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

“Thanks for coming with me, sweetheart,” Geraldine said as she smoothed the pink cotton of her sweater, a much more conservative outfit than she usually wore.

“Of course, Mimi. Nothing I like better than a date with my best girl,” I answered, giving her a wink that brought a flush to her wrinkled cheeks.

“Such a charmer, you are. Such a nice boy. The girl that catches you will be a lucky woman, Camden.”

I patted her hand, laughing inwardly that she always called me “boy.” Geraldine had been my neighbor since I’d moved into my penthouse. Her husband had owned an exclusive jewelry store in Dallas that a bunch of celebrities had come from all over the world to visit. He had passed, but had left her loaded. She’d charmed me the first day I’d moved in when she’d brought me some homemade macarons. I’d since learned that macarons were the only cookie she approved of as she thought they were the classiest cookie out there—and she considered herself very classy.

Worked well for my stomach.

“One day, Mimi,” I told her before I glanced at her suspiciously. “You didn’t bring any third wheels on our date, did you? Wouldn’t want them getting jealous when I give you all my attention.”

Geraldine and all her friends happened to be obsessed with matching me up since they couldn’t marry me themselves—their words. And I couldn’t even count all the times I’d gone over to help one of them with something and there’d been a smiley, dressed-up girl trying to get a ring out of me.

Geraldine’s smile grew, and I became even more suspicious.

“Gerald—” I began.

She tsked, cutting me off. I’d always wondered what that word actually sounded like in real life, and there it was. “I would never surprise you like that.”

“The fact that you actually sound legitimate when you say that is terrifying, Mimi.”

She was giggling like a far younger girl as we got to our seats, and I helped her sit down.

Her blue eyes were bright with excitement as she stared around at the crowd and the empty stage. We were here for some kind of dance performance—I had no details beyond that. All I knew was that I was in for a boring night. I just couldn’t seem to say no to Geraldine when she asked me for a favor.

Glancing down at the program someone at the door had handed me, I tried to find something that would get me excited.

There wasn’t one word. Not one.

Taking a quick glance at Geraldine to make sure she was distracted, I pulled out my phone and sent off a text to the guys.

Me: SOS

Ari: Sexy Ombre Sausages.

Me: What? That’s what you came up with?

Linc: I don’t know him.

Ari: Look at this guy. Pretending he could think of something better.

Linc: I don’t have to come up with something better. It already has a meaning.

Walker: It’s an international distress signal.

Ari: The simp would say that.

Me: I think we missed the fact that I sent an International distress signal in the first place.

Linc: Are you dying?

Me: I hope that I would say something better than SOS if I was dying.

Ari: …

Linc: …

Walker: …

Me: I hate you all.

Ari: You’re on a date with a seventy-five-year-old woman with dentures. How much trouble could you be in?

Walker: Good point.

Ari: That was very good simpage, Disney. I approve.

Walker: Why is it that any time I agree with anyone, I’m “simping”? You guys agree with me on things all the time.

Ari: Do we, though…do we?

Me: …

I pocketed the phone in disgust…and amusement that my teammates were not taking my distress call as seriously as they should have been. That last “…” I sent showed them, though.

At least I think it did. I wasn’t quite sure yet what it meant. The meanings seemed to change in every conversation I found myself in with those guys.

The lights dimmed and Geraldine gripped my arm excitedly. Dang, she was freakishly strong for a seventy-five year old. “It’s starting!”

I did a fist pump of excitement for her, and she snorted in amusement. “Cheeky boy.”

The fact that I didn’t give her an exasperated eye roll showed how “unboylike” I was, I decided.

Music began and some women dancing in pink tutus started leaping across the stage. Oh, alright. Ballet. She’d never dragged me to one of these before. Maybe it would be interesting.

“Aren’t they wonderful?” Geraldine practically cooed.

I nodded exaggeratedly. The jumps and leaps were impressive.

But not quite doing it for me.

I really wished I had some snacks. I eyed Geraldine’s purse. She probably had something in there.

I just couldn’t trust it was from this decade.

The ballerinas finished, and I clapped along with the crowd absentmindedly, eyeing the program and checking my phone to see what time it was. These things couldn’t go for hours, right? People could only dance for so long.

Or at least that was my hope.

A troop of cloggers came on the stage. At least, I thought they were cloggers. I wasn’t exactly an expert on the art of clogging.

Was it called clogging?

I thought this was a ballet?

I glanced at the program.

Nope. Definitely called clogging.

I sent a text because this seemed noteworthy.

