The Pilot and the Puck-Up: A Hockey / One Night Stand / Virgin Romantic Comedy

by Pippa Grant

  Jupiter lifts an interested eye.

  “Penalty box,” I growl.

  All he hears is box, and he thinks I mean Joey’s.

  She tugs me to my feet from behind and peels the wet fabric up and over my abs. Her hands slink over my chilled skin and drift down to grab the dick that shall not be named.

  “Go easy on him,” she says while she strokes him up and down, up and down, up and down. “This is a lot of sexiness for one poor Jupiter to handle.”

  I growl and turn in her arms, but before I can grab her, she sits her ass on my toilet, double-fists me, leans forward, and licks the tip of my cock. “Mmm,” she says.

  I brace my arms on the wall over her head, because what Joey wants, Joey gets. “He’s been a bad boy,” I rasp.

  “He’s good for at least two more rounds.” She blows on my dick, my nerves light up, goose bumps erupt everywhere, even my ass crack, and my ego peeks out from its hiding spot.

  “You’re a fucking angel,” I say.

  She doesn’t answer.

  Instead, she slides my cock into her hot, silky mouth and swirls her tongue around my engorged head. She grips me by the base and fucks my dick with her mouth, in and out, swirling and sucking and licking, deeper and deeper down her throat until my nuts are about to burst and my cock’s so fucking hard and thick and long it’s gonna bust a vein and die of a dick aneurysm.

  “Joey,” I gasp.

  She sucks harder, squeezes tighter, and swirls her tongue again.

  I yank her off me, because fuck if I’m coming again before she’s gotten hers. I rip her pants at the seam, set her on my sink, go down on my knees, push her underwear to one side, and bury my face in her pussy.

  Sucking her clit. Sliding two fingers up inside her while my dick aches so hard it’s bruising from the inside out. She jerks and moans, pulling my hair while I devour her until she’s coming all over my fingers and screaming my name.

  As soon as she slumps against me, I fumble for the box of condoms under my sink. I roll one on and heft her into my arms. She grabs my face and sticks her tongue down my throat, and fuck, I’m gonna come.

  I tell Jupiter to hold his shit for two more seconds, lay her across the bed, and I slam into her pussy while we’re still fucking with our mouths. I pump. She thrusts. I balance over her on my elbows, my arms tight to her sides because I need to touch her. Here. There. Everywhere.

  She pinches my earlobes, and fuck, nerves explode all over my scalp.

  I jerk inside her, she squeezes me so tight I’m never coming back out again, and the earth fucking shakes under us. We’re coming together so hot and hard and fast we’re making the foundation of the whole fucking world quake and tremble.

  Joey’s chanting my name.

  I’m saying something too, but fuck if I know what it is. I just know this woman—my Joey—she’s a miracle.

  She’s my fucking miracle.

  30

  Joey

  There’s an unreal quality to Zeus when he’s still. He’s a slumbering mountain. Peaceful. Quiet. Almost innocent.

  Nothing at all like the man who walked into a fancy golf reception dressed as an overgrown hooker troll.

  I’m not sure I’ll ever know that kind of peace, but I feel closer to it tonight than I ever have.

  My chest is still quaking, but I refuse to give in to the fear.

  He said he loved me.

  I trace his cheek in the semi-darkness. It’s sandpaper-rough over chiseled bone. His lips are full and deceptively soft. And I want to kiss each of the notches in his nose.

  Does that mean I love him?

  I don’t know.

  But I know if Dog himself walked into my house tomorrow and said I had to choose between never flying again and never seeing Zeus again, that fucker better be wearing a cup, because I’d be going for the family jewels.

  Zeus stirs and tightens his grip on my hip. His hand is so big, his fingers cover my whole butt cheek. “Bed okay?” he murmurs.

  “Perfect,” I whisper.

  A smile twists his lips, though he doesn’t open his eyes. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about my bed.”

  “Shush and go back to sleep.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  That’s not emotion burning my eyes and stinging my nose. Nope, must be allergies.

