Hot Puck, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel

Eden climbed into the passenger’s side of the ambulance, snapped her seat belt, and pulled the iPad onto her lap. She opened the report app as Gabe slid behind the wheel.

“Tori owes you big-time.” Gabe turned the engine over and started out of the hospital’s parking lot. “We haven’t stopped all damn night. I’m starving. Want to hit Dairy Queen on the way back to the house?”

“Ice cream? At two a.m.?” Eden tried to tease, but her exhaustion ruined the effect. “Are you pregnant?”

“Come on. We haven’t even had time to eat. You’ve got to be starving.”

Eden gave up on the form, flipped the iPad’s cover down, and dropped her head back against the seat, eyes closed. Beckett appeared in her mind. Beckett in all his naked splendor. Beckett and those dark eyes that never stopped watching her, never stopped searching for ways to bring her pleasure.

And good Lord, the heights of pleasure that man could drive Eden to…

Heat flooded her pelvis, and her sex throbbed with both craving and discomfort. She was definitely still sore twenty-four hours after the most erotic and moving sexual experience of her life. And not once but all damn night. Eden hadn’t been watching the clock, but she’d bet that man had woken her every two hours for an hour of sexual exploration.

But it wasn’t the sex that made her heart tight every time she thought of him. That came when she remembered the way he teased her and challenged her. The way he kissed her afterward, long and slow, like savoring dessert after the perfect meal. Or the way he tickled her until she promised to sleep in his arms. Or the way he’d wake, find her out of reach, and shimmy over to curl his thickly muscled arm around her before settling again.

Yeah, those memories made her heart ache.

“I hope Tori’s father’s okay.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked for a new message. Eden had covered Tori’s shift at the last minute when her coworker’s father had gone into the hospital with heart trouble. But there were no new messages. “She hasn’t messaged you yet, has she?”

“She’d message you before she’d message me.” Gabe scanned the boulevard. “We’ve got Taco Bell, In-N-Out Burger…”

“Whatever you want, Gabe.” She opened her eyes and stared out at the dark streets. “My stomach could use something—”

Their pagers sounded.

“Motherfucking sonofabitch.” Gabe pounded his hand on the steering wheel. “Is it a full moon or something? I haven’t had a night like this in months.”

Eden was too tired to get angry. She dragged her pager into view and read with a heavy sigh. “Woman down.”

“How novel,” Gabe said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “I wish they could throw a little originality into it. Woman down, scissors up her nose, for instance. Or, man down, ax lodged in trachea.”

Even fried, Eden couldn’t stop the laughter from rolling out of her. “Stop. I’m too exhausted to laugh.”

Her abdominal muscles ached too, but that was all about what Beckett had put her through last night. She’d never looked at sex as a workout until Beckett.

“Just sayin’.” Gabe flipped on the sirens, and Eden read off the address and tapped into navigation on her phone.

“Oh, great,” Gabe said. “The last time I rolled on that neighborhood, it was for a gang fight with multiple victims. I’ve never seen so much blood. Would be nice to know if that’s what we’re rolling into now? Am I right?”

Yes, he was right, but Eden didn’t want to egg Gabe on tonight. Searching the map, she named off the best streets to take toward the incident. She was about to put her head back and close her eyes when her phone chimed with a message.

From Beckett.

Are you sleeping?

Her stomach jumped and twisted. It would be eleven p.m. on the West Coast. He’d probably finished playing his first game, and she found herself wanting to know how it went and who won. In the next second, she wondered if he’d hit a bar tonight and pick up another woman and take her back to his hotel room to give her everything he’d given Eden last night.

Of course he would, dumb shit. He’d probably been juggling multiple women at one time since he hit puberty.

She let out a breath and looked out the window, trying, unsuccessfully, to read a million things into the message. When she’d written the good-bye note without any indication she was interested in further communication, her head had been cleared of the sexual haze that had sent her to the bar in the first place. She’d seen their situation for what it was—a chance meeting, a spark, the opportunity to quench that desire. And her first step toward reconnecting romantically with men.

