Pucking Around (Jacksonville Rays, #1)

by Emily Rath

To the Jakes everywhere who want to be loved, the Calebs everywhere who want to be seen, and the Ilmaris everywhere who just want a place to call home.

Make a list, Rach. Make a plan. That’s been my mantra for the last two months as I’ve tried to put the pieces of my shattered life back together. Hot shower, strong black coffee, maybe some eye drops—

“Girl, did you not hear me hollerin’ for you?” She pops a hand on her hip and tosses my phone on the bed. “Someone’s been trying to call you for like thirty minutes.” I reach blindly for it without turning my head. “Who is it?” “I don’t know. A New York number, I think. And there was a missed call from Doctor H.” I bolt upright, swallowing down the instant wave of nausea that hits me. “Ohmygod, Tess!” I snatch up my phone. “My boss is calling, and you let it just keep ringing?” “Hey, I’ve got my own boss breathing down my neck, thank you very much,” she says with a huff. “You handle your arrogant asshole, I’ll handle mine.”

So that’s where I’ve been for the last two months, back in Cincinnati, going through the motions day to day. When I’m not putting in my residency hours at the hip and knee clinic, I’m working out or hiding out…until Tess gets fed up and drags me out. My therapist might be ready to prescribe Prozac, but Tess has a whole other kind of therapy in mind. Dick therapy. Since I got back from Seattle, she’s been on a mission to get me laid. She thinks a wild night with a guy will cure me of my funk. But just the thought of touching another guy has me cringing.

In my case, my nightly dreams are full of only one guy. The guy. My Mystery Boy. I haven’t told anyone about him. Not even Tess. We met on my last night in Seattle. It was the best one-night stand of my life. I’ve never felt so dialed in to another human soul before. But that’s all it could be for me. One perfect night. No names. No numbers. I woke in the morning and quietly packed my bags, leaving him naked in my bed looking like my every dream. I regret not telling him my name. He asked me to stay. He wanted me like I wanted him…want him.

“Dr. Halla, sorry I missed your call—” “Price, are you here? Come to my office,” he says in that posh, slightly accented voice. “I—no, sir. I’m not scheduled to come in until this afternoon.” “Damn. Well, I didn’t want to do this over the phone…” I do a quick inventory. A shower is pretty much nonnegotiable. And I have to put some food in my stomach. And coffee. Lots of coffee. “Umm…I can be there in thirty minutes—” “No. I don’t want to keep them waiting.” Them? Why do I feel suddenly on edge? “Sir, what—” “You got it.” My mind cranks like a pair of rusty gears as I try to puzzle out his meaning. “I—what?” “The Barkley Fellowship. You got it,” he repeats.

Is he joking? Because it’s not funny. “Price? Did you hear me?” “Yes.” My heart is racing a mile a minute. “I don’t understand—” “I just got off the phone with Dr. Ahmed from the selection committee at the Foundation,” he explains. “Apparently, you were first on the waitlist.” “Oh my god.” I shove off the bed and stand on wobbly legs, looking helplessly around my room. “Apparently, one of the fellows made the genius decision to go whitewater rafting and his raft flipped,” Dr. Halla goes on. “Broke both his tibia and dislocated his shoulder, so he’s out.”

“You are still serious about it, right?” “Of course,” I all but shout into the phone. “I—this is just the last thing I expected. Didn’t the fellowships already begin?” “They only started this week,” he replies. “That was the other reason she was calling. Usually, the fellows get some say in their placement. If not the specific team, then at the very least gender and sport. You’ll need to be willing to fill this other fellow’s place. It’s already set up and it’s too late to change it now.”

“It’ll be more of a physical therapy role than primary care, but they’re intrigued with your background in both. Dr. Ahmed wanted to check with me to make sure your experience at the clinic will translate well. I told her you’re the perfect candidate.” My heart flutters. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much for your support—” “Say nothing of that,” he says brusquely. He’s not big on gushing. One of the residents hugged him at the Christmas party last year, and I thought he might turn to stone. “I believe Dr. Ahmed already tried to call you this morning. Call her back, and formally accept the fellowship. And don’t worry about your shift this afternoon,” he adds. “I’ll apprise Wendy of the situation.” “Thank you,” I stammer again.

