Chasing the Puck (Sin Bin Stories, #2)

by Lyssa Lemire

“Hi, I’m Olivia,” I introduce myself to the girl next to Rhys. She beams a smile at me. “Maddie,” she returns the introduction. “I’m Lane’s sister. Nice to meet you.” She seems super nice. I don’t miss the way Rhys can’t keep his gaze from hovering on her, and the way his cheeks color every time their eyes lock.

Summer rolls her eyes. “Let’s just build the best snowmen we can and then worry about how we’ll decide a winner.” Hudson nuzzles his face into the crown of Summer’s head. “Mmm, my girl’s so smart.”

For some reason, seeing Hudson and Summer all lovey-dovey warms my heart in a way that it just hasn’t before. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been incredibly happy for my friend, and I’ve always loved seeing her happy with Hudson. But with things going well with Tuck—even if we’re keeping it quiet for now—seeing them affectionate with each other strikes a different chord.

When Summer giggles and turns her head for a kiss, I can’t help but let my over-curious gaze flit to Rhys and Maddie. Rhys watches Summer and Hudson before dipping his eyes to Maddie when she isn’t looking, an...

We stand back to survey our competition. Hudson’s and Summer’s is pretty frumpy and basic. From the way his arms are wrapped around her waist while he’s standing behind her and taking a whiff of her hair, I think they spent more time kissing and flirting than constructing their snowman. Fair enough.

Because I’ve never felt higher than I do with Tuck, and once all of our friends know about us, it’s going to be real—so real that there will be no fooling myself about how far I’ll go tumbling down if Tuck hurts me like Ryan did.

“For you,” he finishes, his blue eyes flashing. He crushes his mouth to mine, his kiss rough and insistent. His scent dances in my nose, cinnamon and sandalwood. He’s sweating from so much physical activity under all those layers, adding a musky undertone of raw masculinity that makes me feral.

“She could walk in …” The words send electricity shooting through me. My eyes fasten on the front door. The knowledge that the doorknob could turn with Tuck’s face buried between my legs makes my clit tighten with arousal. “I guess she could,” Tuck drawls, shimmying back to pull my pants off my legs. He kisses his way back up my thighs, each hot press of his lips making sparks dance on my flesh.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re so fucking wet for me.” He’s right. My panties are soaked. My center is a hot, wet mess for him. I’m going crazy as Tuck kisses around my upper thighs, stomach flipping and flopping in torturous anticipation. “Please, Tuck,” I plead.

“Fuck, Olivia,” he rasps. “This pussy is so perfect. It’s a fucking work of art.”

When Tuck slants his tongue over my clit, a moan leaps from me. That’s his cue to stop being so leisurely. The kitchen is full of my moans and yelps as Tuck devours me, his lips lavishing my folds, his tongue curling around my tight nub with the perfect amount of force.

Tuck presses his forehead against mine. His hooded eyes have a drugged look; his lips are swollen from our kiss and still glistening with my juices. “We made it,” he says. “Huh?” A lopsided grin makes one of his dimples pop. “We finished before Summer got back.”

“I had a great time today. And not just this,” he slices his eyes to the spot on the countertop he had me seated on. “All of it.” Warmth bubbles in my chest. “Me, too,” I nod. “All of it.”

She’s wearing my jersey. When I skate onto the ice for our home game against Cornell and see Olivia in the crowd with my number on her chest, everything else tumbles out of my head.

All I can think about is the fact that my girl is wearing my jersey. My number on her chest. My fucking name on her back. Pride and masculine satisfaction roar through me, my chest humming with something I’ve never felt before.

We’re supposed to keep this hidden. But I’m only human. I’m supposed to hide a feeling this strong? I’m supposed to hide what seeing Olivia Lockley wearing my jersey does to me? With my grip still fastened to the curve of her hips, I bend my elbows, lightly tugging her to me. She steps into it, towards me, our chests brushing together.

“Uh. We’re kind of a thing now,” she explains, cheeks reddening as her smile climbs higher. I pull her even closer, the hard planes of my chest pressing against her perfect tits through my jersey. “No kind of about it.”

