In Your Pucking Dreams, Captain

Ex Vs Captain

Kendra's PoV

I was sweating buckets as I thought about what Dad might do in this situation. His calming voice burned into my mind. “Sometimes, taking incredibly stupid risks might save your life, Kendra…but not for that boy.”

Forcing a nervous laugh, I pushed his crazy philosophy deep into my heart as I signed up for the job.

But my very brave death wish stood the test of six-day hiring process.

After an intense cleaning demonstration at a faculty building, the damn manager was shoving me in the last place I wanted to be.

“The men's locker room?” My voice bounced against the walls of the office, sounding as surprised as I was.

The large woman across the desk stared at me until I shrank into my chair.

“I’m sorry,” I said needlessly. “But aren't you supposed to station me in the women's hockey locker room? Because I’m…not a guy?”

Emilia Warden huffed, drawing a heavy breath. "Look, kid, you put in all of that hard work, and this is what bothers you?” she asked. “Or are you scared of men?”

There was a certain push in her tone that shattered my pride. So what? I told myself. I don’t have any ties to Simon anymore. My cheeks warmed against my palms as I held them.

“I…I’m not.”

“You’ll only work at night,” Warden reminded me on a final note.

The rest had been up to me.

I'd literally been dragged through hell and back for the next fourteen days. Every time Warden opened her mouth, she growled that the floors weren’t shiny enough to reflect her pudgy face or pointed out stray hair in the drain.

Then I'd end up scrubbing the shower until the cleaning solution burned through my gloves, just to keep her from breathing down my neck.

By the start of my third week, the shifts had left me completely brain dead as I wheeled a cleaning cart into the locker room.

My stomach twisted at the Warrington name etched onto a locker. “Why couldn't you have loved a proper sport like football?” I muttered out loud.

Maybe I'll ‘accidentally’ hide a mouse in there one day; I can already hear him squealing like a little girl as the animal leaps on his horrified face.

I crouched in front of a bench, peeking under. So far, I hadn’t bumped into a single hockey player. It’s a good thing, too, because I'd have pulled their ears until they cried for mercy.

An ancient used condom was well hidden beneath the bench. I gagged into my mask as I plucked it off the floor.

"Eww," I shrilled, tossing the toxic latex into the waste bucket. It landed with a nasty plop. “These guys share the same brain cells as a freaking coconut.”

The door creaked behind me. Shoot. I'd be so dead if Warden heard that.

I looked back, the apology on the tip of my tongue died a swift death as my heart did a sick roll at the intruder.

Simon.

“…I want that new motorcycle model, Dad," he snapped into his phone, barely glancing at my hooded figure. “Why? Because they made the last one cheaper on the market.”

Brat.

I quickly adjusted my nose mask and industrial work goggles and stayed facedown. I have to work anyway. I pushed a shaky finger at a power switch. The wax buffer machine roared to life.

“Turn that off.” Simon’s voice cut through the noise in a vibrating growl.

I ignored him, pretending his traitorous face was flat under my steel-toe boots. The humiliation I'd suppressed these last few weeks exploded from my chest.

“f**k off,” I grunted.

Suddenly, he was at my side, flipping off the machine. Before I could react, his hand shot out, fingers clamping onto my wrist, jerking me around to face him.

I held my breath as his handsome face twisted into something ugly.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” he snapped.

My vision turned hot white under his hold. He didn't know it was me. I wanted to yell my name, but the air in my lungs turned to stone.

“Answer me!”

The sharp venom in Simon’s tone made my eyes round. All the times we’d argued in the past over the tiniest things had been just a step closer to getting knocked around.

“Let go,” I gritted out.

“Tough girl,” he hissed into my face. “I’m basically your employer, which means when I tell you to stop…”

“Stop, Warrington,” a voice commanded.

We both turned to the bathroom doorway.

My brows furrowed. My shift had barely started five minutes ago, so how the heck had someone been in there this whole time?

A giant stood there. His copper hair was damp and slicked back. A towel was knotted dangerously low around his hip. He scowled, stepping out like a predator assessing his territory.

When his eyes met mine, the floor nearly gave away. My head spun. I forgot everything, Simon’s presence, and even the burning in my wrist.

O’Shea focused on Simon's hold on me; a spark of protection broke his scowl.

“Mind your own business, O’Shea.” Simon rasped, though his voice cracked at the end.

Within the blink of an eye, the big guy closed the distance between us, dwarfing my ex-boyfriend completely, who in turn released me.

“What did you say, Warrington?”

I rubbed my raw wrist as I faced my savior.

O’Shea huffed when Simon didn't answer. “Didn’t think so,” he said. “Now, what the hell are you doing out so late?”

Color drained from Simon’s face as he sputtered. “Cap…I, uh, forgot my tablet. I've got a term paper deadline tomorrow.”

Wait a minute. This was Captain Noah O’Shea? I frowned at him. Oh yeah, Simon’s favorite lunch topic.

My jaw dropped to the floor as Simon backed away from Noah like a cornered mouse.

“You’ve disrespected me and the entire team. That’s six laps around the rink at practice for a month.” O’Shea poked Simon's chest when he made a sound of protest. “I know you think that you’re hot s**t, Warrington. Give me one more reason to make it two months.”

Hot sparks flew as both men exchanged scowls, and for a moment I thought I’d walked in on a longtime fight.

At last, Simon charged out of the room, not bothering to shut the door.

I turned to Noah.

His stormy blue eyes dragged over my coveralls, prickling my skin.

“Drake,” he squinted at my tag. “You really have poor survival skills.”

The hair on my nape rose at his audacity. It was exactly what Dad would have said.

“All student athletes must vacate the premises at the appropriate hour.” I numbly quoted the manual. “So, y-you need to leave too… hockey boy.”

Noah scoffed at my outburst, heading for a locker. “You’re welcome.”

Instead of turning around, I stood there like a moth to a flame. His species had wrecked my world, but my traitorous eyes traveled down anyway. His back muscles were solid, glistening with water beads.

“…Need the room.”

My brain failed to register what he was saying.

Noah reached for the knot.

I swallowed a gulp.

He casually dropped the towel on a bench.

I gasped and staggered back before rushing out the door.

The wall met my back in an icy impact, yet my cheeks flared hot in response to the flash of skin that lay below his waist.

“Whoa,” I wheezed, removing my mask.

An agonizing moment later, Noah came out, fully dressed. Surprise plastered across his face when he saw me. I stifled a groan as my fingers brushed my bare face, realizing I'd never put my gear back on.

“All yours," he said gruffly and strolled down the corridor with a neat swagger, leaving a faint trail of mint soap.

Sweet. Manly.

My heart stalled for a second, then sped into a tempestuous rhythm that settled low in my belly with warmth. I closed my eyes, and it didn't help.

What is Noah O'Shea doing to me?

And more importantly, how do I get the image of his tight ass out of my head?