His words register and I stop in my pacing. The fellowship started this week. Meaning I have to quit my job, pack up my life, and move, and I don’t even know where I’m moving! “Wait—what’s the team?” I call out. “What sport? What city? Did she tell you?” “Yes,” he replies. “Your fellowship will be with the Jacksonville Rays.”

“I’ve never heard of the Rays,” I admit. He chuckles. “Well, you wouldn’t. The Rays are the newest expansion team for the NHL. I don’t think they’ve even finished the new arena yet.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you, ma’am. I’m looking at the screen, and I’m not seeing any record of your bags,” the airline desk clerk drones for the third time. I let out an exasperated groan, juggling my heavy backpack and purse on my shoulder while I snatch up the receipts on the counter. “Then explain these,” I say, flapping them in the air. “The guy in Cincy checked all three of my bags. Clearly, they connected somewhere because—look—I’ve got one right here!” I gesture to the bag at my feet. It’s one of Tess’s old bags. The thing is holding itself together with little more than a prayer.

It’s been 32 hours of pure chaos. I’m hungry, I’m exhausted, and I’m feeling totally on edge after a long day dealing with multiple delayed flights. I didn’t even sleep last night, too busy packing. I said a tearful goodbye to Tess before I was at the airport by 6:00AM for my first flight. But a series of mechanical delays means it’s now after 5:00pm, and I’ve only just landed in Jacksonville.

“I don’t understand how two bags can just go missing—” “Oh…wait,” she murmurs, the screen of the computer glowing in the reflection off her glasses. “Yeeep…here they are. I typed the flight number in wrong.” I stay very still. It’s easier this way. I don’t get a manager called on me this way…or a police officer. “Please just find them.” While she starts clicking away, I shift the bags on my shoulder, looking down at my phone. It’s been blowing up since I stepped up to the counter.

UNKNOWN (5:05PM): Hey, this is Caleb Sanford from the Rays. I’ll be picking you up from the airport. I drive a blue Jeep. UNKNOWN (5:15PM): I’m here. Outside door 2. UNKNOWN (5:20PM): Can’t sit much longer before the guy makes me go around again. Shit. No one said there would be an airport pickup! UNKNOWN (5:30PM): MISSED CALL UNKNOWN (5:45PM): Look, I don’t mean to be a dick, but I can’t wait much longer. It says your flight arrived 45min ago. UNKNOWN (5:47PM): This is Dr. Price, right?

“Please,” I say over the counter for what feels like the hundredth time. “If the bags aren’t here, I can come back, but I can’t just keep standing here—” She raises a hand in my face. “Ma’am, I need you to calm down.” Oh, no she didn’t. “Calm down?” I seethe. “I haven’t begun to be un-calm. You’re the one who said my bags weren’t even in the system two seconds ago—” I choke back the rest of my tirade. It’s not worth it. “Please,” I say again. “Just tell me—” “Got it,” she murmurs, her eyes back on the screen. “Looks like two of the bags were misdirected during your connecting flight in Charlotte. We can have them rerouted here sometime tomorrow morning.” I sigh with relief. “Thank god. What do you need from me?” “Nothing,” she replies, sliding the bag receipts back across the counter at me. “We’ve got all your contact info. Someone will be in touch letting you know when the bags have arrived.”

“Hello?” His voice is deep. “Hi—” Shit—what was this guy’s name? “This is Rachel Price,” I say. “I’m so sorry! My bags are lost and then my phone was stuck on airplane mode—it was a whole thing. I’m coming out now!” “I’m pulling around again,” he says. I can hear music rocking in the background. “Blue Jeep.” He hangs up.

“Need help with your bags?” “Oh, no. I can get it,” I say, my eye going back to him. Oh shit. Here I am fawning over a cute dog when his owner is even cuter. He slips his aviators off, tucking them into the top of his t-shirt, and I get the full effect of those dark eyes and cheekbones for days. He’s got a day or two of stubble along his jaw, and the sexiest bow pout to his lips. “I—” Girl, get yourself together. I snap my mouth shut. Shit, when did it open? “I’m fine,” I repeat. “Let me just…” I don’t even bother finishing the sentence. I just duck my head in shame and move around the back of the Jeep. “Here, let me,” he calls out. “The door can get jammed sometimes.” That’s when he unfolds himself from the driver’s seat and—oh my sweet heavens. He’s sculpted perfection.

