Page 11 of Stubborn Puckboy (Puckboys #9)

TEN

Colby

I hold my breath. It’s late—or early, depending on how I look at it—I’m tipsy, and my skin is buzzing. I’m practically shaking with need. All because Novi is looking at me and undressing me with his whiskey-colored gaze.

Encouraging it is dangerous because I don’t want to cross lines we can’t uncross. He has his limits, and I should have mine. But I don’t. Not when it comes to him.

Not when I thought that stupid crush from almost twenty years ago was misplaced. It turns out it wasn’t, and he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

Still want him, evidently.

It’s either my body wanting to fulfill the fantasy of him, or maybe I had real feelings for the guy, and being in his orbit again has made them resurface.

All that’s running through my mind at the moment is this is our chance, and my brain won’t let go of that.

Even if I know it’s better for both of us if we don’t follow through on this.

Novi sips his water, staring at me over the rim of his glass, and then he places the drink back on the table and pushes it away from him. “Spending time with you is dangerous.” His Russian accent sounds thicker as he rasps the words, and his voice travels down my spine and spikes lust in my gut.

“I could say the same about you.”

Novi’s contemplating it. Us. Hooking up. He glances around the bar like he’s committing every person in here to memory in case he needs to track them down and kill them afterward. I wouldn’t put it past him.

If it all came out that Novi was sent here as a Russian spy and actually moonlights as an assassin, I’d believe it. Though, it would be impossible to pull it off with his schedule. Maybe his kills take place in the off-season.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” he says, “it’s not a good idea.”

I huff because my wild train of thought derailed somewhere around hooking up with Novi. “Actually, if you knew what I was thinking, you’d assume there was something wrong with me.”

“I don’t kink shame.”

This time, it’s more than a huff. I have to hold back laughter.

“Nothing like that. I was curious if you gave in to temptation and kissed me right here if you’d have to kill everyone in this bar after the fact.

Which then made me worry that your angry Russian reputation isn’t only a rumor.

That maybe you were sent here as a spy.”

Novi can’t fool me though. He might have those sexy, hard features, the stone-cold face of an assassin, but he can’t hide his true self from me. Not when he gives me that goofy smile of his that looks more menacing than like happiness.

“I am big Russian spy. When I’m not on ice, I use my skates as weapon.”

“Checks out.”

His eyes shine the way they used to. When he wasn’t being so serious and dropped his guard.

“It’s fun to joke, but you’re forgetting I know you.”

“Do you? You knew twenty-one-year-old Novi, not grown-up Novi.”

I want to keep flirting and tell him how much I’ve noticed that he’s now all grown up and sexy as hell, but I fear if we keep entertaining this and lines do get crossed that we will regret it in the morning.

So I’m going to be the bigger person and leave before it goes too far, but not without one more snarky observation.

I lean in close to him. “You’re still the same old Novi. You act tough and joke about being a delightful ray of sunshine, but the truth is, you’re not joking at all. Deep down, you’re a gentle sweetheart who wants to be loved for who he is.”

He sucks in a shuddery breath, and for a moment, I get lost in his eyes and almost forget that I promised myself I would leave. The only problem is he’s blocking me in, and I need him to move first.

But no matter how many times my brain tells my mouth to say the words, my lips don’t obey. They’re too busy thinking about what it would be like to kiss Radimir Novicov.

Novi leans in, and my gut swoops. He’s not really … going to kiss me here … is he?

His tongue darts out, licking his bottom lip, and my heart rate kicks up a notch. He is. He really is going to?—

Behind the bar, a tray of glasses smashes to the ground, and it’s as if the sound of it breaks Novi’s spell.

He pulls back, I slump and run a hand over my hair, and then we go back to our respective sides of the booth seat, leaving a huge gap between us.

“I should go,” I say. It’s late.

Novi nods. Just the once. And then he doesn’t move.

“Kind of stuck in here,” I point out.

He glances at the table, the seat, and then at me. “Right. Yes. Stuck.” Yet, he still doesn’t move.