But she didn’t want this. Didn’t want the headache of having someone as delicious as Beckett around to constantly tempt her away from her goal. Didn’t want the heartache of wanting someone who had as little time to spend cavorting as she did. Didn’t want the stress of trying to make something so impossible work just for great sex once in a while. And she really, really didn’t want to be worried about someone cheating on her. Or lying to her. Again.

She hadn’t decided whether or not she wanted to start a dialogue with him by the time they’d reached the address of the woman down, so she stuffed her phone away without responding.

Beckett slid toward the bench in the middle of the third period, letting Savage take his place for a few seconds against the San Jose Sharks. He windmilled his burning legs over the half wall and dropped his ass to the bench beside Donovan.

“Hoo-wee,” Donovan said without taking his eyes off the ice. “You are earning every penny of that fat paycheck this run. I’m starting to think you being pissed is worth dealing with your moods if this is the result.”

On the ice, Andre Kristoff intercepted a pass between the Sharks, spun, passed the puck behind his back, and outmaneuvered three Sharks bearing down on him.

“Yeah!” Beckett yelled.

Andre pushed hard into his skates and shot down the ice toward the Sharks’ goal.

Beckett stood, braced his hands on the wall. “All the way. All the way.”

“Fuck, he’s fast,” Donovan said beside Beckett.

One of the Sharks’ defensemen crowded Andre; the other angled directly for him and closed so fast, the kid never had a chance. The Shark smashed Andre up against the boards like a bug on a windshield, the kid came off his feet, then hit the ice on his hands and knees. He rolled back to his feet and reached for the puck, but the other Shark already had it directed down the ice.

Beckett looked to the refs, waiting for a roughing call, but got nothing.

“Fuckers,” Beckett said, body strung tight, stick ready.

“Get in there, Croft,” Tremblay barked.

Beckett was over the wall in a split second, driving directly for the defenseman who’d hit Andre. Building up speed, Beckett threw himself into the smaller player, adding a well-placed elbow during the drive.

The guy hit the ice with a grunt, and a “Fucking A.”

Standing over the defenseman, Beckett said, “I’m protective of the little guys.”

Down the ice, Beckett’s teammates scrambled for a goal. He sprinted that direction, cut in front of the pipes, and shoved a Shark’s wing out of the way. Savage shot and scored. Misery leaked through the stands. The buzzer sounded, ending the game and adding the fourth win in the Rough Riders’ streak.

Beckett celebrated with a group hug on the ice before moving through the standard postgame rituals of the coach’s locker room talk, postgame interviews, and, finally, catching a shower.

Because he took the longest showers of everyone on the team, by the time he’d gotten done warming, steaming, and stretching his sore muscles, Beckett was sitting on his bench with a towel around his waist when all the other guys were almost dressed.

He pulled his phone from his duffel while a bunch of the guys talked about grabbing something to eat at the hotel bar. But when Beckett saw that he’d missed one call from Kim and two calls from his sister, alarm instantly tuned out everything else. It was almost two a.m. back east, but he dialed anyway.

“Hey, there,” Sarah answered. “I’m glad you called. I have someone here who’s having a little trouble sleeping tonight. I think she could use a few minutes of daddy time.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Um…can’t say.”

Which meant they had to play twenty questions. “Did Kim call again?”

“Yes.”

“Did Lily talk to her?”

“No.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“No.”

Beckett’s mind stretched for ways Kim’s call could have upset— “Did she leave a message?”

“Bingo. You’re good at this game.”

Beckett closed his eyes on a sigh. “Does she want money?”

“Probably, but didn’t say so outright,” she said cryptically. “I think lunch sounds great. Let’s do that when you get home.”

Which translated into Kim wanting to see Beckett. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Nope.”

He growled, collected himself, then said, “Okay, turn on FaceTime.”

He leaned forward, resting elbows on knees, and a second later, Lily’s angelic face, lit by the phone’s screen, appeared. She was snuggled into bed beside Sarah.

“Hi, Daddy.”

The melancholy tone in her voice broke Beckett’s heart. “Hey, baby,” he said gently, trying to sound upbeat. “Having a hard time sleeping tonight?”

She nodded and pulled a stuffed bear tighter.

“I’m sorry. I’ll tell you what, if you get back to sleep soon, I’ll call in the morning and we can spend some time on Club Penguin together.”