“Here, let me get it,” he says. “No, don’t bother.” Why is my voice coming out so squeaky? “That looks heavy.” “I’m a big girl,” I reply, hefting it by the handle. Then a few things happen at once. First, the car behind us honks, making me jump and the dog bark. Then the PA system starts blaring about parking in restricted areas. Lastly, as I lift the bag, I snag the edge of the door. This must have been just enough force to fray the ancient bag’s last will to live. I hear the fabric tear, and then all hell breaks loose. And by hell, I mean the contents of my bag. Yep, I stand there, mouth open in horror, watching as all my belongings flood from the shredded canvas, spilling all over the curb at our feet.

I work quickly, stuffing things back inside the broken bag. A few seconds pass when I realize Surfer Boy is just standing there, making no effort to help me. I glance up, my eyes trailing up his bare legs dusted with sand. Did he come straight from the beach? I pass over his board shorts, up his cut torso, to his face. He’s looking down, but he’s not looking at me. No, he’s looking at the thing in his hands. His expression is frozen on his face, totally unreadable. And thing is right because— Oh my fucking god. My heart drops out of my chest. Someone bury me in the earth right here in this airport loading zone. And make sure to dig a hole for Tess right next to me, because I plan to haunt her to death! Surfer Boy is holding a dildo. My dildo. It was a gag gift from Tess, and it’s most certainly a gag that she packed it for me. It has to be, because the dildo is large and purple and shaped like an octopus tentacle.

I’m standing in the ‘no parking’ zone of the Jacksonville airport with a tentacle dildo in my hand. It’s electric purple and rubbery, and I can tell from the weight it’s battery operated. Holy fucking shit. How the hell did I get here?

I was ready to hate her. Hell, I was ready to drive off and leave her ass here. But then my phone finally rang, and this walking hurricane of a girl swept through the automatic doors, sucking me into her vortex. She talked at me so fast, I could barely make out the words. All I could do is watch the elegant arch of her throat as it moved. Then Sy had to go bouncing around, distracting us both. She’s gorgeous, I’ll give her that. Her curvy body is clad in high-waisted black leggings and a cropped hoodie unzipped to show her cleavage. She did the world a favor by strapping her purse between her breasts and running towards me like a Baywatch model. Once she’s close enough, I see the little glint of gold at her nose. Fuck, she’s got a septum piercing. I’m a sucker for a pierced and tatted girl. Does she have tats too? I can’t tell. What I can tell is that the guys are gonna go crazy. She’ll be breaking hearts by day’s end tomorrow.

Her dark gaze drops from my face down to my hand and her lips part in an “O.” “Oh my god,” she shrieks, launching to her feet. “Give me that—” She all but slaps the dildo out of my hand. Say something, asshole. “Just trying to help,” I mutter, slipping my hands in the pockets of my board shorts, decidedly not helping. I’m afraid to help now. Afraid of what else I might find…what else I might touch. Does she actually use that thing or— “It was a joke gift,” she says quickly.

“My roommate’s idea of a going away present,” she adds, shoving the toy deep inside her bag. “I don’t—I’ve never—god, will you just get down here and help me before we get towed?” I don’t bother hiding my smirk. So, she’s never used it before? Don’t go breaking my heart, Hurricane.

“Any preferences on the music?” “No,” she replies, helping herself to my phone charger. “Sorry, my battery is dying.” “Okay, well it’s gonna get a bit windy,” I say. “You might wanna—” “I know how Jeeps work,” she huffs, clicking her seatbelt on. We both go still as we sit in the silence of her response. Then she groans, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, shit—I’m so sorry. That was the bitchiest thing to say ever.” “It’s okay—” “No, I’m so sorry, I’m just—god—I’m so tired,” she says, a note of desperation in her voice. “I think I might be getting a bit delusional.”

