The Pucking Wrong Man: A Hockey Romance (The Pucking Wrong Series Book 4)
Chapter 5

I was edgy when I arrived the next day at the community kitchen where I volunteered once a week. For the first time that I could remember, I had no interest in being there. I wanted to be out there, stalking the dance studio, waiting for Anastasia to get there. It wasn’t a want at this point, it was a physical need, a desperation that sat under my skin.

I hadn’t slept last night, or if I’d had, it had felt like a fevered dream, replaying how she’d been on that stage.

Searching for her on the internet had been…disappointing. She didn’t have Facebook, and her Instagram had been a public account with five fucking posts. The five pictures were all black and white shots of her, one of her stretching in front of a floor to ceiling mirror, her shirt oversized and slipping off her shoulder. Another had been her dancing on her tip toes—a move I was really going to have to research because it was fucking impressive.

Unfortunately, the three hundred followers she had were all men. So, I’d spent thirty minutes reporting all of them—and then reporting her account, too, because it was nothing but a thirst trap for horny assholes. We’d be having a discussion about privacy and who to accept as friends at a later date.

I wanted to hunt down whoever had taken her profile picture. She was sipping coffee in a sports bra, both hands holding the plain white mug, squeezing those perfect tits together as she smiled softly at the camera.

I’d saved that picture as my screensaver. I wanted that look. I wanted her to stare at me like that every fucking morning for the rest of our lives.

It was a goal for me.

“Hey, Camden!” Freddie said as I walked through the doors.

I threw up a hand, forcing a smile. Freddie had been an alcoholic for years and had lost his family along the way. He was three years sober now, trying to make penance to the universe for that lost time. I liked the guy, but I didn’t want to give him any reason to try and corner me for a lecture about “having a positive attitude,” or “searching for the good in every day.” I’d endured one of those after a particularly bad game where I’d spent half of it in the sin bin, and I wasn’t looking to repeat the experience.

Pulling on my gloves, I glanced over my station, making sure it was ready. The doors would be opening to the public any minute now, and it was usually a mad rush after that.

This place was one of the nicer ones that I volunteered at. Twenty-five volunteers were scattered all over a spacious room filled with long, stainless steel countertops. A set of double doors behind me held a few industrial-sized stoves and ovens as well as food prep areas. There were cafeteria tables set up to the right and left of the stations where people could eat. Not sure the motivational posters on the walls really did anything, but I was positive that the shelves stacked with neatly organized cans and dry goods did.

Everyone who came today would be able to get a meal and then take some groceries home with them to help get them through the week.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow over everyone as volunteers in aprons hurried to their stations with trays of food. The air was a strange mix of bread and Lysol. Not such a bad smell, actually.

“Heads up, doors unlocking now,” a voice called over the speakers, seconds before security opened the entrance.

I could see the parade of people through the windows, stretching around the block. My stomach clenched uncomfortably as I fought back memories I wished I could forget. My mom had tried to leave my stepdad once, a brief moment of lucidity where she’d realized she deserved more. We’d gone to a place similar to this for a couple of months.

And then she’d gone back to him.

The line shuffled in, a procession of broken dreams and forgotten hopes, many of them regulars that I saw every week.

There was Mrs. Jenkins, her wrinkled hands trembling as she reached for a bag of chips and let me put a sub sandwich on her plate. She worked as a checker at Target, but it wasn’t enough to pay for rent and food with the hours she could handle at her age. Broke my heart every time I saw her.

Behind her came Mr. Thompson. He was polite but never made eye contact with you. His whole persona radiated despair. I was quite confident that his posture came from defeat and not scoliosis. I’d heard he was once some kind of executive, and through some mistakes—or maybe just a lot of unluckiness—he’d lost it all and now had to come here for food once a week to make ends meet.

I always gave him an extra cookie. He looked like he needed it.

“Hi, Mr. James!” an eager voice called out. I glanced down, a smile already on my face when I saw Sean, a nine-year-old that was here every week with his mom.