“I knew it!” Summer exclaims, pushing Olivia’s shoulder. “I’m mad at you! And happy for you! I’m happy-mad!” She pulls Olivia away from me and wraps her in a hug, before then stepping away and shoving her in the shoulder again with a pout—I guess that’s to express the mad part of her emotions.

Not only that, but he even left a comment on one of my posts, the first picture I put up with me and Tuck. It was nothing but a rolling-eyes emoji. This was the day after I blocked the account he tried to use to message me a second time. Tuck noticed and asked who the weirdo leaving a rude emoji on our picture was. I just shrugged and told him I had no idea.

Since I know Ryan is stalking my Instagram—and made an asshole-ish comment on a picture of me and Tuck—I know he knows who Tuck is. But, hopefully, if Tuck doesn’t know who Ryan is, they’ll be able to get through the game without any trouble going down between them.

“Yep. Me and Olivia.” Shit, if hearing Olivia’s name is enough to make me smile, I don’t have the words to explain what saying me and Olivia does to me. My chest is fluttering like the wings of a bird flying off a branch on a warm summer morning. It feels like a fucking dream.

My lips crush to Olivia’s when we get to my room. I kiss her ravenously. I don’t gently coax her lips open with languid caresses, drawing it out and advancing minute by minute; I jump right into the deep end, my tongue swirling with hers, both my hands cupping the round apples of her ass, fingertips kneading into the soft, warm flesh.

I skim my hand from her ass down her leg, crawling up the hem of her sexy little black dress. Sparks dance as my palm rakes up her warm flesh until I can skim the outline of her panties with the pad of my thumb. She whimpers into my mouth. It’s a needy sound, and I know exactly what it is she needs.

“Tuck.” She moans my name. I suck on her tongue while she bucks her hips into the pressure of my hand. I push my middle finger into her opening. She’s so fucking wet that I can hear her juices as my finger enters her. Her muscles clench around it, and arousal rips through me viciously.

Olivia wraps her full, wet lips around my pink mushroom head, and I fucking see stars. Every muscle in my body curls tight. I groan and curse as she slides the flat of her tongue over my swollen head, the most intense sensation unwinding inside me.

I’m not ready to finish yet, not until I’ve buried myself inside her to the hilt, not until my hips are slapping against her ass with that tiny black dress pulled up around her waist.

“Fuck, baby,” I rasp. “You have no fucking clue what seeing you like this does to me.” Her ass is the perfect heart shape, and my blood thickens when I see those ten marks of pressure my fingertips left on her. “I have a feeling you’re going to show me,” she says, coy as she can be while her voice is so thick with need.

“So fucking sweet,” I growl as I lap at her. Her ass squirms in my face and I fucking love it. She’s still wound tight from being filled with my finger earlier. I can tell from the breathy sounds she makes that she’s about to come, so I pull back.

Ryan Wentz. Ryan Wentz. Have I overheard the name Ryan at any point, from Olivia, or even from Summer or Hudson? I know Olivia used to date a hockey player. Anger clogs my throat as the obvious thought grips me.

Is this the fucking piece of shit who hurt Olivia? The guy who had the smartest, most talented, sweetest, most beautiful girl in the damn world and taught her to be afraid of her own feelings? And did that heap of garbage just fucking dare to call her sloppy seconds? Rage boils in my blood.

My fist smashes into his face before my hockey stick even hits the ice. I see red. Literally. I always thought that was just an expression, but right now the crisp white ice looks blood red. I’m in a frenzy, throwing jabs and hooks at Ryan as he tries to cover up. I get in a couple direct hits. The smash of my knuckles against his face is the only thing that brings any relief to the incandescent rage that’s burning all over me.

I don’t even watch the game. All I can think of are his words. What he said about Olivia. The scummy look in his eyes. The gleeful, malicious tilt on his lips. I hope I fucking split those lips.

“Then I only wish I threw a couple punches myself. Fuck the loss tonight. We’re in the playoffs anyway. That asshole deserved it.” All my teammates murmur in agreement. Even though I’m still simmering with anger, their support, and the fact that they care about Olivia, is like a soothing lotion over a sunburn.