“I haven’t slept in like two days,” she goes on. Yeah, those are tears in her voice. I am now officially uncomfortable. “And I’m so hungry. I haven’t had anything but a bag of pretzels since this morning. But that’s no excuse,” she adds quickly. She turns to me, her fingers brushing lightly against the ink on my forearm. “I’m sorry. God, I’m such a mess that I don’t even remember your name. I feel like a total bitch. You put it in your text, but I was in such a rush, and I couldn’t check it again. And you were waiting for me for so long, and I’m sure you think I’m a total jerk, but I’m not—” The words only stop because she’s out of air. Yeah, this girl is a total swirling vortex of mass chaos. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Then she opens them, those dark brown pools sucking me in. “Can we start over? Please, let us start over.” She holds out her hand to me. “I’m Rachel Price. I’m the new Barkley Fellow, and I’ve had a really rough two days.”

“I’m Caleb Sanford, Assistant Equipment Manager.” She smiles. “Wow, tough job. You guys work crazy hard.” “Yep.” I drop her hand, placing mine back on the wheel. “And who is this angel?” she asks, turning in her seat to give Sy more attention. “His eyes are so gorgeous. I could just eat you with a spoon. Yes, I could,” she coos.

“His name is Poseidon,” I reply. “I call him ‘Sy’ for short.” “Ooo, how regal,” she says, her fingers scratching the thick fur of his neck. “You feel a bit salty, Sy. Were you swimming in the ocean with daddy earlier today?” I go stiff. Wait—no. My arms—my—shit, not my dick. My dick is definitely not going stiff at hearing a gorgeous woman call me ‘daddy.’

“Well, here you are, hon. Home sweet home.” I follow the apartment manager inside the open door of my new apartment. My hands are full with my purse, my apartment paperwork, a drink cup sloshing with crunchy ice, and a bag of leftover tacos. I heft it all onto the kitchen counter, turning to face the view. This is a fully furnished unit on the fourth floor of a brand-new complex not five miles from the arena. Caleb said the Rays bought out the top three floors of this building to have places to house rotating staff like me, as well as keep units in a constant state of readiness for farm team guys. “You’ve got all the amenities,” she says. “Dishwasher, stove, microwave are all here. And there’s a small washer and dryer stack in your hall bath.” She points to an open door.

Footsteps behind us have me turning. Caleb is standing in my kitchen, glancing around with a slight frown on his face. “Whoa…I forgot they look like this when you first move in.” “Like what?” I say, taking my heavy backpack as he hands it over to me. He scrunches his nose. “Like aisle four of a Home Goods.” I stifle a laugh. Yeah, I’ll be hiding at least a quarter of these decorations in a cabinet. “Making new friends already?” Loretta calls. “Don’t worry, hon. We’re not all as surly as this one.” She jabs a thumb at him.

As she talks, I can’t help but glance over at him. He’s making himself at home on my sofa, moving around the striped pillows. He was so stand-offish at first. Understandable, since he thought I was standing him up…which I kind of was, totally inadvertently. Then there was the whole dildo debacle, which he was super cool about and hasn’t mentioned again. On the drive he seemed distant. He clearly didn’t want to talk, which suited me just fine. Especially since he’s got great taste in music.

“Oh, no—Sy,” I cry, cutting Loretta off. “You can’t leave him in the Jeep. Bring him up.” Caleb has his nose buried inside my coffee table book: Florida’s Seashells: A Beachcomber’s Guide. “It’s okay,” he replies, closing the heavy book and tossing it down. “I dropped him off when I brought up your backpack.” “Dropped him off?” “Didn’t this grumpus tell you?” Loretta laughs. I glance between him and Loretta. “Tell me what?” Caleb crosses over to me. “I’m your new neighbor, Doc.” My heart skips a beat. “Neighbor?” “Yep, he’s right next door in unit 403,” calls Loretta. “Why else do you think I was volunteered to pick you up from the airport?” I gaze up into his dark eyes and feel something in my belly swoop. And no, it’s not the tacos. Oh, this is so not happening. No way. Red alert. Back up, Rachel. Shut it down.

“So, if you ever need some sugar,” he murmurs. “You know who to ask.”

Once Caleb left, I unpacked my one ridiculous bag, confirming what I already knew. The only choice in clothes for tomorrow are two evening gowns, a couple bikinis, a white lacy swimsuit coverup, or my winter gear. So, I called for an Uber and made a Target run. Three hours and $600 later, I was back in my apartment with a stocked fridge and pantry, a new comforter on the bed, new pillows on my sofa, and a load of laundry spinning in my mini washer—to include new scrubs and underwear. Just as soon as the washer buzzes, I’ll toss the clothes in the dryer and go to sleep.

