no.

Waylon paused.

Nah. Fuck that . Casey was right about one thing—bringing women home was always a bad idea.

He snorted at the irony.

And then they went and moved one in.

Though Mia wasn’t anything like a puck bunny .

She was loyal to a fault.

Sexy as sin with her curvy body and that long blonde hair that he longed to tangle his hands in while he…

Shit.

And now he was hard all over again.

He needed to get it together, fast.

It was almost time to take the ice. He didn’t have time for distractions or to jerk off. Waylon turned off his phone and tossed it in his gym bag, walking into the locker room.

Forty-five minutes until puck drop.

He’d have to save the images of Mia choking on his cock, or trying to stuff a ball gag in his mouth for later.

Much later.

The locker room buzzed with energy. Rock music pulsed low from Owen’s portable speaker. Gear rustled. Sticks were being taped. Several of his teammates were locked into their pre-gram routines with their heads down, focused and in the zone..

Waylon dropped his bag, started stretching and talking softly to his elbow pads. He knew it made him look insane but it was how he kept his head in the game since he started playing hockey.

“Left first, always left first. You know the drill. No surprises tonight,” he murmured, slipping one on with practiced precision. “You behaved in warmups, let’s keep it that way.”

Luca walked past him and paused for a beat, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sweet-talking your gear, again?”

Waylon didn’t look up. “Left elbow pad is moody before big games.”

Across the room, Casey smirked. “You say that like it’s normal. ”

“It is normal. For me. Keeps the chaos out, ya know,” Waylon replied, dead serious.

Owen chuckled from his stall. “Just be glad he doesn’t smudge his helmet with lavender and sage. Played with a guy a few years ago that walked around smelling like a yoga retreat.”

Waylon finally looked up, unbothered. “Lavender is calming.”

Luca muttered, “Maybe I should start talking to my gloves.”

Waylon finished taping his stick—five wraps toward the toe, no more, no less—and gave it a firm tap on the floor. Once. Twice. A third time.

Then he stood, eyes calm, focused. “Ready.”

“Freak,” Casey teased with admiration in his voice.

“Superstitious freak,” Luca added, repeating Waylon’s taping ritual.

But Waylon just smirked faintly and headed for the tunnel. “Let’s go win us a game, boys.”

Luca

A little less than three hours later, the guys skated off the ice and headed through the tunnel to the locker room.

Game one was in the books with a victory for the Barn Raisers.

Covered in sweat, bruised and grinning like a bunch of fools; they poured into the locker room and started peeling off their jerseys .

It wasn’t a pretty game at first, but a win was a win and they’d just taken Game 1 on the road against Charleston.

“Whooo! That’s what I’m talking about!” Luca yelled, tossing his jersey into the laundry cart. He was amped up and riding the high of his very first NHL playoff win.

His wildest dreams felt like they really were coming true.

Casey tossed his gloves into his locker before wrapping Owen in a bear hug while the man was trying to yank off his chest protector.

Owen grinned and shook his head.

“You saw that third-period forecheck!” Casey boasted, breathless. “Tell me that wasn’t sexy.” Caught up in the moment, he kissed Owen’s cheek.

Owen coughed through a laugh. “You were practically breakdancing in the neutral zone.”

“Still got the assist.”

“And a tripping penalty,” Luca added.

“Details.” Casey smirked, finally letting go of Owen.

Waylon walked in last, helmet under his arm, face flushed but expression cool—until Luca popped open a Gatorade and sprayed it directly at his chest.

Waylon blinked, dripping. “I’m gonna murder you.”

“You can try,” Luca grinned, dodging behind a row of lockers.

Someone turned up the music. A classic pump-up anthem—probably on Casey’s playlist—roared through the speakers as the team finished peeling off gear and trading highlights.

“Tell me someone filmed Luca going full giraffe on that back check,” Casey said, towel slung around his neck.

“Shut up, I tripped on the damn blue line,” Luca groaned. Of course, that’s what his roommates would remember most about this game. “It moved.”

“Blue lines don’t move, bro,” Waylon pointed out.

“ That one did.”

Owen sat back on the bench, finally free of his pads, and scanned the room. “Solid win,” he said over the music. “Not perfect, but solid.”

“Waylon held the blue line like it owed him money,” Luca said, tossing his mentor a fist bump.

Waylon bumped back, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Told you my pre-game routine works.”

That got a round of groans and thrown tape rolls.

“Game 2, same focus,” Owen continued, his captain voice kicking in. “We don’t let up just because we took one. Celebrate briefly tonight—tighten up and be ready to double down on that energy on Saturday.”

Everyone nodded. The vibe was there—tight-knit, locked in, alive.

Casey flopped down beside Owen, his curls sweat-plastered to his forehead. “What do you think Mia would have to say about the game?”

Owen grinned. “She texted me during the second period. Said your dive behind the net was either heroic or stupid.”

“She gets me.”

“Or she pities you,” Luca teased.

Casey smirked, but there was a flash in his eyes—pride, yes, but something softer too.

Something that unsettled Luca and made an unfamiliar envy bubble in his chest. It shouldn’t have mattered to him. But somehow she did.

“Think she’ll wait up for us to get back at the end of this run?” he asked casually, too casually .

