The Pucking Wrong Man (Pucking Wrong, #4)

by C.R. Jane

Whatever was happening, it was outrageous and terrifying and I was pretty sure... I was in love. Holy shit…I was in love?

I had lost my fucking mind. As the final notes of the music faded away and she took a bow, a deep sense of panic...of loss washed over me. I didn’t want her to be done...to disappear from my view. I didn’t know what to do with myself if I couldn’t see her. The curtains closed and I felt sick, as if I was coming down from some sort of high. Like the room had lost all color. Like life had lost all meaning.

“I knew it was ballet all the way.” “What are you talking about?” “You think I didn’t see you shooting those bedroom eyes at the stage like a damn fool that entire last dance?” “I will never doubt you again,” I said wryly. I couldn’t even argue with her or tell her she was imagining things. I was gone. Destroyed. Shows over. Lights out. She was the one.

“Passes? You have passes for us?” I asked, sounding a little crazed. I took the lead, hurrying her forward, vowing to make sure that Ari Lancaster never found out that I was using my seventy-five-year-old neighbor to pick up the future mother of my children. Geraldine would brag about it for sure if she got the chance. “I’m never doubting you again.”

But was there ever enough time to prepare for the love of your life? Stopping in my tracks, I took a deep breath. What. The. Fuck.

“Go get your girl, Camden James.” She leaned forward and got way too close to my ears with those dentures of hers. “After this, no one’s going to be listening to Agatha bragging about her cat flushing the toilet. As if anyone cares what that old liar has to say, anyway. My news will be much more exciting.”

Normally, I would have thought this girl was pretty and probably flirted until I decided whether I wanted to take her on a date or just fuck her. But right now, her eyes were making me want to throw up. I didn’t want her to look at me. There was only one person I wanted to make blush and fuck and date...and she was not that person.

She was probably jealous of my girl because I was sure she couldn’t dance even one-tenth as good as her. No one could. I guess the angel on stage could be a brat...or a bitch... With talent like that, there was usually an ego. I really didn’t fucking care, though. I’d fuck the brat right out of her if I needed to.

“Anastasia Lennox is quite talented,” she said begrudgingly. Anastasia Lennox. The name carved itself into my veins. A beautiful name for an exquisite creature.

I opened my mouth to tell her I would have to call her a cab because there was no way I could leave until I found out more about Anastasia...but she whacked me with her cane before I could get a word out.

“Once you find that spark with someone, you do everything to keep it. Ya got me?” she asked fiercely, peering into my eyes and giving me a little shake. I smirked, because this was one thing I didn’t need any encouragement for.

It was going to be alright. I had always been the type of guy to get what I wanted. If not by talent alone, then by sure force of will. I also had a group of guys, in a certain circle, who’d managed to find their girls. Anastasia Lennox had no idea what was coming.

I wanted to be out there, stalking the dance studio, waiting for Anastasia to get there. It wasn’t a want at this point, it was a physical need, a desperation that sat under my skin. I hadn’t slept last night, or if I’d had, it had felt like a fevered dream, replaying how she’d been on that stage.

Unfortunately, the three hundred followers she had were all men. So, I’d spent thirty minutes reporting all of them—and then reporting her account, too, because it was nothing but a thirst trap for horny assholes. We’d be having a discussion about privacy and who to accept as friends at a later date.

I wanted to hunt down whoever had taken her profile picture. She was sipping coffee in a sports bra, both hands holding the plain white mug, squeezing those perfect tits together as she smiled softly at the camera. I’d saved that picture as my screensaver. I wanted that look. I wanted her to stare at me like that every fucking morning for the rest of our lives. It was a goal for me.

I could see the parade of people through the windows, stretching around the block. My stomach clenched uncomfortably as I fought back memories I wished I could forget. My mom had tried to leave my stepdad once, a brief moment of lucidity where she’d realized she deserved more. We’d gone to a place similar to this for a couple of months.

We had been waiting for what seemed like forever, and the smell of something good coming through the doors in front of us was driving me crazy. Mom had been looking for a job every day while I was at school, but they’d all said no so far. She’d told me it was only a matter of time, though, and then we’d have regular food again. I was just lucky I had free lunch at school every day. I always saved something from my lunch for her. The animal crackers especially made her smile.