“One thing, boys,” Coach says. “I get that you don’t want them to get away with this. And hey, this is hockey after all, not soccer. I came up playing this game and I’ve thrown some left and rights in my time. Take my advice—get it out of your system early, and then wipe the floor with them.”

Summer and I are waiting on the stoop of Tuck’s house when the guys get back from the game. When he sees me, he rushes up and kisses me like he won’t be able to breathe if he doesn’t.

An awkward smile flits on my lips when he pulls away, his eyes beaming concern at me. Not just concern, but appreciation. He looks at me like he cherishes me, like I’m a precious jewel in his eyes. He always does, but it’s sharper and more immediate this time.

Tuck’s eyes find mine, and I blow him a kiss. I can’t help but notice Ryan looking on in my peripheral vision as I do so; but I pat myself on the back when I successfully keep my gaze from flitting in his direction.

Tuck swats it away. He drops his hockey stick. Ryan drops his. Everyone else on the ice does the same. The arena is deafening as a brawl erupts on the ice. Every player is squaring off with another from the opposing team. Throwing blows, trying to grab holds of each other, struggling to stay upright. Even Hudson’s skated out to tangle with the Falcons’ goalie.

Finally, the refs separate them. The crowd is still roaring like spectators at a gladiator fight in ancient Rome. As Tuck skates to the penalty bench, he angles himself towards me and blows a kiss. Everyone notices. I feel hundreds of heads turn towards me, people whispering to the person next to them as they glance in my direction.

They’re not going to come into our house and disrespect us like they did again anytime soon. And no one’s going to disrespect Olivia in front of me and get away with it—I don’t care whose fucking house they’re in.

“Baby, I wish I could do every single thing you’d ever ask me to do,” I say. “But ignoring someone talking about you the way he did? I’m sorry, that’s one thing I’ll never be able to do. Even if you made me promise, that’s the one promise I’d have to break.” “Why?” she demands. “What does it matter?” “Why? Because I love you.”

“I first met you five months ago, Olivia. From that very moment, I haven’t thought about another woman. Every single day, I’ve only thought about you. I think five months is long enough to fall in love.”

One fact blares loud in my mind: she didn’t say No. “I love you, Olivia,” I repeat, because I want to say it again so fucking bad. “I’ve known you long enough to know that. And that’s not going to change any time soon.”

If she needs space, I’ll give it to her for now. But no matter how much space is between us, I’ll still be loving her. “You need space, fine,” I say. “But don’t think I didn’t mean what I said. Don’t think that those were just words I spewed out without knowing what I was saying. I love you, Olivia.”

Tuck told me he loves me. The memory of his words laces through me. Instantly, a bright, warm feeling hums through my veins. But it doesn’t last long. It’s quickly replaced—by fear.

Things with Tuck were going so well, and it was so new. We were having a great time together, not to mention sex so mind-blowing I never would have thought it was possible. Why did things have to suddenly get so damn complicated so soon? Part of me wishes Tuck wouldn’t give me the space I asked for. Part of me wishes he was knocking on my door right now, demanding to be let in, that he’d tell me he loves me again, his blue gaze boring into my eyes, daring me to tell him that I don’t love him back.

“That guy asked me to give this to you.” She hands me a folded-up piece of paper and then nods her head towards the door. I look over my shoulder to see Tuck standing there. My heart leaps into my throat seeing him after a couple days. That scruffy hair, those oceans of blue that are his eyes. I unfold the note. Hope this is enough space. Still love you btw.

In case you were wondering, I haven’t stopped loving you since I wrote that first note this morning. In fact, I love you more. See the drawing below for proof. This time there are three hearts drawn below the message. The first one has this morning written under it. The second heart is bigger and has now written under it. The third is even bigger and has tomorrow written under it.

“I love you, Tuck.” His eyes flash, like he loved hearing those words even more than he expected to. I know I loved saying them even more than I expected to. Then, his lips are pressed to mine.

“I love you,” I say again, later, in Tuck’s bed, with my head resting on his bare chest, utterly spent and satisfied. “Love you too, Lockley,” he replies, planting a kiss on the top of my head. A swoony sigh swooshes from my lips. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that.”