Waylon snorted. “She’s probably the only one who won’t be waiting to hear all about it.”

“Wrong,” Casey said confidently. “She’ll want a full breakdown. She loves my recaps.”

“Yeah, because you reenact them with salt and pepper shakers.” Owen nudged Casey in the side, teasing him about how he always fed Mia full commentary, even though she watched every single game.

Luca sat down on the bench and started unlacing his skates, jaw tight. He yanked off his skate and let it drop to the floor with a thud.

“Everything good?” Waylon asked, lightly kicking him as he passed.

Luca forced a smirk. “Yeah. Just thinking about how I almost got clipped trying to back you up in the second.”

Waylon grinned. “You’re welcome for making your stats look better.”

Luca gave a low chuckle and stood, masking the rest behind bravado.

As the rest of the locker room continued to swirl around him. He reached in his bag and pulled out his phone.

Relief and hopefulness washed over him as he saw he had two texts from Mia.

Mia : Nice game. Those blue lines keep tripping you up, huh? Don’t worry. You looked graceful anyway. ::tongue sticking out emoji::

Mia : BTW. I found your note. Read the book, too. Are you trying to tell me something, Luca?

Luca : Maybe. We should discuss your thoughts when I get home.

He stared at the screen for a beat to see if she’d respond right away.

“Oooo. Someone’s got the rookie smiling,” Nate, their star goalie noticed and called him out before he had a chance to put his phone away.

Three sets of eyes immediately snapped to him.

Did he have a sign flashing over his head, telling them who he was talking to?

“It was just, Mia. She saw my tryout for figure skating,” he joked, hoping not to raise any alarms.

“Mia?” Nate questioned. “Your new ‘roommate’? What are all four of you banging her?”

Casey, Owen, and Waylon all flew to their feet.

Ahhh fuck.

Waylon swung first, landing a fist right under Nate’s chin. The goalie’s head snapped back.

Luca jumped up and tried to get between them.

A fight with a teammate was the last thing they needed right now.

Casey pushed him out of the way then grabbed Nate by the neck and pinned him to one of the lockers. “That girl is my best friend. She’s not a plaything. And what any of us do off the ice is none of your fucking business. Keep her goddamn name out of your mouth.”

“What the hell is going on here?” Coach Micheals’ voice boomed through the locker room.

Casey immediately let go of Nate and stepped back. “Just handling some business, Coach,” he spat.

“Jesus Christ,” Coach cursed. “Now is not the time for this behavior. Novak and Branson. One game suspension.”

“Motherfucker,” Casey punched one of the lockers.

“If you’re suspending Casey, then you’re suspending me too,” Waylon chimed in.

“And me,” Owen added.

Luca sighed. “And me too.”

“You have to fucking be kidding me!” Coach yelled. “ Are you telling me that I need to suspend my entire starting line for the second game of the playoffs?”

“If you’re going to bench Casey and Nate over a little misunderstanding? Then abso-fucking-lutely,” Waylon snarled.

Luca watched Coach pace back and forth while rubbing his forehead.

“We have rules and regulations for a reason!” he screamed.

“Waylon’s right,” Nate spoke up. “It was just a misunderstanding. We were horsing around. That’s all. No harm no foul.”

Smart. Very smart on Nate’s part. If he convinced Coach Micheals to back off and no one got suspended, it would go a long way in restoring unity with the team. Or with four of his teammates, anyway.

Coach spun on his heels and looked at Nate. “Is that why you’ve got a bruise forming under your chin already?”

Nate shrugged. “That was from a hit on the ice.”

“You know what…this is the only warning I’m giving any of you. Any more shit like this and I’ll bench whoever the hell I have to. Playoffs be damned.” Coach gave them all a pointed look before stomping out of the room.

“Case,” Nate started. “Listen, man.”

Owen gave him a deadly glare. “Leave it alone for now.”

Luca blew out a relieved breath when Nate backed away completely and Casey headed for the shower.

When they were all ready to leave the arena, Waylon pushed him toward a waiting town car. “Come on, Rookie, we’re going out.”

“We are?” He didn’t feel like going out. What he wanted to do was head back to his hotel room and text Mia again .

“Yes. Let’s go.” Waylon opened the door for him and tipped his head toward the backseat.

Feeling like he had no choice, Luca slid in the backseat. Waylon got in beside him.

“So, where are we going?”

“There’s a private club about forty-five minutes away. I scored us an invite from a friend.”

Luca’s stomach recoiled.

Waylon was on the prowl and Luca was going to be his wingman.

Great.

“Relax. It’s not that kind of club,” Waylon chuckled, clearly picking up on Luca’s discomfort. “I like to keep a low profile during the postseason. Never know who’s watching.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, if Case and O don’t say it, you earned some mad respect, standing up with us like that. You didn’t have to. We wouldn’t have held it against you. If Coach wouldn’t have backed down, or decided to punish us all worse, it could have been damaging to your career.”

Luca snorted. “And it wouldn’t have been damaging to any of yours?”

“Oh, it would have. But you’re the rookie, you’re building your career and your persona. Everyone already knows who we are.” He smirked at him.

“You know, Way, something tells me you’re not as big and bad as you pretend to be.”

“I’m bigger and badder,” he said with a devious chuckle.

“Whatever you’ve got to tell yourself man.”