Pucking Revenge : A Fake dating, friends to lovers, hockey romance (The Revenge Games Book 2)

“DAMN, girlie. Brooks is going to come in his pants when he sees you wearing his jersey.”

With a squeal, I spin around and throw my arms out.

Lennox launches herself into my arms, her platinum blond hair swinging back and forth in its high ponytail as we sway from side to side, holding tight to each other. Her sugary scent permeates the air, hitting me with a dose of pure elation.

“You smell like a candy shop.”

She pulls back, grasping my biceps, and shimmies her shoulders. “Thanks. I snagged the bottle and the lotion as my last F-U when I left the spa.”

“Wait.” My stomach flips over. “I thought you loved that job?”

Until this moment, I thought Lennox was still working for a nationwide chain of upscale spas. She traveled to each one to help them pick their stock.

With a huff, she throws her head back. “I did. But then I may have told Janine that she swallowed too many kids, and that’s why everything that comes out of her mouth is childish. HR wasn’t a fan of that.”

I snort. “You did not.”

“Sar,” she says, popping one hip, “she sucked. You know it takes a lot to get me to that point.”

I tip my chin down and scrutinize her, my lips pressed into a straight line.

She holds up her hands and takes a step back. “Fine. Okay, I’m always like that. I can’t help it if I’m incapable of lying. You see this face?” She moves one pale pink nail in a circle in front of her. “It conveys all my thoughts, with or without my permission.”

With a laugh, I turn back to my mirror. We need to leave for the arena in ten minutes, and the nerves are starting to eat at me. I still haven’t decided whether to tell Lennox the truth or stick to the fib that Brooks and I are really dating.

I trust her with my life and every one of my secrets, but Brooks and I haven’t discussed the idea of cluing her in to the ruse, and if I do so without checking in with him first, it feels like I’d be betraying him. That is the last thing I want to do, but I don’t know if I can openly lie to my bestie.

“You look…”

She taps her finger against her chin and circles behind me, taking me in. I focus on my reflection and finishing my makeup, but her scrutiny is like a physical touch. It’s impossible to ignore the way she’s studying me.

“You got laid.”

“No I didn’t.” The words escape me far too quickly. Before they’re even out, I realize I’ve made a huge error.

“Oh.” She nods. “You’re right. You didn’t.” With a step closer, she lifts one brow. “But you did have a male-induced orgasm.”

She’s eerily good at this game. In college, she could tell a girl exactly what she’d done the night before, down to which hand the guy used to get her off. I’m not sure anyone would call it a talent, but it’s certainly a skill she’s perfected.

I cover my mouth with a palm to hide the way my lips tip up as she pushes even closer.

“And he used a toy.” In my periphery, her eyes go wide, and she clings to my arm. “Oh my God. He touched your ass.”

“How the hell do you do that?” I huff out an annoyed sigh and spin so I can stare her down. “It was Brooks. We’re a thing now, so don’t be weird about it.”

With an ear-piercing squeal, she throws her arms around me. “Oh, thank fuck. I was nervous it was Seb doing the ass stuff, and honestly, Brooks is so much hotter.”

“And nicer. That’s the important part, Lenny. He’s a nice guy.”

“With huge hands. That’s gotta mean⁠—”

I slap a hand over her mouth. “Please do not start talking about my boyfriend’s dick.”

I can feel her smile beneath my fingers, and her eyes light up. It’s impossible not to grin right back at her.

“You’re really happy,” she says when I pull my hand away, going all mushy on me.

I have to look away before I admit the truth. Yes, I am really happy. And unfortunately, it’s fake.

“’Scuse us. We’re just going to see her boyfriend.” Lennox steps right up in front of the security guard, hands on hips.

Behind her, I shake my head and flash my badge. My best friend is ridiculous. She’s done that to every person we’ve seen.

“Hey, Sar,” he says with a chuckle.

“Evening, Stu. How are Laney and the baby?”

In response to my question, he pulls out his phone and taps the screen, then turns it toward me. His chest puffs out a bit as I take in a picture of his new baby.

“She’s adorable. Hope she’s sleeping for you.”

“She’s an angel,” he admits, wearing a soft expression so contradictory to his size and the security uniform he’s wearing. “Enjoy the game.”

