What the Puck!?

Chapter 3: The Warm Up

Jason

When I got to the locker room, many of the other players hadn’t arrived yet. I liked to get there early to change and properly get into the zone before anyone tried to engage me.

We are only a few games into the season, but I have already fallen into a comfortable rhythm. I had spent the whole summer training harder than I ever had. My body was cut up, and my game was strong.

This was the last year of my contract, and I wanted to do everything I could to stay in New York. I may have made some dumb decisions in the past, but Frank looked out for me. He was the team owner, so I am sure a lot of his reasoning for looking out for me was because I had been the league’s lead scorer.

After I got dressed, I headed to get a quick run-in and ran into the last person I wanted to see: Becca. I tried to walk around her, but she not so subtly blocked my way. I looked up and silently cursed the hockey gods for putting her in my path. When I looked down at her, I was quickly reminded of why they say you shouldn’t s**t where you eat.

Becca stood there before me, clearly in sky-high heels because she was taller than usual. Her blonde hair was curled in waves and hung half on one shoulder and the rest down her back. And her make-up was over the top. I think I heard my sister once call it full glam. Either way, it was crazy to me to think I dated someone who I never saw with a clean face.

“Hey Jason,” her red lips smile as she says my name. Her voice makes me cringe because I know it is full of s**t.

“Hey,” I mumble in response as I stick my hands in my pockets and take a step back. Her perfume is giving me a headache.

“What are your plans after the game?” she asks as she takes a step closer. I immediately lie and tell her that I plan to go home since we are traveling the next day.

“Well, maybe I could come over and help you relax,” she smiles as she runs her hands up my chest. My skin starts to crawl immediately upon contact. I grab her wrist and flick it down. Before stepping closer to her to whisper, “Being kicked in the balls by a horse would be more relaxing than spending time with you.”

The smile remains on her lips, but her eyes have a murderous gleam to them.

“I don’t know what your problem is. You made mistakes too, but we always find our way back to each other,” she says as she struggles to hold her composure.

“True. But sometimes you have to realize when to stop going back to toxic s**t,” I say as I finally find my way around her. I refuse to look back as I finally hear her heels click away.

I get a quick run in and then head to the dining room to grab something to eat. I am soon joined by a couple of my teammates, Paul and Derek.

“Hey, man. I saw Becca around earlier. What do you think that is about?” Paul asked as he dug into his chicken dinner.

“I don’t want to know,” I say, wanting this train of conversation to stop.

“Do you think she is coming back?” Derek chimed in.

“God, I hope not,” I respond as my mind starts buzzing. Becca left last season to take over PR for the Atlanta team. They were offering her a lot of money, and her family was from there, so it made sense for her to go. It was also the start of the end of our on-again, off-again s**t show of a relationship.

“Well, something is up. Cause why the hell would she be here?” Derek says. I glare at him, and he puts his hands up in surrender.

“I don’t have the time for this s**t. We got a game to win, “ I say as I get up to leave. I need to focus, I don’t need Becca or her drama right now.

The game is definitely the most physical one yet. Before the game is over, two fights break out, and the penalty box stays occupied. While the game is unrelenting, I can’t help but find myself looking behind the glass at one person. She is standing with the guy I recognize as the owner of Douglas Activewear.

Every time I look their way, he is leaning in and pointing to the ice as if he is explaining the game. I assume his date isn’t much of a hockey fan, but her face seems to switch between annoyance and genuine interest quite frequently. They don’t seem like a couple I would put together. Maybe she is just after his money. Whatever it is, I can’t take my eyes off of her, and it definitely caused me to be knocked hard on my ass during the game at one point.

We take the win 2 to 1, and I am ready to get the f**k out of the arena. I contemplate skipping the hotel and going home, but when I receive a text from Becca asking what time she should come by my place, I head for the hotel.

I check into my room, but I can’t sleep. Adrenaline is still pumping through me. So I head down to the hotel bar, where I know at least the rookies will still be hanging around. The puck bunnies seem to know where the players will end up after every game.

I walk into the bar and am instantly greeted by a group of beautiful women. Even after all these years, I am still in awe of how forward some of these women are. Some of them are really shameless, with their hands grazing my d**k and ass.

I excuse myself from the group as I try to make my way to the bar to order a drink. Some fall back, while a couple are brazen enough to follow me. As I order a drink, the two women flank the sides of me, leaning in as if anticipating me to order them something. Before I can open my mouth to say anything, she catches my eye.

She is sitting at the far corner of the bar by herself, and I can’t help but watch her. I take in her appearance. She is still wearing my jersey but in the women’s version, and it makes my d**k twitch a little bit. The two women beside me are talking, desperately trying to get my attention. But I can’t take my eyes off of her.

Where is her date? Is he coming back? Why is she alone?

I stand there for about 10 minutes before I abandon the two women and slide into the empty seat that clearly her date is not returning to. She is still looking at her phone when I sit down, but I can sense she tenses up.