Her face lit up like a sparkler in the dark. “Really?”

“Really.” He grinned, his heart lightening. “I still have to beat you at karate.”

She smiled and sat a little straighter. The new excitement washed the shadows away. “And I have enough money to stay in the Puffle Hotel.”

He raised his brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I’m going to take my Puffles to the pool and the spa. And the gift shop there has the cutest Puffle hats ever.”

“Ever?” Beckett asked.

Around him, the guys were laughing at him, and he didn’t give a shit. His daughter was smiling.

“Ever.” She nodded emphatically. Then her eyes darted around the screen. “Where are you? Who’s laughing?”

“I’m in the locker room. We just finished the game.”

“When can I come to a game?”

Beckett sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair. He didn’t like that idea. The thought of fielding all her questions about why he was so mean on the ice wasn’t appealing. “Uh…”

“Do I hear Miss Lily’s voice?” Andre asked.

“Who’s that?” Lily asked, perking up and peering at the screen as if she’d be able to see someone else.

“You can’t tell from my voice?” Andre said.

“Um…” Her face scrunched up the way it did when Beckett asked her to sound out a word. “You sorta sound like Gru in Despicable Me.”

Sarah giggled in the background.

Andre looked at Beckett with his hands held out palms up, like who the hell is that? Beckett shook his head. But a couple of the other guys busted up laughing.

“She’s right,” Emet said. “He does.” Emet Mattheson had four kids under the age of eight and glanced at the others on the team with young kids. “You know that movie with the minions? The little yellow guys?” When others recognized the description, Emet added, “The little girls’ father, Gru.”

Recognition hit their faces, and they all started laughing.

Andre put his hands on his hips. “Pffft.” He gestured for Beckett to hand over the phone. “Let me talk to this little kisa.”

“She needs to get to sleep, Andre. I don’t think—”

Andre took the phone from Beckett. “Hello, my solnyshko.”

Lily’s giggles echoed over the phone. “Hi, Andre.”

He shook a comically stern finger at the screen. “You do realize now, they will all have a new nickname for me because of you.”

“What nickname?” she asked.

“Gru,” he said with all his Russian melodrama. “They will always now call me Gru this and Gru that”—more of Lily’s laughter rolled out of the phone—“and the name is so perfect to rhyme, I do not know what these men will think of next. I must watch this…despicable movie. Will Dmitri like, you think?”

“Yes, Dmitri will like it.”

“All right, then. Maybe we FaceTime you, watch the movie together, the four and a half of us.”

More giggles. “Four and a half?”

“Yeah, yeah, you know the baby in Nika’s belly. He’s still just a half.”

“Andre,” Beckett finally said, lifting his hand for the phone. “It’s the middle of the night there.”

“Oh, your papa.” Andre rolled his eyes. “Ruin all the fun. Okay, only sweet dreams, kisa. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Andre handed the phone back to Beckett with a silent You’re welcome. But before Beckett could grab the phone, Savage swiped it, then backed out of Beckett’s reach.

“Hey, cupcake, plain old American Rafe here.”

More giggling. “Hi, Rafe.”

“So,” he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial hum, “don’t tell the rest of these yahoos, but I happen to know a thing or two about Club Penguin. See, my niece is big, and I mean big, into Puffles.”

“Really?” Lily’s voice held that phantasmic breathy quality of supreme disbelief and hope all rolled into one. “Does she have a rainbow Puffle?”

“No, but I do.”

Beckett dropped his head into his hands and groaned as his daughter squealed and the locker room burst into laughter.

“You went on the journey?” Lily asked, breathless.

Beckett stood and took a step toward Savage. Savage, grinning like a little shit, took a step back.

“Uh-huh,” he said, moving through an aisle between benches in the center of the locker room to keep Beckett at bay. “And I’d love to tell you all”—Beckett made a grab for the phone, but Savage jumped and spun out of range—“about it next time I see you.”

Beckett had Savage cornered now, and he used a low voice when he said, “Payback’s a bitch.”

But evidently not low enough.

“Daddy? Did you say a bad word?”

The guys broke into a classic first-grade “ummmmmm” fest, followed by more laughter.

“Phone, Savage. Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Daddy…” Her voice held part censure, part concern.

