The Pucking Wrong Man: A Hockey Romance (The Pucking Wrong Series Book 4)

“Fucking hell, Rookie. If you miss another pass, I’m going to have Camden fuck your grandma,” Ari yelled as Logan skated after the puck.

I scoffed, tracking the puck as Detroit’s defensemen sent it across center ice.

“Why did I get volunteered for the job?” I griped.

“Logan can’t fuck his own grandma, James. And you’re the only one of us currently unattached.”

I huffed right before I slammed one of Detroit’s forwards into the boards, the sound of his answering groan music to my ears.

“You’re also the only one on the team that’s age appropriate for my grandma,” Logan helpfully added because he never missed a chance to point out that I was almost ten years older than him.

Asshole.

At least he hadn’t called me “Grandpappy” today. That was an improvement.

“Rookie, when you score more goals, you can talk shit,” Ari commented as Logan lined up for a faceoff.

The whistle blew and Logan wrestled the puck away and tried to pass it to Lincoln…only for it to get stolen and sent back toward our goal.

Typical for the game, actually.

It was the final period and we were down by one against Detroit.

Embarrassing really, since Detroit was one of the worst teams in the league.

We were the fucking Knights. We didn’t lose to teams like Detroit.

Or at least we weren’t supposed to.

“Hey, ref,” Ari called as the whistle blew for a penalty…again. “Does your wife know you’re screwing us?”

That got a small smirk out of the ref, which wasn’t helpful since he still sent Logan to the penalty box.

We were now playing with one man down. Perfect.

Coach’s booming voice echoed across the ice, cutting through the chaos of the game. “New line! New line!” he bellowed, his words ringing out loud and clear above the roar of the crowd. Lincoln shook his head and skated off the ice with Jones as Turner and Larsson took their place.

“Really, we’re taking Lincoln out?” Walker snarled from the goal behind me as play started again.

“He can’t hear you, Disney,” Ari called as he chased down the puck. “No need to simp.”

Walker groaned behind me as Ari sent the puck to Turner, who then started for the net.

“Fuck yes!” I screamed when Turner shot and it slid past Detroit’s goalie. The buzzer blared and the goal light went off as the crowd screamed like we’d won instead of just tied.

Ari and I jumped on Turner, celebrating his goal, and then Coach was yelling for us to get on the bench as Peters and Fredericks jumped over the boards.

We sat down, watching as Detroit was immediately by our goal, firing shots at Walker. There wasn’t a substitute for the best, and Ari and I were…the best.

“If that popcorn guy passes by Monroe one more time,” Lincoln suddenly growled from my other side. “She doesn’t need any fucking popcorn!”

“Huh?” I asked, not expecting popcorn to be in the conversation at this point of the game.

I did a fist pump as Walker made another save while Ari cursed at Fredericks to get his ass moving.

“He’s fucking walking by again!”

“Linc, Golden Boy, Captain, oh, Captain. There’s a terrifying bodyguard between my bestie and ‘Popcorn Boy.’ She’s going to be fine,” Ari muttered, shooting his own glance over to the girls, probably to make sure that “popcorn boy” wasn’t actually a threat. His wife, Blake, was also sitting over there.

Tearing my gaze off the ice, I glanced into the first row where the “first ladies” of the team were sitting. Monroe, Blake, and Olivia seemed to be popcorn free at the moment.

I couldn’t imagine caring enough about a girl to worry if the concessions guy was within fifteen feet…but maybe it was a circle of trust thing.

The circle of trust was…well, I wasn’t quite sure what it was, yet. It seemed to consist of my teammates Lincoln Daniels, Ari Lancaster, and Walker Davis—all stars on the team and in the League—and it seemed to be some kind of group for men scarily obsessed with their girls.

But again…I wasn’t quite sure what it really was.

I only knew that I kind of wanted in.

“James and Lancaster, go!” Coach Kim yelled, and Ari and I jumped onto the ice immediately and launched ourselves into the fray.

I slammed Detroit’s center into the boards, and Ari whooped loudly as he sent the puck out from behind the goal.

Walker crouched down and hit both sides of the goal, tracking the puck.

“Good fucking boy,” Lincoln screamed as Walker blocked a shot.

I swear Walker preened.

He definitely had some kind of man crush on Lincoln Daniels.

I wasn’t too big of a man to say that I kind of felt the same way.

Maybe it was another circle of trust thing.

The crowd booed when one of Detroit’s defenders smacked his stick against Lincoln’s legs—sending him sprawling to the ice. No whistle from the ref, of course.

Another thing that was typical for this game.

“Hey, ref, you pregnant? You’ve missed two periods,” I sniped as I skated past.

“James, that was actually funny,” Ari said as he skated past me.

I snorted and flipped him off.

“Quit your chirping. There’s two fucking minutes left,” one of the assistants screamed.

As if we didn’t know that.

I swore every second on the game clock was ticking down in my fucking brain. Every inch of me very aware of every passing second.

I grunted as I was body slammed going for the puck. “Your mama hits harder than that,” I gritted out as I gained control of the puck and passed it to Jones.

