Pucking Around (Jacksonville Rays, #1)

by Emily Rath

“Yeah, just give me a sec,” I say, leaving the door open as I dart back in to grab all my stuff off the counter. I only left his apartment about an hour ago. I spent the night on his couch wearing a pair of his grey sweatpants to hide my bare ass. At some point in the night, Sy joined me. I woke up to my alarm, body sweating, with sixty pounds of dog tangled between my legs.

“Here,” I say, hurrying back over. He holds out his free hand and I give him my spare key. “What the hell is this?” he mutters, looking down at it like it’s a live tarantula. “A little forward don’t you think, Hurricane?” “Ha ha,” I say drolly, closing the door behind me. “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, I’ll take the key back, thus sparing you the continued horror of being associated with me.” He frowns, closing his hand around the key. “How do you know I won’t use my newfound power for evil?”

I take a sip of his and instantly regret it. “Blegh—holy shit, that is so sweet.” I shove the travel mug back at him while he laughs. “No one asked you to try it.” Gross! Now I want sandpaper for my tongue to scrub this taste away. “What kind of psycho drinks peppermint mocha in the middle of summer?”

“A guy who drinks peppermint coffee can’t be trusted with my key.” I hold out my hand. “Give it back, please.” He just keeps walking. “Too late, Hurricane. It’s my key now. And if you think I won’t use it to go in there and rearrange your seashell collection whenever I want, then you clearly didn’t think this through.” “I hate you,” I mutter, dropping my hand to zip my backpack. He just grunts. I guess this is our new friend language. Insults and grunts.

His movement pulls my focus from my phone. He’s got a definite hitch in his step this morning, favoring his left leg. “Hey—are you—you’re limping. You okay?” His shoulders stiffen and he doesn’t turn around. “Yeah, m’fine. Knee is just tight.” I purse my lips, watching him work his way down the first set of stairs. My physical therapist alarm dings as I evaluate his posture and gait. He’s in pain. Was he limping yesterday? I don’t think so… I gasp. “Oh god, was that from last night? Caleb, did I hurt you? You know we can take the elevator—” “No,” he grunts again. “Leave me alone.”

“Any chance we have time to stop for coffee?” I say as we both get in. “There’s coffee at the practice arena,” he replies, still acting surly. “Usually, a breakfast spread too. It’s for players, but they never eat it all, and no one cares when staff picks at it.”

“Did you do any research before taking this job?” “Nope,” I reply cheerily. “No time. I was waitlisted for the Barkley Fellowship, and I only found out I was getting off the bench exactly…” I check the time on my phone. “Yep, 48 hours ago. In that time, I’ve been a little preoccupied with packing up my entire life, getting stuck in airports, hunting down bags, getting locked out on my own balcony, and dealing with your grumpy ass,” I add with a side glare. “So no, I can honestly say I don’t know a damn thing about the Jacksonville Rays. I can’t name you a single player. I didn’t even know the team existed until they told me I was moving here. But I’m a quick study.” He huffs a laugh. “Jeez. Talk about your trial by fire.” “Right?” I add with a grin. “So, maybe my new key-wielding wall mate can help a girl out…give me the deets. What’s the skinny? What’s the haps? The dirt?” He groans. “Please stop.” “Talk, or I keep going,” I tease. “The 411, the gossip, the—” “Fuck, stop,” he growls. “God, you’re worse than a chihuahua.” “And I haven’t even had caffeine yet,” I reply with a smile.

“My buddy is on the team,” Caleb goes on as we drive into the dark parking garage. “He was the first defenseman they signed.” I glance his way, slipping my sunglasses off and trading them for my regular frames. “That’s so cool. And now you get to work together?” “Well, you asked about divas,” he says. “Just know that you’ve been warned.” “Uh-oh. What’s his name?” “Compton,” he replies. “No. 42, Jake Compton. Be sure to give him hell. I guarantee he’s earned it.” He pulls into a parking spot and cuts the engine as I laugh. “Okay, will do. Jake Compton is officially on my naughty list.”

