Forbidden Puck: A Hockey Romance

by June Winters

  “You made sacrifices for me? Oh, do tell, Honey Badger! Please, enlighten me about the life-crushing burdens you've taken on for my career!”

  “Oh, I don't know, having to move every couple years to make sure you got to play for the best teams, maybe? Which meant changing schools and always leaving my friends behind? Or the fact that we were always on the road for your travel games? Or the fact that my life, my needs, always came in second place behind yours?”

  Damn, I thought. Get me the hell outta here. I can't be in the middle of this.

  I started to slink away, thankful that they hadn't noticed me. They could sit there and fight all day for all I cared, but I needed out now.

  Lance flailed his arms above his head in a big, sarcastic show. “Ohh, I'm so sorry, Ella! I'm so sorry you had to move schools and now your brother is a multi-millionaire who generously paid your way through college. You've had it so tough in life.”

  Ella rolled her eyes; no, she rolled her whole body away from him.

  And that's when she saw me trying to sneak out. She ran up and grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the room. I must've looked white as a ghost as she dragged me back.

  “By the way, Lance, you should really thank Radar. He was a wonderful host to me, while you didn't even care enough to be here to greet me when I arrived.”

  Lance held up the shopping bag. “I wasn't here yet because I was out buying you a sleeping bag!”

  Her jaw dropped. “After everything, you seriously expect me to sleep in a sleeping bag?”

  “Well … er … we still don't have a couch, and—”

  Ella shook her head. “Nope. Tonight, you sleep in the sleeping bag, and I'll sleep in your bed.”

  Lance dropped his shoulders in defeat. “Fine. Jesus. I'll sleep in the damn bag. It's not the end of the world.”

  Ella stamped out of the room and locked herself up in Lance's room.

  Holy hell.

  “The Honey Badger has arrived,” Lance muttered to me.

  “I think I understand the nickname a little better,” I muttered back.

  “Hey man, I'm really sorry you had to put up with her. I lost track of time with Lindsay, and then I remembered I had to buy that sleeping bag … anyway, I hope Honey Badger didn't give you too much trouble.”

  If only you knew how much trouble we almost got in.

  “No, man, not at all.” I gulped. “Sorry I slipped up with her in the first place. I had no idea you didn't tell her that you wanted her to decorate.”

  “Dude. Don't worry. If we didn't fight about this, we would've fought about something else. It was bound to happen.” Lance shook his head as he rolled out the new sleeping bag in the middle of the living room floor. “Right now, I'm kinda regretting inviting her out here, to be honest with you. Could've hired any interior designer in Boston, any Joe Schmo who wouldn't make my life miserable. Man, if I start playing like shit because I'm sleeping on the fucking floor, I'm gonna be pissed at her.”

  I slapped his back. “It'll be alright, bud. Just a few days.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He paused, looking suddenly serious. “Radar. Listen. Be careful around her. Whatever you do, don't get caught lying to her. Because God help you if you lie to her, or if she thinks you've lied to her. She has an honesty policy and she's serious about it.”

  I gulped. “I think—I think I'll just give you both a lot of space this week.”

  He slapped my back. “Good man.”

  Through the window, the lights from Boston's skyline dotted the night. I said goodnight to Lance, and thought about Ella as I walked past her room, Lance's words echoing in my head.

  Be careful around her.

  I knew I had to, but for entirely different reasons than Lance meant.

  This girl could get me in trouble.

  Chapter 7

  Silly Revenge Fantasy

  Ella

  I woke up with the late-morning sun hot on my face and a thin layer of dew on my skin.

  I blinked, trying to make sense of the lumpy mass that laid on the floor at the side of my bed. I blinked again and again until the blur in my vision began to clear, and at last I could make sense of what I was looking at: a pile of inside-out boxers and dirty socks; a pizza box full of half-eaten crusts and crumbs; several empty tubs of protein powder.

  “Euch,” I mumbled, sitting up in the bed that clearly wasn't mine.

  That's right. I'm not home, I'm in Boston, at Lance's.

