Puck Buddies (4 page)

“William’s still at the bar,” she
mutters. “So much for getting us drinks.”

“He gets sidetracked easily.” I glance
over, grimacing at the way he’s leaned in talking intimately with some brunette
in a tight minidress. “Ignore him, it works wonders. Boys try to play us by
doing grumpy guy at the bar or barely acknowledging us. Trust me, we fall for
it every time. We want them to be happy. It’s some bullshit leftover in our DNA
from the last five hundred years.” At least that’s what my shrink says.

My eyes dart back to the guy at our
table, Matt.

His indifference to me might as well have
come coated in chocolate syrup, but I know better than to get a spoon.

“We need to reverse that shit on them. Be
uninterested and act like you don't care. It will drive him insane.” I plan to
follow my own advice as I pull her to the middle of the crowded floor when the
song changes to something we both love.

She perks up a bit as we dance, throwing
her arms in the air and laughing when someone falls in sky-high heels.

We dance and every couple of minutes I
notice my gaze has wandered back to Matt.

Sweet Jesus!

Why does he have to be so friggin’ hot?
It’s not even fair.

“Thinking about attacking Carson again?”
Nat nudges me and shouts over the music.

“No.” I almost shudder at the thought. It
was like making out with a girl, only with whiskers. Actually, the two girls
I’ve made out with were better. “He needs to just come out of that closet he’s
in.”

“He’s not in a closet, he’s flexible.
He’s into everyone. He’s omnisexual.” She laughs.

“I guess,” I mutter, still preoccupied.

“What are you looking at then if it’s not
Carson? Oh, are you checking out that Matt guy?”

“No!” I scoff. “Pshhhh. I am so not into
peasants anymore. That was last season. He’s just random. He’s dressed like he
might go to a frat party, but he’s friends with Carson and knows everyone? I
just never see Carson slumming it like that. Trust me,
that’s
it. No interest at all.”

“Doth the lady protest the beefy
gentleman a little too much, maybe?” Her smile makes me smile.

“Not at all. He just looks like dirty
sex, okay? You know how I have a hard time passing it up. Blue collar is the
forbidden fruit of the Upper East Sider. We all have the fantasy about the
mechanic and the gardener and carpenter. There’s just something about their
dirty hands on our pristine bodies; we can’t fight the attraction.” All I can
do is hope rolling my eyes shows how little I think of him. A lie neither of us
buys.

“Whatever. I hate to break it to you, but
your body isn’t so pristine. Just go talk to him. At least one of us can have
some fun. Unless you wanna just go?” she teases but I can’t imagine talking to
him. And while I wish we could leave the bar altogether, I refuse to slink out
depressed over a guy.

“No. Let’s pretend we’re the most fun
girls in this bar. It’ll get William.” I wink and contemplate hooking her up
with Carson for a night.

If she weren’t a virgin I totally would,
but no one should lose
their
virginity trashed. I
speak from experience on that one. I don’t even remember it and I hate that.
But worse still would be losing it to Carson. He’s known for inviting other
people into the party. Something I can’t imagine Nat would ever do.

The plan goes back to getting her drunk,
so I drag her to the bar for some shots and then back to the dance floor to
tear it up.

Chapter Three

Reality Bites

Matt

“So she’s not still seeing Colin?” Carson
asks William as his eyes drift to the dance floor where Sami Ford is laughing
and dancing her heart out. She’s even more beautiful than the last time I saw
her. It’s a problem for me. Not her beauty, the fact I find her irresistible.

“I don’t know. She was. I never thought
it would last as long as it has. I heard it was suggested they date to try to
do some damage control. She hasn’t been out at all except in Greenwich. My brother
saw her at a couple of luncheons and some of those parentally planned,
mandatory dates.” Will rolls his eyes like he’s better than the societal curse,
yet we both know he’s neck deep in it. His parents are horrible people. I
should know, mine hang with them all the time. “I heard after she was seeing
that British guy who took the video of her pouring beer on her tits, her dad
told her to simmer down. I think they like that Colin’s a pretty chill guy.”

“Pothead. The word is pothead,” I
blurt,
trying hard not to focus on the fact Drew made the
video. It makes me want to kill him.

Carson laughs. “That’s right, you know
him, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” I don’t like to dwell on it. Every
time Sami dates someone, it’s one of my friends. It’s annoying as hell. My
entire life revolves around my one regret: not being the guy who got to the
Sami Ford line first.

But that ship’s sailed and she’s forever
on the list of things I can’t have.

Of course adding her to the list only
makes me want her more.

It’s a vicious
cycle
which
involves more self-hatred than any other subject.

Luckily, most of the time I’m out of town
for hockey so I don't have to suffer in silence much.

Running into her in London was a complete
kick in the balls. Being a friend of Drew’s I shouldn't have kissed her in the
black cab, but I couldn’t resist. Now I’m glad I did. “So Drew took the video?”
Rage and evil thoughts start to build in me.

