Puck Love

by Carmen Jenner

  “Well, don’t tell him this because he’ll ride my ass from now until eternity, but I’d do anything for him—he’s family. And I guess you are too, seeing as he’s smitten.”

  “He is not smitten.”

  His deep chuckle resonates through the quiet night around us. “Oh, Stella, you don’t know the half of it.” I frown. “He likes you, a lot if he’s let you stay in the same house as Emmett, but I think he’s terrified.”

  “Of me? That’s ridiculous.” I shake my head adamantly. “Besides, Van doesn’t know the first thing about me.”

  “Oui, Stella douce, de vous.”

  “You know I don’t speak French, right?”

  Eli grins. “You sound like him, and it seems to me like he knows you pretty well. Why else did you beat a hasty retreat?”

  “Maybe I just like running,” I snap.

  “And maybe you’re just scared shitless because Van is everything you want, and nothing you’re accustomed to.”

  “Goodnight, Eli,” I say impatiently, and head for the door.

  “Night, Stella. I’ll swing by in a few days and see how he’s doing.” Eli moves toward the stairs, but turns before he can descend. “Don’t worry; I’ll call first. Make sure I’m not interrupting anything.”

  I roll my eyes and push inside.

  Van is still on the couch. Ignoring him, I move straight to the fire, warming my freezing body as my teeth chatter. After several long minutes of silence as I defrost, I turn and face him. Chinese containers litter the table.

  “Are you done?” I ask.

  “With the food, or pissing you off?”

  “Both?”

  “Probably not with the pissing off.” He shoots me an unapologetic look. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.”

  “I think . . .” I sigh, unable to believe I’m about to admit this. “I think maybe you were right.”

  He sits up a little straighter. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “There’s no need to be an ass about it.”

  “I am an ass, Stella.”

  “What if I’m tired of being a virginal role model? What if I’m sick of the whole ‘good girl’ image?”

  “Then I’d be happy to take care of that for you.”

  I shake my head. “You’re injured. I don’t see you taking care of anything in the immediate future.”

  “Maybe not tonight, but I won’t be injured forever.”

  “I think I’m going to clean up and then go to bed.” I grab the empty takeout containers from the table and place them in the discarded paper bag.

  “You want company?”

  “No!” I exhale noisily. “No, Van. I don’t want company.”

  “That’s too bad. I could have used my cuddle bunny tonight.”

  I glare at him. “Cuddle bunny?”

  He grins. “What, you prefer puck bunny?”

  “You should stop talking before I give you another concussion.” I set the trash back on the coffee table and decide he can clean it up for himself, then I take the stairs two at a time before I agree to being Van’s anything.

  Cuddle bunny. That asshat.

  I quietly open Van’s door. I shouldn’t be in here, but I’m freezing. Thanks to the draft in my room, I couldn’t get my fire started before I went to bed, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask him to be the one to light it. Lucky for me, he’s out cold and snoring. It’s not loud, but he’s definitely a deep sleeper—or at least, he is with the muscle relaxants in his system.

  I creep into the room, wincing when my foot hits a creaky floorboard. I still, just inches from the bed, paralyzed by fear. When he doesn’t move, I slowly pull back the covers and slip beneath them, easing my head onto the pillow beside his. Van’s arm automatically wraps around me and pulls me closer. I don’t know if he’s still asleep, and I don’t much care because . . . cuddles. It’s toasty and warm in his embrace, and I snuggle in.

  Van takes a deep breath in through his nose. “There she is.”

  “This doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Sure it doesn’t,” he mumbles, in possibly the sexiest sleep-roughened voice I’ve ever heard.

  “My fire’s gone out. That’s the only reason I’m here right now.”

  “Do you want me to come light it again?”

  I pause for entirely too long. “No. You’re way hotter.”

  He chuckles. “Than fire?”

  “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

  “I’m not really sure I do. I think I’m going to need you to spell it out for me, snuggle bunny,” he murmurs, his warm breath ruffling my hair. Oh, I’ll spell it out, alright. I stretch my toes back and poke him with them. He jerks away, and I plant both of my feet on his warm legs and chortle as he shrieks like a little girl.