We can’t start this loop again, so I shove him playfully. “Come on, Novi. I’m tired. Let me out already.”

He slowly stands, and his hesitance to let me go is palpable. There’s a pull between us, like an invisible string tying us to one another, but I know if I give in to it and let it happen, that string will wrap around us, and we’ll have a noose hanging around both our necks.

It’s 4:00 a.m., I’m tired, I’m weak, and it would be so easy to go home with Novi if he asked, but I can already tell by the stubborn look on his face that he’s not going to ask. And I’m not going to push.

“I’ve already sent you game tape from tonight for you to look at. Let me know if you have any questions about it.”

“Will do … Coach.”

And the spell is broken. I’m back to being Coach Kessinger again.

From: Radimir Novicov

To: Colby Kessinger

Re: Watch those knees

Why you send video of my perfectly straight knees?

Sent via voice to text

From: Colby Kessinger

To: Radimir Novicov

Re: Watch those knees

Oh, sorry, you’re right. They are straight. About as straight as I’ve ever been. I’m just warning you. You have two seasons left. Don’t blow them by blowing out a knee.

Coach Kessinger

This is what our professional relationship has come down to, and even this straddles the line between a coach-and-player relationship. Nothing is explicit, but they’re not exactly formal emails either.

It’s all through the team’s official emails too, and even though team management wouldn’t have a reason to look through our interactions, they still have the ability to, so I have to remind myself to behave.

It’s probably the only thing holding me back from saying something like he has to take care of his knees because the minute he retires from hockey, I plan to put them to good use.

Ever since that night in the bar, we’ve successfully avoided being alone together. In fact, the only time we’ve been in the same room has been during game tape meetings where Ackerman, head video coach, has had me breaking down tape of our upcoming oppositions, so I haven’t even had to address him.

I’ve wanted to, of course. I’ve wanted to ask him to stay behind, wanted to ask him how he’s doing, but we both know we got too close to doing something we’d regret. It’s like we’ve had a silent agreement to stay away from each other.

It sucks, but it’s for the best.

And now, going into the regular season, both of our schedules are going to keep us busy.

When I arrive at the arena for tonight’s home game, I dump my laptop bag in our office and head for the main desk, where Ackerman is already making sure all our equipment is working.

Because we pack it up and take most of it with us on the road with the team, we have to do a check before every game.

It’s a painstaking task, and I’m happy when someone else has to do it.

“How we looking?” I ask him.

“All good, but our electrical tape is running low. Can you go to the storage closet near the main office and get a new roll?”

“No problem. I’ll be right back.”

With our office being deep in the bowels of the arena, I have to pass by the locker rooms and players’ entry to get to the storage closet for the entire franchise’s office supplies.

It’s mostly a room full of boxes with printing paper and shelves of replacement staplers for whenever they go missing. Which is a lot.

When I started here, I was warned about the faulty internal lock that hasn’t been fixed in over a year, so I make sure the door stays ajar once I’m inside.

The electrical tape we need to stick our cables to the floor so no one trips on them is kept on the back row of shelves, so I make my way through the cramped space, not even registering the footsteps behind me or the door clicking closed until it’s too late.

I turn around, and there’s Novi, his usual happy scowl on his face that I can’t even appreciate right now.

“What did you do?” I rush back toward the door, but he blocks me with his wide body.

“You have been avoiding me.”

That snaps me out of my claustrophobic panic. “What?”

“You run away every time I walk into a room.”

“I do? I thought we were both keeping our distance. Because …” Because I desperately wanted to kiss you when I knew I shouldn’t.

“Because I am too irresistible. Got it.” Such a Novi thing to say.

“So irresistible. I’m a sucker for a dumbass.”

“My ass is not dumb.”

“Are you sure about that?” I push past him, hating the ripple of want shooting down my side as our bodies brush against one another. I want to stop and rub myself against him like a cat, but we have a more pressing matter than the uncontrollable hard-ons I get around Novi.

I try the handle, knowing it’s futile. Novi’s happy scowl drops the happy part.

“Congratulations. You locked us in here.”