Pucking Around: A Why Choose Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 1)
Pucking Around: Chapter 33

My mind is racing. An hour ago, I had this girl on my lap, dazzling me with her show of friendship. Thirty minutes later, I was fucking her hot mouth, coming down her throat while I watched Jake pound into her from behind. They were both goddamn perfection.

I wanted to ride back to the hotel and go for round two. I wanted this gorgeous girl riding my cock, slamming those curvy hips down—

Fuck, concentrate.

Now I’m standing on some random street corner, connecting the dots I should have seen a month ago. Rachel Price is Jake’s Seattle Girl.

“Rach, what do you mean your life is ruined?” Jake says. “You’re a hotshot doctor. Your career is on the rise—”

“I’m flying just under the radar, always only one more indiscretion away from total ruination,” she replies. “I can’t put that on you, Jake. I can’t drag you down with me.”

“Drag me down?” He glances sharply to me. “I don’t understand.”

Movement in the alley a few storefronts down has me on edge. “We should get off the street,” I mutter.

We move down the sidewalk a few more blocks, ducking into a narrow, 24-hour diner that is all but empty except for a small group of frat guys slamming pancakes at the counter.

“Sit anywhere, hons!” the waitress calls. “Be there in a sec!”

Jake leads the way to the booth in the corner by the window. Rachel sits down first. Jake surprises me when he sits across from her. I slide in next to him.

The waitress bustles over clutching a pair of coffee pots. “Caf or decaf, honeys?”

We all order decaf, and she fills our plain white mugs to the brim.

“Y’all eating anything tonight?”

“Just the coffee,” I say. As soon as the waitress leaves, I lean across Jake, snatching up the dish of creamers. “Alright, Hurricane. Spill.”

She takes a creamer too, adding it to her coffee and stirring it with a spoon. “Neither of you have googled me, have you?”

We glance at each other. I sure as hell haven’t. Googling a person you like feels like such a puck bunny thing to do. “No,” I reply for both of us.

She holds her mug with both hands. “I can’t believe I did that tonight. Anyone could have snapped a picture of us kissing in that stairwell. Or coming out of the closet. It was reckless, and I’m never reckless. But you both just—god—you make me so crazy,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Why are you so worried about some pictures?” Jake presses.

She sets her cup down on the sea-foam green Formica tabletop. “Because it wouldn’t be my first indiscretion,” she admits softly. “And the press is ruthless. They would have splashed it everywhere. They would have said the most awful things—” She catches her words, snatching up her coffee again.

Jake and I share a wary glance. “The press?” he says.

I raise a brow at her. “Are you some secret princess or something?”

She shrugs and gives a little laugh. “Sort of…in a way, I guess.”

“For fuck’s sake, drop the veil already,” I growl.

She drums her fingers on her mug. “Do either of you know the name Halston Price?”

My mind buzzes.

“Halston Price?” Jake repeats. “Wait—oh, shit—wait—” He gasps, leaning forward, elbows on the rickety table. “Halston Price as in Hal Price? Like, Hal Price, lead singer of The Ferrymen?”

Rachel nods, taking another sip of her coffee.

“Oh my god!” Jake cries.

“Easy,” I mutter, glancing over towards the counter. The frat boys are looking our way.

“What?” he says with a laugh. “I’m sorry, but this is crazy. The Ferrymen are one of my all-time favorite bands.” He turns to Rachel, grinning. “I saw them in concert in Amsterdam with Amy. Hal Price is a fucking legend. He’s rock royalty!”

“Yep, that’s daddy.”

Jake laughs again. “Oh god, she calls Hal Price ‘daddy.’ I’m dead.” He snatches up his mug with both hands, taking a big gulp.

Now it all makes sense. Her wanting to keep her anonymity in Seattle, all the sexy little tour t-shirts I’ve seen her wearing when she runs, her sliver-spoon life with a hired driver, the electric guitar tattooed on her forearm. I bet you anything the signature is Hal’s.

My eyes narrow on her. “So, Daddy Hal is a rock god, and you’ve lived in his spotlight all your life? Is that your deep dark damage, Hurricane?”

She nods, her expression solemn. “My family has been torn apart again and again by the press. Daddy cheated on my mom when we were little. He regretted it and wanted her back. But there was picture proof, and it was the 90s, when divorce was still taboo. It ruined him for a while. He took the heat for his infidelity ten times over.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake says, reaching across the table to hold her hand.

She looks up at us both, tears thick in her eyes. “The constant press scrutiny almost lost us Harrison.”

“Oh, shit,” Jake mutters.

I glance at him, a question in my eyes.

“Her twin brother,” he replies.

Seriously? I shake my head, taking a sip of my shitty coffee. Of course, they’re both fraternal twins. They probably bonded over it when they first met in Seattle. Maybe that’s why he and Rachel have the vibe of magnets.

“What happened?” I say.

She looks sharply at me. “The press outed him to the world.”

“Holy shit,” Jake mutters. “Babe, that’s awful.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she replies. “A few assholes at his prep school hid a camera in his room and caught him with another boy. They sold the video to the tabloids.” She pauses, her eyes locked on her coffee cup. “My parents found out he was gay when his first porn tape went viral. It went on for like two years before we won the injunction to get it all taken down.”

“I’m so sorry, baby girl,” Jake murmurs. “What happened to Harrison?”

“The harassment was so bad at his school that he tried to kill himself. Took a medicine cabinet shelf’s worth of pills. They had to pump his stomach. He was unconscious in the hospital for days. We thought he might not make it,” she finishes, tears falling.

“Where do you fit in?” I say.

She picks up her coffee mug. “Me?”

