Page 25 of Stubborn Puckboy (Puckboys #9)

TWENTY-THREE

Novi

All through the video meeting, I’m distracted watching Colby. He is so sexy. The athletic sweatpants might not be gray and cotton, but they’re tight and slutty, leaving nothing to my imagination.

And he calls me a flirt.

A few times, our eyes meet, and he has to quickly pull his gaze away, eyes taking on those cute creases in the corners as he tries not to smile. Agreeing to a relationship makes me happy, but it has a side of sadness too.

Colby was my first, and always will be, my oldest friend. The sex is something I am hungry for with him, especially if we spend afterward wrapped around each other, but now that we’ve agreed to it, he is very tense about being seen together.

I understand, but I hate it.

I want to spend time with him. Making him laugh at my witty jokes, learning more about him, and being in his presence seems impossible now.

I remember the boy I’d race, tease for being a turtle, who’d throw ice at me, and learned a handful of words in Russian because he’d wanted to be able to speak to me in my own language.

Right before I freaked out and ruined everything.

I want to bring relaxed Colby back. Seeing him so filled with tension whenever we’re together in public only reminds me that while he’s making me happy, I’m doing the opposite for him.

Stress can also lead to heart attacks. I don’t want him to have a heart attack.

I need his heart. I’m going to win it one day.

With how distracted I am, it is a surprise we hold a 2-2 score at the game and don’t lose until overtime.

I’m determined to do better for our game tomorrow, so instead of following through on my operation: friendship plan, I take my ass home to bed and try to push Colby out of my brain. Kind of hard to do when he should be sleeping next to me.

When I get to the arena for a skate the next morning, I leave the electrical tape alone, have a skate, review game tape, and keep my gaze firmly away from him.

I will see him tonight, and then I can look all I want, but my team and the fans are who I need to focus on right now.

It’s hard not to focus on him when a good part of the footage review is Colby picking out that I was in the wrong position play after play.

This is a very mental game, and I dropped the ball last night. I will not do the same tonight.

It only takes me one minute and forty seconds to sink my first goal against Chicago, but from there, it’s an uphill battle.

Coach gives our younger lines more ice time, and they’re talented but green.

They play like I played last night, and every time I hit the ice, it’s like I am chasing our tail trying to gain back control.

Chicago keeps building momentum until they have us 2-1 going into the third.

It is not an easy game.

And I love it.

The mad scramble for the puck, being locked out of plays, messy hits and messier attitudes.

The more aggressive and frustrated both teams get, the more calming it is on me.

I live for this chaos. I live for the moments our plays don’t work and we have to get creative.

The defense is matching us, and other than that lucky goal at the end of the second, Dotrosky has had a good game.

Chicago’s goalie is better though. We have had almost double their shots on goal, and Gabrov is ready for every single one. Whenever I am on the bench, my eyes are locked on him and the way he moves.

Then I remember something Colby’s ass said earlier.

Well, not his ass. But that was all I was focused on.

If you get deep on his right, his left side is unprotected.

It’s what we’ve been trying to do, but as I watch him save another, I see what Colby meant.

He gets his stick up in time but leaves a wide-open gap between his stick and his helmet.

I can make that shot.

I lean toward Turkey. “Next shift, you get the puck, go down the right.”

“The right? That’s my bad side.”

“Da, but I do not need you to make the shot.” I gesture for our assistant coach to give me the whiteboard and marker, drawing my play. “Bring Gabrov to here, then pass to me over here. But I need you to get the puck high.”

“How high?”

“Aim just below my shoulders. Fast as you can.”

He laughs. “You say that like it’s so easy.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t miss.”

Coach calls for our shift, and we power out onto the ice.

Chicago takes possession and tries to slow play down by making long passes across the ice and holding down the puck.

Landers blocks a shot, but they get it back on the rebound and pass it to defense before sending it to Edgers, who tries for a breakaway.

Turkey is there.

He clips Edgers, steals the puck, and takes off down the right.

Here we go.

The play will have seconds in it, and if I am too slow, we miss our chance.

I’m too slow.

I curse as I dig the puck from the boards, take a hit, and then send it back to Edgers. He passes to Landers, who sends it straight back, and I try to get into position again.

Gabrov sends a heavy blow to my shoulder because I’m dangerously close to his crease. I hold ground, and his jab is harder this time, but I am not in the blue paint. I refuse to move, even with the love taps he sends my way. Then Turkey gets the puck.

Gabrov’s attention shifts, and he crouches like I knew he would. Turkey gets it close, looks set up to take the shot—and for a quick second, even I think he’s going to—before he flicks the puck my way.

Fast enough to break my ribs if I weren’t wearing all my padding and I missed this shot.