“Oh, we will. Her boyfriend is going to dedicate a goal to her,” Lennox says.

Stu squints at her, but he’s polite and keeps his mouth shut.

With a groan, I shake my head. “She’s joking. She grew up watching hockey. She knows goalies don’t score goals.”

Lennox shakes her head. “Of course I know that. But now that he’s your boyfriend, I’m pretty sure Saint Brookie can do anything he puts his mind to.”

I pull her by the elbow, waving bye to Stu. “Tone it down. Remember, I’m working right now.”

“Technically,” she drawls, “you work after the game. When it’s time to deal with the press. Attending the game is a perk.”

I drop her elbow and sigh. She’s not wrong. It’s why Brooks told me to sit in the WAG section tonight.

“Just be good when we go down to the ice. I want to check in with Gavin before the game. Then you can go back to being your obnoxious self.”

Grinning, she loops her arm through mine and rests her head on my shoulder. “It’s so good to be home.”

“You don’t live here.” I drop my head to hers and soak in how good it feels to have her with me, even if it’s temporary.

“Boston will always be my home.” Her tone is wistful. It’s so unlike my always loud and extreme friend, it gives me pause. When she gets quiet, it means she’s really in her feelings.

“You can stay with me whenever you want.”

She snuggles closer. “No, you need space to boink your new boy toy.”

“Oh my God. Who says boink?”

“It’s like the new it saying. I read it in Jolie.”

“You did not. Jolie would never print that garbage.”

“You’re right.” She laughs as I push open the gate to the team bench. “But we could totally make it a thing. Especially now that you’re the future Mrs. Brooks Langfield.”

I suck in a sharp breath and then choke on my own saliva only to find every man in the vicinity staring.

The boys are already on the ice, thank God, so the number of people is far smaller than it could be. Just outside the bench area, chaos ensues as spectators crowd the glass, trying to get a good look at their favorite players before they’re forced to take their seats for the game.

Of course, Seb didn’t miss Lennox’s loudmouth insanity or my choking, and he stands with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed to slits. I swallow past the lump in my throat and pull my shoulders back. I won’t let him intimidate me.

Next to Seb, Gavin is dressed in a suit and watching the guys on the ice, completely oblivious to my predicament.

“Be good,” I whisper to my best friend.

She swallows her smile and nods.

“Hey, Gavin. Seb.” I keep the words clipped and my tone professional.

Gavin gives me a warm smile, but Seb’s expression remains dark.

“Puck bunnies aren’t allowed on the bench.”

Gavin reels back and swivels his head, blinking at Seb. Before he can speak, I take control of the conversation. “Not here to distract Brooks. Just making sure Gavin doesn’t need anything before Lennox and I find our seats.”

Gavin brightens at the mention of Lennox. “Oh shit.” He laughs. “If it isn’t Lennox Kennedy all grown up.”

She lowers herself in a ridiculous curtsy, and his smile grows as he pulls her in for a hug.

“Aiden know you’re here?”

Her smile falters for a half a second, but then it’s back and as bright as ever. “No. We didn’t really keep in touch.”

He nods, but his smile remains. “You should come by the bar after. I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

“Oh, I go wherever this girl goes.” She thumbs in my direction.

His lighthearted demeanor evaporates, and the look he gives me is full of sincerity. “Make sure you’re there.”

“Of course,” I squeak. I consider this man a friend. He’s easy to be around. But suddenly, I’m breaking out in a cold sweat under his attention.

Brooks skates over and pulls up his mask. “Hey, Pumpkin. Hey, Lennox.”

“Oh my God. He calls you Pumpkin.” Lennox splays a hand over her heart. “Gavin, did you hear that? He called her Pumpkin!”

Gavin stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “That he did. Good luck, Brooks. Looking good out there.”

Seb breaks into the conversation, all glowers and sharp words. “Enough fooling around, thirteen. Drop and give me a hundred.”

Brooks grits his teeth, his jaw going rigid, but he doesn’t dare fight Seb. Even as Gavin looks back and forth between the men, wearing a confused frown.

Once he’s tugged his helmet off, Brooks drops his stick to the ice and follows it down.

As he begins his count, women on the other side of the glass hoot and holler, and by the time he hits twenty, a crowd has formed.