  Couldn’t be feeling wanted, appreciated, cherished even, affecting my psyche.

  He shifts, pulls me closer, and traps me with a leg across my thighs. His heart thumps in my ear, his skin warms the frost protecting my heart, and I relax into him.

  “I know what you did for Bailey,” I whisper. I know what you’re doing for me.

  “Hmph.”

  I press a kiss to his heart. The little spitfire has called a few times since the golf tournament. Once to complain that her mom was too tough. Once to ask if she could trade chores for another ride on Luna. And once yesterday morning, freaking out with excitement because a new girls’ hockey league had been announced in her town.

  A little digging, and it wasn’t hard to figure out who was supplying the gear and making the wheels turn to get the teams going.

  “You’re a good man, Zeus Berger.”

  “I love you, Joey Fireball.”

  Dammit.

  I open my mouth, but I can’t force the words out.

  “Ssh,” he says. “Go to sleep.”

  Like it’s okay.

  He knows.

  And he’s giving me all the time I need to figure everything out.

  Not helping all those emotions clogging my sinuses.

  But if I’m going to cry, he’s the only man in the world I’d trust to know. So I fold myself into him, hang on tight, and let go.

  31

  Joey

  Filed under things I never thought I’d do is following my boyfriend’s family to our seats at Bridgestone Arena to watch him play a pre-season game

  There’s so much nonsense in that sentence, I don’t know where to start.

  But I know my heart’s in my throat. I know I’m terrified Zeus’s parents will hate me. I know I could royally fuck things up with Chase Jett today, when he’s about two steps from handing Weightless a quarter of a billion dollars.

  Yeah.

  More holy shit nonsense. I’m a kid from the sticks.

  Since when is my business worth a quarter-billion-dollar investment? It’s worth every penny, but hearing the number—just fuck.

  I also know Zeus isn’t having the best training camp of his life.

  He’s off his game.

  The only thing different from every other year of his hockey career?

  “It’s just so amazing to see Zeus so serious about someone,” Ambrosia says to me as she offers me some kind of organic nut and fruit mix she pulled out of her purse while we wait for the teams to take the ice. “He sells himself short, you know? Like he lets being a big old ape define him, when we know he’s more. I’m not sure he’s ever been on a date with the same girl twice before you.”

  Me.

  I’m the one thing different from every other year of his hockey career.

  Music rumbles through the arena.

  Zeus’s family all leap to their feet.

  The Predators are playing the Thrusters today, which means Zeus and Ares will both be on the ice. It’s literally a family affair. With a side order from me to Zeus to knock some royal ass into the boards every chance he gets, because something’s weird with Gracie, and I think I know what it is, but I haven’t been able to prove it yet.

  Yeah.

  I’m dating a hockey player and worrying my sister’s sending a prince her own special Pussookies.

  My life is so weird right now.

  The Thrusters roll out onto the ice. It’s not as easy as I’d expect to pick out Ares when all the guys are suited up.

  “He’s double-zero,” Ambrosia tells me. “Crazy-ass. Says it’s as high as he can count.”

  A few fans chant Force, Force,
Force, and he lifts a gloved hand in acknowledgment.

  Zeus gave Ares my phone number right after I surprised him in his apartment a couple weeks back, and I’ve been getting random text messages from him with nothing but gifs. I’ve been answering back in emojis, and I think we’re beginning to understand each other.

  He’s actually pretty funny. The gif with faces painted on someone’s butt cheeks, so they kiss when the cheeks clenched—I laughed so hard Peach came running. I’m hoping that wasn’t a self-made gif.

  I’m also hoping his texts mean he likes me. Or at least doesn’t disapprove.

  Not for my sake.

  For Zeus’s sake.

  He’s so much more than the world gives him credit for, and the only people who seem to see it is his family. He needs them.

  Me?

  I’m optional.

  I squelch the shiver in my chest as the introductions for the home team start. When Zeus takes the ice, he circles it while the crowd roars. The Brute, they call him.