“I’m Poppy St. James, head of PR for the Rays. And can I just say that I am so excited to have our team participate in the Fellowship program this year? I mean, who doesn’t love good press? And when I learned that you were going to be our new Fellow? Well, I just about died!” she adds, placing a hand over her heart as she flashes Vicki a smile. My own smile begins to falter. I think I know where this is going. “I mean, it’s enough that you’re gorgeous and so deeply talented,” she adds, emphasizing each word. “But then I found out about your family. I mean, nothing goes with hockey quite like rock and roll, right?” Just wait for it… “Say, do you think your daddy might be interested in coming out for a game this season?” There it is. My smile is officially fake. But this is the life of a celebrity’s daughter. The second people make the connection, I cease to exist. I become merely a conduit through which people seek to reach him. “Umm, you know, I’m not really sure of his schedule,” I hedge. “What are you two talking about?” says Vicki, clearly confused. Poppy glances around me. “Oh, you hadn’t heard? Our talented new Barkley Fellow has some added star power. Her daddy is Hal Price from The Ferrymen!” Vicki blinks. “Is that a band?”

My nickname was The Lightning because I was so damn fast. I was the great hope for the Sanford family to make it to the NHL. And I did…for seven minutes. Seven minutes and thirteen seconds to be exact. That’s how long I was on the ice. One bad check into the boards, one brutally broken knee, one career ended before it even began.

rehab was only going to restore so much function. I just had too many setbacks—unexpected inflammation, nasty infection, a third surgery. I’ve still got three screws in there holding it all together. In my life before the injury, everything made sense. I knew exactly what I wanted. I had the drive and the natural talent. I hardly studied in school and still got good grades. If I wanted girls, all I had to do was curl my finger. Parties, drinking, friends—I had it all in the before. But now I live in the after. The after is a place where I wake up every single day with my knee hurting. The after is a dark place where I’m in my head more than I’m out of it. The after is where the risk of spiraling is always just within reach.

It was Jake who saved my life. We grew up playing in the same junior league. Eventually, we both earned starting spots at Michigan. I was the third draft pick our year to join the NHL, he was the thirteenth. We both went to the Penguins.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when he showed up one night during my shift at the bar with a one-way plane ticket in his hand. He’d just been traded to the LA Kings, and he was anxious about moving across the country all alone. He gave me the plane ticket, ordered a burger with fries, and left me a ten-thousand-dollar tip with a note at the bottom of the receipt that said, ‘You’ll have your own room. Oh, and I signed you up for surfing lessons. You start Monday.’ I didn’t think. I just left the bar, packed my life into two bags, and moved across the country into the spare room in his downtown LA apartment. We’ve never looked back.

More importantly, I know he was responsible for getting me this job as Assistant Equipment Manager. He hasn’t said anything, and he won’t, but I know. This is the first job I’ve had in the hockey world in six years. It was time to come home. He knew it and so did I. So here I stand in the narrow hallway outside the practice arena, sharpening Jake’s blades—my best friend, my guide through the crazy, confusing world of the after.

“Hey, Sanny,” Morrow calls. He’s a defenseman too. “Did you hear about Rip’s tonight?” “Yeah, Sully just told me.” “Cool. You comin’?” “Probably.” I toss him his jersey. “A man’s gotta eat.” He stuffs his head into the jersey. “Cool. You bringing the DLP?” DLP. Domestic life partner. One of the first things the players did once they got traded to the Rays was start a group chat. Not all the guys are on it. In fact, it’s a sore subject for some of the more eager rookies that they aren’t considered ‘in’ enough to be added. When a couple of the guys found out I was added, they lost their shit. The joke spread like wildfire that I had to be added because I’m Compton’s domestic life partner. We don’t even live together anymore, but the nickname stuck, and now one or both of us use the DLP excuse all the time to get out of plans. “No idea,” I reply. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him all morning. “Where is he?” Morrow just shrugs. “Don’t know. He wasn’t at morning meeting.”

CALEB (10:45AM): Where the fuck are you? Exhibition game starts at 11. Immediately there are dots at the bottom of my screen. JAKE (10:45AM): Aww, you miss me, baby? Need something pretty to look at? I snort, shaking my head. But then my mind flashes to images of a face much prettier than his…a face with dark eyes, long, dark lashes, and pouty lips. A face framed by walnut brown hair and accented with a little gold septum ring.

