Page 5 of The Kiss Connection

If I weren’t seated at the same table as he was, I’d probably be ogling him too. He’s one of my hockey idols. I’ve followed his career since his older brother joined the Ice Dragons. The two of them were an unstoppable force.

It’s what I’ve imagined it would be like with Archer. Except Archer plays right defense and I’m left wing.

Lying in bed, I do the unthinkable and download the app Conrad showed me at the bar, The Kiss Connection. Is it wrong that I’d scroll through every girl just to find her?

I’m not even sure when I’ll find time to date with all the daily practice drills we do, not to mention the away games, weightlifting, and running in the early mornings. Professional hockey is more than just a full-time job, it’s a lifestyle. Someone I date has to understand that and be able to accept it.

Honestly, it’d be easier to just shack up with a girl and not get romantically involved. There are plenty of puck bunnies who are willing to offer lip service.

I like a good blow job as much as the next guy, but I can’t get the girl from the bar out of my head.

Those piercing blue eyes I can’t stop thinking about. And those sultry lips. Her dark hair. That laugh.

I swear to myself I’m not going to stroke one out thinking about her. I’m not a perv, but when I’m scrolling through the ladies on the dating app and I’m pretty sure that smile is one hundred percent her, my hand rearranges my dick. Yeah, it’s twitching and jumpy, almost as much as my heart.

Juniper.

Okay, that’s a start.

I’ve got her first name.

And now I can contact her.

Two

Juniper

My phone pings with a notification of another match. “I swear I’ll never date again,” I grumble and toss my phone onto the sofa. I know, I should just silence the damn thing, or better yet, delete the entire app from my phone.

I’ve had plenty of matches, but none of the guys on there seem the least bit genuine. The conversations in chat are appalling.

And four guys slid into my DM asking for nudes.

Gross.

I can’t believe my bestie, Rowan, convinced me to use that ridiculous new app. She swore by it, told me she’d had three amazing dates with three different guys and couldn’t decide which one she wanted to see again. I downloaded it just to shut her up.

“You seem awfully grumpy for a Thursday night,” Rowan says. She’s curled up on the chaise with a book. That’s my favorite spot in the apartment, but I don’t mind lending it to my bestie when she crashes with me for the night.

I rarely ever spend any time at her place, which is fine; her apartment isn’t great. The rent is insane for how shitty a building it is. There’s lead paint on the walls that is peeling, not to mention the problem with asbestos. How has the building not been condemned? Whenever she hooks up with a guy, she always goes to his place, which saves her the embarrassment of her shitty apartment and keeps the boundaries intact.

Rowan doesn’t want a boyfriend. She doesn’t even want an overnight romance. She’s made her feelings on both absolutely clear.

That’s where the two of us differ greatly. In fact, we’re complete opposites in a lot of ways.

But our differences in dating are immense.

She likes a quick romp. She might even see the guy again if he’s that good in the sack. Me? I’m a romantic at heart. And I never have sex on the first date. Plus, it’s got to be the right guy, not just any guy, for me to agree to meet up. It takes a lot for me to be interested. I feel like I’m built differently.

Rowan just calls it extremely picky.

Sometimes I think it goes beyond just being picky, but whatever.

“Your phone is buzzing again. Is it that Josh guy you went out with?”

I grumble under my breath. “It was until I blocked him last night. Probably his friend, trying to reach out to me again, wanting to know why I’m not interested. Apparently, no requires an explanation to these guys. Do you know he texted me eleven times on Saturday while I was at work?”

“You’re joking.” Rowan puts her book down and sits up, criss-crossing her legs, giving me her undivided attention while I grab a wine cooler from the fridge and crash on the sofa.