I stripped my leggings off as soon as I got home. Sports bra too. So now I’m wearing nothing but my undies and the softest cropped band tee I found in the junior’s section. Grabbing my phone and my glass of wine, I saunter across my apartment towards the balcony.

It’s so lovely out here. The humidity from the day has finally cut, so now it’s just warm. And so blissfully quiet. My music plays as I scroll mindlessly on my phone, slow sipping my chardonnay. I’m a few pages into my latest monster romance when I hear the loud buzzer on my washer go off. Draining the rest of my wine, I go to open the sliding glass door. Shunk. It doesn’t budge. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” I mutter.

“Oh, no. Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!” I hiss, setting both the phone and the empty wine glass down. “Come on, door. Please, don’t do this to me,”

I’m sure all my new neighbors will enjoy watching me shimmy my bare ass over the balcony into a fireman’s ladder-bucket-thingy. I gasp. I know my new neighbor! I glance over the edge of my balcony towards Caleb’s unit. Less than two feet of space separates our railings. The angle isn’t quite right for me to see inside his unit, but I can tell that a light is on. “Please, oh please,” I mutter, pressing the call button on his contact. It rings and rings. No answer.

Going for broke, I take a deep breath and start calling his name. “Caleb Sanford! Hey, Caleb!” I wait. “Caaaaaleb!” Inside his unit, I hear Sy barking. “Yes, help me, Sy!” I call out like an idiot. “Get daddy’s attention for me! CALEB!”

“What the—” “Caleb!” I call again. “Oh, thank god.” “Rachel?” He peeks around the corner at me. He’s shirtless, his coppery hair mussed. I can see that his tattoo sleeve goes all the way up his arm, over his shoulder. The rest of him is long and lean, cut with muscle. “What are you—” “Do you ever check your phone?” I cry, cheeks burning with embarrassment. He raises a confused brow. “It’s in my room. Rachel, what the—” “I’m locked out,” I blurt. “What?” “I came out on my balcony, and I shut the door behind me, and apparently it locked!” He chuckles, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “Oh yeah, Lo should have warned you. Don’t shut the door all the way unless you wanna get locked out.”

“Well…did you call the maintenance number?” “The office is closed. The auto message said to call 911.” “That’s probably your best option. They can unlock your unit and get you free.” I whimper, already moments away from doing the pee dance. “But that’ll take ages.” He smirks. “You got somewhere fancy to be?” I freeze. Of fucking course. If I can see him standing there in nothing but his shorts, he can see me in my thong and cropped Guns N’ Roses tee. I cross my arms over my braless tits. No way is he getting more of a show from me today. He’s seen my dildo and now he’s seen me in my underwear. He’s not getting a glimpse of the girls too. “I can keep you company if you want,” he says with a shrug. “While you wait for the police.”

And that’s when the world’s worst, most genius idea slips into my head. “Or…” “Or what?” Caleb replies, one elbow leaning on his rail. I judge the distance. Not even two feet, with more than enough space where both our balcony railings extend out. Easy peasy. Just don’t look down. “Or I could just climb over there.” He blinks at me. “The fuck you say? We’re on the fourth floor. You fall, you fall to your death, Doc. Splat.” “I’m not going to fall,” I huff. “Look, just extend out your arms and we can better judge the distance—” “No,” he barks, taking a step back. “No fuckin’ way. I’m not gonna help you ninja crawl your way over here. How would that even help? You’d still be locked out.” “But you’ve got a bathroom,” I plead. “And if worse comes to worst, maybe I could crash on your couch and maintenance can open the door for me first thing in the morning. That way we don’t have to involve the police. Please, Caleb—” “You’re fuckin’ crazy, Hurricane,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I’m not helping you. No is my answer. Don’t even ask.”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “Please don’t do that. Don’t fuckin’ cry. I can’t stand when people cry—” “I can’t help it,” I snap at him. God, I can’t let him watch me fall apart. I duck away from the railing’s edge, using our shared wall as a barrier as I fall quietly to pieces. After a minute, he groans and Sy whimpers. “Come on…Rachel?” “It’s f-fine,” I garble. “I’ll be fine. Just g-go back inside. I’ll call the p-police and wait h-here.” I can hear him muttering to the dog. “God—fuck—fine!” he shouts over at me. “Rachel, I’ll help you.” I go still. “You will?” “Yes—fuck,” he mutters again. “But if you fall and die, I’m telling the police that a crazy woman was trying to break into my apartment.”