I’m not gonna lie, for a moment there I thought she might kiss me. That would have been a huge fucking mistake. After six years of dealing with all my physical and emotional bullshit, I’m still a goddamn mess. I’d be no good for anyone, least of all a coworker with whom I now share a wall. I raise my phone and snap a picture of J-Lo while he’s still got his shirt off. His chest of curly black hair is on full display. CALEB (10:48AM): Nah, I’ve got this cuddly bear to keep me warm. Jake immediately dislikes the message. Moments later my phone pings. JAKE (10:49AM): If you leave me for J-Lo, I swear I’m gonna walk into oncoming traffic

“Are you missing this game then?” “Yeah, we all gotta keep Vic happy, right?” “Totally,” I reply, tossing a used banana peel in the trash. He groans again. “There’s still like a thousand people ahead of me in this line. And hey, you never told me what happened with this new doc. What’s her name again?” The group chat has been blowing up for the last hour as news of Rachel’s presence spread. Novy was the first in the chat with a ‘whoa, hot doc alert.’ Since then, the guys have been playing ‘hot doc spotted.’ I think based on the last ping she’s somewhere over in the PT suite. “Uhhh…nothing else happened,” I say, lying through my teeth. I told him about the dildo. I don’t know why I’m not telling him about the balcony.

I feel protective over her.

My plan is to just sit back, grab the popcorn, and watch as she eats them all alive.

He smiles. “I’m not gonna lie, I think you’re a better fit for our team than the first Fellow they assigned. I did some research on Doctor Halla’s rehab center and I admire the holistic approach he takes with all his preventative therapies. Healing the body before it breaks. Very forward-thinking. I want that kind of innovation for the Rays.” “Well, whatever I can do to bring that kind of care here, I’m ready,” I say. He claps his hands together. “Excellent. Well, right off the bat, we’ve got a couple guys on our injured list. You’ll work with them closely, keep them on track towards recovery.”

“All our starting guys are about to go through their last round of physicals,” Tyler goes on. “I’d love for you to be in on those,” he adds. “You’ll be our hip and knee tsar. No player is gonna hit that ice unless he gets your approval first.” Nerves flutter in my stomach as I sit forward. “Wow, that’s—you haven’t even seen me in action yet, sir. You really want to give me power to bench your players?” “Well, is anything in your records a lie, Price?” “What? No, of course not—” “You graduated summa cum laude with a degree in kinesiology from USC?” “Yes—” “An MD from UCLA specializing in sports medicine, where you completed internships with the LA Lakers and the Galaxy?” Did he memorize my resume? It feels odd to have it listed out like this. “Yes, but—” “Most recently you were two years in on a three-year primary care residency program with the Cincinnati Sport Clinic.” “Yes.” “You were working directly under Doctor Benjamin Halla, one of the best in the biz—don’t tell him I said that,” he adds in a fake whisper.

CALEB (11:03AM): How’s the first day going, Hot Doc? I huff a laugh, glancing towards him, but he’s gone. RACHEL (11:03AM): Hot Doc? Seriously? What happened to Hurricane? The buzzer goes off and all the guys clear the ice. CALEB (11:04AM): To me, you’re Hurricane. To the rest of the guys, you’re Hot Doc.

The crowd roars as a new goalie takes to the ice wearing teal and my breath catches. He’s massive. The goalie pads already make a regular guy look like Optimus Prime. This man could swallow Kelso whole. “Thaaaat’s Kinnunen,” Tyler says with a grin. “Two-time Stanley Cup winner, star of the Finnish Liiga. That’s the Bear.” “Yeah, I caught that,” I reply.

“I’m sure you know this already, Price, but there’s what they tell you is wrong, then there’s what you see with your own eyes, and lastly there’s what your gut tells you,” he explains. “You need all three to get to the truth of things.” “Oh, I know,” I say. “You ever tried telling a linebacker he can’t start with a meniscus tear during the playoffs?” He chuckles. “Yeah, you get it. It’s not always fun playing bad cop, but we’re ultimately here to protect them, even from themselves,” he adds. “The game only lasts a couple years if they’re lucky. Then they get the rest of their lives to deal with the damage.”