“What’s up, buddy?” I asked, holding out my fist so he could give me a fist bump. His mom, Stacey, was sporting a black eye, and I instantly frowned as I looked at her.

When she noticed me staring, she self-consciously covered her damaged eye and slowly shook her head, silently urging me to let it go. I bit down on my tongue so I didn’t ask about it in front of Sean.

That was one thing they told us here before every volunteer session. Don’t get involved. They had resources to get help, it was up to them to use them.

But fuck was that a hard rule to follow.

“I’m sorry you’re hungry, sweetheart,” my mother had whispered as we stood in line. “Just a couple more people in front of us and we can get some dinner.” I huddled in the cold against her jeans, trying not to cry. She always got so sad when I cried.

We had been waiting for what seemed like forever, and the smell of something good coming through the doors in front of us was driving me crazy. Mom had been looking for a job every day while I was at school, but they’d all said no so far. She’d told me it was only a matter of time, though, and then we’d have regular food again. I was just lucky I had free lunch at school every day. I always saved something from my lunch for her. The animal crackers especially made her smile.

Not being around my stepdad anymore also made her smile. So it was okay that I was hungry.

When we got to the front of the line, one of the workers I’d seen in previous visits stopped us before we could get in. “I’m sorry, but we’re out for the day,” he said gently.

My mom stiffened, and when I glanced up, I could see she was freaking out. “But we’ve been standing in line for three hours. Why wasn’t there an announcement? I could have taken my son somewhere else. Now they’ll be closed too.” I could hear muttering behind us from other people who were upset, and I shifted uncomfortably, my stomach growling loudly and making Mom wince when she heard it.

“Please,” she whispered. “There’s got to be something he can have…”

I blinked, coming back to the present hearing Sean rattling on about a recent game we’d won.

“Oh man, your game the other day. You guys are so freaking good. Lincoln Daniels scored that goal and…” Sean was bouncing in place as he went over our game against Detroit, play by play.

I hoped he applied that much memory recall to his school work, because it was impressive.

“When I grow up, I want to be just like Daniels,” he was saying. I scoffed, holding my chest and pretending to falter.

Sean stopped talking, and stared at me sheepishly.

“Daniels, bud. What about me? Defenders have a way harder and cooler job. We have to stop them from scoring, and we have to hit people. Linc’s got nothing on us,” I told him, winking at him so he knew I was joking.

Forwards, always getting all the glory. So showy.

“You call him Linc,” Sean whispered, like he was in awe of the fact that I could shorten Lincoln’s name.

I was never telling Daniels about this. His head was too big already.

I should bring Ari in here, though, he would be able to straighten Sean out on what was the coolest position out there.

Disney would be useless. He would just agree with Sean because it was about Lincoln.

Such a simp.

Sean was wearing a Knights Jersey I’d given him a few months ago, and judging by the stains on it…he wore it every day. I made a mental note to bring another one for him.

“Ooh, is that peanut butter?” Sean asked, bouncing up and down as he eyed the cookies in front of him.

I gave him three.

His mom pretended not to notice; a soft, sad smile on her lips that made me a little sick inside.

My mom had that kind of smile constantly, when she was trying to be brave amidst all the shit that was happening to her.

I shook my head, trying to clear out the echoes of the past battering around in my skull.

Now was not the time for that.

“Here’s two cookies for you, ma’am,” I drawled, ignoring the faint blush to her cheeks.

I liked single moms with the best of them, but I wasn’t going there.

Plus, there was the whole fact that something had happened to my DNA last night, and suddenly, all my dick was attracted to was a ballerina that looked like an angel and danced like sin.

For all I knew, she could be a single mom…but for her, I’d go there.

I’d let her call me Daddy any day.

Alright, crazy. Don’t get a woody in the community kitchen line.

I waved goodbye to Sean, promising to stop by his table in a bit, and I turned and glanced down the line to see how long it had gotten. I wasn’t the speediest at this since I liked to talk to the regulars.

And holy fuck.