Me: Cloggers. That’s how much trouble I could get in with a seventy-five-year-old woman.

Ari: Is that some kind of kinky sex position, Hero?

Scoffing, I threw my phone back in my pocket.

I sat through five more performances, jerking awake in the middle of a particularly enthralling jazz routine.

Or at least they were using a lot of jazz hands, so I figured it must have been a jazz routine.

Or did jazz routines have anything to do with jazz hands?

My hands itched to text the guys again. I could see Ari knowing about jazz hands and jazz routines—but Geraldine was side-eyeing me like she could see in my mind.

Something about silver-haired women with spectacles had the ability to make you feel like an errant school boy.

Focus, Camden. Don’t let her down.

The performances continued and finally…it was the last one.

I’d dozed through the last few, but the energy in the room seemed to shift as the stage went dark, like the entire audience was holding its collective breath for what was about to happen.

I sat up in my seat, wondering what I was missing. Surely the cloggers weren’t getting this reaction. No offense to anyone who clogged.

A single spotlight lit up the stage.

And I saw her.

Her.

A vision that I wasn’t sure was real.

There were other dancers around her, but she might as well have been the only person left in the world.

Her body moved with a fluidity that defied description, commanding the attention of everyone in the audience as she danced. Each movement was a fucking revelation, changing my life and my focus with every step she took.

I tracked every sway of her hips, every twist of her torso. I memorized every step she took, knowing that it would consume my thoughts until maybe the end of time. The music swelled around her, every gesture imbued with emotion and intention. She danced with a fervor that seemed to consume her, her body a vessel for the raw passion that seemed to be flowing straight through her veins.

With each leap and turn, she cast a spell.

My life changed.

There was only before her, and after her.

And I was solidly in my “after her” era, a world I didn’t recognize. My pulse was racing, my heart beating out of my chest. I was afraid to blink because I didn’t want to miss a moment of her.

“She’s good,” Geraldine said, her hands clasped in front of her as she bobbed along with the music.

“Understatement of the century. She’s incredible,” I whispered.

I could feel her eyes boring into the side of my face, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the sight in front of me.

The dancer’s long, white-blonde hair cascaded down her back, swaying with each graceful movement as if it were a part of the dance itself. With each step, it felt like she was casting a net, taking me and everyone else in the audience captive.

Her movements seemed effortless. Every extension of her leg, every point of her toes, drew me in until I was forgetting basic things about myself…like how to breathe.

As a professional athlete, I’d thought I knew what passion looked like…certainly what it felt like.

But she was blowing my mind.

I’d never seen so much passion in a human being, it seemed as if she would die if she wasn’t out on that stage. Instead of dancing to the music, the music was playing for her. Like it was made for her.

Or something like that.

I’d never been a particularly fancy-worded guy, eloquent I guess was the word? But I was sitting here waxing poetic about this girl like nobody’s business.

She danced the same way I played hockey.

As if, nothing else mattered to her in the world but that dance.

Except, decades of me feeling a certain kind of way about hockey seemed to be fading as I sat in that seat. And I wasn’t sure what to think about that.

She threw back her head, her entire face visible under the lights…and holy fuck.

I thought I knew what pretty was. Beautiful girls were throwing themselves at my feet constantly—I wasn’t being a shitty prick when I said that. It was just facts. When you had a face and a body and a job like I did, it was kind of par for the course.

But fuck.

Her face.

She was a fucking masterpiece. I’d never seen anything in my life as beautiful…as perfect as…

Fuck! I glanced around, a strange heat clawing up my neck. Everyone was seeing her like this. Everyone was seeing what was mine.

I was strangely proud and outrageously upset about it at the same time.

What was happening to me?

She spun and the light danced across her features again. I’m sure I looked like a fool, my mouth open in complete shock and amazement and awe as I watched her expression jump from joy and sorrow to longing and desire. I glanced down, realizing that I’d moved to the edge of my seat, my hands gripping the edge like I was trying to stop from lunging after her.

I thought I had cared about hockey more than anything, but staring at her, I wasn’t sure that I’d ever cared about anything—not if this was what it looked like.

I was mesmerized by her every gesture, every flick of her wrist, every tilt of her head.

Maybe magic was real. Maybe she was a witch. Maybe I’d fucking died and this was heaven.

Whatever was happening, it was outrageous and terrifying and I was pretty sure…

I was in love.

Holy shit…I was in love?

“Are you alright, Camden?” Geraldine’s voice cut through the haze. She’d noticed I was gripping the armrests like I was scared the chair was going to buck me off.