“So I take it your date from the game didn’t go well,” I say to her with a small smile growing on my face, and I don’t know why. She turns to look at me as if she is about to tell me off, but she just stares back at me in silence. The bartender sets a drink beside me, and I hold it up to her.

“Well, here’s to bad dates that have happy endings,” I respond to her silence with a wink and take a drink. She continues to look at me without saying anything and finishes the last of her drink. She then turns to the bartender to flag him down. I turn to see him coming our way and shake my head. Fortunately, he turns away shortly after. I didn’t know if she wanted another drink or was closing a tab, but I didn’t want to risk her leaving yet.

I lean into her to make sure she hears me because the bar is starting to get louder, “I’ll make you a deal, I will pay for your tab and leave you alone.”

She is still facing forward towards the bar as she says, “If I do what?” Once again, my d**k jumps a little. I don’t know what it is about this girl that has some sort of hold on me.

I lean back to regain a bit of control because her scent is intoxicating.“If you tell me your name and sit here with me for 5 minutes,” I respond, “I mean, you are wearing my name. I should at least know yours.”

I don’t know why, but when she turns to look at me again, I find myself a little off balance. Her expression is intense but absolutely hypnotic. When she asks me if that is it, I can’t help but smirk as I take another drink. I then lean more into her, and I swear I hear her breath hitch. It excites me more than it should.

“That’s it. Unless you want more than 5 minutes. I’m happy to give you all night,” I say. At that moment, I don’t know if she is going to slap me, walk away, or throw a drink in my face. I can’t remember a woman resisting me, so I was intrigued that this stranger who had me in a chokehold was trying to fight her attraction. Well, I hope it was an attraction that I was feeling.

She finally responds with a small, “Fine.” and I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding.

“So, what is your name?”

“Zania,”

“I like that. Do you know my name?”

She glares at me when I ask her to tell me her name, and I can feel the adrenaline pumping in me again. She simply tells me, “yes,” but that isn’t good enough.

“Let me hear you say it.”

She seems to fight it, but eventually, I hear her mumble, “Jason.”

It is not her screaming my name out in the midst of an orgasm, but I’ll take what I can get for now. I smile at her, then wave the bartender over for another round of drinks. I think we are both going to need them.

“Now, tell me about yourself,” I say as the bartender places two more drinks beside us. I feel a shift between us, but I can’t put my finger on what that means. So I try to play it as smoothly as usual and move my stool closer to hers and take a big swig of my drink.

She takes a drink and avoids eye contact. I can’t help but grin at her unexpected shyness. She looks down at her phone, closes her eyes, and looks back at me. There is a gleam in her eye that I am thrown off by, and she immediately starts to talk.

It is as if she is word vomiting to avoid having a conversation, trying to overwhelm me and force me to disengage. She tells me she works in sales for a large New York company and that she has never been to a hockey game but was introduced to Shawn through work.

She takes another deep swig of her drink and side-eyes her phone when I try to ask her what happen to Shawn. Her eyes close again, and she finishes off her drink. After she places the glass down with a heavy hand, she stares at me with a slight smirk.

I think she is about to give me her best seductive, flirty personality. But I am wrong. She unleashes a verbal lashing that almost gives me whiplash. Zania begins to pick apart my moves on the ice and how that probably explains why I have problems securing any real sponsorships like with Douglas Activewear.

I am about to respond, but suddenly she presses a finger to my lips, and her lips form a shape as if she is trying to shush me. Zania holds up her phone and then says with a smile, “Look at that. 5 minutes is up.”

She removes her fingers and leans in close, and puckers her lips just before mine with just the hint of her breath brushing across my lips. As she pulls away and tries to step outside of our little space, I grab her arm and pull her backward.

I pin her to the bar and move my left leg in between hers and my hands on the bar on the outside of her smaller frame. For the first time, I notice how tall she is. While I still tower over her, I am pleasantly surprised by her height. I don’t have to strain my neck to look down at her when she glares at me.

She is pissed, but so am I. Who the f**k is this woman to say that s**t to me? But while I could feel my anger growing, the blood that had been rushing through my ears redirected to my c**k when she leaned in and gave me that fake-out kiss. I immediately wanted to dominate this crazy woman; just turn her around and f**k her while she was bent over the bar.

Zania continues to glare at me, but she makes no attempt to push me away. I don’t know what compels me to take it further, but I grab the back of her neck and her right hip and kiss her. Fueled by anger and some primal need to make this woman submit to me, I kiss her hard.

After a brief moment of stiffness, she responds with almost as much aggression as me. But as unexpectedly as it started, I was just as surprised when I felt her arms move from my hair and neck to shoving me in the chest. It doesn’t do much to move me, but when she slaps me in the face, the shock forces me to take a step back.

I feel her bump my shoulder as she moves past me, and I am left there staring at her walk away, feeling a fire engulf my insides.