  Last night was a haze. I hadn't meant to get drunk, but I'd gotten wasted in a hurry. Flying always does that to me though, doesn't it? Come to think of it, I never ate dinner last night.

  That's how I got drunk so fast.

  My stomach, pissed at how I'd treated it last night, gurgled emptily and angrily at me.

  And I'd had, what, three drinks? Yeah, because Radar poured me a glass of wine, then I had two more on the rooftop with Radar before we went back to the condo together—

  Oh no.

  Terror washed over me as I had a flashback to the two of us together. I cringed as the memories played out: how stupidly giggly I was with him, how I couldn't keep my hands (or feet!) off of him, how I nearly jumped in his lap to watch that ridiculous honey badger video with him …

  And, ugh, how I came so close to kissing him.

  I smacked my forehead, and a loud clap echoed off Lance's empty bedroom walls.

  Did I seriously almost have a drunken moment with Lance's teammate? How embarrassing. He must think I'm a complete nut. Or wasted slut or something.

  Yes, I absolutely wanted to flirt with Radar during my stay in Boston—but only if Lance was present to get pissed off by it.

  Last night? I was way, way out of line. I wondered if Radar would tell Lance about how I acted? I hoped not.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Ella?” It was Lance's voice. “You awake in there? I hear you moving around.”

  “I'm awake.”

  “C'mon then, get up. I ordered breakfast and we've got a long day ahead of us.”

  Mm. Right. Shopping for Lance.

  “I'll be out in a minute.”

  After I dressed, I headed to the kitchen. What I saw made me gasp with delight.

  If Lance wanted to make things up to me, ordering in some of my favorite breakfast foodstuffs was a very good way to start. On the center-island sat a fruit and cheese dish, waffles, bagels with cream-cheese and lox, scrambled eggs, hot coffee and more.

  Lance stood by his peace offering awkwardly, one hand on the center-island, the other hand nervously scratching the back of his head.

  “Aw, Lance!” I said, leaping into my brother with a flying hug.

  “Alright, alright,” he mumbled. He hugged me back with a limp arm. “Don't freak out over it. I just want you to be well-fed and thinking clearly while we're out on our shopping spree.”

  I piled food onto my plate. “I've always been curious: do you purposely say the wrong thing, or are you just helpless?”

  “Whatever. Listen, the point is, maybe you were right. Maybe I should've told you that I wanted you to decorate in the first place.”

  “Not maybe—you definitely should have.”

  “Okay. You're right. So, yeah, I'm sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.” I nodded triumphantly and took a bite of my bagel and lox. “Mm. That's good.”

  “So you won't mind helping me pick things out for the condo?”

  “Are you kidding? I love decorating, Lance.”

  “Even though our place is empty?”

  “For an interior decorator, an empty space is like a blank canvas to paint on. What's your budget?”

  “Budget? Really?” He laughed the question off as if it was totally absurd. “You know how much I make, right?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It's a standard question I ask every single client. I'm not asking how much money you make, I'm asking how much you're willing to spend. Besides, I dunno, maybe you're responsible with your money?”
/>   “Hell naw,” he said with arrogance.

  I sighed. “Okay, the budget is unlimited. Is there a specific aesthetic you're hoping to achieve?”

  “A specific what now?”

  “A specific look, or style or theme—” I cut myself off. Lance's face showed only confusion and we weren't getting anywhere like this. “I'll just take that as a no.”

  “Well, there is one thing I know I want.”

  “Which is?”

  “A big leather couch. Like, big, so I can comfortably sleep on it. Oh, and I want it to be red, too.”

  “Easy enough. Anything else?”

  “Nope. Other than that, it's all up to you. You know way more about this stuff than I do, Ella. I trust your judgment. The only thing is, someday, we want to have the team over for a party. And the boys will bring their wives and girlfriends and stuff. So I'd prefer that our place looks like—er, I dunno …”

  “Like two classy professionals live here, and not two degenerate 20-something bachelors that sit around in lawn chairs staring at a TV on the floor?”

