Puck Me Secretly (A Vancouver Wolves Hockey Romance Book 1)

I HAD HURT MAX, and that made my heart hurt. I had seen anger and pain in him and it killed me that I had been the person to put that expression in his eyes. I felt numb as Dad shut the door.

With his hands in his pockets, pride shone in his eyes.

“What do you think?”

I worked to cover how much that meeting had affected me. I took my time answering. “I think if he loves hockey as much as we think he does, he’ll get in line.”

“Keep me posted,” he opened the door before glancing back at me. “You passed your first day with flying colors.”

I nodded, with a lump in my throat. I couldn’t remember the last time I had made Dad proud, but at what cost?

I waited until he closed the door before I dropped my face into my hands and groaned.

Max.

Being close to him had been torture.

He needed to be off limits. No one could ever find out about what had happened between us. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I had hurt him. After everything he had done for me, I had treated him unfairly.

We needed to keep our distance.

I needed to stop thinking about him.

So why did I want to fling myself at him, wrap my arms around him and beg him for another kiss?

DAD LEFT EARLY, to meet Mom at some charity event. I did not understand how he had the energy to go glad-handing after a day like today.

With guilt, feeling like a thief about to commit a crime, I walked down to human resources. The receptionist lifted her head.

“Do you have Max Logan’s human resource file?”

“Yes,” she sounded hesitant.

I gave her my brightest smile. “We’d like to send him a welcome basket since he’s new to the team, but I need an address.”

Her face brightened. “Sure.”

I watched as she copied his address onto a sticky note and then handed it to me.

“Thanks,” I smiled. “I appreciate it.”

I PICKED up a gift basket up at a flower shop before taking a taxi over to the address that the HR admin gave me. I knew I was breaking about a million privacy laws, but I needed to talk to Max. Not only about the meeting we had today, but I needed reassurances from him that he’d tell no one about our night in North Dakota.

I also want to see him.

I questioned my sanity when I got to the lobby of his building. The doorman stood up as I approached his desk.

“I’m here to see Max Logan?”

“Sorry,” the man apologized. “He requested that we allow no one upstairs without his express permission, but I can ensure that we deliver your basket to him.”

Well, this was awkward. I needed to talk to him.

“Could you call him and tell him I’m here?”

The man picked up the phone. “What’s your name?”

“Rory Ashford.”

I stepped away from the desk while he phoned, feeling anxious. What if Max refused to see me? What if he reported me for coming to his home?

“Miss Ashford. You can take the elevator up to the 15^th floor. His suite is 1509.”

I debated leaving the basket and taking off, but we needed to talk in private.

Stepping off the elevator, I walked down the long hallway to his apartment. I almost tripped when I saw how delicious he looked standing in the doorway. He was wearing a pair of ripped jeans, a faded t-shirt and his feet were bare.

As I approached, I tried to gauge how he was feeling. Judging by the dark expression on his face, I realized that this meeting would not be easy.

He didn’t speak, he just held the door open for me. I stepped into his place and my eager eyes took in his place. For Vancouver, it was a substantial apartment. Twenty-foot ceilings, huge glass windows that overlook False Creek. It had a modern feel, made even more stark because Max had almost no furniture. He had two bar stools at the kitchen island. In the sitting area off the kitchen, there was a single expensive looking brown leather couch and a huge screen television. From what I could see the main living room was devoid of furniture. A lone coffee maker decorated the counter.

Max stood there, watching me look around.

I flushed and set the basket down on the island. “This is for you.”

He continued to stare at me. Unimpressed.

Nerves made me babble. “The basket is from me. Not from the Vancouver Wolves. Although come to think of it, the Wolves should have sent you a welcome basket. They should send all new players a basket.”

“What are you doing, Rory?”

He sounded pissed.

“I wanted to apologize.”

He didn’t move or speak.

“Max. How I talked to you in that meeting was inexcusable. Especially after everything you did for me in North Dakota.” He gave me an orgasm. I flushed. “I mean, how you calmed me down during the flight and gave me your life vest and then you carried me off the plane and took care of me.”

His stillness unnerved me.

I continued to flail in this one-way conversation. “I owe you so much.”

“You owe me nothing.”

“My dad scripted that entire meeting.”

“I know.”

“You knew?”

“I’m not pissed about that meeting.”

“Why not?”

“I’m aware of the circumstances in which I’m coming to this team. I expected some version of that conversation.”

Now I didn’t know what to say. “What are you pissed about?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“But you admit you’re pissed.”

“Are we done here?”

His coldness cut me to the bone. I forged on. “I also wanted to mention one more thing. In private. Which is why I showed up here.”

He answered by crossing his arms across his broad chest.

“I think it’d be best if we told no one what happened between us.”

“No shit.”

I dropped my eyes down to mom’s pumps. Shoes that were pinching my toes to the point of pain. “My dad wouldn’t be too happy if he heard what happened.”

“I figured.”

Without speaking, I turned on my heels and started towards the door. It was stupid that I had shown up here. Stupid and reckless. I don’t know what I had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. I worked to keep my emotions under control.

I squeaked when a big hand grabbed my wrist and spun me around.

“Rory.”

“What?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “My career is hanging by a thread.”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t have touched you that night.”

“I asked you to.”

“It wasn’t right.”

“Don’t tell me it was wrong.”

“It was a mistake.”

I worked to keep my bottom lip from trembling. “What are you saying?”

“You’re a complication I can’t afford. You need to forget about what happened between us.”

“How can I? We survived a plane crash together,” my eyes searched his face. “We shared something that night.”

He pushed his hand through his hair in frustration. “You saw those photos of me. I’m not the guy for you. I’ll never be the guy for you.”

“People change.”

“You don’t know me and it’s in your best interest to stay away from me.”

What could I say to that? Max wanted nothing to do with me. My shoulder drooped. I searched his face one last time before I turned to go.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

I didn’t turn around. “Like what?”

But he didn’t respond, so I gathered up my shredded pride and walked out.

THAT NIGHT, I lay in bed, my arms curled around a pillow while I thought about Max. He was so damn hot. Which is why I needed to stay away from him. He was a big, muscular, hockey player. A player in general. Scared of commitment. Bossy. Dominating. Alpha male. And a royal mess off the ice.

He was no Baby Man and if I made a checklist of everything I didn’t want in a relationship, he would check off every single box.

Yet, I liked his surly attitude. I liked how he didn’t seem to give a fuck. I loved the shape of his lips and the way his eyes seemed to always be on my mouth. That he was the ultimate bad boy made me want him even more.

I groaned and buried my face into my bed.

I needed to forget about him.

I needed to keep this professional. I needed to put a stop to this intense attraction that I felt for him.

The only problem? I wasn’t sure how to do that.