“Daniels, bud. What about me? Defenders have a way harder and cooler job. We have to stop them from scoring, and we have to hit people. Linc’s got nothing on us,” I told him, winking at him so he knew I was joking. Forwards, always getting all the glory. So showy.

I liked single moms with the best of them, but I wasn’t going there. Plus, there was the whole fact that something had happened to my DNA last night, and suddenly, all my dick was attracted to was a ballerina that looked like an angel and danced like sin.

For all I knew, she could be a single mom…but for her, I’d go there. I’d let her call me Daddy any day. Alright, crazy. Don’t get a woody in the community kitchen line.

And holy fuck. I blinked, and my tongs clattered to the table, because there was no way that my eyes were working. There was no way that this was real life. Right there, like some kind of mirage…was my dancer. Anastasia Lennox was standing in line just a few feet away from me.

Her hair was a cascade of white-blonde waves, shimmering even under the harsh fluorescent lights of this place. Each strand seemed to catch the light in a way that made her appear almost ethereal, a creature born out of my dreams and moonlight⁠— Dreams and moonlight? What was I even saying right now?

I rubbed at my still sore arm absentmindedly as I took in the rest of her features. Her skin was tan, like she spent her days outside. And the effect of her light hair and light eyes against the dark tan was mind blowing.

But then I really saw her eyes, and all the anger immediately drained away as her pools of light aqua reminded me of the Caribbean Sea. I’d never seen eyes like that before. She was without a doubt the most drop-dead beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my entire life. No comparison. No question. This girl was the stuff of legends. I had to have her. Alright, play it cool. You’re an NHL studmuffin.

“Because…because I’m allergic to peanuts. I can’t handle them anymore.” “Pssh. You’re not allergic to peanuts, Camden James. I saw you eating a Snickers last week.” I snarled at him before peeking to see that she was now only one station away.

I swung my head back around to find her again… And then she was there. Her plate outstretched as she stared at me politely. Politely. Like I was nobody.

She was flawless, stunning, so perfect that she couldn’t possibly be real. There had to be a flaw somewhere. Was there a hairy back hiding under the oversized sweatshirt she was wearing? No. Fuck. She’d been wearing a low-backed spandex looking outfit while she’d performed last night. Definitely no hairy back problems.

“A cookie and a sandwich would be great,” she murmured, her voice a soft caress against my...dick.

Why had I worn jeans this tight to begin with? I was throwing every pair of these things away the second I got home. They were strangling my dick. The only thing I was interested in strangling my dick was her pussy. Fuck! Stop thinking about your dick, Camden!

“Here, you go, Ms. Anastasia,” Freddie said, handing her one of the cookies from my tray because evidently I’d forgotten how to be a functioning human being. Anastasia. I repeated the name in my head like a prayer, ready to worship at its altar. I hated that it was coming from another man’s lips.

“Camden,” I blurted hopefully. “Camden James.” I looked for any spark of familiarity, but her smile was formal, stiff, the kind you gave to a person on the street that you’d never seen before. Not a hockey fan evidently. Well, that was unfortunate. But…fine. I’d just have to impress her with something else.

Freddie reached for a sub sandwich, and I lunged toward the pile and grabbed one too. We both held out our hands to her. I looked like a fucking idiot…and I did not care one bit. Her clear blue eyes flicked between us, confused. Freddie turned to me with a grin. “She likes turkey, bro,” he announced proudly as he gave her a different sub. I filed that away. Turkey over ham. I’d never make that mistake again.

I mean, I was so interested in this girl I might as well have a neon sign over my head that said “pick me, choose me, love me,” like I was an intern on Grey’s Anatomy.

She eyed me curiously, and I stood up straighter. Give me a sign, I was pleading. Lust after my body at least. Fuck. Nope. Nothing. She didn’t even look at my biceps or anything. My angel girl just said thank you again before scurrying away. She went too fast for me to even think of what else to say to her. I’d fucking blown it.