  I snuggle closer, my body spooned by his much larger one, and a beat passes in silence. “Still doesn’t mean anything.”

  “If I say it doesn’t mean anything, will you shut up?”

  “Yes.”

  “If I say it doesn’t mean anything, will you blow me?”

  “Oh my god, Van.” I attempt to squirm out of his grasp, but he pulls me closer and buries his nose in my hair. He sighs loudly.

  “Relax, I’m just kidding. Sort of.”

  “Go to sleep, hockey hero.”

  “You first,” he whispers, but his breathing deepens, and his whole body goes lax as he drifts off. I smile and close my eyes, pretending not to feel the way my heart skips several beats with his arms wrapped around me. I’m just a big fat liar, because though I could never admit it to Van, being here in his bed means everything.

  I wake in the same position, cocooned in Van’s arms. My toes are sticking outside of our little blanket haven and the cold is biting, so despite the fact that we’re sweating under the covers, I burrow in closer. One thing I’m noticing now that I’m completely awake is that Van is hard. Really hard. And not just that, but his erection is pressed firmly up against my ass. I squirm. I’ve never found myself in this position before, and I have this insane urge to slide my hand back, slip beneath the waistband of his pants, and stroke him, but his voice jolts me.

  “Keep squirming like that, country, and I’m gonna blow my load. Not that I wouldn’t like to come all over your hot body, but this isn’t how I think our first time should go.” My hot body goes ramrod straight. “Too early for sex talk?”

  “Way too early,” I mutter, and I make a move to climb out of bed, but Van wraps his arm tighter around my waist and doesn’t let go.

  “I have to get up, Van.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Why are you hard?”

  “Because the hot blonde in my bed has been writhing against my cock for the last five minutes,” he whispers, his breath tickling the nape of my neck. “That’s not something I get to wake up to every day.”

  “What about the puck bunnies?”

  “I don’t bring women here.”

  “You don’t?” I attempt to roll over, but Van isn’t having any part of that either because his hand clamps tightly around my waist, and he throws a long, muscular leg over my thigh, pinning me in place.

  “No, my brother lives here. Those women are after one of two things: my dick or my money. I love Emmett too much to expose him to that kind of bullshit.”

  “What about the lost and found? My first day here, you brought me clothing and said it was from the lost and found.”

  He chuckles. “I don’t have a lost and found, Stella. I lied. I bought those things from Banff. Apart from Eli and my mom, we never have people over. It’s too far to travel anyway. No one comes here. It would mean they’d have to stay, and I don’t like people in my space.”

  “But I’m in your space.”

  “Yeah, and if I didn’t want you here, I’d have put you out on your ass the first day you arrived,” he says, and he trails his hand down over my hip, slamming me back against him. “Lucky for you, I like your ass. A lot.”

  “Okay, and now I
think it’s time for me to leave.”

  “Oh, come on. It was just getting good.”

  “It was just getting dangerous.”

  “Here I thought you liked dangerous and wild. Are you not the same girl who drank a bottle of whiskey and crashed into my mountain?”

  I shake my head and climb out of bed. He attempts to hold me, but I figure I’m safe because he probably won’t risk his shoulder. What I didn’t count on was throwing back the covers and finding his gorgeous hockey body naked head to toe. I mean, I saw it last night when I helped him remove his soaked jeans, but there was clothing and a cushion in the way. This is . . . this is hot.

  “Like what you see, country?”

  I cover my eyes.

  Van just laughs at me. “You’ve seen dick before, right? Because the way you’re looking at me right now, well, let’s just say it’s lucky for you I’m injured.”

  “I am not looking.”

  He chuckles. “You sure? Your cheeks are all pinked up like you want a taste. I gotta say, I’m not opposed to that.”

  “I don’t want a . . .” I let out a frustrated huff and head toward the en suite, slamming the door closed between us. I lean against it for a beat too long, trying to purge the image of that big body settling over me, his hips and . . . other things sinking into me. I smooth a finger over my lip, close my eyes, and decide that I need a cool shower, even if it is minus-two degrees out.