“Yeah, man. She caught him cheating on
her or some shit so she goes into the pub and wins the wet tee shirt contest,
and he said he filmed and uploaded the video.”

“Talk about being a little bitch about
getting dumped.” Carson looks as pissed as I am.

“Well, it’s Drew. He’s always been a little
bitch. She only dated him because her dad told her to.”

Knowing that’s how her night went kills
me inside.

In all my life I’d never seen a more
beautiful preoccupied gaze than the one she wore, staring at the entrance to
the tube. She might have been drunk but it had worn off, and she was stuck with
the shame of whatever she had done. It was refreshing to see at the time. Most
of the empty-headed heiresses we know don’t regret anything. Everything is
YOLO. It’s annoying. No consequences because someone will fix it or buy people
off or lie to the papers.

But not her.
She was filled with regret
that morning. I saw it clear as day.

A storm of emotions sailed across her
eyes as she talked about her mistakes and guys.

I wanted to see behind the
curtain—to know everything about her. Not the regular stuff everyone else
knows, but the tiny details she keeps to herself. The ones she hides because
they make her different than the other snobby girls. I wanted to heal all the
places she’d been wounded by other guys, by my friends.

But I couldn't.

It would have broken the one rule I have
about girls and my friends, my hard limit. The one thing I believe sets me
apart from who I used to be and who I am now.

And as a result, half a year has been
spent envisioning how differently that night could have been, had I just
ignored my rules and gone up to her apartment at One Hyde Park, instead of
going around the block to cool off before going to my place. Had I known Drew
had done that to her, I would have gone up with
her.

What are the odds she’d be here?

I blink and rejoin the conversation
between Fairfield and Carson, coming back at just the wrong moment.

“Sami’s a stone-cold fox. I don't care
what you heard, Sami-fuckin’-Ford doesn’t date people because her dad tells her
to. She does what she wants. I’m still jerking it to the video of her pouring
beer on her tits. Drew might be a twat for filming it, but she’s fine.” Carson
laughs and his comment makes me want to choke him out. Not kill him but maybe
knock him unconscious. Just for a moment. Right after I kick the shit out of
Drew.

Scowling, I glance back at her and the
lucky clover tat she’s flashing. I’m Irish. My cock takes it as a sign,
permission to forget all the rules.

I need to find something else to do with
my time, and my hands. They’re twitching with demands watching her dance,
lifting her shirt in the air every time her arms go up with the beat.

In my weak moments I consider going over
and asking if she wants to go for a walk, just to get her alone so I can tell her
I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss since it happened. Or the fact she’s
infected me these last eight months with a constant stream of memories and
regrets and possibilities.

“Dude!”

“What?” I snap my head around to Will and
Carson gawking at me.

“This place is lame. You wanna go to that
new bar over across from the pasta place we went to last time?” Will asks as
Carson gives me a weird look, his eyes drifting to where I was staring.

“No. I’m going back to my place. I’m
pretty bagged. The guys I came with are leaving soon.” I point at the three
Rangers who invited me up to hang out for the weekend. “The team has been
trying hard to get me to sign a contract, but my agreement with my father has
always been that my first degree will happen before the NHL. So I come up and
train with them and get courted. It’s a lot like dating. They take us out and
show us a good time, hoping we dig the team and choose to play for them.”

“They show you a good time, that’s funny.
They don’t realize you invented a good time.” Carson laughs.

“Yeah.”

“Clearly, they haven’t been to the cabin
fever party at your house.” Will scoffs and glances back at
Sami.

“Right, exactly.” I roll my eyes at
Carson who snickers. “And now thankfully they’ve all paired off so we can kill
the night early and I can get some sleep.” The thing I actually want when I
come to the city. Coming to Manhattan is like a little retreat from college for
me. I sleep in and play video games. There’s no pressure to party or have fun
if no one knows I’m here. But being with the Rangers is different. It’s go time
non-stop.

“You pucks. I thought most of you were
into each other.” Will laughs. “Circle jerks and all.”

“Ask Carson’s sister how much she likes
our circle jerks.” I take a drink of beer, laughing.

“Whatever, asshole! She wouldn’t even
flick a cig at you,” Carson snarls. His overprotectiveness of his sister has
always made tormenting him enjoyable.

“You sure you don't wanna come?”

“No, I’m cool here. I’m bagged. You guys
have fun. I’ll let ya know when I’m in town again.”

“Maybe we can show those hockey players
what a real good time is.” Carson waggles his eyebrows.

“They wouldn't be able to keep up. See
ya.” We shake hands and I head back to my group.
They’re
surrounded by girls
, of course.

Three unmarried hockey players don't have
to look for ass, it falls into their laps. Hell, even the married ones are
beating it off with a stick. Well, some of them. A lot of them have a little
slice on the side.