He must be well over 6’ tall. He’s hunched in his stance, his massive body all but blocking access to the top and sides of the net. It’s a clever tactic, just putting the biggest guy you can find in front of the net, but his height actually puts him at a disadvantage. He’s got a massive hole between his legs. The puck has a wide opening to sail right— “Whoa,” I murmur, eyes wide. Kinnunen moved so fast, I blinked and missed it. One second, he was casually crouched, the next he was in full butterfly, hips curled in, and knees twisted out, totally flat against the ice. He effectively shut off all access to the net. Another blink and he’s on his feet, crouched and casual. “He’s so fast,” I murmur. “You’d think with his size—” “That’s he’s too big to play?” Tyler says with a laugh. “Nah, Mars Kinnunen is smooth as butter. He won’t push too hard for an exhibition game. He’ll let a couple sail through just to give the guys an ego boost like—yep—”

“Oh, great.” My hand holding the pen hovers over the signature line as I notice the make and model. “Umm, Vicki? Is this…was this my only option in rental?” She looks up from her phone. “What’s that, hon? Oh—yes, we got a great price with the dealership,” she explains. “Most of the guys prefer something with a little towing capacity. They’ve all got boats and sea-doos and Lord knows what else. That won’t be a problem, will it? You can drive a truck, right?” I nod, signing the form. “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” In reality, I’m terrified. Tess is going to have a big laugh at my expense when I tell her I’m now in possession of an armored tank.

She slings open one of the double doors, leaving me space to slip through. She says something else, but I’m not listening. All I can hear is the humming of my body. My brain tries to catch up with the truth that my eyes and my heart already know. My Mystery Boy is walking right towards me.

I can hardly breathe as I watch him walk closer, his eyes on his phone. He’s still wearing his sunglasses, his dark hair hidden under a baseball cap. It’s a little bit shorter than when I saw him in Seattle, a closer fade at the nape. And he’s clean-shaven. But it’s him. There’s no doubt in my mind. Those broad shoulders are stretching his NHL tech shirt tight across his chest. His long, muscled legs are wrapped in nothing but a pair of athletic shorts. He’s wearing trainers in the Rays colors. He’s a hockey player. Mystery Boy plays defense for the Jacksonville Rays…the team I now officially work for…as his doctor. Oh, fuck—fucking—fuck!

But then he dares to look up from his phone and flash us both a panty-melting smile. I’m dead. Just bury me here.

“Rachel, this is Jake Compton, and he’s trouble with a capital T,” Vicki says by way of introduction. Oh god, his name is Jake. My heart does a little flip. Jake Compton. Caleb’s best friend. He turns his gaze fully on me and I swear I can’t breathe. Those hazel eyes hook me. “Jake, this is our new Barkley Fellow, Doctor Rachel Price.” “Hey Doc, nice to meet you,” he says holding out his hand, apparently still oblivious. I can’t even believe what I’m doing as I slowly reach a hand out. I’ve spent the last two months having my every dream revolve around this guy. Now I’m standing here, right in front of him, and he doesn’t even recognize me!

Luck shines down as I stroll through the parking garage. Vicki is right there, intern in tow. She’s always got someone new shadowing her. My phone pings and I glance down. CALEB (11:45AM): Novy is lookin great. You’ll skate well together against Carolina I sigh with relief. Our starting line is feeling more solid each day. Maybe we actually have a chance at a win this season. CALEB (11:45AM): Kelso is a mess. Looks like Davidson is in…which means I win *stacked money emoji**sushi emoji*

I pull my eyes from my phone, flashing Vicki a winning smile. “Vicki, my goddess, my queen!” She purses her lips, rolling her eyes at me. I’m always teasing her, but she gives it right back. I knew she was serious about the ID when the teasing stopped. “Mmhmm. You get it done finally?” “Would I dare defy your direct order?” I say, pulling my ID from my pocket. “All fixed. We’re good to go.” “Bring it to my office before close of day so I can make a copy.” She turns to her intern. “Rachel, this is Jake Compton, and he’s trouble with a capital T.” I let myself look at her intern. Fuck, she’s pretty. How the hell did I miss that? The guys have been going on about some hot new doctor roaming the halls today, but I honestly couldn’t care less. There’s only one doctor I want. Wow, this girl looks a lot like my Mystery Girl— “Jake, this is our new Barkley Fellow, Doctor Rachel Price,” Vicki goes on. Wait—she’s a doctor? The pretty girl I dismissed with a glance isn’t an intern, she’s a doctor. The doctor who looks like my doctor is a doctor… And then my brain explodes. I can’t think, can’t breathe.

