Pucking Around: A Why Choose Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 1)
Pucking Around: Chapter 10

The practice arena is buzzing with activity. Tyler takes me through to a restricted section of the stands right on center ice behind the plexiglass. The chill of the ice raises the fine hairs on my arms. A few other people are already seated in this section, tablets and clipboards in hand. We do a quick round of intros, but it’s hard to hear over the blasting sound system.

Avery I already know. He’s a big guy, built like a linebacker. He keeps his hair shaved close and his brow is furrowed with lines. He’s sitting next to a young guy I saw in the PT room earlier. I think he might be an intern. He’s super handsome—tall and lanky, with deeply tanned skin dusted with freckles across his face. His eyes are a piercing green and his black hair is thinly locked, pulled away from his face with a sport headband. When he sees us, he gives a smile and a wave at Tyler.

On the far side of the rink, the arena seats are full of excited fans eager to watch the exhibition game. The music thumps through the loudspeakers as the guys skate around.

“Is that the Bear?” I say at Tyler, pointing to the goalie.

Tyler chuckles. “Kinnunen? Heck no. That’s Kelso, the third string guy. He’s fighting it out with Davidson for a bench seat. Trust me, when Kinnunen is on the ice, you’ll know.”

I spot Caleb, back bent over a guy’s skate, jerking a blade loose. He clicks a new one in, giving the guy’s ankle a tap. In moments the player hops the barrier and he’s back out on the ice.

Caleb glances around, spotting me, and I wave. He gives me a cool guy nod and turns away. I roll my eyes, but in moments my phone dings.

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.

To my horror, my phone pings with screen shots from a group chat. Apparently, the guys have been tracking my whereabouts for the last hour like I’m an escaped cheetah loose in the building. It’s beyond embarrassing.

“Oh god,” I groan, tapping out a reply.

RACHEL (11:04AM): How much is it gonna cost me to get you to help me squash the Hot Doc nickname?

My phone is quiet for a few minutes, and I settle in with my tablet, ready to take notes as the guys start hitting the ice to the cheers of the fans. It’s just an exhibition, so it’s Rays on Rays. Half the guys are wearing white practice jerseys, half are wearing teal. Kelso, the third string goalie is in a white jersey.

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. My phone dings but I can’t take my eyes off him. How can a man that big play goalie? He can’t possibly have the agility needed to move fast enough. Right now, he’s ambling towards the goal like an unbothered grizzly, twice as big as the next closest guy.

Kinnunen takes up his place in front of the goal, flipping his helmet up to take a drink of water. It’s hard to make out much beyond a blond beard.

“Kinnunen is shortlisted for the Finnish Olympic team,” says Tyler. “We’ve got some scouts coming to town to catch a couple games.”

“Cool.” I sit forward on the bench. “Any of the other guys Olympic hopefuls this year?”

“Not sure,” he replies. “I only know about Kinnunen because reps from the Finnish Ice Hockey Association contacted me wanting his medical records.”

“And we can do that?”

“With the player’s consent, yes. If he consents, we can send his medical records to his mailman.”

I laugh again, checking my phone.

CALEB (11:10AM): All the tea in China, Hurricane.

I grin, glancing back down at the bench to see Caleb inside again. He’s talking to one of the guys in teal, handing him his helmet as his number is called and the guy skates on.

“No. 19, Josh O’Sullivan,” says Tyler, pointing to the player. “Guys call him Sully. Had his fair share of injuries. That left shoulder acts up quite a bit. Watch him like a hawk.”

I nod, jotting his number down.

“And the guy in white there, No. 22 is Novy. Lukas Novikov. He’s a big jokester. Idiot tripped on the treadmill two days ago on an untied shoelace, went down hard. Check his knee over the next couple days. He says he’s fine, but these guys will hide a punctured lung if they think it means time away from the ice.”

I jot his name down too.

“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.”

I watch the guys skate into formation as the puck is dropped. They’re playing their own team, so there are no major hits, no violence. The white side offense is constantly taking the puck down the ice. It’s obvious they have the stronger line.

I watch Kinnunen carefully. His first couple saves are easy enough. He hardly had to move his blocker or his stick. Two shots just whacked right off his pads, and he tapped the puck away to a waiting defenseman.

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 replace 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—”

The crowd cheers as white scores a goal. But I was watching Kinnunen the whole time. He didn’t even try to block it.

“Just wait until the points actually matter,” says Tyler. “Then you’ll really see the Bear come out to play.”

We’re only halfway through the exhibition game when a young guy comes up wearing a Ray’s polo shirt. “Sorry, Doc,” he says at Tyler. “Vicki is asking for Doctor Price.”

I cast him an apologetic look, but he shoos me off with a congenial wave. “Go, go. No one keeps Vicki waiting.”

I follow the intern through the hallways back towards the office suites.

“There she is,” Vicki calls by the main doors leading out to the parking garage. “I just came back from lunch, and I got a call that your rental arrived. I need you to sign the waiver and then I can hand over the keys.”

“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.

Vicki hands over an electric key fob. “Well, let’s head out to the parking garage and I’ll show you where you’re parked.” 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.