I am ready this time. I bat the puck out of the air as Gabrov turns and gets his stick up, but it is too late. The puck hits the net with satisfying finality, and the horns go off.

Our fourth line sneaks one more past him late in the third to get us the W.

And when I leave the ice, I am happy and ready for my friend date tonight. That Colby knows nothing about.

Damn video coaches and their late-night schedules. I went home to sneak in a few hours’ sleep and woke up to the email footage from the game tonight. I take that as a good sign he is done with work and is home.

When I jog up to his front door, his car is in the driveway, and all the lights are off. He is going to be blown away by my thoughtfulness. I use the key I snuck from his bag earlier—they really should lock that coaches’ office—and make my way inside.

He does not even have an alarm system. I will have to talk to him about that; anyone could sneak up on him.

“Colby …” I call out, starting up the hall. The first door is a powder room. The next is the kitchen. It is a very nice house. Too bright to be homey, but all the color reminds me of him.

“Colby …”

A door down the hall opens, light spilling out into the shadows, and my man walks out of his bathroom, wrapped in a towel, black hair damp from his shower.

He jumps a foot in the air when he sees me.

“Novi? What the fuck?” He dramatically clutches at his chest.

“Is it stress? Are you having a heart attack?”

He watches me with wide eyes. “I don’t think stress is the reason my soul almost left my body.”

“Then what is it?”

“You scared the shit out of me!”

I frown. “Me?”

“You’re in my house. Creeping around in the dark.”

Oh good, he noticed. “Romantic, da?”

“I don’t think breaking and entering qualifies.”

I approach him, tempted to touch, but I promised myself I wouldn’t. Colby said no boyfriend stuff until we’re away next week, so tonight is purely friends. “But I did not break.” I hold up his key. “I unlocked.”

He curls forward with laughter. “ You stole my key? I thought I was losing my mind when I couldn’t find it. You’re lucky I had a spare hidden … somewhere I’m not going to tell you about if this is going to become a habit.”

“I wanted to surprise you, and I couldn’t stand on your front step, knocking at 2:00 a.m. Imagine if someone had seen.”

“Imagine if someone had seen you let yourself into my house at 2:00 a.m.?”

“That is why I did it quickly. With my hood up. And did not turn on any lights.”

“I’m sure any peeping neighbors would have been very comforted by literally all of that.”

I give him my most charming smile. “I have come to whisk you away for a night of friendship.”

He eyes me. “Friendship?”

I hurry to nod. “I have missed you. The friend I used to have. I don’t like not being able to spend time with you. So I came to sweep you off your feet and kidnap you.”

“Aww …” He steps right toward me, teasing creases by his eyes. “That was very nearly romantic until you brought felonies into it.”

“See? You admit I am romantic.”

“I admit you are almost romantic.”

“I stole your key for you.”

“ More felonies. You really should have stopped while you were ahead.” He leans in to kiss me, but I quickly catch his lips, and they meet my fingers instead.

“No boyfriends tonight. This is a friendship date. I know I am irresistible, but you will have to try to control yourself.”

“No boyfriends, huh?” His eyes take on a challenging glint. “So absolutely no funny business?”

“Correct.”

“You broke into my house?—”

“With a key?—”

“In the early hours of the morning?—”

“You want private ?—”

“To kidnap me?—”

“Sweep you off your feet?—”

“And I’m not even allowed to kiss you?”

It’s hard because I really, really want to kiss him. “These are your rules. Next week, you said. You might not think I know romance, but I do know boundaries.”

Colby cups my face, large hands still warm from the shower.

He presses his bare chest against me, and it is almost impossible not to touch.

“Novi. Babe. Trust me when I say that you really, really don’t.

” He swipes his thumb across my stubble.

“But I’m starting to think I might like your brand of romance. ”

“See? You’re coming around.”

“The same can be said for Stockholm syndrome, so don’t get too excited.” His expression softens. “But how many other men would sneak up on me in the dead of night to jump-start my heart like that?”

“See? I make your heart race. Like you do me.”

“And I can promise you no one has ever made my heart race like that.”

“So you’re saying I’m one of a kind?”

“Something like that.” Colby steps back. “But since this is all friendship, I guess I better get dressed.”

Then the teasing bastard flicks open his towel and lets it fall to the ground.

My gaze immediately tracks over him, remembering all those times in the locker room I secretly wished for this to happen.

He’s half-hard, his body still as sexy as ever, and when he turns to walk up the hall, displaying that delicious ass, I have to bite my fist against the need.

“Put on clothes,” I beg. “Lots and lots of clothes.”

“Warm clothes?”

“Don’t care. Just lots. Many clothes.”

Colby’s laugh rings out behind him as he disappears into his room.

“And not those slutty fucking sweatpants!”

If Colby’s going to spend the night teasing me, I will never survive it. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.