Brooks pauses then and lifts his chin and hits me with a grin. “Hop on, Pumpkin. I could use a more challenging workout.”

Without hesitation, I throw a leg over the boards. Seb grasps my elbow but releases it quickly when Gavin pulls him back. “Let her be. The crowd is going to eat this up.”

Cheeks heating at all the attention, I settle my ass on my man’s back. “You sure about this, thirteen?”

He chuckles, glancing at me over his shoulder. “If it means getting close to that ass, then absolutely.”

Laughter rolls through me as he takes me up and down, all while Seb stews behind his iPad. After twenty push-ups, he snaps up straight and storms away.

Daniel and Tyler skate circles around us, spinning and dancing with one another like figure skaters, making the scene even more ridiculous. The crowd is almost deafening as they count along with Brooks.

When we reach one hundred, Tyler stops in front of me and offers me a hand. I take it and let him haul me to my feet. Once I’m steady on the ice, he skates backward, dipping his hand as if he’s my knight in a shining hockey uniform, and then Brooks hops up with ease, like he isn’t covered in a thick layer of pads and wearing knives on his feet.

“Thanks, Pumpkin.” Brooks hauls me into his arms and I lace my fingers around his neck, wrapping my legs around his hips. It’s a challenge because of his bulky goalie uniform, but I make it work and hold on for dear life as he skates in a circle, then beelines for the boards. Once he’s deposited me beside Lennox, he pulls back and winks. “Enjoy the game.”

“Get me that shutout,” I taunt, blowing him a kiss.

Then he’s gone, skating back to where he left his stick and helmet. He scoops them up and continues on in the direction of the goalie coach, who’s waiting for him at the net.

“Holy shit. That was hot,” Lennox says beside me.

“Agreed,” I murmur, still focused on my fake boyfriend. After that interaction, I don’t ever want to look away.

Aiden skates by then, and beside me, Lennox straightens. A wide smile takes over her face, and she waves. The happy-go-lucky brother of my fake boyfriend, a man I’ve never seen so much as frown, is like a deer in headlights. Eyes wide and jaw slack, he barrels into the glass with his arms and legs spread like a starfish.

The arena erupts in sharp gasps and shouts. Gavin is up and over the boards in seconds, followed by the team’s medical staff.

Holding my breath, I look from Lennox, who’s covering her mouth with one hand, to the ice, where Aiden is sprawled out flat on his back and being tended to. When he’s finally on his feet with his hands out in front of him, as if assuring the small group surrounding him that he’s fine and they should back off, I finally breathe.

“Holy shit. You literally took that man’s breath away.”

Lennox is silent. No quippy comeback or sassy of course I did.

I’ve never seen her so out of it. Nervous, I cling to her hand and squeeze. “He’s okay, babe. The guys get slammed into the glass all the time.”

She nods woodenly. “Yeah, it’s just…” She licks her lips and follows his every move. “It’s been a while.”

She isn’t talking about how long it’s been since she’s seen a hockey game. No, those simple words have a different meaning entirely. Eventually, she’ll tell me. And I have a feeling this is only the beginning.

“Holy shit, I think they’re gonna get a⁠—”

I slap a hand over Lennox’s mouth, and every one of the women in the box with us hisses.

If there’s one rule in hockey, it’s that you don’t mention the shutout before it’s happened. Hockey players aren’t the only people who are superstitious about the game.

There are two minutes left in the final period, and as Lennox almost pointed out, Brooks hasn’t let a single goal in. I broke out in a cold sweat on our way to the WAG box tonight. Before now, I’ve only ever dealt with these women when there were PR issues or in passing at family events. Our interactions have never been anything but cordial, but they’ve been few and far between and surface level. Tonight, I’ve spent hours surrounded by them, and the idea that they might not accept me as one of them makes nausea roll in my stomach.

Not that I truly am one of them, but still, I want them to like me.

It’s a silly personality flaw of mine. I want to be liked.

“And that’s what we call a hat trick.” McGreevey’s daughter Emma Cate sits up straight a few seats down as the crowd goes wild.