  Lance's face lit up. “Yes! Exactly. So yeah. You're the expert. Whatever you wanna do, it's your vision.”

  I pinched his cheek. “Aaaaw, Lance! You finally trust me?”

  He batted my hand away. “Well, I noticed you haven't cashed any of the checks I've sent you. So I guess you really are supporting yourself with your job out in New York.”

  “Does that fact just eat you up inside?” I asked him with a grin.

  “My accountant sure hates it. He's always griping about how my ledger's out of whack thanks to those checks.” He shook his head. “But no. It doesn't bother me at all. I'm proud of you, sis. Haven't I told you that?”

  “No. You haven't.”

  “Well … it's true.”

  “Thanks, Lance.”

  With that, we hugged, and chowed down on our pre-shopping-spree breakfast.

  ***

  After seven and a half hours of shopping all over Boston, and several thousands of dollars rung up on Lance's credit card, my brother was slowing down. We'd found almost everything but the perfect giant leather couch.

  “How do you do this for a living?” Lance griped as he parked his Lamborghini outside the tenth stop of the day. His bright-red Lambo wasn't the most practical car for our mission—and we'd stuffed it to the gills with any of our purchases that would fit. The other assorted large things were slated to be delivered later tomorrow.

  Lance rested his forehead against the steering wheel. “We've been to like, eighty different stores and antique shops. This is worse than a bag-skate. Yet you're still going strong.”

  “It energizes me, really.” I shrugged. For me, the quest of searching for that perfect rug or tile or fabric or piece of furniture was a stronger boost than any cup of coffee I'd ever drank. “But if you're exhausted, this can be our last stop of the day.”

  He let out a whimper of relief. “Really? Last one, you swear?”

  “Yup.” Reaching over the pile of shopping bags and fabrics and table lamps and other random things stuffed between us, I patted his shoulder. “Anyway, we're going to find your giant leather couch in this store.”

  “How the hell would you know that?”

  “Intuition, of course! You learn a few things on the job.”

  I opened the door of his exotic sports car—it was the kind of door that opened upwards—and hopped out. Lance climbed out after me, slowly, like a stiff old man, and shuffled his feet to catch up with me. The door-bells of the furniture shop jangled we entered. I let out a breath of awe—this place was huge.

  Lance groaned. “This is going to take forever …”

  “Shh. We'll go fast. Come.” I grabbed him by the arm and we began weaving our way down the crowded aisles. “So what do you want to do tonight, brother?”

  “Why don't I take you out to Boston's most hoppin' clubs?”

  “Ooh, that sounds fun. What's Radar doing tonight?”

  “Uh, I think he said he's doing his own thing.”

  “We should invite him out with us anyway!”

  “Yeah, sure,” Lance said skeptically, and I could tell he was a bit jealous. It always amused me that Lance was allowed to hit on my friends constantly, but if I ever said hi to any of his friends in the wrong tone of voice? He went into a tizzy.

  I decided to throw a little fuel on the fire.

  “Radar's just such a hunk,” I said dramatically.

  Right on cue, Lance shook his head at me, looking all gruff and serious. “Don't even joke about that, Ella.”

  “What? I'm not supposed to notice that your teammate is hot? He's so tall and muscular and good-looking. I really think we hit it off last night. Since his name is Ryan Ryder, does anyone call him RyRy? No? I should call him RyRy. It's a cute name; cute, just like him.”

  Lance was steaming. “I know you're just trying to piss me off right now. It's not funny though, okay? My protective older brother instinct starts kicking in and shit and I don't like it.”

  “Wait, you're implying that you actually have an instinct to protect me?” I laughed.

  “From him? Yeah. I will if I have to.”

  “What's so bad about Radar?” I asked innocently.

  Of course, I didn't have to ask. Radar seemed like a nice enough guy, but let's be real. All the money and fame that comes from playing a sport professionally goes straight to these guys' heads. So yeah, if you're into vain, self-obsessed guys with room-temperature IQs, who can barely hold a conversation unless it's about hockey, who will cheat on you the first time some big-boobed, starry-eyed bimbo gives him the look … then go ahead, knock yourself out, try to date a hockey player. Me? I wouldn't even bother. Even if he seemed like a decent guy, I was sure that Radar had something fucked up about him.