Savage blew her a kiss, “Good night, cupcake.”

And he threw the phone to Beckett. He caught it with both hands and a glare for Savage. “Dude. Did you just throw my daughter across the locker room?”

Everyone broke into laughter. Everyone except his daughter.

“That’s not very nice, Daddy. I thought they were your friends.”

The guys filtered out of the dressing room, and Beckett sat back down, focusing on Lily. “They are being very annoying tonight.”

“I thought they were nice. I feel better.”

“Well, that’s all that matters. Do you think you can dream about rainbow Puffles tonight?”

A grin wiped away her frown. She yawned and scooted down in bed. “I’ll try.”

“I love you, baby,” Beckett said, feeling the emotion all the way to the bottom of his feet.

“Love you, Daddy.”

They said good night, and Beckett spoke with Sarah a moment before disconnecting. He heaved a sigh and glanced around to see who was left.

Donovan still stood with his back against the doorframe. “What’s going on with Kim?”

“Not sure. Probably wants money, but she hasn’t asked for it yet. Says she wants to see me.”

“I feel for you, man. I know you’re in a bad place, but giving her money is like feeding seagulls. Once they smell food, they never stop pecking at you. Next thing you know, you’re in a remake of Hitchcock’s The Birds.”

That was exactly how Beckett was starting to feel. “Guess I’ll figure it out when I get back.”

“Get your lazy ass dressed. You’re totally going to get voted slowest dumb shit on the team again this year.”

“I’m not gonna hit the bar. Go ahead without me.”

Donovan didn’t budge. Beckett stood and started to dress.

“She still hasn’t texted you back?” he asked.

Beckett knew Donovan had changed topics and was talking about Eden now. He pushed down the lingering hurt and fastened his pants while remembering how quickly Eden had gotten them undone. “Nope.”

“Did you try calling?”

He shrugged into his shirt and turned to face Donovan. “I haven’t gotten a reply to three different texts, bro. I’m out. I can take a hint.”

Donovan scoffed. “You don’t even know what a hint looks like. You get every chick you want. You say lie down, they ask where. You’ve just had to put that on the back burner this year.”

Beckett turned his back to Donovan and buttoned his shirt. He knew he was being an ass about this, but couldn’t quite get over himself. She sure as shit didn’t owe him anything. She never promised more beyond their night—except breakfast. She had promised him breakfast.

“Doesn’t matter.” Beckett tucked in his shirt, fastened his belt, and threw his tie around his neck. “I can’t get involved with anyone right now. Lily’s hard enough to handle on my own when I’m not seeing anyone. And then there’s this unsettled shit with Kim. Throwing a woman into the middle of it…” He shook his head. “Too much uncertainty. That’s not fair to Lily.”

“Who said anything about getting involved? Who said anything about involving Lily? And why are you jumping so far ahead of yourself?”

“You’re one to talk. Serious is all you do.”

“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you, and last time I looked, the serious elements of your life didn’t extend to women.”

Beckett sat to slide his shoes on. The same shoes Eden had untied and taken off him almost a week ago now. God, it felt like a lifetime. Like a fantasy.

“She obviously isn’t into getting serious,” Donovan went on, relentless. That trait made him amazing on the ice. But right now, Beckett wasn’t loving it. “If you hook up with her a few more times, this infatuation will probably evaporate. It always does.”

He looked up. “Aren’t you going with the guys?”

“I’ll catch up. I wanted to talk with you a minute. Lily’s awesome and amazing, and I love what she’s done for you as a person. But she also put your life into a tailspin. You have so much responsibility on your shoulders this year. I think it’s important for you to have an outlet for the stress and frustration. If Eden’s not going to make the next move and you’re not going to take a bold step, maybe it’s time to look for another hookup.”

Beckett slipped on his blazer and thought about the women he’d slept with over the years. He could honestly say no one had ever made him want to see them again the way Eden did.

He grinned, closed his locker, and hefted his duffel to his shoulder. “To be perfectly honest, if I’m not going to be seeing Eden, there’s no place I’d rather be than lying on my bed in the hotel room, decorating igloos and dressing penguins with Lily.” He slapped Donovan’s shoulder and turned him toward the door. “But thanks for caring, dude.”