Page 44 of The Big Puck

Moe tries to punch Spence, but Spence, the former professional athlete, has lightning quick reflexes, even in his retirement, and even though he has a few years on poor ordinary high school star Moe. Unsurprisingly, Spence dodges the attempted punch, and quicker than I can let out a screech, he unleashes an uppercut landing a blow to Moe’s face with a satisfying crunch.

Did I say satisfying? I guess my blood-thirsty-for-revenge mood hasn’t left me yet, so I take a few breaths while Moe lands on his ass.

“Enough.” I move in and get a closer look at the damage. Spence steps back, breathing heavily despite the short duration of the scuffle. Rage and more dangerous energy than I’ve ever felt unleased in my presence swirls around him. Goose bumps rise on my arms, and excitement shoots to my very core.

Oh my God. I am out of my element, and I can’t decide if this new wild feeling is a good thing or bad. So, I rein it in and train my attentions to the task at hand. First aid.

The altercation didn’t end well for Moe.

“Your right eye is turning black and closing up,” I state the obvious. “Let me get you some ice.” I turn to Spence and see him holding his left hand. I smile, one of those small conspiratorial quirks of my mouth because this is supposed to be a solemn terrible occasion, right? “I’ll get some ice for you, too.” I mouth the words thank you, then run off to the kitchen before he has a chance to reply. I don’t want to know what his response is. I’m suddenly a chickenshit, an emotional coward when I never have been in my whole life.

Getting the ice and returning settles me down, and I glare at Moe, who’s sitting in a chair—the jerk. I toss one of the many ice packs I found in the freezer at him. “What’s the matter with you barging in here like that—”

“Who the fuck is this?” Spence says.

“Moe—” I say, but the jerk cuts me off.

“Maurice Borelli. I’m her lover, her fiancée—”

“No, you’re not. We broke it off—”

“You broke it off. I didn’t.”

I laugh. “I thought you were coming here to get your ring back.”

He has the good grace to look chagrinned. Meanwhile, Spence is watching us, his eyes glancing back and forth between us. He’s returned to the cool cat, man-of-few words that he is.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Moe aims a one-eyed glower at Spence as he presses the ice pack to his swollen shiner.

“I told you. He’s my boss. If you want to know you… you…” I don’t know what insult to hurl at Moe because I suddenly don’t feel the red-hot rage fueling my indignance any longer. I’m far more conscious of Spence’s eyes on me, waiting for me to let loose like a crazy banshee. I inhale and take a couple of seconds to breathe out. Then I smile.

“This is Spencer Logan, former NHL hockey star and current head coach of the Portsmouth Whalers.” I don’t mind bragging about my Boss-man—even if that means giving him an upgrade to star hockey player. He deserves it. He’s a star in my book. I’m rewarded by Moe’s one good eye going wide for a split-second as he slides a glance at Spence.

“The real question is what are you doing walking in like you own the place? For real?” I say indignantly.

“Old habit,” Moe says. “I never knocked when I came to visit you at home.”

Spence leans against the wall with an ice pack pressed to his knuckles and watches Moe and me. He looks like he’s waiting for an opening to get in another punch if Moe gives him the tiniest reason. That idea sends a pleasant vibration through my tummy that hits down in my core. My poor previously neglected core is getting quite the workout today.

“Whatever the reason you barged in,” Spencer says, leveling a serious as fuck look at Moe that spells existential threat if he makes the wrong move, “I think it’s time you get your ring and leave.”

They both turn to me then, but I only have eyes for Spence. I’m breathless and speechless as I wait for what he has to say to me because there’s clearly something on his mind that he’s about to spit out.

“Lainey, I’m sorry, but if you want to talk to this guy ever again, you’ll have to do it somewhere other than this house. I hope that doesn’t cause a problem for you.” He stops and penetrates me with those blazing hazel eyes of his, the gold sparking like flames.

Oh my. I can feel that penetration in all the right, yet wrong, places. I gulp down the misplaced ball of scrumptious desire and attempt a coherent response. “Okay.” I shoot a Spence-like scowl at Moe. “You heard him. Out.”

Moe’s eyes widen. “What? You’re throwing me out?”

“No,” Spence roars, sounding like a force of nature, and I can visualize him on the bench with his team, letting loose. “I’m throwing you out because this is my house.” He leaves the words don’t ever come back again unspoken, yet well understood.

“I’ll get your ring.” My pulse pounds as I run up the two flights of stairs, never mind that I’m in heels, and rush straight to the bedside table to yank open the drawer. It sticks, and my hand shakes as I heave ragged breaths.

“Why are you so worked up now that the real drama is over?” No one answers me as I finally open the drawer, reach into the back recess and clamp my hand on the small ring box holding the old filigree set square diamond. If I didn’t so fondly remember his Grams and the day she told him the ring should get passed down to him because I was the one he planned to give it to, maybe my hands wouldn’t be shaking.

This feels too much like severing the past, like cutting off my entire life history and connections to the small town that feels like extended family from whence I came. Like this is the final slash to the umbilical cord. For real.

After I close the door behind Moe, I turn around, letting out a shaky breath in relief. Spence is standing there in the entry staring at me, waiting with his usual weighty silence, his eyes golden pools of sexy, hands on his hips and looking ready to pounce. Everything inside me sizzles like he turned on a secret switch even I didn’t know about.