Down to Puck (Buffalo Tempest Hockey Book 2) Read online

  “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. We’re just friends.”

  “Yeah. Okay. So what are you doing tonight? Heading home to get some rest before tomorrow’s practice? Watching your films from the week? Prepping for the Philly game?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Great. I’ll round up the boys. We’ll meet at your place.”

  Fuck. He’d walked right into the trap. “I was gonna grab dinner at the pub first.”

  “Which pub was that?”

  “You know which pub, dickhole.”

  “Sweet. I think the boys and I will join you. Watch some of this ‘just friends’ stuff in action.” Dunn slammed his seat backward and shut his eyes. “In the mean time, I suggest you polish up your resume. You’re gonna need it.”

  “Polish this, fuckface.” Henny flipped him off, but there was no more anger behind it. He wasn’t pissed at Dunn or any of the other guys. Not even the coach, who’d been cold-shouldering him for weeks. They had every right to call him out on his shit—he was putting the whole team at risk, and he needed to work his shit out before things spiraled any further.

  Yeah, something was definitely fucked up in that head of his. But Dunn was wrong about Bex. That wasn’t why he was all messed up. Couldn’t be. He’d known her too fucking long. If things were gonna happen between them, they would’ve happened long ago. High school. College, even, on any of their holiday breaks. Would’ve been so easy to go down that road—a few drinks, holiday cheer, a warm body on an ice cold night. But thirty-year-olds who drank too much tequila and fell into bed together? Total fucking accident.

  And as for the phone sex? Fine. Hot as hell. Definitely not an accident. But that didn’t spell feelings either. Just a one-and-done good time they’d obviously both needed to get out of their systems, and now that they had, things would be right as fucking rain. He’d see her tonight, grab a burger and a beer like old times, and prove to Dunn and everyone else that he and Bex were nothing more than capital-BFF friends.

  Big Laurie’s was rocking tonight, but Henny had no trouble spotting Bex. Inside the dark and crowded pub, she was a bright light behind the bar, mixing drinks for a group of girls in fake wedding veils.

  “Damn, I love bachelorette parties,” Roscoe said.

  “Bachelorettes?” Kooz elbowed his way between Henny and Dunn. Must’ve been the magic fucking word, because seconds later Roscoe, Kooz, and his D-men—Jarlsberg and Kenton—were shoving ahead in to the crowd, making a beeline for the ladies and leaving Henny and Dunn in the dust.

  “You need an escort or something?” Henny asked Dunn. “Want me to hold your dick?”

  Dunn laughed. “Just looking out for you. Shall we go see your quote unquote friend?”

  Henny’s eyes hadn’t left her. She pushed the girls’ drinks across the bar, laughing at something one of them said, and his heart damn near exploded. God, he’d missed her. Not in the way he was used to missing her, but with his whole damn body. Heart. Mind. Hands. Mouth. All of it. He’d never wanted to touch her so badly. To inhale her sweet, summer scent. To do all the dirty, sexy things he’d teased her about on the phone…

  Fuck, this is bad.

  Henny was totally staring at her, his cock throbbing in his jeans. Denying Dunn’s accusations at thirty thousand feet in the air was one thing. But standing here in the pub, seeing that smile light up her face, remembering the sounds she’d made for him on the phone… That was a different story entirely. One that had his dick on high alert, eagerly awaiting the happily ever after.

  “You good?” Dunn’s hand on his shoulder snapped him back to reality. “‘Cause right now you’re looking at her like you’re Gollum and she’s the fucking precious.”

  Dunn was right, as usual.

  Henny needed a drink. A good, stiff one.

  He needed to stop thinking about words like stiff one around his best friend.

  “I got this, Gandalf. Thanks.” Shaking off Dunn’s hand, Henny stalked through the throng to prove just how not affected he really was.

  Yeah. Good luck with that.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bex’s heart fluttered, adrenaline flooding her body as Henny and the entire starting lineup crowded into the doorway.