Moments ago, War was skating down the ice at lightning speed, keeping tight control of the puck. Florida’s defensemen charged after him, and like the moves were choreographed, War scooped up the puck and launched it to Aiden. Without missing a beat, he slammed into the defensemen, laying him out, then immediately blocked the other defensemen, all without slowing, so that Aiden had a clear shot. The move was so fluid the goalie had no hope of stopping the goal.

Leaning forward, I plant my elbows on my knees and look past Emma Cate’s mom to where she’s sitting. “The toss is the hat trick?”

Her little sister Riley shakes her head. “No. Three goals by the Leprechaun.”

Lennox’s laugh is bubbly. “I can’t believe they still call him that.”

McGreevey’s wife, Becca, smiles over her shoulder at us. “He’s certainly Boston’s lucky charm.”

With a soft hum, Lennox keeps her attention locked on Aiden. He’s currently taking his victory lap.

“There’s still another minute,” Emma Cate reminds me.

I bite my thumb and will my nerves to settle. Am I that obvious? The women surrounding me figured out real quick that I didn’t know all that much about the game. When my secret was out, they were nothing but kind, rather than judgmental like I’d expected. From that moment, the girls jumped in to describe the intricacies of each play using terms an average person like me can actually understand. Coulda used them when I started this job.

Florida is flying down the ice in front of us. The urge to close my eyes before their player takes the shot is almost overpowering.

I have no idea how Brooks stays so calm under the pressure when he’s tasked with keeping that tiny puck from making its way into that huge net, all while men with sticks and sharp objects strapped to their feet fly at him from all directions.

Parker and McGreevey are both defending the net, but Florida’s center dodges them left and right until he’s charging toward Brooks. McGreevey goes for the puck but misses. Then it’s Parker’s turn to try. But the center pushes Parker into Brooks, and they both go down, leaving space for the puck to soar past them and into the back of the net.

The smaller Florida crowd loses it, cheering and clapping and stomping like mad, and the goal is added to the score.

“That’s bullshit!” I scream along with the crowd, my blood pressure skyrocketing. “Hey, ref. Where’s the call?”

Brooks gets up on his skates, and like he can hear me, his head snaps in my direction. Then he points at me, heaves his shoulders up and lets them fall in an exaggerated shrug.

“Sar, look.” Lennox slaps my arm, and when I turn, she’s pointing to the Jumbotron hanging over the rink. The screen is split in two, and on one side, the camera is focused in on Brooks, who’s still turned toward me. My image is plastered on the other side. My face goes so hot, my flush is visible on the screen.

I bite my lip and tip my chin, but quickly look back up and own it. Sliding to the edge of my seat, I blow Brooks a kiss and give him a broad smile. “You did great, thirteen!” I holler. “The refs are blind!”

“Oh my God. You guys are so adorable,” Becca says. She leans closer and grasps my wrist. Then she peers over her shoulder at her daughters. When she turns back to me, she tips in even farther. “Have you surprised him in nothing but the jersey yet?”

My heart stutters in my chest. “Um, no. Is that a thing?”

She nods and swats the leg of the woman sitting directly behind her. “Sara is asking if the jersey with nothing else is a thing.”

Lennox smirks. “I remember those days.”

I nudge her, my interest totally piqued. “If the way Aiden slammed into the glass when he saw you is anything to go by, then he remembers them too.”

She throws her head back and laughs. Down near the team, she went rigid beside me, but in the last couple of hours, she’s loosened up. This Lennox is the woman I know inside and out.

“You coming out tonight?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

The Bolts win the game four to one. Despite narrowly missing the shutout, I’m excited to see Brooks. Maybe a little too excited.

Last night was probably a fluke, a one-time insane situation that he has no plans to repeat. Yet butterflies flutter violently in my belly as Lennox and I make our way toward the team room. This sensation isn’t lust, even if I wish it were. No, what’s happening inside me, low in my core and behind my ribs, is something I’ve never felt. While a stream of nerves runs through my veins, it’s overpowered by the lightness and excitement powering through me at just the thought of seeing Brooks. Of imagining the sheepish smile he’ll give me.

Our reunion will have to wait, because now that the game is over, I have work to do. I leave Lennox with McGreevey’s wife in the team room, then head toward the door so I can ensure the guys make it over to where the press is waiting.