Scanning the club, I pause on the set of
eyes staring at me. Sami narrows her gaze like she hates me and goes back to
dancing.

“Brimstone, this is Minky.”

“What?” I turn toward Laramie and realize
he’s talking to me.

“What’s with you tonight, man? You are in
space, brother. Come back to earth and meet Minky. She’s from South Africa.
Minky, this is Brimstone. He plays for Michigan.” Laramie, one of the Rangers
I’m friends with, cocks a grin. “
Minky likes hockey players,
long walks
on the beach, and whatever else hot girls like.” He laughs.
It couldn’t have been a cheesier moment if he’d tried.

“Hi, Brimstone.” Minky, a gorgeous
brunette with sharp green
eyes,
gives me a wry smile.
She inhales, lifting her already perky tits. “How are you?”

“Hi. Nice to meet you.” I try to be
polite but PFs aren't my jam. Hockey and girls are two different aspects of my
life that I don’t like touching each other.

When they do, there’s a good chance that
more than one guy in the locker room has had my girl. Which isn't appealing to
me. I don’t like sharing. Not with friends and not with teammates.

There’s nothing more disgusting than a
guy telling me what an amazing bang a chick was as he hands me her number, like
I need to experience what he has. We call them pass-along girls or puck fucks,
and I don’t participate. When I was younger for sure, but I got burned and it
stopped being fun.

When I do eventually decide to be with
someone, one day, I want her to be mine.

Thinking the word “mine” drags my gaze
back to Sami. She staggers and stumbles, falling on the dance floor with her
friend. When she gets to her table she slams back another drink. “Jesus.” I
wince.

“What?” Minky smiles blankly.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, okay. Anyway, like I was
saying—” She rattles on while I watch the shitshow going on in the
corner. The little blonde falls and Sami
bends
down to
help her up but falls down too. They both laugh, flashing more of themselves
than I think they want.

A cell phone pops up, but as the pervert
about to take the picture zooms in, a bouncer steps between him and Sami.

That’s about as far as I can let it go.

“Excuse me,” I cut Minky off
mid-sentence, turn, and walk back to Sami’s table to see if she’s into going
home or calling a car. Her driver needs to come and get her.

Sami tries to walk to the dance floor,
but she shudders like she might get sick and instead leans on a table.
Her eyes widen when she sees me
,
she even
pauses
. It’s weird. Like she’s uncertain of something, maybe me. It
lasts a second before she’s back to rocking the usual stone-cold-fox
expression.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Matt.” She says my name with a hint
of annoyance and leans against the table, swaying slightly as she grabs her
drink. How the fuck she has another drink is beyond me. She’s well past the
point of not being served anymore and she’s underage. We both are.

Her plump lips
press
against the cold rock glass, leaving a pink stain on the rim when she puts the
glass back
down.

“You want to go for a walk? Get a slice
of pizza, maybe? Sober up? I can call your driver.”

“What?” Her eyes dart to the little
blonde she was with, the one who’s in love with Fairfield. “A walk?” Sami
pauses, bringing her eyes back to mine. “Like in the streets, outside?” She
appears confused by the idea.

“Yeah, that’s where the pizza is. You
look like you need some food or your car or something.” I can’t help but grin.

“No.” She shudders again. “I don’t like
that kind of pizza and I don’t walk—” She appears as if she might say
something else or she might get sick.

Trying to stop her from focusing too hard
on puking I try to make her laugh. “Let me guess, I think I’m good at this. You
have someone who does your walking for you. No wait, your pizza is always
delivered? No—your chef makes you gourmet pizza, even at three in the
morning?”

“You’re a dick!” She laughs lazily.

“Maybe. But it’s the truth, admit it.”

“It’s cheating. You already know that
about me.” Her eyes shine as she sways, making us both dizzy. “You know me,
don’t you?” Her eyes squint, losing the humor.

“I do.”

“You’re a liar.” She shakes her head but
she
kinda
laughs, bitterly. “Just so you know, I can
walk fine just not in these shoes after dancing for hours. But I can and I’ve
eaten pizza from a roadside vendor before, I just like gourmet better.”

“I have no doubt.”

“So,” she says with attitude, but I don’t
know what she means by the “so,” or what I should say next.

“We doing this or not?”

“Doing what?”

“Walking. Getting you pizza and sober.
Calling your car. Getting you out of this bar.”

“You seriously are asking me to go for a
walk? Now? After you’ve acted like you—never mind.” She looks pissed and
not just drunk. “I’m here with a friend. Maybe next time you’re in London
you’ll remember to actually show some interest in a girl before you just end up
kissing. Instead of doing it and then ignoring her and pretending like that
amazing kiss never happened. Or lying about knowing the girl.” She hiccups as
she staggers away, not making much sense but just enough that I see what’s
going on.