But I couldn’t help but sneak glances at her as I said hello to everyone. Anastasia’s perfect posture had slumped and now looked a bit defeated. Her face held the kind of sad look that had me wanting to punch something because it didn’t seem fair that such a perfect being could look like that. I wanted to know what was wrong, to know what was going on inside that head of hers. I also wanted to stride right over there and tell her to let me fix it.

I wasn’t sure what was so shocking. Any man on earth would be following her around like a lost puppy. Anastasia finally tipped her gaze up to mine, realizing there wasn’t anyone else around I could be talking to. Her lush lips parted for a moment, like she was having trouble finding words. I held her gaze and she cleared her throat slightly. “The turkey sub is great,” she finally murmured as she took a big bite for good measure.

I awkwardly stared at her, continuing to take in all her glorious details. She was young, I was really getting that now. Her face was completely void of any lines or blemishes, and wide-eyed innocence was written all over her. Over eighteen, though, because this particular place didn’t allow unaccompanied minors. They were sticklers about it. Still. What was she? Nineteen? Twenty? And I was thirty-one-fucking-years old. Well, that was fine.

I tended to go for older women, but there was something about Anastasia that drew me in. Not just her talent or the way she’d performed like she’d die up there on the stage because she was giving it her all. There was also the vulnerability in her eyes, it pulled at something inside me. I wanted to protect her. To make her mine. It didn’t matter ...

Besides, as I was constantly telling Logan, our cheeky, arrogant little rookie. I wasn’t an old man. I was seasoned. I could be...

“I…I just haven’t seen you around here before.” “Hmm.” She pushed a tendril of her white-blonde hair behind her ear and gifted me her crystalline gaze. Anastasia eyed me thoughtfully for a moment, like she was deciding my fate. It kind of felt like she held my entire life in her pretty hands as I stood there and waited for whatever was going to come next.

I would have told her I wasn’t a stalker, but overnight, that had become one of the untruest things that could be said about me. I was a stalker. Her fucking stalker. And I didn’t see that changing. Because by the looks of things, fate was decidedly onboard with that new life calling since it had brought her to me today.

My eyes roamed over her, delving past the beauty, and seeing what I hadn’t before. She was thin—overly so I would say, even though I didn’t make a habit of judging women’s bodies. I’d thought it was from dancing…but maybe it was because she didn’t have anything to eat. Fuck. And those slight circles under her eyes…maybe they weren’t from just a busy dance routine, but a deeper stress in her life.

Now that the shock of seeing her had worn off, the fact that she was here...really fucking bothered me. I didn’t want her to struggle. I needed to help my little dancer.

Most girls just looked at me like eye candy, and were very forward with their attraction. Anastasia was…shy. Her eyes darted to my face, then to my chest, and a blush rose to her cheeks before she jerked her eyes back down to her tray. A grin spread across my face. She was attracted to me. She just hid it well.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, her breath hitching as soon as the words had come out of her mouth. Fuck. I liked that. “Good girl.” Her eyes widened, her blush spreading down to her chest. I watched as she obediently took a bite of the sandwich.

“I thought you were allergic to peanuts,” she whispered, and a flare of mischievous amusement lit up in her eyes. I pulled back, my mouth open in complete shock. She had heard me. I was slayed. Destroyed. Gone. A smile spread across her gorgeous face. “See you around,” she said brightly, clearly dismissing me, even though she’d just knocked me to the ground.

She turned another corner, and I got even more confused—there was nothing here but the… My stomach dropped as she walked up the steps of Haven…a homeless shelter for women and children. She was fucking homeless.

There was a strange feeling in my heart—a mix of anger and sadness and fucking devastation as I pictured her laying on a cot, a thin blanket and flat pillow all she had for the night. She’d be sleeping in the same clothes she’d worn today, lucky if her things didn’t get stolen during the night. I knew from those couple of months with my mom, you didn’t get much sleep in a place like that…

How had Anastasia ended up in a place like this? Why was she getting food from a community kitchen...weekly? But yet also dancing for a fancy studio? I couldn’t take it. I was going to go insane from worrying about her. One way or another, I was going to find out everything about Anastasia Lennox. And then, I decided.... I was going to save her.

Back in school, we’d once studied serial killers in psychology class. The teacher had taught us how they could blend in, how they were often attractive and agreeable, luring you in until it was too late. My foster brother reminded me of that.