And fuck.

I was hard.

Not just hard, I had an erection that could cut glass. I was pretty sure that all the blood in my body was currently residing in my dick and that’s why I couldn’t think straight and I could pass out at any minute.

And I could feel Geraldine still eyeballing me.

I quickly tried to conjure up the image of Geraldine’s teeth floating in a water glass, bits of spinach still stuck between the crevices.

But not even that was enough to talk the big man down since I still hadn’t been able to unglue my eyes from my dancer.

What was I going to do?

I couldn’t have an erection around Geraldine.

It was a life rule in general, you should never have an erection around someone named “Geraldine.”

Especially the king of all erections. The record breaking, baseball-bat-sized, swing for the fences kind of erection.

Fuck, why was I using baseball references? I would blame that on the fact that my stepfather had called and left a voicemail for me earlier today. He’d always been a huge fan, trying to get me to play baseball instead of hockey all growing up.

Couldn’t think about him either. The idea of my stepfather and the girl on stage—my girl—was enough to make me want to punch someone.

I had lost my fucking mind.

As the final notes of the music faded away and she took a bow, a deep sense of panic…of loss washed over me. I didn’t want her to be done…to disappear from my view. I didn’t know what to do with myself if I couldn’t see her.

The curtains closed and I felt sick, as if I was coming down from some sort of high. Like the room had lost all color.

Like life had lost all meaning.

That may have been a little dramatic, but it was how I was feeling at the moment.

The feeling only worsened when I frantically glanced down at the program again and flipped through the pages. Past the cloggers, past the jazzers, right there to the finale. But then my stomach dropped when I realized…it didn’t list her name.

“Well, I’ve lost fifty dollars,” Geraldine muttered as the lights went on in the auditorium.

“What?” I asked, distracted as I glanced around the room, trying to figure out how to get backstage without actually jumping on top of the stage to get there.

“Maisy swore you’d fall for one of the ballet gals. But I had you pegged for the cloggers, personally.”

That was enough to finally get my attention as I turned to stare at her incredulously.

She smirked and gave me two finger guns, and honestly, I couldn’t have been more confused. “Gotcha! You think I’d ever bet on cloggers?” she huffed. “I knew it was ballet all the way.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think I didn’t see you shooting those bedroom eyes at the stage like a damn fool that entire last dance?”

“I will never doubt you again,” I said wryly.

I couldn’t even argue with her or tell her she was imagining things. I was gone. Destroyed. Shows over. Lights out. She was the one.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Geraldine scoffed, straightening her sweater and fixing her glasses before she looped an arm through mine. “Let’s go get your girl.”

“Right now?” I asked, an edge of panic riding me hard all of a sudden. Did I look okay? This wasn’t even my nicest suit.

“You look like a studmuffin of the highest order,” she said with a scoff, starting to drag me out the doors, through the throngs of people clearing out of their seats. She really was freakishly strong for a woman her age.

But also…could she read my mind?

I glanced back at the stage. The lights had been dimmed, the curtains pulled forward. There were no dancers anywhere to be seen. “We’re going the wrong way,” I said, my panic worsening as I contemplated scooping her up so we could get back to the stage faster.

“Men,” Geraldine said, shaking her head as she continued to walk away from where I wanted to go. “She’s not going to be backstage. She’s going to be at the after party. And your very hot date happens to have passes.”

I could have kissed her.

“Passes? You have passes for us?” I asked, sounding a little crazed. I took the lead, hurrying her forward, vowing to make sure that Ari Lancaster never found out that I was using my seventy-five-year-old neighbor to pick up the future mother of my children. Geraldine would brag about it for sure if she got the chance. “I’m never doubting you again.”

We were ushered out of the theater, but instead of streaming out the front door with the throngs of people, we veered left, where there was another set of double doors, actual security guards posted outside of them, like a horde of fans were going to try and rush the doors to meet the cloggers.

I frowned, on second thought, maybe there wasn’t enough security. That angel on the stage probably had rabid fans stalking her everywhere.

I would know, I was about to become one of them.

“Step aside, gentlemen. Geraldine is in the house,” she pronounced, lifting her chin in the air like she was royalty and holding up her passes.

They stepped aside, giving me a look like they suspected I was about to abscond with one of their dancers.

Hopefully I didn’t look like a kidnapper in this suit. I glanced down with a frown again, wishing I’d had more time to prepare.

But was there ever enough time to prepare for the love of your life?

