Pucking Around (Jacksonville Rays, #1)

by Emily Rath

The girl sheds clothes around this apartment like a husky sheds hair.

“Look, you’re literally the only person I know in this city, okay? We work together and now we share a wall. For now, you’re my person. The moment I find someone to relieve you of this heavy responsibility,

“You really think I could forget my Seattle Girl? Baby, you’re all I think about.”

“Ten months,” I say, my gaze locked on her. “Ride out your contract. I’ll play nice.” I lean in. “But the second it’s over, you’re mine, Seattle. You’re not leaving me again.”

“Oh baby, just you wait. I’ve got the next ten months to slow burn the fuck out of this.”

Jake and Caleb are pretty boys—perfect jaws, cheekbones for days, the floppy jock hair. All-American athletes. But Mars is…wild. He looks like the toughest guy on a hockey team had sex with a Viking and made a super baby.

Boys may grow into men, but they never really grow up.

Just slather me with butter and jam because I am so fucking toast.

I’m riding the high of our win, and I need some goddamn relief tonight. And I know she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. She’s winding me up, waiting for me to explode. Well, tick, tick, boom, baby girl.

“I don’t melt for you, Jake Compton,” she murmurs, holding my gaze. “I burn.”

I totally lied in the van. If he put his hand inside my panties, he’d feel how wet I am for him. I’m fighting the urge to drag him to the bathroom. I want him on his knees. I want him drowning in my pussy, and I want to scream his name as I come apart.

“But this isn’t just sex for me, Rachel,” Jake adds, his face solemn. “Hell, at this point, I’ll settle for just breathing your air. I’ll rub your feet on the couch after a long day. I’ll do your laundry. I’ll hold your purse while you shop for trail mix. That’s how crazy I am about you. I have to be me, and this is who I am. This is how I feel. Move in and be with me. With us. Whatever that looks like to you, we’ll figure it out. Just give me more than this nothing. I can’t bear another second of the nothing.”

Shit, I forgot about the dog. Oh my god, this is so not happening. Has the lure of unlimited dog snuggles really just tipped the scales in the boys’ favor? “Fine,” I hear myself say.

“Three platonic fuck buddies and a hyperactive dog. What could possibly go wrong?”

I gasp, clutching my bags as I glance behind me. Ilmari is there in his cosplay of Thor at the Oscars. His topknot is as messy as ever, a few strands framing his face. He’s wearing a maroon three-piece suit. I can see the black ink peeking up at his neck.

Well, shit. Why am I now picturing it? Because you’re a horny little horndog,

If Caleb is a Rubik’s Cube, Jake is a Bop It. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. He’s just exactly who he is. There’s no artifice with Jake. No complication. He’s fun and funny and he makes me feel good.

I know what he’s doing. He’s in full goalie mode, shutting me out. But I’m not a puck he can just bat away with a flick of his wrist. Oh no, I am soooo much worse. I’m Doctor Rachel Watch-me-beat-this-dead-horse Price. And this conversation is not finished. Not even close.

“It’s not fair. He’s got all the smarts, and that weird surfer vampire vibe, and a kinky ribbed cock. How’s a guy supposed to compete with a surfing, sun-kissed Edward Cullen?”

“You think this is funny, Seattle? You think you’re gonna cast me aside for Caleb and his weird Klingon cock?”

My mouth opens in shock, and I swear my pussy bursts into flames. His voice is so hot—gravelly and low, sinful even. And the boy can play.

It’s as if his aura takes up so much space all on its own that he compensates by making the other pieces of himself smaller.

He looks hot enough to pour on pancakes.

I sigh, shaking my head. Of course. Mars Kinnunen, ladies and gentlemen. Devastatingly handsome, rich, talented, environmentally conscious, and self-deprecating to a fault. Yeah, I’m gonna have to walk away now.

And he can go fuck himself. Hard. With a sandpaper dildo.”

Something in this moment marks a new change. For the second time, I’m experiencing an unraveling of my being. The first happened when I met Jake in Seattle. This is the second. The Great Unraveling of Rachel Price.

“You don’t speak ten words together for weeks. But then the two times you do speak, you make speeches that should be printed out and sold with a free at-home pregnancy test—”

“You’re dealing with three hockey players, Rachel. We don’t work alone. Team first. Team always.”