I may be thirty-one years old…but “Yo Mama” jokes definitely still did it for me.

Couldn’t get tired of a classic.

The score was tied with a minute left, and we couldn’t seem to find the back of the net.

At least they couldn’t either—thanks to Walker’s stellar performance between the pipes…and Lancaster and my supreme talent at defending, of course.

Ten seconds to go, desperation set in as we scrambled to make one final push. I skated furiously up the ice, the roar of the crowd ringing in my ears as I searched for an opening.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lincoln streaking toward the net, his eyes locked on the puck. I sent a pass his way—perfect, of course—my heart pounding in my chest as I watched him line up the shot.

Lincoln reared back, the puck sailed through the air, and…GOAL!

The crowd erupted, so loud that I was sure I was going to need hearing aids in the near future. That would be helpful for the old man jokes.

“Fuck yes!” Ari screamed, tackle-hugging me before lunging toward Lincoln.

I raised a fist in the air and took it all in.

The crowd, the adrenaline singing through my veins, the sound of the buzzer, my teammates going nuts….

There wasn’t a better feeling in the world.

“Oh, hey…let me help you with that,” I said, bending down to grab the water bottles strewn all over the bench that one of the assistant trainers was trying to pick up.

Her face went a dark shade of red, and she dropped the bottle she was holding, fumbling words trying to come out of her mouth.

Hmmm.

“Come on, Hero. Leave the poor girl alone,” Ari huffed with a laugh, slapping me on the back.

I picked up one water bottle—for good measure—and handed it to her, pretending I didn’t notice when she dropped it.

Again.

Somehow I’d picked up the nickname “Hero” in the group.

Did I have some sort of problem where I had a compulsive need to help women in distress.

Yes.

Was I ever going to admit that out loud?

No.

I’m sure a psychologist would have a field day with that particular personality trait. I had no intention of finding that out for sure, though.

“Please, tell me you didn’t sleep with Becky,” Logan said as he ambled up next to us as we walked down the tunnel.

“Becky?” I asked, trying to attach a face to that particular name.

Logan snorted. “The assistant trainer. The one who about orgasmed when you gave her a water bottle?”

Ohhh.

“Yeah. No. Haven’t slept with Becky,” I answered dryly. “But thanks for telling me her name.”

Ari chuckled, and I shot him a glare…because we didn’t need to encourage Logan.

My thoughts went back to the girl—Becky. She was cute…but definitely too young for me.

Also, something I wasn’t ever going to say out loud, especially in front of the rookie. He’d never let me live it down.

“Now he will sleep with her is what he’s not saying,” said Walker as he plopped down on the bench in front of his locker and wiped his face with a towel.

“I actually prefer to stay away from stage five clingers, Disney,” I drawled as I bent over to undo my skates. “Fuck!”

Logan had snapped my ass with a fucking towel. Glaring at him, I thought about punching him or doing anything in retribution.

But I was too tired.

Next time though.

“That mean we’re going out tonight, my guy?” Jones asked from across the room as he unsnapped his chest protector.

I opened my mouth to make up an excuse, something I had been doing more often the last couple of months. What sounded much better than going out, was sleeping in my bed. Even my dick seemed to have been tired lately.

If that was a thing.

My phone buzzed, and I picked it up, groaning inwardly when I saw it was a reminder from Geraldine about our date tonight. Not that I didn’t love Geraldine, but I was fucking exhausted. I couldn’t cancel, though. I was going to have to suck it up.

“Sorry, Ky. I’ve got a hot date tonight,” I told him as I finally got my skates off, keeping my ass away from Logan’s reach as I did so.

“Oooooh,” The whole locker room taunted, almost at once, like I was surrounded by junior high girls.

“Who’s the lucky lady, Hero?” Logan called. “Some single mom you helped change her tire? A recent divorcee you helped jump her car? A lonely widow you gave an oil change?”

“Why, in all of these examples, is he helping these women with cars?” Lincoln asked, cocking his head. The wise one as usual.

“Yeah, I’m not really in the car business, Rookie. I got a mechanic for that,” I told Logan seriously.

He flipped me off, evidently disappointed I wasn’t hiding a mechanic kink from the group.

“My date tonight is actually seventy-five. Her gray hair is hot, but it’s the dentures that really get me going,” I joked.

The room went dead silent at that pronouncement.

“Well, I mean…” Logan stuttered.

“Whatever gets you going,” Walker finished supportively.

My mouth dropped open, and I stared at the group in horror.

“I was kidding, you assholes. I told my neighbor I would take her to some dance thing. You guys actually thought I was taking a grandmother on a date?!”

“Well you are nearing that age,” said Logan, his face completely void of any suggestion he was joking. After a second, a sly smirk crept across his face, and I braced myself for what I knew was coming. “Grandpappy…”

“I’m not even the oldest on the fucking team,” I griped.

The whole locker room burst into laughter, and this time, I was the one flipping them off with both hands.

Because apparently, I was a junior high girl, too.

Better than being a “grandpappy” I guess.