Pucking Strong: An MM Workplace Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 4)

Six Years Ago

Is it possible to lose your job before you even start it? Because if I don’t get my coffee in the next two fucking seconds, I’m officially gonna be late to my first day of work. It’s a busy Monday morning, and this coffee shop is slammed. People are pouring in through both doors like bees into a hive.

“Americano for Evan,” shouts a lavender-haired barista.

An insurance salesman–looking guy elbows me as he passes. Cursing under my breath, I step back. In this cramped space, I don’t see the dog on the floor behind me. He sure lets me know he’s there when I step on his tail and he howls.

“Hey,” his owner cries. “Did you just step on my dog?”

I raise both hands. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see him, I swear.”

The woman and her dog both give me death glares as she tugs him away.

Yeah, I don’t think I have what it takes to frequent the Bright Bean. No caffeine jolt is worth this hassle. Groaning, I bounce on the balls of my feet, trying not to check my phone again. I know what time it is. I know exactly how late I am. “Fuck, come on.”

One could say this is all my fault. I’m the one who hit snooze twice on my alarm this morning. I forgot to stock my mini fridge with canned cold brews. I got lost driving in this confusing downtown full of one-ways and detours.

In my defense, I only found out I was selected for this internship, like, two weeks ago. I tried for it back in the spring. All my friends matched, but I didn’t. Imagine my surprise when, months later, I got an email from my advisor saying I matched with an NHL team in Jacksonville, Florida. And—oh, by the way—could I start in two weeks? I didn’t even know there was an NHL team in Jacksonville. Turns out this is the Rays’ first year in the League.

They had two open internship positions for their brand-new PT program, and I snagged one. But that meant I had less than two weeks to change all my plans. Instead of moving back to my university, I moved into temporary housing at the local Jacksonville community college three days ago. I’m rooming with my friend Colin, who matched with the Jacksonville Jaguars.

“Iced latte for Teddy!”

Rushing forward, I claim my coffee with a hurried “thanks.” I clutch the cup in both hands like a dragon with his egg. This isn’t just an iced latte. It’s an iced oat-milk honey latte with a double shot of espresso and vanilla-sweet-cream cold foam with a drizzle of caramel on top. It’s basically an orgasm in a cup.

Elbows out, I barrel my way towards the exit, all but stumbling into the free air. It’s a muggy September morning, already eighty degrees. But I was born and raised in the South. I can do heat and humidity all day.

I’m still two blocks away from the practice center. Thank god I’m in amazing shape, because I’m about to Usain Bolt my way down this damn sidewalk. I break into a jog, ducking around a couple headed for the coffee shop. Traffic is busy with everyone going to work. Up and down the street, trucks stand open as workers unload morning deliveries. I slink past a guy walking two corgis, trying to cross the street, but the pedestrian light is already flashing in warning.

Fuck, I’m not gonna make it.

The red hand glows bright, and I’m forced to stop. I’m still one block away. I can see the corner of the building beckoning to me. Huffing for breath, I take a sip of my coffee. The flavors hit my tongue like a sweet, creamy kiss. It’s soft and cool, with just a hint of nutty espresso. I let out a contented sigh. “God, that’s good.”

If I lose my job, at least I’ll have this drink to savor.

Waiting for the light to change, I pull my phone from my pocket. My phone has been buzzing nonstop from my family group chat. Not surprising, seeing as I have three sisters. Three older sisters. Three nosy, noisy, very needy sisters. They’re always in my business. Always offering advice whether I want it or not. But that’s family. And I’ve got a damn good one.

I smile into my coffee as I scroll through the rest of the messages. Apparently, Jayla now expects me to pay for the Jags jersey she can’t return. And Shae wants me to get tickets for her whole family to come to the first home game.

The pedestrian light flashes. “Walk sign, Third Street,” the robotic traffic voice chirps.

Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I step off the curb. Then a few things happen all at once. First, my entire life flashes before my fucking eyes as a blue pickup truck blasts through the pedestrian walkway. Slamming on his horn, the driver runs the red light, nearly turning me into mashed potatoes.

I’m only saved by the second thing. A pair of strong arms wrap around my chest from behind and jerks me back just in time. “Look out,” says a gruff voice in my ear.

Then I’m falling. All I see is sky as I drop back in slow motion, those firm arms locked around my chest. My perfect cup of coffee goes flying from my hand as I land on my savior. He grunts, absorbing our impact as he hits the ground first. My coffee lands next to us with a splat. I cry out as I watch it leak all over the sidewalk. “My orgasm!”

The hands on me tighten as the man beneath me groans, rolling me to the side.

Oh my god, I just had a near-death experience. I literally almost just died.

My savior shifts out from under me. “Are you alright?”

I blink twice. Holy fuck, this is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He’s young and white. His eyes are a deep blue, almost navy. They’re wide with concern now. A wave of dark blond hair sweeps across his brow. His cheeks are bearded, like sand on the beach, all faded yellow, flecked with brown. He speaks, but there’s a ringing in my ears. “What?”

“I said, are you alright?” he asks again.

Fuck me, I think he has an accent. Is he European? I sit up, and he drops his hand away. Suddenly, I want to die all over again. He was touching me and now he’s not? Make that make sense.