I blinked, and my tongs clattered to the table, because there was no way that my eyes were working. There was no way that this was real life.

Right there, like some kind of mirage…was my dancer. Anastasia Lennox was standing in line just a few feet away from me.

“Freddie, pinch me,” I muttered and I could feel him look over at me like I was insane.

Good old Freddie, though, he did in fact pinch me. Hard.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered, rubbing my arm because that had fucking hurt.

I couldn’t even drag my gaze away to glare at him, though—it was stuck on her.

I hadn’t thought it was possible, but she was so much better up close. Her hair was a cascade of white-blonde waves, shimmering even under the harsh fluorescent lights of this place. Each strand seemed to catch the light in a way that made her appear almost ethereal, a creature born out of my dreams and moonlight⁠—

Dreams and moonlight?

What was I even saying right now?

I rubbed at my still sore arm absentmindedly as I took in the rest of her features. Her skin was tan, like she spent her days outside. And the effect of her light hair and light eyes against the dark tan was mind blowing.

She was smiling at the person helping her—Tony—one of the nicest guys I’d ever met, and I wanted to chuck my tongs at him for getting her attention.

But then I really saw her eyes, and all the anger immediately drained away as her pools of light aqua reminded me of the Caribbean Sea.

I’d never seen eyes like that before.

She was without a doubt the most drop-dead beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my entire life. No comparison. No question.

This girl was the stuff of legends.

I had to have her.

Alright, play it cool. You’re an NHL studmuffin.

My heart was hammering in my chest, and I was feeling queasy all of a sudden. Was this what love felt like?

You felt sick?

Someone cleared their throat. One time. And then again.

I had to forcibly drag my gaze away to the very annoyed-looking Mrs. Partridge, who had clearly been waiting for her cookie and sub sandwich for quite some time based on how severely her lips were pinched together.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. P. Let me get you the best cookie I’ve got.”

She sniffed at me, not taken with my charm, and now I was starting to doubt myself. Was I off my game? Did I forget my aftershave this morning?

I quickly handed her a cookie—only one because of the bad attitude—and her sub, and sneaked a glance at my girl.

She was getting some salad. Two more stations and it would be my turn.

Was it hot in here? Because I was feeling a bit faint. We needed to get some air conditioning in this place.

Fuck. Did I smell? Sometimes I smelled when I sweated.

“Freddie, switch with me,” I hissed. I needed more time to get my shit together. This had to be perfect.

He glanced at me, his freckled nose scrunching up toward his auburn eyebrows like I’d lost my mind. “Why?”

Fuck, she was moving to the next station.

“Because…because I’m allergic to peanuts. I can’t handle them anymore.”

“Pssh. You’re not allergic to peanuts, Camden James. I saw you eating a Snickers last week.”

I snarled at him before peeking to see that she was now only one station away.

If I switched now, she’d notice and probably think it was weird.

Freddie followed my line of sight, leaning forward as a big smile appeared on his ruddy cheeked face. He was staring at her, a big smile stretched across his lips.

He was also tilting forward a little precariously. I could just push him—a light push really—and he would stop grinning at my girl.

“Stop looking!” I hissed, trying to block his view. Freddie chuckled, shaking his head at me before he leaned back and widened his eyes dramatically.

I swung my head back around to replace her again…

And then she was there.

Her plate outstretched as she stared at me politely.

Politely.

Like I was nobody.

Here I was, having the most visceral reaction of my life, and she was staring at me as if I was paint drying on a friend’s wall that she was forced to look at.

“Hello. I mean, hi. I mean…do you want a cookie?” I was fumbling all over myself trying to hand her a cookie and a sub at once, but really, who could blame me for the fact that my fucking brain was short-circuiting.

She was flawless, stunning, so perfect that she couldn’t possibly be real.

There had to be a flaw somewhere. Was there a hairy back hiding under the oversized sweatshirt she was wearing?

No. Fuck. She’d been wearing a low-backed spandex looking outfit while she’d performed last night.