  When I finish drying myself, I’m freezing. I dress in the same PJs I wore last night, and run back to the bed and climb under the covers.

  Van lets out a small chuckle. He’s lying on his back now and I snuggle into his side, careful not to hurt him but wanting his warmth all the same.

  “God, how do you Canadians deal with this fucking cold?”

  He laughs. “You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say fuck. Wanna do it again? Just so I can store it in the spank bank for later?”

  “Oh my god, you’re crazy.”

  “I’m also dead serious.”

  It’s my turn to chuckle. I tilt my head up to the ceiling and whisper in my most sultry voice, “Fuck.”

  Van lets out a hissing breath. “Jesus, Stella.”

  I like his raspy tone of voice. I like the way he sounds equally turned on and tormented, and I love the way my insides tighten when he says my name as if it were a dirty word. “Van?”

  “Yeah, country?” Van traces my arm with his calloused fingertips.

  “Do you . . .” I take a deep breath and decide not to ask stupid questions that will likely have even dumber answers. “Never mind.”

  His hands stop moving, and he gives me a gentle squeeze. “Come on, babe. Don’t leave me hanging.”

  “Would you ever . . .” I can’t believe I’m going to say this. What the hell is wrong with me? “Would you date someone like me?”

  “Someone like you?”

  “Someone so . . . inexperienced.” I blurt out the rest before I can stop myself. “I know you’re used to a certain thing from women—”

  “Am I? What certain thing are we talking about?”

  “Sex! Okay? I’m talking about sex,” I snap.

  He laughs, as if he finds my mortification hilarious. “Yeah, Stella. I’m used to sex, a lot of sex. But, you know, penetration isn’t all there is. I could make you come a million different ways without shoving my cock inside you.”

  I flush from head to toe. There’s a good part of me that wants to just bury myself in his duvet and never come out again, but I forge on. “Well obviously, but doesn’t it all lead to one thing?”

  “Not really. For instance, if you sucked my dick, would it end with you spitting or swallowing?”

  I glare at him. “Oh my god.”

  “Which is it, eh? Option A or B?”

  I bite my lip. It wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing to answer the question, would it? I mean, it’s not as if I’m actually going to do it.

  Whether I want him to know the truth or not, the words tumble out anyway. “B. It’s only polite, right?”

  His head falls back against the pillow with a groan. “Jesus, fuck. I think I just came.”

  I lift the sheet and check, mostly because I want to sneak another peek at his body. “Nope, still hard as ever. I’m not really sure how that proves your point though.”

  “Oh, I’ll give you my point. I’ll hammer it home nice and deep.” Van flexes his hips. The sheets strain against his hard form, and I have half a mind to straddle him and find out just how nice and deep he means. Instead, I roll my eyes and toss my pillow at him. He groans, his whole body tensing up.

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

  A beat passes. He doesn’t say anything—just grunts as he tosses the pillow aside. A deep furrow is etched on his brow. “I think you need to kiss it better.”

  “Where does it hurt?”

  “Right here,” Van says, grabbing his junk through the sheet.

  “You’re an animal. You know that, right?” I clamber out of bed and steal an afghan off the nearby chair to wrap myself in as I stalk to the door.

  “Later, cuddle bunny,” he calls. I turn and give him the finger, and he erupts into laughter as I hurry down the hall and slam my bedroom door closed behind me.

  Fucking hockey hero.

  After a breakfast of waffles—with maple syrup, of course—we spend the day watching hockey highlights in Van’s bed, and by the time he’s ready to get up, I think I have a fairly good grasp on the game. When the lying around becomes too much for his shoulder, we move downstairs. I sing a bunch of half-assed songs and work on the riff for one of the tunes I’ve been writing since I first arrived.