I’m halfway across the space when Jill barrels into the room, a whirlwind of drama, her blond hair swinging, all caked-on makeup and too-tight clothing. “Oh my God. Where’s Aiden?”

As Aiden’s longtime girlfriend, I would expect her to know that after a game, he heads straight to the locker room to shower, then over to talk to the press. It will be a while before he’s here.

Resigned to dealing with her since I seem to be the only staff member nearby, I approach. “Need something, Jill?”

Her shoulders relax when she notices me. “Thank God it’s you. I need to see Aiden.”

“You know the drill,” I say, keeping my tone friendly, even if I want to roll my eyes. “He has to shower and talk to the press.”

“He has a concussion! They never should have let him play. Did you see how badly he hit the glass during warm-ups? He was probably distracted because I kicked him out. I rushed over here as soon as I saw it.”

Tipping to one side so I can peer around her, I check the clock on the wall. “It’s after nine. Warm-ups were at six.”

She huffs. “It took me a while to get here.”

“You live five minutes from the arena.”

She huffs, and I swear she lifts her foot like she’s going to stomp it, but then she straightens and fists her hands at her sides. “Are you going to go get him for me or not?”

This time I can’t fight the eye roll. With a subtle nod, I stalk out the door and stride toward the locker room. I do my best to stay out of this space, especially after a game when there’s a good chance of seeing someone’s ass. The guys pay little attention to who walks around. They just go about their business because there are women wandering through at all times. Trainers and support staff and such. Despite how hard I try to avoid it, I end up here pretty frequently.

When I step inside, I cover my eyes, hoping not to get an eyeful of anybody’s junk. “Aiden, your girlfriend is here.”

Rather than Aiden, Tyler is the one who replies. “Saint, your girlfriend is here.”

I’ve still got a hand covering my face, so my heart leaps into my throat when I’m suddenly airborne. There’s a strong arm banded around me, then I’m tossed over a meaty bare shoulder. I have to pull my hand away to brace myself on the muscular back as the man carrying me runs around the locker room like a loon.

I squeeze my eyes shut and squeal. “Get me out of here!”

“War!” Brooks’s tone is pure anger.

Tyler must be the one carting me around in a fireman’s carry. The warning does no good. In fact, it only makes the right winger move faster.

On instinct and out of pure self-preservation, I open my eyes. I need to prepare myself in case Tyler falls. Not that it would do me a whole lot of good. If he goes down, I don’t see any way to save myself from going down with him.

With my cheek pressed against him, I try to make sense of the spinning room. Every person I lay eyes on is wearing nothing but a towel. It’s disconcerting, but not nearly as bothersome as the towel scratching against my skin. Because if I’m not mistaken, it’s the only barrier between my face and War’s ass. “Tyler Warren, I am going to tell on you!”

I ball my hands into fists and bang against his ass, but he only laughs louder. Bracing my palms against his lower back. I turn to get a look at the other side of the room. The first thing I see is Brooks, brows pulled low and mouth set in a snarl, darting for us. He grips his towel with one hand and reaches for me with the other.

My stomach flips, and not just because I’m upside down. No, it flips because I’m envisioning that towel falling to the floor. The view from here would be spectacular.

“I got him, Sar!” Aiden lunges forward.

As he does, Tyler darts left, and instead of grabbing Tyler’s arm, Aiden fists his towel.

Lungs seizing, I watch as he holds the towel up in front of him. A bolt of terror zaps me in that moment, because as War moves, my head bounces off his hairy ass. “My head is on his ass. My head is on his ass!”

The room goes silent, all but a single ridiculously loud snort, and not a single person comes to my aid. Not even Brooks. In fact, when I push up, making sure my hands are planted on War’s back and not his ass, one man has the back of his hand thrown over his mouth, stifling laughter. Brooks is losing it.

My damn fake boyfriend is trying—and failing—to stop from laughing. The rest of the guys are still silent, eyes wide as they look from him to me and back again.

“Put. Me. Down,” I grind out with a pinch to War’s ass.

And as if my face bouncing off War’s stinky rear end wasn’t bad enough, when I’m upright again, the first thing I see is Seb. He’s in a dark suit, hair slicked back, with his arms folded across his chest, glowering at me.

Fuck my life.