  On the ice?

  Yeah.

  Off the ice?

  He’s a teddy bear.

  With a big mouth, a brilliant mind for attention-grabbing pranks, and the occasional accident that requires a bathroom remodel, but no one’s perfect.

  Zeus stops at the Thrusters’ bench and shares a fist bump with Ares.

  “They’ll pretend to beat the shit out of each other at some point before the game’s over,” Ambrosia tells me.

  “No rubber chickens?”

  She laughs. “Never know what Ares has down his pants.”

  “Didn’t need that visual,” Chase tells her.

  Zeus doesn’t play in the first period, but he comes flying off the bench as soon as the second period starts. He’s a defender, but he’s in the thick of things everywhere. I know there’s some sense to where everyone is, and I’m watching numbers and checking the program to understand positions and plays and theory. Ares is a power forward—he already scored once in the first period, and when he makes a mad dash up the middle with the puck, my heart almost stops.

  Because Zeus is charging him.

  And if these two collide, I swear to dog the force will probably make the roof shake.

  At the last second, Ares swerves, shoves the puck between Zeus’s legs, grabs it on the other side, and slams it past the goalie.

  “Holy fuck,” Chase says while Ambrosia and their parents scream along with half the rest of the arena.

  Zeus scowls at Ares.

  Ares grins and takes a fist bump from Manning.

  “Zeus’ll get him back,” Ambrosia says.

  Not anytime soon. He’s heading back to the bench.

  A woman behind us leans forward. “Ohmygod, are you the Brute’s girlfriend?”

  So fucking weird. “Yes.”

  “Does he really make weird monkey calls when he…you know…”

  Ambrosia chokes on her dried fruit and nuts.

  I shift in my seat and look at the woman asking. She’s around fifty, draped in a Predators jersey, with librarian glasses perched on her nose, an oversized locket around her neck, and a wedding ring on her left finger. And she’s watching me expectantly like she wants a play-by-play of my sex life.

  “Did you see the video we made?” I ask.

  And now Ambrosia’s possibly dying.

  The woman’s blue eyes go so round they could double as hockey pucks. She digs her phone out of her pocket like she’s going to look it up right now. “No.”

  “That’s because there isn’t one. It’s none of your fucking business.”

  She sniffs as I turn back to face forward. “His other puck bunnies say he does.”

  Mrs. Berger stands now.

  Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Berger are anywhere near as tall as their sons, but she’s mildly terrifying. “Are you badmouthing my firstborn?” she demands.

  “I—”

  “Do you want me to ask about your children’s night-night lives?”

  Chase is ducking his head, shoulders shaking while he bangs on Ambrosia’s back. She’s spewing fruit chunks all over the cowboy hat on the guy in front of her.

  “My—” the woman starts.

  “If you don’t stop being vulgar, I’ll have security escort you out. And by security, I mean my son’s girlfriend. She’s a lean, mean, airplane-flying machine, and none of us need your baloney. Is that understood?”

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” the woman says.

  Mrs. Berger leans over and holds out a fist. “Well-handled, Joey. I like you.”

  I bump, and I’m pretty sure we just bonded.

  Zeus is watching us from the bench, which is just a few rows down. He’s got an intense game face on, but when his gaze locks with mine, something warm flickers in his eyes.

  Can’t take you anywhere, Fireball.

  I blow him a kiss.

  His eyes widen—Who the fuck are you, and what did you do with my girlfriend?—and I smirk.

  Go kick some ass, I telegraph.

  Five minutes later, he’s back in the game. And when I say back in the game, I mean he’s fucking back in the game.

  He’s flying over the ice. Stealing the puck. Slamming Ares into the boards. Fighting with Manning.

  Earning himself a penalty.

  While Zeus takes himself into the penalty box, Manning pulls his helmet off, grins, and salutes me.

  I can’t decide if I like him or hate him.

  It’s like he caught a cheerful rash and just can’t shake it. Even bleeding from the nose.