  That much muscle and power in one room would give anyone jitters, but Bex barely noticed the other guys. Every one of her senses was trained on Henny. Dressed in dark jeans and a black button-down shirt that clung to his muscles, stretching tight in all the right places, he moved through the crowd with purpose. His blue-green eyes locked onto hers as he approached, and when she finally smiled, he grinned at her like a wolf.

  Bex’s thighs clenched tight, desire pulsing through her. She’d been over it in her head a hundred times since that phone conversation, all the reasons why this thing with Henny—whatever it was—was a terrible idea. She’d planned to tell him as much as soon as he got back into town, just to be sure they were on the same page.

  But now that he was standing in front of her in that tight shirt with those mischievous eyes and that soft, full mouth… holy hell. All she could think about was the sound he’d made on the phone that night. The deep, primal lust coursing through his voice as he told her all the hot, dirty things he’d do to her in bed.

  As if he could read her thoughts, Henny lifted a flirtatious brow, making her stomach swoop. She stared unabashedly, emotions roiling, waiting for him to give her an indication—any indication—about which way things were going.

  But Henny seemed determined to remain unreadable. Sexy, cocky, and impossibly neutral.

  “I see you brought backup,” Bex finally said. She refused to let him know how badly he was getting under her skin.

  Henny shrugged. “Not one of my better decisions.”

  “Pretty sure the wedding party disagrees.” She nodded toward a table across the room, where the Tempest defensemen were doing shots of whipped cream off a woman’s neck while her friend wrapped Roscoe in a feather boa.

  “Jesus,” Walker said, joining Henny at the bar. “We’re here five minutes and Roscoe’s already wearing feathers? This can’t end well.”

  “Don’t you party animals have an early practice tomorrow?” Bex asked.

  Walker grinned. “Now that you mention it, Bex, we do have an early practice. But someone here—not naming names, but his initials are Kyle Fucking Henderson—insisted on seeing you before heading home.”

  “Dick.” Henny punched Walker in the arm. “I told you, I wanted to grab dinner.”

  “Because the stuff we ate on the plane wasn’t enough.”

  Henny grumbled something else just under his breath. Bex couldn’t hear, but it made Walker laugh.

  “Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, bud,” Walker said.

  Ignoring him, Henny turned those intense eyes back on Bex. He leaned across the bar, up close and very personal, brushing his lips over the shell of her ear. His breath was hot and soft on her skin. “You look beautiful.”

  She closed her eyes, inhaling his clean, masculine scent. It was still Henny, but the smell of his skin had a very different effect on her now than it did a week ago. He started to back off, but she didn’t want him to pull away. She wanted everyone else in the pub to pull away instead, leaving them alone to finally finish what they’d started.

  Henny settled back on his stool, filling Bex with a longing that made her jittery and anxious. She reached for her bar rag and wiped down a spot in front of them, then remembered Fee teasing her about how clean everything was. She tossed the rag into the sink and folded her arms over her chest instead.

  “So,” she said. “You boys want something from the kitchen?”

  “What are my chances of getting one of those black and bleu burgers?” Henny asked.

  “You’re still playing this game?” Walker shot Henny a death glare, then shook his head. Smiling at Bex, he said, “Okay, then. Let’s make it two.”

  “And sweet potato fries,” Henny s
aid.

  “Same,” Walker said.

  “I’ll take a beer when you get a second.” Henny glared at Walker. “You up for that, gramps?”

  “Let’s do it. Hell, why not order shots, too?”

  Henny held up two fingers. “Jägermeister.”

  Walker scoffed. “What are you, seventeen?”

  “What are you, sixty?

  “Two beers, to shots of Jäger coming right up.” Bex scooted over to the liquor setup and grabbed the bottle. She got the feeling there was trouble brewing in Tempest bromance paradise, but Eva had taught her early on not to ask questions. Those boys could bicker like old ladies and damn near come to blows, and five minutes later they’d be hugging it out, promising to name their kids after each other.

  Bex was grateful Henny had guys like Walker and Roscoe in his life. Grateful that he’d let them in. After everything that had happened with his own family situation when they were kids, Henny played his cards close to the vest, never letting anyone too close to his heart. It took him years to warm up to someone, and even then it could be a painfully slow process. But with Henny, once you were in, you were in. You couldn’t ask for a more loyal friend.

