Page 2 of The Puck Bunny

What I’m going to do, I have no idea, but something…

Just, hopefully, not the kind of something that will make me look back someday and realize this is where I went off the rails.

CHAPTER 1

SARA

A WEEK LATER

“She’s just a puck bunny. Who cares?” One of the Brawlers players says just before he guzzles his beer. The young lady in question retreats, weeping, to a table with her friends. Even though this guy plays for my team, he’s clearly an asshole. Am I the only one in this crowded bar who notices? His words burn into my soul offending me and my margarita-riddled sensibilities.

I jump up from my seat because someone has to stand up for the girl.

“I care.” My voice is loud and every Brawlers player at the table to my right faces my way. My gaze slides to Quinn’s, but I dart it away to stare right at the offending asshole. “Aren’t puck bunnies people, too, with hearts and souls and feelings? Who do you think you are to say that? You shouldn’t be mean to people—any people—just because you can get away with it. You just shouldn’t.”

I stop talking and my corner of the bar goes quiet.

The guys from the team’s table on my right stare at me, without saying a word. All the puck bunnies at the table on my left stare at me.

The beat of silence turns into two as a ball of seething embarrassment rises in me, the inferno heating my cheeks—now, no doubt, a bright red—and I want to crawl inside myself and disappear. This is not what I had in mind for tonight.

My gaze automatically goes to Quinn, and he’s staring back at me. Like everyone else.

Great. I’ve just made an outrageous spectacle of myself, butting into a private matter so loudly and passionately that I feel dizzy, and he’s here to witness it. He must think I’m a jerk calling out his teammate. I can kiss any hope of any relationship with this guy goodbye. I swear, this is the last time I drink tequila.

My heart thunders in my chest as I hold his gaze.

It takes another beat to register the expression on his face. He’s not scowling, he’s not shocked. No, he looks… pleased. Then he breaks the pause of shocked silence.

“She has a point.” His voice is loud and clear and that famous one-dimpled smile makes me stumble.

Then he winks and I stop breathing, yet people keep talking as if something momentous hasn’t just happened. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m an idiot.

’Course, he obviously doesn’t think anything amazing just happened either because after that wink, he just starts talking to one of his friends.

I need to get out of here before I literally die of embarrassment.

But I also need to get his attention back because I want more of that sweet sexy smile of his. It’d felt like having the best sex ever.

Well, not that I’d know because the best sex ever should come with an orgasm and since I’ve never actually had an orgasm I can’t really compare.

But I can imagine.

I can also ask him to be the one to take my orgasm virginity—even if the likelihood of even the possibility of that just shrunk significantly.

Not that I’m really upset by it because, sure, I’ve always been a big fan of his but I’ve never actually aspired to… well, have sex with him. Not for real. I mean, it’s not like I’d ever dreamed the chance would actually happen.

But then he got traded to the team and I work for the team and… well… This is no dream; this is an honest-to-God, for-real goal.

As I melt into the crowd, I notice the older puck bunny—the woman who was sitting at the puck bunny table, who looks like she’s best friends with the crying girl. She slides out of the booth and shoots straight for me.

I dash for the exit. It’s late and I need to get home. Mom waits up for me.

Once I’m out the front door I gulp the seedy air of Boston’s Canal Street’s car fumes mixed with stale beer like it’s going to save me rather than kill me. Instead, it makes me cough.

But relief fills me because I escaped without further incident, without anyone knowing who I am.

If anyone found out I work for the Brawlers… Well, I don’t want to think about that.