by Blake Wilder
Big Puck
Blake Wilder
Copyright © 2019 by Blake Wilder Books LLC
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Untitled
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Blake Wilder
Untitled
Big Puck
A Size Matters Story
Blake Wilder
One
Alex
“That’s some pretty impressive stick handling there, hot shot.”
I glanced at the blonde sitting next to me, perfectly aware her comment was a pickup line. One I’d heard at least a million times before.
She lifted her head toward the TV, pointing out the highlights from last night’s playoff game, the one we lost in a double overtime, the one that kept us out of the Stanley Cup finals.
I didn’t bother to look at the screen. Why pour salt in that wound? I was there. I’d been on fire, bringing the heat, leaving it all on the ice.
Playing like I always did.
King of the Ice.
Lord of the Rink.
I’d played the best game of my life.
Then…there was that fucking penalty.
I ran my hand over my smooth face, missing the beard I’d shaved off at one a.m. this morning, after the eternally painful interviews and the “we’ll get ’em next year” speech from our coach. If he’d been trying to boost my spirit, he’d fallen way short.
The season was over for me. Shaving the beard forced me to acknowledge that. Coming to the bar tonight was supposed to get me out of my very empty, very quiet house and help me forget.
“Think you’d be interested in a private exhibition tonight?” she asked.
She’d been shooting me smoldering, fuck-me-now looks ever since I’d walked into the sports bar an hour earlier, anxious to drown my sorrows with a few of my teammates. She smiled as she offered the invitation, leaning closer, giving me an eyeful of her very generous cleavage. “I’d be very interested in showing you my stick handling,” she purred.
I studied her. She looked like every other plastic rink bunny I’d ever met, which was actually my primary reason for coming out tonight. I needed to fuck away this shitty feeling.
She was panting. Hot. Ready. My ego had taken the mother of all hits last night, and this woman looked like she was more than ready to build it back up.
“Your place close?” I asked. Drinking wasn’t cheering me up. Time to see if fucking did the trick.
“Unfortunately my roommate is home. Why don’t we go to your place instead?”
I shrugged noncommittally, even though there was no way in hell I was taking this woman back to my house. I’d learned a long time ago, never let your opponent into your fortress. And while Blondie was smoking hot, there was pure barracuda in her eyes. I’d met too many of her type in the past, women willing to do anything to score an engagement ring from a successful professional athlete. My ten-million-a-year contract made me a hot commodity with women like her. I might be down in the dumps, but I hadn’t lost my fucking mind.
I didn’t do relationships. Period.
It was my one hard and fast rule for a successful, unencumbered life.
Then I glanced up just in time to see the replay of me skating toward the penalty box.
Fuck.
I was a big fan of the one-night hook-up—the only kind of hook-up I indulged in—but I was struggling to work up enthusiasm for anything at the moment. Booze and sex—my go-tos were both failing me.
Barracuda ran her hand over my upper thigh. “What do you say?”
I glanced down at her perfectly manicured fingernails. Ordinarily I’d already have a chick like this in the cab, the two of us groping the whole way back to her place. Tonight, my cock didn’t even twitch. Maybe I needed something a little wilder. “Is your roommate as hot as you? The more, the merrier in my book.”
The seductive smile she sent my way told me I hadn’t offended her. In fact, if I was a betting man, I’d say she and the roommate had double-teamed a time or two before. Even so, that didn’t seem to be her plan tonight.
“Trust me. I’m more than woman enough to handle you on my own. I can make you so hot, you forget your own name.” She shifted her hand to my shoulder, letting it run along my chest, continuing downward far enough that she was creeping into over-the-pants-hand-job area. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing if we weren’t sitting in the middle of a very crowded bar and my head was in the game.
I placed my hand over hers, halting her progress. “Bad girl.”
“Punish me,” she whispered.
Jesus. The woman was saying everything right, everything that typically would guarantee her a ride she wouldn’t forget.
But tonight…
My heart—and dick—weren’t into it.
“So…” she said, running her hand over my jaw, reminding me of the lack of beard. “Shall we head back to your place?”
“Listen—”
Before I could give her the brush-off, my cell buzzed. I glanced at the number and smiled.
“I have to take this,” I told my companion.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Girlfriend?”
There was a note of possessiveness in her voice, enough to convince me I was right to stop this flirtation here. I shook my head. “Coach,” I lied, as I stepped toward the back of the bar, out of earshot.
I answered the phone. “Hey, sis. Thought we’d said it all this morning.” My sister, Bella, had called bright and early, before her flight to Vegas, to commiserate over last night’s loss. Bella was a great listener, always there with a sympathetic ear, followed by the perfect pep talk. Of course, her cheering-up only lasted until I’d hung up the phone. Then I’d felt like shit again.