  But what about a lover?

  The thought flooded her with desire, but Bex shook it off. Now was not the time to get all hot and bothered—not with a full bar, a bachelorette party that was getting crazier by the minute, and five hockey players to keep track of, two of which may or may not be in a fight.

  She poured the shots and beers, then ducked into the kitchen to put in the food order. By the time she returned to the bar, things had thankfully calmed down between the boys—they were laughing now, signing napkins for one of the bridesmaids.

  At least they’re not autographing her boobs.

  Dismissing a sudden spark of jealousy, Bex checked on her garnishes and ice tubs, then did a quick scan of the pub. Kooz and his D-men had drawn an enthusiastic crowd around the pool table—locals loved when the Tempest boys joined in for a few rounds—but it looked like Fee had everything under control. The bridesmaids seemed content to take pictures of the hockey players. Back at the main bar, all of Bex’s customers had full drinks and big smiles, including Henny and Walker.

  But down at the other end of the bar, Bex’s least favorite customer was trying desperately to snag her attention. Logan Jennings leaned forward on his elbows, waving a twenty at her and flashing a look he probably thought was sexy.

  Ugh.

  “The usual?” she asked flatly, but she was already reaching for the whiskey sour mix. Logan never deviated.

  “You know it. How’s my pretty girl tonight?” he purred, also part of his script. As was the shaggy hair, the dingy white Henley, and the dark vest with way too many pockets.

  Sorry, dude. Han Solo wore it better.

  Bex made quick work of the drink, setting it on a cocktail napkin and sliding it over to him, ignoring his question. “Four-fifty.”

  “Run a tab,” he said. “I’ll be here a while.”

  Lucky me.

  He was about to say something else, but she was rescued from further conversation when Nico called out her burger order for the boys.

  “Sorry, Logan. I’m slammed tonight. Holler when you need a refill.”

  She grabbed the burgers and delivered them to Henny and Walker, who dove in so fast she nearly lost a finger.

  “What’s up with fanboy down there?” Henny jerked his head toward Logan. “Busting out his A-game?”

  Walker grinned, mouth full of fries. “Jealous?”

  “Of that kid?” Henny huffed. “Please.”

  “It’s just Logan Jennings.” Bex popped her elbows on the bar and sighed. “Comes in every few nights, drinks alone, never tips, never stops offering to show me his Camaro.”

  “Is that a euphemism?” Walker asked.

  “Pretty sure, yep.” Bex blew out a breath. “Guys like that are all the same. They talk a lot of shit, but when it comes down to it, they need a GPS and a compass just to find my clitoris.”

  “Who’s finding your clitoris?” Roscoe appeared suddenly, his face smudged with lipstick, boa looped around his neck.

  “Dude. Seriously?” Henny glowered at him. “Far as you’re concerned, she doesn’t have a clitoris.”

  “If that’s what you think,” Walker said, “maybe you need the GPS, too.”

  Bex tapped her lips, pretending to be deep in thought. “Funny, my vibrator never has any trouble finding—”

  “Jesus, Bex.” Henny was beet red, though from the alcohol or something else, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was how much she loved messing with him.

  And how crazy he was making those little butterflies in her stomach.

  Henny finally cracked a smile, pointing at her with a French fry. “Behave yourself, you trouble maker.”

  “Aw, you know you love me.” Her hand shot across the bar, aiming for his hair, but he saw it coming and grabbed her. He brought her hand to his mouth and blew a wet raspberry against her palm.

  “Eww! You filthy little beast!” Squealing, she wriggled free of his grip and grabbed a beverage gun from under the bar, pointing it at his crotch. “I have a loaded seltzer gun and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  Henny shrugged. “If you do, you’ll have to get on your knees and clean it up.”

  Walker rolled his eyes. “You two should probably just—”

  “Not go there,” Henny said.

  Again, Bex thought. We shouldn’t go there again. But even as the words popped into her mind, she knew they weren’t true. She wanted to go there again. Seeing him now only intensified the desire that’d been burning through her since that phone call.

