The Bad Boy Hockey Collection: A Collection Of Single Daddy Romances

by Cass Kincaid

  I clamp my own strong hand over her mouth just as she cries out in sheer ecstasy, lost somewhere in the bliss of the storm raging through her. I continue to drive my thick cock into her, and each plunge only pushes me closer and closer to my own release.

  She’s still quivering and whimpering in exhausted euphoria as I explode with the pressure of our tryst, allowing each clench and constriction of her inner walls to milk every drop of my release from my body.

  “Oh my God, Corinne,” I breathe out, my chest still heaving as I collapse onto the bed beside her. “I am never, ever going to get enough of you.”

  She nuzzles into the side of my neck, rolling her body up against me so she’s facing me. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Or a warning of some sort.” I can feel her smiling against the damp flesh of my throat.

  “Just making sure you’re aware,” I say, enveloping her with one arm and pulling her close.

  She’s quiet then, and I figure she’s just giving herself a moment to let her pulse return to normal. “Did you mean that?” she asks suddenly, her tone soft but curious. “You want me even more than you wanted to win the playoffs?”

  I almost want to laugh at her question. Almost. If it wasn’t for the hint of seriousness in her voice, I probably would. “Without a doubt,” I tell her. “You want me to prove it to you?” The fact that she even has to ask is making my stomach flip nervously.

  “You don’t think you just proved it?” Her eyes shine with amusement—she thinks she’s being funny—but her curiosity is just as evident.

  “Not if you felt you had to ask me such a question, Cori.” I carefully shift my weight, pulling myself away from her to sit up and pull the drawer of my nightstand open.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, sitting up beside me.

  I find what I’m looking for and turn back to face her, amused to see her stretching over my shoulder trying to see what I’m up to. “Proving it,” I say simply.

  I keep my hands clamped shut over the item in my palm, but I duck my head to force her to look at me. “Corinne, you are my everything,” I tell her. “Well, almost.”

  “Almost?” Her gaze lowers to my hands again.

  Her confusion is adorable, but I feel bad for making her think it’s an insult of some sort. “Corinne,” I say more assertively, then laugh when she lifts her eyes to meet mine again like she’s just been scolded. “You are my everything. My day, my night, my confidante and best friend. You’re what keeps me sane and drives me wild. But there’s one thing you’re not.”

  Her throat moves visibly. “And what’s that?” She’s obviously nervous as hell.

  “My wife,” I reply. I open my hands to reveal the green satin ring box. “But I’m hoping we can change that.”

  So many emotions flash through her eyes, I’m surprised there is even room for the glistening tears that manage to fall from her lower eyelids. “Oh, Brody...” She wipes at the tears. “Oh my God, yes!” She throws her arms around me, clutching me to her with a strength I’ve never witnessed from her before.

  I laugh at the fact she didn’t even wait for me to formally ask her the damn question. “I think Spence is going to be glad to hear that when he wakes up,” I chuckle, wrapping her up in my arms, the ring box still clutched tightly in one hand. “Not as ecstatic as I am, but he’s going to love having you as a mom, Cori.”

  She pulls away to look at me through glossy eyes. “As a mom,” she whispers as though testing out the words on her tongue. “Oh my God, I love you so much, Brody.”

  “Enough to forgive me for proposing to you while we’re naked in bed?” I smirk.

  She laughs...loudly, then shakes her head. She knows she’ll never be able to diminish that wholehearted laugh of hers, and I certainly don’t want her to. “Yeah,” she says. “I think I can forgive you for that, Mr. Marsh.”

  “That’s good, Mrs. Marsh.” I enunciate each syllable with a grin. “Because I know you haven’t even looked at the ring yet, but since we’re here, and since we’re already naked and have even more celebrating to do...” I wink at her, a mischievous grin forming across my face.

  “You think we have time before Spencer wakes up?” She steals a glance towards the baby monitor on the nightstand, which is sitting there, silent.