“Here—take my phone first.” I reappear at the balcony’s edge, leaning over with my arm outstretched, phone in hand. He reaches it easily. See? This is totally gonna work. He takes it and slips it in the pocket of his shorts. His mouth is set in a grim line. “How do you wanna do this, Doc?”

“I packed up my life, said goodbye to my best friend, moved to a state and a city I don’t know, to take a job I’m not sure I can do, with a team I’ve never met,” I go on with a huff, carefully letting go of the wall to reach out my hand towards him. He’s there in an instant, his warm hand wrapping tight around my wrist, providing me balance and support. “I’ve survived flight delays and missing bags. I had a stranger fondling my dildo in public—a dildo I totally use, by the way,” I add as I fling my other arm out towards him. “Shit—fuck—” he grunts, his hands going from my wrists to just under my ribs as he takes a death grip hold of me. “Wait—seriously?” “Yeah, I was lying before,” I reply. “And before you ask, yes it vibrates and yes it feels amazing. And now we are never going to talk about it again. Ever. Do you understand me?” “Ungh—yeah—”

He shifts his hold on me and stills. “Uhh…Doc?” “Yeah?” I pant, wiggling my toes and doing my best not to look down. “My hand is umm…” “Totally grabbing my bare tit?” I finish for him. Because yeah, this crop top is too big, and his hand just slipped right under the bottom hem. He’s got a fierce hold on my ribcage, and I can feel his thumb brushing the underside of my boob. “Yeah, I got that Caleb, thanks. Just pull me the fuck over. Ready?” “Yeah—shit—please don’t die—” “Please don’t drop me,”

I cry out as my shins whack into his railing, but he gets a hand on my butt and lifts me up and over to safety. He stumbles backwards as I go full koala on him. We’re wrapped in an embrace more intimate than what I’ve shared with some of my former lovers. I don’t know where his skin ends and mine begins. We cling to each other, heart’s racing, as Sy dances around at our feet. “Uhh…Doc?” Caleb says after a minute, his breathe warm in my ear. I huff a tight laugh. “Your hand is cupping my bare ass? Yeah, I know. Thanks for the play-by-play, Sanford. Why don’t you put me down now.”

There’s an energy sparking between us. It makes me nervous. I haven’t felt it since— No, don’t go there. I can’t do this again. I can’t let my ridiculous notions about vibes and energy drag me down yet another path to heartache. Mystery Boy was a one-time encounter. Earth-shattering sex? Yes. Soul-shattering to leave the next morning? Hell, yes.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his hand raising to brush softly along my jaw. I close my eyes at the gentle touch. “Don’t be nice to me,” I murmur. “Please—” He stills. Then his hand is under my chin, tipping it up. “Look at me, Hurricane.” Hurricane? Is that supposed to be me? Why does the nickname make my pulse flutter? I open my eyes and glance up at him. The light from his apartment is soft, casting half his face in shadow. He’s beautiful. Those sharp cheekbones and dark eyes put me in mind of a fae prince, cold and mysterious. Not to mention those pouty, kissable lips. “Are you okay?” he repeats. I nod. Then after a moment, I shake my head. I don’t even know how it happens, but in moments I’m back in his arms, crying against his chest as he holds me, his hand soothing down my back. I cling to him as I let loose all my exhaustion and stress and pain. When nothing is left to feel, only one thought remains. “You wanna talk about it?” he murmurs. I let out a soft sigh, my body relaxing against him. “I miss him.”

He’s my someone. Somewhere out there, he’s being a whole person. And I’m here, afraid to let myself give in to the energy sparking between me and this beautiful man. Who knows, maybe this surly equipment manager is meant to be my new someone. But I’m not ready for new. I’m not ready for any of the changes life has suddenly thrown my way. And yet, I have to find a way to fake it until I make it, because my life is happening right now. I’ve got the throbbing shins to prove it.