  She wondered what the chances were of going home with him tonight. She was pretty damn sure Henny did not need a map and a GPS to find any part of her anatomy…

  “Bartender?” Logan again, tapping his empty glass on the mahogany and zapping her right out of a perfectly delicious fantasy.

  “God. It’s never the cute ones,” she grumbled. “Only the creeps.”

  “Do we need to have words with him?” Henny asked.

  “Can’t you just kick his ass?” Laughing, she scooted back over to Logan and grabbed the whiskey and sour mix.

  Logan shook his head, pulling out his wallet instead.

  “All set then?” she asked, relieved.

  “Listen, my friend is having a few people over tonight, and I was wondering if you—”

  “No.”

  “My Camaro’s right outside, and—”

  “No. Can I get you anything else?”

  Undeterred, Logan flashed a cheesy grin. “Your digits.”

  Digits? Who even says that?

  She grabbed for the money in his hand, but he wouldn’t release it. “I’ve told you before. I’m not on the menu, Logan. Please stop asking me out.”

  “Come on,” he pressed, stroking his thumb over hers. “You’re missing out.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” She jerked her hand away with the cash, her skin crawling.

  “So you’re just gonna shoot me down like that?” He looked utterly shocked, despite the fact that they’d had this conversation a dozen times. “You got a boyfriend or something?”

  Why did it always come down to that?

  “No, Logan. I do not have a boyfriend. I—”

  “Fiancé, actually,” Henny said. She hadn’t seen him duck behind the bar, but suddenly there he was, standing right behind her, dark and broody and possessive, strong hands sliding over her shoulders.

  Normally Bex hated testosterone games like this. As if having a boyfriend was the only acceptable excuse for rejecting the advances of a creep. But with Henny looming behind her, heat radiating off his body, his thumb caressing the bare skin of her neck, Bex forgot every last objection she had.

  Turning to face him, she placed her hands on his chest, his heart thudding strong and steady beneath her touch. Henny tightened his arms around her and pulled her closer, heat
rising between them.

  Lacing her fingers behind Henny’s neck, she looked up at his face, searching for another clue, anything to let her know he’d felt this, too. Not the confusion of waking up naked after too much booze. Not the dark, secret pleasure of the things they’d whispered on the phone. And definitely not the familiar comforts of their lifelong friendship.

  No, this feeling roiling inside her was different. New. And it was as wild, uncontrollable, and utterly real as the curls in her hair.

  Bex swallowed. Hard. She wondered if Henny could feel the tremble in her hands. He met her gaze, his blue-green eyes blazing with fire. With possessiveness. And, she realized with a start, something that looked a hell of a lot like love.

  Her mouth parted, but all words were lost, burned away by the passion simmering between them.

  “Save it,” Logan huffed. Bex had just about forgotten he was there, but he was determined to stake his claim. “I’ve seen that dude in here a hundred times. He’s not your fiancé.”

  Bex blinked, still locked in Henny’s impossibly strong embrace. “He’s my—”

  Henny’s mouth was on hers in a flash, so fast she didn’t even know what hit her. One second she was standing there wishing Logan would just vanish, and the next she was looping her arms tighter around Henny’s neck, rising on her tiptoes to get closer. Closer. Closer still.

  Henny made a low, gravelly noise in the back of his throat that nearly liquefied her. His kiss was—God, it was everything, all at once. Soft and slow, hot, breathy, desperate. Beyond the cinnamon heat of the Jägermeister, she tasted his hunger, a burning desire she was more than ready to satisfy.

  Bex deepened their kiss, her heart banging wildly, her entire body erupting in goose bumps. Henny slid his hands down her back, down over the mounds of her ass, his fingers grazing her bare thighs as they skimmed the hem of her miniskirt. His touch was electrifying, sending sparks all the way down to her toes.

  She was dimly aware of Logan yammering on, but she couldn’t make out the words, couldn’t process anything but Henny—his hands in her hair, his tongue and fingers stoking a fire that had started low in her belly and was now spreading throughout her body. All around her the sounds of the pub faded away until there was nothing but lips and tongue and breath and a desperate, white-hot need that seemed to grow deeper and more feverish the longer they kissed.