  “Only one way to find out.”.

  Corinne climbs up onto her knees, kissing me hard on the mouth as she pushes me back onto the bed. “I like the way you think, Mr. Marsh.”

  “I knew you would, Mrs. Marsh.”

  Puck Daddy: A Bad Boy Hockey Romance

  Chapter 1

  Tristan

  When my cell begins to ring, I’m sitting on the bus thinking about our first upcoming game this season. The one I need to win, we need to win, to be back on top. My heart’s racing out of control, and I wonder if I’ll ever shine like I once did. We need to win, and we need to make the playoffs, and my nerves are getting the better of me.

  My hand shakes as I answer my ringing cellphone. The other guys are cheering on the bus in anticipation, and I wish I could do the same. I wish that the fucking confidence I used to have would come flooding back in. They’re confident about beating the Boston Rats. I just hope we do. I’m the center, and I fucking need to get it together if we have any chance at all of winning.

  “Isobel?” I ask, wondering why she’s calling me. I only left her with my kids a little more than three hours ago. She’s been their nanny for the past three months. I just hope nothing’s gone wrong, because I’d put out all the stops to make sure I didn’t have any childcare issues during game season.

  “Tristan...” She sounds distant. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to leave them at the arena.”

  Lights flash in front of my eyes, and my heart starts to thump as if it’s about to beat out of my chest. Anger and fear constrict in my chest.

  “Isobel, what do you mean you left them at the arena?”

  My kids are too young to be left alone. I can’t believe that the nanny’s calling me, just before a game, to tell me she can’t look after my kids. Is that even what she’s saying? I don’t fucking need this today. I’m playing for the first time in months, and she’s fucking it up with one single phone call.

  “Where are you?”

  “On my way home. I can’t do this anymore. Ferguson put gum in my hair, and as for Darcy, she was throwing popcorn at me. I told them if they didn’t stop, I would leave them. And guess what they did?” She spits out the words.

  I can’t believe she’s justifying her actions because my kids were a little troublesome. Sure, Ferguson can be a handful; my mother says he got it from me and that he’s going through the Terrible-Twos stage. Which is great, considering he’s nearly four and doesn’t seem to be growing out of it. Darcy just thinks she’s older than everyone. She’s too sensible for a six-year-old, so something must have sparked her behavior, and she usually controls Ferguson whenever he gets up to some mischief.

  “You can’t fucking do this to me!” I blurt out, waiting for her to have the good sense to go back to them. They must have arrived only a few minutes ago. Where are my parents? They should be there, too.

  “Tristan, I try, I do. But those kids of yours are too much. They’re great when you’re around. Fucking angels. But the moment you turn your back, they show their true colors. It’s been a nightmare, but I knew a lot was riding on this game for you, so I tolerated it. But, enough is fucking enough.”

  She can’t be fucking serious.

  Is this the same woman that told me Darcy and Ferguson were both gifts from above?

  The same woman that said I’d never have to worry about a thing with her in charge?

  I feel as if my ears are deceiving me, because last night at the hotel, they seemed fine. Everyone was getting along. I never for one second suspected that something was up or that there was animosity. They’d spent the whole summer together, just so I felt confident that I wouldn’t have to worry about childcare again during the game season.<
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  “So, you dumped them somewhere, like fucking trash!” I hiss venomously, thinking there’s no way she could truly feel justified in her actions. If she took them back to the hotel, that might make more sense. Maybe. But, what woman in her right mind would just leave kids in an arena? Or, anywhere?

  I’m shaking my head, waiting for her to say something as I take a deep breath and compose myself. I move to one of the back seats, away from my teammates and as far away as possible from my coach. Fuck, if he thought something was wrong, he’d trade me without hesitation, and my reputation is so bad at the moment he wouldn’t even feel bad about it. This is why I need everything to go smoothly now. And why I spent weeks looking for the right nanny. But, now, it’s our first game, and it’s completely fucked.