“Should we call an ambulance?” an older lady asks, clutching her chest as she peers down the street.

My beautiful savior has eyes only for me. “No, I think he’s alright. Just startled.”

Startled feels like the wrong word to describe how I’m feeling right now. God just threw me into the arms of his most perfect creation. I should introduce myself, right? Maybe tattoo his angelic face on my bicep. At the very least, I should offer to pay him for his trouble. I mean, he did just save my life. But I’m a starving college kid. My wasted coffee was already an extravagance. I point to where it’s pooling on the ground. “You spilled my orgasm.”

“What?”

“My coffee,” I correct. “It spilled. I think we’re sitting in it.”

He shrugs. “It’s just coffee. Your life is more important, no?” Then he stands, unbothered by the coffee soaking the side of his shirt. “Can you stand?”

I take his hand, and he pulls me to my feet before quickly dropping his hand away. I feel the loss of his touch like the ripping of a bandage from my skin. I want to step closer. I want him to hold me again. But that would be crazy, right? I don’t even know this guy. I’m just a chaotic double Pisces who gets his life saved by a beautiful man and immediately fights the toxic urge to ask, “Your place or mine?”

I look him over now that he’s standing. He’s taller than me, but I might be a little broader in the shoulders. He has a runner’s build, long and lean. Except for his thighs. They’re like tree trunks.

Fuck, stop looking at his legs.

And say something, Teddy.

Desperate not to scare him away, I opt for a very casual, “Hey, thanks, man.”

He nods and turns to leave.

Oh god, I can’t bear it. Someone crazy—totally not me—grabs his arm. “Wait.”

He pauses.

“I—don’t …” Want you to leave, I finish inside my head. I don’t want to be parted from you. Not yet. It’s too soon. We’ve only just met. Instead, I find the will to blurt out, “I don’t even know your name.”

He relaxes a little and smiles. I love how the smile touches his eyes more than his mouth. “It’s Henrik.” His voice is softer now, like he’s talking to a friend.

Henrik.

He’s looking at me, waiting. Oh fuck, I’m still holding on to him. “My name is Teddy,” I manage to say.noveldrama

“Teddy,” he repeats. “Well … have a good day, Teddy.”

I let Henrik go, watching as he walks away, lost to me forever.

Iremember nothing of the rest of my walk to the Rays’ practice center. I’m definitely late, but now I have an ironclad excuse. The intern coordinator’s frown disappears the moment I regale her with the harrowing tale. I even earn enough sympathy from HR to be gifted a Rays T-shirt to replace my coffee-stained polo shirt.

Before I know it, I’m in the gym with Doctor Avery, head of physical therapy. He introduces me to some of the players. There’s Jean-Luc Gerard, a big, toothless Canadian everyone affectionately calls “J-Lo.” Then there are several young guys. Paulie, maybe? Sam, who is also Flash. Westie. Patrick. Woody—no, Woodson, I think.

Fuck, do all these guys have three fucking names? Between learning all their names, nicknames, numbers, and positions, my head is already spinning.

“And this is Josh O’Sullivan,” says Doctor Avery. “He’s a forward and team captain. The guys all call him Sully.”

O’Sullivan offers me his hand. “Great to meet you, bud. You a big fan of hockey?”

“Umm …” I don’t want to lie to these guys, but the truth is that I don’t know the first thing about hockey. We don’t get a lot of hockey in Atlanta. I grew up watching football and basketball. In school, I swam and ran track. The only time I watch hockey is during the Winter Olympics.

O’Sullivan sees right through me. “That’s okay. We’ll make a fan out of you before the season ends.”

“Thanks.” I flash him a relieved smile. “I’m definitely ready to learn.”

Before I can say another word, my breath catches in my chest. Oh my god …

“Hey, Karlsson!” O’Sullivan calls with a wave. “Get over here. Meet the new intern.”

I can hardly believe it as my sidewalk savior locks eyes with me across the gym. He recognizes me immediately. His gaze dips past my face to my new T-shirt. He’s wearing a different shirt too. He crosses the gym over to us.

“Karlsson, meet the new PT intern,” says O’Sullivan. “This is—”

“Teddy,” Henrik finishes for him. Then he holds out his hand. “We’ve met.”

I take his hand like a greedy, lovestruck fool. Am I smiling? What is my face doing? Fuck, I don’t even know. “Henrik,” I say on a breath.

His smile flickers as those around us share confused glances. “Call me Karlsson. Everyone does.” Dropping my hand, he breaks our cosmic connection … and my heart.

Out on the street, in his arms, he was Henrik to me. That was when we were strangers. Henrik. Such a beautiful name. But now, everything is different. We’re off the street. We’re in his gym, in front of his friends, his teammates. And we’re no longer strangers. God help me, I think we’re coworkers.

This can’t happen. He’s an international sports superstar. People wear his number and cheer his name. He can’t be Henrik with me. I’m nothing to him, just a lowly college intern. But still, as I watch him walk away, an aching truth settles deep in my soul: I want this man, even as I know I can never have him.

This is going to be the longest fucking year of my life.