She’s looking at me like I’ve got two heads. Doctor Rachel Price. The new team doctor. My doctor. Doctor Mystery Girl. It all clicks into place, and I blurt out, “Oh my god!” “Oh my god,” she cries, tears in her eyes. Holy fuck. Oh god, it’s happening. She’s here. She’s standing right in front of me. My Mystery Girl. Only she’s not a mystery anymore. She has a name. Rachel. Fuck, just saying it in my head is gonna give me a heart attack…or a hard on. Both. I’ve thought of this moment so many times.

But wait—shit—why is she looking at me like that? Why is Vicki still fucking here? Why aren’t we kissing? Why are our clothes on? “Am I missing something?” says Vicki, glancing between us. “Do you two already know each other?” I look to Rachel, ready to take her lead. She’s so fucking smart. She’ll know what to do, what to say. “We met a couple months ago,” she murmurs. “We umm…sat together on the plane.” I glance at Vicki. Shit, is she buying it? Vicki lets out a little laugh. “Huh, small world, isn’t it? You know, I once sat in first class with Denzel Washington?” Neither of us make any reply.

Fuck, I’m messing this all up. I don’t know how, but I am. I need to talk to her. I need Vicki to be the one to teleport somewhere else. “Well, hon, let’s give your key fob a try,” says Vicki. “Yours should be one of those,” she adds, pointing to a row of white trucks parked near the back of the garage. Rachel fumbles with the key in her hand, her gaze glued to it as she gives the fob a squeeze. The truck at the end flashes its lights as the doors unlock. “And there you go,” says Vicki. “You let me know if you need anything else, okay? And you,” she says, glaring at me. “Bring me that ID or you’ll be flying to all the away games this season tied to the wing of the jet!”

Rachel and I stand there, looking at each other, not speaking. Both our brains are broken. I move first, reaching for her. “I—” “I can’t do this,” she whispers, darting away from my outstretched hand. “What? Wait—whoa—hold on!” I spin around, chasing after her. “Rachel!” She stills, her whole body stiff as I catch up, standing close behind her. I can’t help it; I’m smiling like a lovestruck idiot. “Rachel,” I say again, just because I can. I put everything I’m feeling into the word. Fuck, it’s a pretty name. “Don’t,” she murmurs, her voice catching. “Hey,” I say gently, my hand reaching out and stroking her arm. It’s the barest of touches. “Baby, turn around. Look at me.” She sucks in a breath, turning around. “Baby?” Oooh, shit. She looks mad. “I’m not your baby,” she snaps. “You didn’t even recognize me!” She spins away, stomping off towards her truck. Her words punch all the air out of my chest. “What—Yes, I did! Get back here!” I shout, chasing her down. “Rachel, stop—”

I’ve effectively boxed her in, my hands on either side of her head. Fuck, my body is on fire. What she does to me—I can’t explain it. I’ve never had anyone else make me feel this way. I’m trembling like a fifteen-year-old kid about to get his first kiss. “Stop running,” I beg. “Rachel, talk to me. What the hell is going on in your head right now? You’re freakin’ out. I know you are ‘cause I am too, and that’s okay. Let’s just…let’s freak out together, okay? And let’s use words—” “Oh, you want words? I was standing right in front of you for five freaking minutes, and you didn’t even see me!” she snaps. “Am I that forgettable to you? God—”

I wanna slap her hand away for doing my job. I’m the one who brushes her hair back. I’m the one who takes care of her. That’s my fucking job, and I swear to god, no one is gonna do it better than me. Not even her. She’s mine. “I was distracted,” I say. “It’s been a crazy day, and I wasn’t expecting to see you here and—and you look…different,”

“Yeah, you know like…your makeup is all different, and you’re not wearing the nose ring, and you’ve got glasses on—” “Ohmygod,” she cries, trying to shove her way out from under me. “You’re worse than a Disney prince! What, the girl puts on glasses, and suddenly she’s unrecognizable to you?” “Hey, it was for like five seconds,” I counter. “And you know I get hit in the head for a living! I was minding my own damn business, walking into work. I never in my wildest dreams expected to see you in my parking garage, so I didn’t. I didn’t see you, Rachel…until I did.”