  Why today?

  She’s left my kids in the Boston arena, a long way from home, in a different state. And we know no one here. She knew that before she even did it.

  Isobel’s references were excellent. She seemed to be a good match for the kids. Even my mother said that she was a treasure and that I’d be a fool to even doubt hiring her. I wonder if she will think the same thing now.

  Why hadn’t I seen the signs?

  I’d done everything right to make sure something like this never happened. I’d spent all summer with her, watching her like a hawk to make sure she was responsible. I hadn’t been watching her closely enough, though. If I had, then I would have seen this coming, long before now.

  The last two years haven’t been easy. Far from it. They’ve been fucking hard, which is why when I was sold back to the Arizona Cats, I thought I’d struck a little bit of luck at last. I decided that I was going to turn my life around and provide some stability for my kids. Isobel has just proven herself to be far from stable, however. She couldn’t be in her right mind, leaving the kids like that.

  I have to play. I’m a player with a history of injuries, and to make matters worse, I’m a single dad with not only one kid, but two. I’ve worked too hard over the years to be an NHL player. No one is going to take the dreams I have for myself and my family away from me. Not now.

  “Go back to them,” I plead with her.

  “I can’t,” she states simply. “They’re at the concession stand, Tristan.”

  I didn’t know whether to call the police and have Isobel arrested, or just hope that the concession stand workers had the sense to hold my kids until I got there. Luckily, we were close to the arena. We would be there in less than five minutes.

  “Go back and sit with Ferguson and Darcy,” I demand again. “You owe me that much.”

  “I can’t do that, Tristan. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  My breathing is labored.

  My parents should be around the arena somewhere. Mom said that she would come to this game. Dad’s health has been pretty touch-and-go over the last couple of years, which is why my mother hadn’t been helping me as much lately. She’s been too busy taking care of Dad, and I can’t blame her for that. He’s stronger now, though, and they promised to come and support me today. I just hope they haven’t broken that promise.

  “Just go—”

  “No! Enough is enough, I told you—”

  I hang up the phone without another word—it’s probably better that way. I need to speak to my mother. I’ll find out where the kids are and then ask her to pick them up. There’s no need to panic. I’ll figure out something for the rest of the games later, but, right now, I need to play this one first.

  I start dialing, and on the first ring, Mom picks up.

  “Mom, where are you?”

  She blurts out, “At home.”

  Shit! “Why? I thought you were coming to the game?”

  She sighs. “We were, but we didn’t think it was a good idea after I fell down the stairs.”

  “I don’t understand, when did you fall down the stairs?” Then, a thought hits me. “I asked why you didn’t fly in with the kids and Isobel, and you said you missed your flight. Did you lie?” I feel a lump in my throat—something’s going on. Mom never lies, especially about something as important as this.

  “Please don’t be like that, Tristan. We wanted to be there. I just didn’t know how to tell you the truth. Please don’t be mad.”

  I try to act normal, but it’s so hard. I need to call the fucking police, but then my coach would know that I have childcare problems. But, I can’t risk my kids being in that arena alone. Fuck, they already are, and who knows where they are now?

  “No, I’m not mad. We just arrived at the arena. I need to get off the bus.”

  If I tell her Isobel has left the kids at the arena unsupervised, she’ll go into a frenzy. My parents are at home, in Arizona, and they’re too far away to help. There’s no way they could get to Boston in time.

  Fuck, Isobel!

  “Seriously, Mom. Just tell me that you’re okay?”

  “Yes, just the joys of old age. Tristan, I wish that I was there for you tonight. We both do. Your dad was worried, so he didn’t want to leave me alone. You’re in our thoughts and prayers. Good luck!”

  Little does she know that I need more than just luck, because not only is my career in jeopardy, but so are the kids’ lives.

  “Thanks. I need to go.”

  She says again, “Good luck!”

  I’m going to need it in more ways than one, but right now I know that luck’s not on my side. I hang up and look at my phone. There’s a message from Isobel.