One fucking game away from the Stanley Cup finals. I’d been so close to hoisting that cup over my head, I could taste it.
“We did. This isn’t about the game.”
“I’m going to see you tomorrow in Vegas. This can’t wait?” Now that the season was over, I could go to the wedding I’d previously sent my regrets to. My buddy from back home, Roger, was marrying one of my sister’s friends, Lindsey.
He’d been my second call this morning after Bella’s—telling me that I wasn’t no longer getting a bye on his big day. I could tell he was trying to cheer me up about the loss and offering the wedding as a distraction. In truth, it was a great idea. Hanging out in Baltimore, commiserating with my teammates and stewing over what could have been, was a one-way ticket to the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
I’d thanked Roger for the invite, and ten minutes later, I had managed to book a first-class airline seat to Vegas and a suite in the hotel where the wedding reception was being held.
I figured screwing a bridesmaid or three might be a better alternative to drinking alone in my house. Of course, given my dick’s response to Barracuda just now, I was starting to worry last night’s loss had caused impotence.
No. No fucking way.<
br />
I pushed that terrifying thought away.
“It can’t wait,” Bella continued. “I need to ask for a favor.”
“What sort of favor?”
I glanced back toward the barstool I’d just vacated and saw one of my teammates, Butch, claiming my seat and my beer. He’d had his eye on the blonde since we walked in. Obviously, he didn’t like me talking to her so he took his opportunity to sneak in.
“Where are you?” Bella asked. “It’s loud there.”
“I’m at a bar with some of the guys. Trying to drink it off.” I grimaced when Butch placed his hand on the blonde’s waist and leaned in to kiss her neck. “Fucking cherry picker,” I muttered.
Bella laughed. “Forget to cover the five hole, Alex? Tsk tsk.” My sister knew me well, too well sometimes.
“Not really. Probably not the best company tonight. What’s the favor?”
“Now that you’re coming to Roger and Lindsey’s wedding, I thought I’d help you out…date-wise.”
“Nope. I don’t take dates to weddings, Bella. You know that.”
From her exasperated huff, I knew I was in for a fight. My sister was infamous for digging her heels in until she got what she wanted. Personally, I blamed my parents for her demanding ways. She was the only girl…and the baby…in a family of five sons.
“Alex, please. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
I laughed. Loud. “Sell that shit to someone who’s buying. Importance has never figured into it when you want something. It’s all whims and impulse and two-year-old temper tantrums.”
“Not this time.” And then, because I’d insulted her, she added, “Asshole,” to kick back.
I chuckled. It was always like this between me and Bella. Constant pokes and jabs. But it was in good fun. There was precious little I wouldn’t do for my kid sister and she knew it.
Hence this damn phone call.
I looked up just in time to see Butch—the smug idiot—waving goodbye as he and Barracuda left together. Little did the guy know he’d done me a solid. I waved back and smiled gleefully. His eyes narrowed suspiciously and he was suddenly taking a second look at the blonde, trying to decide why I wasn’t pissed off.
Served him right.
“I’d love to help you out, sis, but I have no intention of breaking my hard and fast rule. I don’t go to all-you-can-eat buffets when I’m full. I go starving, take a look at the bar, and then gorge myself on the best bites. Weddings are prime hunting ground for single women, all panicking about dying alone in a house full of cats. I consider it a public service to reassure the hottest one there that she has nothing to fear…for one night.”
My proclamation was met with a silence that made me grin. I could picture the pure disgust on my sister’s face and it amused me.
Briefly.
Then my stomach clenched again as I caught a replay of the high-sticking call that cost us the game on the big screen behind the bar.
How many times were they going to show it and analyze it?
Why not just say the words everyone was thinking?
Alex Stone, Baltimore’s beast on the ice, fucked up and cost his team and the city the Stanley Cup.
“Sometimes I wonder why you’re my favorite brother.”
I turned my back on the TV and tried to focus on my conversation with Bella. “You know exactly why.” Bella and I were the late babies, our four brothers all in their teens before my parents decided they’d stopped too soon. She and I were only ten months apart in age, while our older siblings felt more like indulgent uncles than brothers. Two of them had been married with kids of their own before Bella and I got out of elementary school.
“Remind me,” she said.
“Because I’m rich and famous, Baltimore’s favorite son on the ice,” until last night, I thought. Then I continued my list. “Wickedly handsome, witty, fun, the eternal bachelor with a heart of go—”
“Enough. I just ate dinner and I’d like to keep it down. Listen. I’m serious about this favor. It’s really important.”
Time to cut to the chase. Tonight was a wash. My best bet was to settle my tab, head home to pack for the wedding, and call it an early night. But for some reason, home didn’t sound any more appealing than the bar. It felt too…quiet.
“Who do you want me to take to the wedding, Bella?”