  “Let's not get into it,” Lance said. “I'll just say this: the guy goes through women. So don't even pretend you think he's cute. I don't want to have to worry about—ugh—anything happening.”

  I rolled my eyes. Nothing was going to happen in the first place, and I couldn't believe Lance even entertained the idea that he had something to worry about.

  “You really have no idea why I'm acting like I have a crush on Radar, do you?” I asked as we sampled one couch after another.

  He tilted his head at me inquisitively. “Hm?”

  “Quinn?” I asked simply, trying to jog his memory.

  His eyes searched upward as he searched his memory bank. “Should that name mean something to me?”

  I tutted loudly. “Uh, yeah. It should.”

  “Remind me.”

  “Last time I visited you, two years ago, when you were living by yourself? I brought Quinn, my best friend and roommate, to visit. And after you started blatantly hitting on her, I pleaded with you both not to do anything. But, you wouldn't listen—because 'pussy'—and she was too blinded by the novelty of sleeping with a pro athlete. That trip was a train-wreck for me and I'm still mad about it, honestly.”

  “Ooooh,” Lance nodded gravely. “Crazy Quinn. Yeah. I remember her.”

  “You call her Crazy Quinn?!” I punched his arm. “You dick-head!”

  “Uh, yeah, I do! You should've the barrage of texts she sent me every day. I was afraid to reply to a single one, 'cause that would only encourage her to send me more.”

  “Lance, she sent you texts because you told her you loved her and then you ghosted her. That'd make any girl go crazy …”

  “I never said I loved her, Ella, that's bullshit.”

  “I wish I could believe you.”

  “I only knew her for what, three days? A man can't fall in love with a woman in three days!”

  I tutted. “I wouldn't be mad if you actually fell in love with her. I'd be mad if you told my best friend you loved her just so you could fuck her.”

  “Whatever. I guess it's my word versus hers, isn't it?”

  “Anyway,” I continued, “now we're not even friends anymore, because she can't stand
the sight of me. In her mind, I'm the one who let her get taken advantage of by my heartless, asshole brother. I lost a good friend, all thanks to you.”

  “So what—you want to fuck Radar to get back at me? Is that what you're telling me?”

  “God, no.” I rolled my eyes. “I don't care about him. Besides, I've got enough bad luck with shitty men in my life. The last thing I need to do is go scraping at the bottom of the barrel with some hockey playing meat-head who can't keep his dick in his pants. All I'm trying to do is teach you a lesson: you shouldn't sleep with your sibling's best friend.”

  “Whew. That's a relief.” Lance paused. “You really had me going for a minute there. I really believed it when you said you thought he was hot.”

  “Well, I do think he's hot.”

  “Hey, what the hell?!”

  “I'm not going to lie about something so obvious, Lance! He's a total babe.”

  “Oh, God, here we go with that again … you could just lie for my sake, but no …”

  “Relax. I don't go for hockey players. And besides, I'm not the kind of girl that would bone my brother's best friend.” I paused. “That's the big difference between you and me.”

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks, uh, I think.” Lance scratched the back of his head. “By the way, I'm a changed man now. I don't sleep around like I used to.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. I'm sort of seeing a girl right now. Lindsay.”

  “Oh—the butt model!” I squealed.

  His nostrils flared. “Radar told you about her?”

  “You left us alone forever last night! Of course you came up. What'd you think we'd talk about?”

  Just then, I saw it.

  “Lance!” I gasped.

  “Yeah?”

  I pointed it out. A giant brick-red leather couch.

  “Hey! That's it! The perfect color, too!” Relief filled Lance's face. “We can finally be done shopping!”

  Lance paid for the item, and the shop owner told him they could actually deliver it today, which was perfect. We climbed back into Lance's sports car and headed home.