“What is this really about?” I murmur, inching closer. I reach out a hand and gently tip her face up to look at me. “This isn’t about me not recognizing you because you know I did. I do. You think I forgot about you…you think I left that hotel room and moved on?”

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

“You left me in that bed, remember? I’m the one who should be stomping around. I wanted your name. Hell, we could have been two months deeper into something by now instead of starting fresh—” “No,” she gasps, pulling away. Her arms are wrapped around her middle so tight, a pathetic excuse for armor. “Jake, we can’t do this.” Oh, fuck me. My name on her lips is stronger than a shot from cupid’s bow straight to my dick. “Say it again.” She looks up at me. “We can’t do this.” “No.” I shake my head. “Say my name.” “Don’t,” she murmurs. “Please, don’t.” “Don’t what?” I reply, inching closer, my hand cupping her cheek. She smells so fucking good. She left me her perfume in Seattle, but it’s nothing like smelling the combination of that scent on her skin mixed with her hair products and her detergent and just…her.

Oh shit, Caleb. Rachel and Caleb. Rachel is the hot doctor Caleb picked up from the airport yesterday. The doctor with the kinky dildo who now shares a wall with him. The hot doctor he drove in to work this morning. I was about to find him and grill him for more details because I know something else happened last night. He was being too cagey about it. Now my pulse is racing, and my tongue feels too big for my mouth. Do I want to know what happened?

We’ve shared the occasional bunny in college, but this is totally different. Rachel is—she’s everything. “Please look at me,” I murmur. She glances up, her hand wrapping around my wrist as I cup her face. “We can’t do this,” she whispers. “I work for the team now. I just signed a hundred pages worth of contracts. I’m your doctor.” “No.” “You’re my patient. I can’t cross that line—we can’t—” “No,” I growl again, pressing in with my hips. She gasps. Yeah, my girl is mad for me. I can feel it. I lower my hand from her jaw, wrapping my fingers gently around her throat, my fingertips brushing against her racing pulse. She whimpers, her neck arching. She can’t help it. She loves my hands on her.

I have her in my hands again, and I can’t wait a moment longer to taste her. Lowering my face, I press my lips to hers. Boom. Like kerosine tossed on a bonfire, we ignite. We’re pressed so tight, my hands racing down her sides to grab her ass and lift her, wrapping her legs around my hips so our heights match. I slam her up against the side of her truck. She hisses in my mouth, our tongues chasing, hands desperate. Fuck, she’s the girl I want to kiss for the rest of my life. I don’t care how crazy that sounds. She’s ravenous, whimpering as I pin her with my hips, my hardness right there. If we were naked, I’d be inside her. Fuck, I’d be pounding her into the side of this truck. Her groping hands knock my hat off and her fingernails drag over my scalp. It makes my whole body shudder as my dick twitches. I need to be inside her. Need to bury myself in her and never resurface.

“Jake,” she whines. “Please—” And I know what she’s saying without saying it because that’s just the way we are together. Please, put me down. Please, stop. And then my heart is breaking into pieces.

I can’t do this. I can’t not be with her. She’s in my city, on my team, in my fucking arms…and she’s saying no. “Don’t push me away again,” I plead, my heart shredding. “I can’t do this twice, Rachel. Don’t ask me to pretend that we’re nothing. I don’t care about the damn contract.” Her chin lifts in defiance, lips glistening with my kisses, teary eyes dark and dangerous. “Well, I care. This is my life, Jake. This is my chance,” she says with such determination. “This fellowship, this team. It’s my whole career on the line. You don’t have to care about breaking the rules, but I do.”

“No,” I growl. “Rachel, please—” Am I begging? Fuck, I have no pride when it comes to this girl. No chill. No game. I’m lost to her. I was from the moment she turned around on that barstool. “Don’t do this. Don’t push me away.”

“My contract lasts the whole season,” she says, voice tight. “We can be friends. We can be colleagues…but nothing more.”