She paused, which told me I wasn’t going to like her answer. “Charlotte.”
I frowned, trying to remember which of her friends was named Charlotte. Try as I may, I couldn’t put a face to the name. “Is this a new friend? One I haven’t met?”
“Well…no. You know her pretty well. I mean she’s only been my best friend since kindergarten.”
“Charley’s been your best friend since kin—” And that was when the light went on. Charley’s given name was Charlotte. Not that anyone used it.
I hadn’t seen Charley Matthews—the girl next door, literally—in nearly eight years, not since she and Bella graduated high school.
Then life took us in different directions. Charley had gone to an out-of-state school, while I’d played Division 1 at the University of Wisconsin.
I was drafted to the NHL out of college. I moved to Baltimore with the team and I’d only made it back to Wisconsin once or twice a year since then. And though our parents were neighbors, my path hadn’t crossed Charley’s once during any of those trips.
Regardless, not even that amount of time had been long enough to make me agree to this. “No. Fuuuuuuck no.”
“What do you mean no? You like Charley. Actually, you love Charley. Half the time we were growing up, I wondered if she was my best friend or yours.”
“Charley is awesome.” Or at least, she had been when we were kids. I had no idea what the adult Charley was like, but I couldn’t imagine she’d changed that much. “So are the guys on my team, but I’m not taking any of them to this wedding as my date. I’d like to get laid and I ain’t screwing Charley. It would be like fucking a dude.”
Charley Matthews gave new meaning to the word tomboy. She’d played in the same hockey league as me in middle and high school—the only girl on the team—and there was part of me that was pretty sure she’d be in the NHL right now if not for the fact she was born female. She’d been tall, skinny, and scrappy as hell, always sporting bruises or black eyes from checking the fuck out of me and the other guys on the team. She cussed like a sailor and trash-talked with the best of us.
There hadn’t been a feminine bone in Charley’s body. She always wore her hair short—I was pretty sure she cut it herself because no hairdresser would butcher hair like that—and she never wore a drop of makeup or anything besides hockey jerseys, tatty jeans, and Converse tennis shoes. Most of our friends in high school thought she was a lesbian, though Bella vehemently swore that wasn’t true.
“Come on, Alex. You haven’t seen Charle—Charlotte in nearly a decade.”
“No one can change that much. Why do you keep calling her Charlotte?”
Bella sighed. “I don’t know. She asked everyone to stop calling her Charley a couple years ago. I only manage to remember to say Charlotte about a quarter of the time.”
I wracked my brain, trying to recall what I knew about Charley—Charlotte—from Bella’s phone calls over the years. “Is she still writing kids’ books?”
“She is. Her series is doing great. Tomboy Tess ranks right up there with Judy Moody and Junie B. Jones these days.”
“I have no idea what any of those are, so I’ll take your word for it.” Then I recalled something else. “I thought she was dating someone.”
“Yeah. She was. Until somewhere around nine o’clock last night.”
That was about the same time I’d committed the foul and my dreams of winning the Stanley Cup had gone up in flames.
I rubbed my forehead wearily. Ordinarily, I was better at shaking things off, but last night’s loss stung. Bad.
“The only thing that got me through this shitty
day, Bells, was knowing that by this time tomorrow I’d be surrounded by old friends, drinking, laughing, fucking a hot bridesmaid, and working overtime to earn the hangover of a lifetime. I need this wedding. Please don’t make me babysit a brokenhearted Charley.”
Bella was quiet for a moment and I actually thought that maybe…for once…I’d won. I should have known better.
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Her ex—the fucking asshole—is invited to the wedding too. He’s bringing his new girlfriend.”
“He dumped her at nine last night and already has a new girlfriend?”
“Yeah. I’ll let you piece out what that means.”
It meant Charley’s ex was a cheating prick. “Who the fuck was she dating? Do I know him?”
“Yeah. You and Ben gradu—”
“Ben? Ben Jerome?”
“Yeah.”
“Charley was dating Ben Jerome?” Ben’s family was the wealthiest in town—not that it was too hard to achieve that honor in their neck of the woods where factory workers were a dime a dozen. Ben’s dad was the local judge and a pompous dick, but Ben had been okay. A little boring, but not a jerk. At least in high school anyway.
“They’ve been dating the last three years.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Yeah. They were a great couple the first two years, but Ben changed in the last year. Shades of his father started appearing.”
“That’s not good. Judge Jerome is an asshole.”
Bella sniffed. “Apparently, the fruit didn’t fall far from the tree. Ben works at Bryant and Beauchamp’s accounting firm. He kept telling Charley he couldn’t think about getting married until he had his career in hand. A couple months ago he made partner. So when he said he had something big to discuss with her last night, she thought…well, she thought he was going to ask her to marry him. She had her heart set on eloping in Vegas this weekend.”