  Before long, Van falls asleep on the couch, and I decide to let him rest so I set the guitar down and wander around the empty house. I put some water on to boil noodles for lunch, and head outside for a breath of fresh air. It’s still freezing out, but it’s cleansing, and I walk around the property, though I’m careful not to stray too far from the house. I’ve had enough run-ins with the Canadian wilderness these past few weeks to last me a lifetime. I’m about to head back when something dark brown and fluffy skitters from the tree line and darts underneath the porch. I stop in my tracks. What the hell was that?

  The shrill cry of the smoke alarm goes off inside the house, and I gasp and run toward it, only I get taken out by the same furry little animal that ran across my line of sight just a few seconds ago. I trip and land on my ass on the snow-covered ground, and then the furry devil catapults herself onto my chest, making this high-pitched war cry halfway between a wail and a squeal. I scream too, and the two of us stay there on the cold ground, teeth bared and screaming at one another while Van’s smoke alarm shuts off. A few beats later and Van is outside, dressed only in a Henley and a pair of sweats.

  “Stella?” He’s only mildly panicked, until I guess, he sees me accosted by a damn mongoose. “Oh shit.”

  The fur ball hisses at me once more and jumps off my chest. She barrels toward Van, which I think is a very bad thing because if he falls, his shoulder will be screwed. I scramble to my feet and watch on in horror, screaming, “Get away from him, you bitch.”

  Only I don’t sound a thing like Sigourney Weaver, and the little rodent isn’t deterred. She leaps toward him, and Van catches her in his arms. He sucks in a sharp breath, winces, as if it hurt, but instead of biting his face off or ripping into his jugular, the thing preens and pushes her nose against his cheek, making these ridiculously cute high-pitched squeals.

  “What the hell is that?”

  He laughs. “That’s an otter.”

  “Why the hell is an otter chewing on your face?”

  “Because Sigi too loves to show up at Lodge Ross unexpectedly and demand cuddles.”

  I screw my nose up in distaste. “You have a rodent and you named her Sigi?”

  “She’s not a rodent. And she’s not really ours. I found her as a pup the first year I moved out here. Emmett and I reared her
and released her back into the wild once winter was over and she was old enough to fend for herself. We were told she wouldn’t survive, but she did. She’s come back every year since.”

  There’s an awful lot of high-pitched happy squeals coming from Sigi now, and I try not to be jealous of the rodent that’s encroaching on my hockey-hero time. “She tried to eat my face.”

  “Oh, come on. She’s just a little jealous, that’s all.”

  “Why Sigi?”

  He smiles. “She’s my significant otter.”

  “Wow. You Canadians are so not funny, huh?”

  “Hey, it was that or Stella. Be thankful Emmett drew the short straw.”

  I shudder. “That thing is nothing like me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. She’s as bitchy as you are before food.” He smooches up to Sigi’s face. Hey, no fair. “You wanna tell me what you're doing out here while you’re burning a pot on my stove?”

  “Shit . . . sorry. I got distracted. I just wanted some fresh air.”

  “It’s okay. I put the fire out myself.”

  I gasp in wide-eyed horror. “There was a fire?”

  “No, but you should see your face.”

  I give him a wry smile. “Screw you, Ross.”

  “Give me five minutes to warm up first, eh? I’m freezing my nuts off out here,” he says, heading toward the house with Sigi riding shotgun on his uninjured shoulder.

  “Then it’s a good thing Sigi isn’t a squirrel.” I follow them into the house, annoyed, and a little bitter that I’m no longer the only guest staying at Lodge Ross.

  I cradle my glass of wine as we watch the flames lick the brick tile of the fireplace. Van sits on the couch opposite me, which I decide is a lot safer than sitting by my side because we’ve already crossed far too many personal-space boundaries in the last twenty-four hours. Sleeping in his bed these past two nights is just the tip of the iceberg. We cuddled practically all day yesterday while we watched game highlights, and again today when the team played against the Senators in Ottawa.

  Now, he leans forward to refill his wine, unsettling a sleeping Sigi in his lap. I watch Van’s every move like a hawk as I run the rim of my glass across my lips. I take a sip, and his mouth turns up in the corner.