“Yeah. Daddy Hal is the rock god with an infidelity problem. Brother is an outed gay man. What did the press do to you?”

“They hounded me worse than Harrison. Girls always get it worse,” she adds. “And I was a bit of a seeker in my youth. I was in a lot of denial about how the fame affected me. So, I acted out. I made a lot of bad choices. And the press was there for every one of them. Just google me, and you’ll see.”

“We’re not gonna google you,” I say gently.

“Rachel, we all have a past,” Jake adds. “I don’t care if you were some spoiled rock star princess getting high and screwing douchey boys in your daddy’s tour vans.”

“More like getting high, screwing boys, and wrecking a three-million-dollar yacht off the Amalfi coast. Or getting drunk and puking all over myself at the White House Easter Egg Hunt. I was eleven for that one,” she adds.

Shit. When I was eleven, I was already living to play hockey.

“I wasted three years trying to make it as a model when it made me miserable every second—starving myself, losing sleep, losing friends. That led to rebelling and getting myself engaged to a fashion photographer twenty years my senior. Daddy had to fly to Paris and physically drag me home.”

She sets her empty cup down, sliding it away. “But it all worked out in the end. He put me in rehab, and I finally snapped out of it. One of the other women was an alcoholic heart surgeon. We bonded and she told me I’d make a great doctor. I had all the drive and the smarts, I just lacked direction. So, I finished rehab and went to college. I’ve never looked back. I graduated with my degree in kinesiology, secured a great residency, won the Barkley Fellowship.

I’ve been Doctor Rachel Price for three years…and the press didn’t report on any of it. They only ever cared about watching me fail. That’s what they want for me and from all celebrities’ kids. They want the train wreck, the drunken mess, the pill-popping anorexic model. I won’t give them what they want anymore, so they leave me alone.”

Jake and I are silent. I have no idea what to say. She’s certainly lived a different life than a pair of hockey boys.

“Do you think being with me will bring you bad press?” Jake says with a raised brow.

She shakes her head. “No, angel. I think being with me would bring you bad press,” she corrects. “Especially if we get caught doing what we were doing tonight,” she adds.

And fuck it if I don’t know she’s right. We were so damn reckless. We could have cost Jake everything.

But Jake is shaking his head. “No. We could make it work.”

She leans over the table on her elbows, eyes narrowed. “You think they shredded Harrison over being gay? What would they do to this?” she says, gesturing between the three of us. “You really think your NHL fans would accept you being with a rock star’s train wreck of a daughter who likes getting face-fucked by your friend while you watch? Because I’m here to tell you that they would bury you alive, Jake. The sports press is just as brutal as the celebrity press.”

“It’s not their business who I spend my free time with,” Jake growls.

“Poppy would disagree,” she counters. “Call your agent. I’m sure they would too.”As she speaks, she tugs her phone out of her pocket, tapping the screen a couple times. Then she sets it down on the table. “You’re a public figure now, Jake. If you pulled me under your spotlight, it would shine on me and my two decades of baggage. You think it would play well for us that barely a month into my new job I’m already fucking my patient and his equipment manager—”

“Four months,” Jake growls. “And we met when I wasn’t your patient.”

“You mean when we hooked up in a hotel bar? We knew each other for all of five minutes before we were tongue-fucking in an elevator. You want to tell the press that story? Would that help our image, do you think?”

“It wasn’t like that, and you know it,” he snaps.

“Oh, and you think the press cares about the correct story? You think they’ll want to fact check the details with us before they print their salacious gossip?”

“Then we get out in front of it,” he counters, getting more agitated. “We tell the story our way, control the narrative.”

“No such thing. They will twist every single word to paint the story how they want to see it. And when it comes to Rachel Price and the press, the only story is mayhem—”

“I don’t care about the fucking press!” Jake barks, slamming his fist on the table and rattling all our cups and silverware.

The guys over at the counter all turn to face us, brows raised in curiosity.

“Keep your shit together,” I mutter at Jake.

He huffs, shaking his head.

Hurricane taps her phone and holds it up, showing us the screen. “Fifty-three seconds,” she murmurs, the stopwatch app flashing the numbers in bright red. “It took me fifty-three seconds to unravel you, Jake.”

“I’m not unraveled, I’m just pissed—”

“Yeah, and I get it,” she says. “Look, I’ve been dealing with this bullshit all my life. For twenty-seven years it has been the Price Family against the world. We’ve finally learned the best way to survive the press is to just keep our heads down. We keep each other’s secrets. No drama. No sharing the spotlight with other celebrities…or public figures,” she adds gently.

Him. She means Jake. No sharing a spotlight with an NHL star if it could bring him negative press. He groans, sitting back and crossing his arms tight over his chest.

“Please believe me that I’m protecting you, Jake. I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want to be the reason you get hurt.”

“She’s right, buddy,” I add. “The press would have a field day if any pictures of us at the club leaked. We gotta be more careful. You could lose your starting position. Hell, you could lose your contract. Careers have tanked for less.”

“So where does that leave me then?” he asks, his gaze locked on her. “Is this over, Rachel? I tell you ‘I love you’ in front of a Mr. Chen’s takeout, my cum still sticky between your legs, and you’re gonna sit here and tell me that it’s over? I can just take my love and choke on it, I guess.”

An idea simmers in my mind. And because, apparently, I have no filter when it comes to these two, the words come tumbling out of my mouth. “I think you should move in together.”

Jake chokes on his coffee, snorting it up his nose with a cough. “Fuck—ouch—”

Rachel turns slowly to look at me, her dark eye makeup still messy from gagging on my dick earlier. Her full lips part in surprise. “What did you say?”

“Hurricane, you should move in with Jake.”