  The kids are at the concession stand, and don’t worry, you don’t need to pay me. The girl at the stand said she'd look after the kids until you got there. Sending you a picture now.

  Jesus Christ, Isobel! Of course, I’m not going to fucking pay you! At least she has the decency to send a picture of where my kids are right now. Maybe the kids’ lives aren’t in as much danger as I think, but it sure fucking feels like it. I just need to get to that stand quickly, before the shit hits the fan. I just hope that they’re really, truly safe, because I’m not going to take the word of a nanny who just abandoned them in an arena. A nanny that can’t possibly be right in the head.

  A nanny that I hired, and that I never saw the signs about until it was too fucking late.

  Chapter 2

  Faith

  My dad is staring at me as if I’m from a different planet. One minute I’m serving a dark-haired girl and two kids, the next she’s screaming and leaving them with me.

  I tried to chase after her, but she was running too fast—at least, until she stopped all of a sudden, abruptly enough for me to almost crash into her. Then, she reached out and grasped my hands within hers, as if we were friends or something, and said, “Their dad’s Tristan Wright, one of the NHL players. He’ll come and get them. I just can’t do this anymore. No, not anymore!”

  I knew damn well who Tristan Wright was, and I couldn’t believe that his kids were with me. I chased after her a little bit, but I couldn’t keep up through the crowds of people.

  I decided I’d look after the children, not only because she’d just dumped them with me, but because I had the crazy notion of getting an autograph. Besides, this was a big game against Boston, with a massive turnout of fans, and I couldn’t just leave Dad alone...or these kids. I had to try and occupy them until someone came to pick them up.

  I shake my head at the idea of the Arizona Cats captain’s kids being in my care. It feels like an honor to hang out with them, even for a little bit.

  I wonder why she left them? Since the woman disappeared twenty minutes ago, I haven’t had an issue with them at all.

  “Faith, seriously, why did that mother leave her kids?” Dad asks as he starts to get into a panic. The stand has started to get busy.

  He hadn’t given up on my dream, and that was the only reason we were here. I’d wanted to play hockey when I was a little girl, and after I lost one too many games, I lost my confidence. I haven’t skated in years, and my dad has this crazy notion that running the concession stand will maybe m
ake me feel as though I’m a part of the hockey world once more. My dreams of getting a hockey scholarship to go to college were snuffed out, purely by my own lack of esteem. I wanted to be like my mom, who’d been a right-winger for the Boston Pride, a team I’ve been following since I put on my first skates.

  “Faith?”

  I shake my head, making the daydream dissipate, and then I look down. The kids are on stools, trying to help serve popcorn with Dad.

  I whisper to him, “Their mother is dead. The little girl told me that the moment I came back from trying to chase down their nanny. She said that the nanny was bad and wasn’t interested in looking after them. I don’t know the full story. Don’t worry, their dad is Tristan Wright.”

  He nearly chokes. “You’re kidding.”

  I shake my head. “Apparently not.” After that, he seems to like the idea of the kids being at our stand. He didn’t question their presence again, at least.

  “This is fun!” the blue-eyed girl screams as she opens up the folded popcorn packet and my dad starts to scoop popcorn into it. He fills it to the brim. We’re out of the ready-made ones in a heartbeat, as the crowd becomes thick and demanding, complaining about the long line.

  We’re having a trial promotion to try and sell as many packets as possible. The other concession stands weren’t happy about it, but I checked the term and conditions of our stand. Yes, we had to be uniform in prices, but there’s nothing in the rulebook about running promotions. Our deal entails only that purchases of large popcorn packets come with a free drink. I’ve been to a few games, so I know the best places to put up promotion notices. And it’s helping.

  Dad’s hardware store isn’t making that much money lately, and though part of the reason he took up working this concession stand was to get me back in touch with hockey, it’s still a job to keep him going until the store gets back on its feet.