  Like he’s not royalty at all, but just some guy who loves hockey and happiness.

  Add that to the list of things that I never thought I’d encounter in my life.

  If he has something going on with my sister, I’m going to have to kill him.

  Not because that security check I blackmailed an old friend into running didn’t check out—it did, and he’s clean as a royal whistle. But because he’s only here for a year. Then it’s back to his home country. To his duties and responsibilities.

  And Gracie’s not moving overseas.

  She can’t.

  She can’t leave me any more than I can leave her.

  Which means the only thing she’d get from Manning is heartbreak. And I don’t know if I can live through that either.

  Gracie isn’t allowed to hurt.

  Ever.

  The Predators keep the Thrusters from scoring again while Zeus is in time-out. When he breaks out of the box, there’s something charged about him.

  And I’m not surprised when he steals the puck and takes off on his own down the ice. Charging the goal. The defenders try to stop him, but you can’t stop a bull train on skates.

  You just can’t.

  Physics says so.

  He’s about to crash into the goal when he swerves, swings around the back of it, and taps the puck into the net from the other side.

  I’m on my feet cheering. Fists in the air. Feet not even touching the ground.

  Dog, he needed that.

  He rolls over the wall to climb back onto the bench while a fresh string takes over.

  Once again, his gaze locks with mine.

  This time, he blows the kiss.

  And for the first time in my adult life, I go red.

  He notices.

  I can tell by his gotcha back smirk.

  32

  Zeus

  If I have to lose, might as well lose to Ares. I can deal with that.

  After the game, I get cleaned up, grab my twin, and head back to my place where Joey and the rest of the family are already waiting.

  It’s family dinner.

  A late-ass family dinner, but still a family dinner.

  There are ten pizzas on the island between my kitchen and living room. Somebody stacked all my magazines—probably my mom—and somebody else put all the clocks on the right time—probably my dad.

  He’s the reason we all have months as our middle names.

  Don’t
ask.

  I squeeze Joey’s ass on my way to the pizza. “Good game,” I tell her.

  “I think you mistook me for your brother,” she says.

  We both look at Ares, in a purple shirt printed with some red penis rocks and Second Place Is For Lovers scrawled over his chest.

  “Yeah,” I say to Joey. “I can’t keep you two straight.”

  “Explains that kiss on the ice.”

  “I really like her,” Ambrosia declares.

  “She’s very eloquent,” Mom chimes in.

  Dad hides behind a paper he must’ve brought with him. Dude’s outmatched and he knows it. But don’t challenge him to Cards Against Humanity.

  Just don’t.

  “Did I hear you’re remodeling your bathroom?” Ambrosia asks.

  “Had a leak.”

  “Again?”

  Before I can tell my sister to fuck off, Joey’s phone dings. She glances at it—if it’s Gracie, she’ll text back. If it’s anyone else, she’ll put it away.

  She doesn’t do either.

  No, she cracks a grin so big I half expect her cheeks to split to her ears. “You’re just screwing with me now, aren’t you?” she says to Ares.

  He twitches a single eyebrow and digs into the top pizza box.

  And leaps back. “Shit.”

  His phone dings.

  He eyes Joey, pulls out the phone, and makes his that’s disgusting face.

  In case you’re wondering, yeah, actually, it does take a fucking pile of disgusting to get any of us to make that face.

  Joey takes the top pizza. “Anyone else want jalapenos? No? Just me? Damn. Guess I’ll have to eat the whole thing.”

  This woman was fucking made for me.

  “What’d she send you?” I ask Ares.

  He flips his phone over to show me.

  There’s a gif from him with—I’m going to fucking kill him. That’s me. It’s a gif of me falling on my face on the ice during the play-offs last year.

  She replied with a spinning jar of—oh, fuck. That is disgusting. Who’d put jalapenos in ketchup?

  “You’re fucking amazing,” I tell her reverently.

  She shoves half a slice of pizza in her mouth. Pizza with all kinds of green shit mixed in with the meat.