Stopping in my tracks, I took a deep breath. What. The. Fuck.

I pulled Geraldine to the side. “Hit me with your cane,” I told her, sounding as crazy as I felt.

“What?”

“Hit me with your cane, Geraldine Burton. I’ve lost my mind.”

She snickered, completely ignoring the fact that I was going through a life crisis. “Come on, lover boy.”

People were staring as we started through the crowd. Usually it was at me, but with Geraldine’s hot-pink flamingo cane, I couldn’t be sure.

I craned my neck, trying to find her. The room was filled with people, dancers still in their costumes and audience members giving them flowers and congratulations.

Should I have brought flowers? I was starting to sweat. I didn’t sweat like this when I was getting ready for Game 7 of the Finals four years ago. And now, I was dripping like a fucking pubescent teen.

Where was she?

“Mimi, I’m just going to drop you off at the drinks and do a loop, alright?” I asked, not proud of how frantic I sounded. Three people had tripped over her cane so far, and if I had to wait any longer to find my girl, that cane was going to become even more of a hazard…because I was going to start beating people upside the head if they got in my way.

“Go get your girl, Camden James.” She leaned forward and got way too close to my ears with those dentures of hers. “After this, no one’s going to be listening to Agatha bragging about her cat flushing the toilet. As if anyone cares what that old liar has to say, anyway. My news will be much more exciting.”

“That’s nice,” I murmured as I scanned the room, trying to find her.

After leaving Geraldine by the bar—where she immediately started flirting with the twenty-something bartender—I pushed through the crowd like my ass was on fire.

My phone buzzed repeatedly in my pocket, and I cursed in frustration as I glanced around one last time before pulling it out.

Logan: Hey, Grampalicious, how’s the hot date going?

I snorted, hating the small smile on my lips. But that was kind of funny.

Ari: Who put Rookie in this chat.

Logan: Can I have a cooler nickname? Like Super Stud or Sir Scores-a-Lot.

Ari Lancaster removed Logan York from the chat.

Ari: Who the fuck keeps adding him?

Walker: I’m pretty sure you do…

Ari Lancaster removed Walker Davis from the chat.

Lincoln Daniels added Walker Davis to the chat.

Walker: It’s good to be back.

Ari: Simp.

Ari: Thanks, Golden Boy, for the support.

Linc: …

I quickly typed out a “…” for good measure, despite still not knowing what it actually meant.

Ari: Nice try, James.

Linc: But how is the date going, Grampalicious?

I scoffed.

Me: I hate you all.

I threw the phone in my pocket, not wanting to text anymore or speak to anyone until I fucking found her.

Someone with a tight ballerina bun passed by, and I followed her desperately.

“Excuse me,” I said, reaching out to tap her on the shoulder.

The woman turned, her gaze growing wide as she stared up at me, her jaw slack, and awe written all over her face.

“Wow,” she muttered, her cheeks blushing furiously as she took me in.

Normally, I would have thought this girl was pretty and probably flirted until I decided whether I wanted to take her on a date or just fuck her. But right now, her eyes were making me want to throw up. I didn’t want her to look at me. There was only one person I wanted to make blush and fuck and date…and she was not that person.

It was all I could do to put on my most charming smile, trying my best to hide how fucking annoyed I was, so I could get the information I wanted out of her.

“You were great out there tonight,” I told her, lying through my teeth since I couldn’t think of any performance—or performer other than my little dancer.

I was definitely going to be examining the crazy thoughts in my head…later.

But right now I was just going to run with them.

Her blush deepened, and then she coughed and the blush was replaced by a weird look on her face. Kind of like she’d been constipated for weeks and was about to burst.

“Thank you, hot stuff,” she said in a deeper voice.

Alright then…this was getting weird.

“The last dancer that performed…do you know where she is? I’d like to congratulate her too,” I told her quickly, before anything else happened…like she jumped me.

That had happened before.

The girl’s face fell, and her shoulders stiffened.

“I’m sure she left,” she replied in a flat voice.

Alright then. Apparently, they weren’t friends. Not that this woman seemed like a barrel of fun, but I couldn’t help but wonder why.

She was probably jealous of my girl because I was sure she couldn’t dance even one-tenth as good as her. No one could.

I guess the angel on stage could be a brat…or a bitch…

With talent like that, there was usually an ego.

I really didn’t fucking care, though. I’d fuck the brat right out of her if I needed to.

“She left?” I realized quickly that I sounded…desperate when the girl frowned and began to back up like she’d catch something nasty from me if she stood too close. “That’s just surprising she wouldn’t want to celebrate,” I added quickly.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, and I felt overwhelmingly defensive at her reaction considering I haven’t actually met my girl yet. “Come find me when you realize how disappointing ‘little miss perfect’ is in bed,” she threw over her shoulder.

Resisting the urge to tell her to fuck herself, I frantically searched the room for someone else to give me details about my girl.

The crowd parted and my eyebrow raised when Geraldine walked toward me next to an elegant older woman that moved like a stick had been shoved up her ass. I’d never seen someone with posture that straight.

My phone buzzed again, but I ignored it.

“Madame Leclerc, this is Camden James,” said Geraldine.

The woman eyed me speculatively, a gleam in her gaze that kind of made me want to run. She screamed “cougar”…a dangerous cougar judging by how tight her damn bun was. The uptight looking ones were always the scary ones.

I cocked an eyebrow at Geraldine, wondering what she was up to, and then I shot Madame Leclerc a smile.

“Camden James,” she purred. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. I’m a big fan.”

Oh, that was unexpected. This woman didn’t exactly scream hockey fan.

“Dallas Knights fan?” I asked as I shook her cold, claw-like hand.

“Jockey fan, actually,” she corrected, and my smile froze.

One of my sponsors was Jockey briefs, and one of my jobs for them was posing in their…apparel.

So she was a fan of my dick was what she was saying.

Perfect.

“Camden was in awe at the performances tonight, Madame. You must be so proud,” Geraldine prodded, her warm blue eyes gleaming with laughter.

“Is that so?” Madame simpered.

“Especially that last dance. The main performer was so talented. What was her name?” Geraldine pressed.

Fuck, I loved that old genius of a bird.

Like the woman I’d just talked to, Madame Leclerc’s lips pursed…and it felt like half my life had passed before she finally answered and gave me what I was looking for. “Anastasia Lennox is quite talented,” she said begrudgingly.

Anastasia Lennox.

The name carved itself into my veins.

A beautiful name for an exquisite creature.

Madame Leclerc said something else, but there was a ringing sound in my ears, and my blood seemed to be bubbling.

“Camden…” Geraldine’s voice cut through whatever madness I was experiencing, and I blinked at her, noticing that she was laughing at me and that Madame Stick-Up-Her-Ass was nowhere to be found. “I’m ready to go home. You can start your search for your girl in the morning when you don’t look like a lunatic.”

I opened my mouth to tell her I would have to call her a cab because there was no way I could leave until I found out more about Anastasia…but she whacked me with her cane before I could get a word out.

“Ouch,” I griped for half a second before I found myself following her out to the parking lot where I did indeed help her into my truck.

Geraldine fell asleep five minutes into the drive, and I was tempted to turn around and sneak back inside while she was sleeping. Every time I got to an intersection where I could do a u-turn, she would stir, though.

This happened so many times, I was pretty sure she was fucking with me.

Such a Geraldine thing to do.

We pulled into the underground parking lot, and her eyes popped open the second I turned off the truck, scaring me half to death when she lurched out of her seat, muttering something about needing to take out her teeth.

With the threat of seeing that sight again, I hopped out of the truck and jogged over to the other side to let her out.

“Such a nice boy,” she crooned, patting my arm muscle like she liked to do as we got into the elevator and began our ascent to the top floor. “Thanks for the date.”

I smiled, trying not to look too anxious about how slow the elevator was going, or how long it took to get her to her front door.

“I’ll see you later,” I told her, desperate to get back even though I was sure the event was over. I turned to leave and all of a sudden she was yanking me down by the collar of my dress shirt like she was She-Ra.

Geraldine was a little terrifying.

“Once you find that spark with someone, you do everything to keep it. Ya got me?” she asked fiercely, peering into my eyes and giving me a little shake.

I smirked, because this was one thing I didn’t need any encouragement for.

“I got you, Mimi,” I told her, giving her a kiss on her wrinkly cheek and heading to the elevators to get back to my truck.

Driving like a bat out of hell, I quickly arrived at the performance hall only to see that it was closed down for the night.

Tension buzzing along my skin, I sat in the parking lot, content for the moment just to be near where she had been.

I took a deep breath, my tense shoulders settling back. My eyes went steady, determination filling me, replacing the frantic nerves from before.

It was going to be alright. I had always been the type of guy to get what I wanted. If not by talent alone, then by sure force of will. I also had a group of guys, in a certain circle, who’d managed to find their girls.

Anastasia Lennox had no idea what was coming.