Definitely no hairy back problems.

“A cookie and a sandwich would be great,” she murmured, her voice a soft caress against my…dick.

Thank fuck this table was pretty high, there’d be no hiding the baseball bat in my jeans right now. Why had I worn jeans this tight to begin with? I was throwing every pair of these things away the second I got home. They were strangling my dick.

The only thing I was interested in strangling my dick was her pussy.

Fuck! Stop thinking about your dick, Camden!

“Here, you go, Ms. Anastasia,” Freddie said, handing her one of the cookies from my tray because evidently I’d forgotten how to be a functioning human being.

Anastasia. I repeated the name in my head like a prayer, ready to worship at its altar. I hated that it was coming from another man’s lips.

“Thanks, Freddie,” she said sweetly and I almost bit his arm off.

“Here’s another one!” I said frantically as I all but tossed it onto her plate.

The cookie began sliding off, but right before it could fall, she snatched it and plopped it back on her plate.

“Thank you.” This time her angelic voice was directed at me…and I melted.

“Camden,” I blurted hopefully. “Camden James.”

I looked for any spark of familiarity, but her smile was formal, stiff, the kind you gave to a person on the street that you’d never seen before.

Not a hockey fan evidently.

Well, that was unfortunate. But…fine. I’d just have to impress her with something else.

Freddie reached for a sub sandwich, and I lunged toward the pile and grabbed one too. We both held out our hands to her. I looked like a fucking idiot…and I did not care one bit. Her clear blue eyes flicked between us, confused.

Freddie turned to me with a grin. “She likes turkey, bro,” he announced proudly as he gave her a different sub.

I filed that away. Turkey over ham. I’d never make that mistake again.

“Anything else you like that I should remember?” I asked, trying to put a little flirt in my voice, distract her from the fact that I’d thrown a cookie at her plate and shoved a six-inch sub into her face. I was usually a lot more smooth than this. But she was perfect…and all that perfection was making my brain malfunction.

I mean, I was so interested in this girl I might as well have a neon sign over my head that said “pick me, choose me, love me,” like I was an intern on Grey’s Anatomy.

Except, she didn’t seem to be picking up on that at all.

“She doesn’t like lemonade,” Freddie answered for her. “Who doesn’t love lemonade? Very suspicious, Anastasia.”

“Lemons aren’t supposed to be sweet, Freddie,” she teased. “That’s literally the whole point of a lemon.”

“I agree,” I said, even though I loved lemonade. One of my earliest memories was sipping lemonade out on Grandma James’s front porch.

For her I could hate lemonade, though.

She eyed me curiously, and I stood up straighter. Give me a sign, I was pleading. Lust after my body at least. Fuck.

Nope. Nothing. She didn’t even look at my biceps or anything.

My angel girl just said thank you again before scurrying away. She went too fast for me to even think of what else to say to her.

I’d fucking blown it.

“That was embarrassing, James,” Freddie snorted as we watched her weave away through the throngs of people in the room, heading to a table against the wall. She slid into a chair elegantly, her posture perfect. Her chin up, her head held high.

Alone.

“Indeed,” I said.

I handed him my tongs. “Cover for me, will ya? I need to make some…rounds.”

He laughed at me as I marched past. I made a detour to say hello to some of the other regulars first. Didn’t want to make it too obvious that I’d left my station immediately to go talk to her.

But I couldn’t help but sneak glances at her as I said hello to everyone. Anastasia’s perfect posture had slumped and now looked a bit defeated. Her face held the kind of sad look that had me wanting to punch something because it didn’t seem fair that such a perfect being could look like that. I wanted to know what was wrong, to know what was going on inside that head of hers. I also wanted to stride right over there and tell her to let me fix it.

But, I held myself back, hitting up Sean’s table first where he proceeded to walk me through the entire first period of our last game before I could drag myself away.

Then Ms. Nesbitt and Mr. Thompson and then…

I sauntered up to her table, coming from the side so that I didn’t scare her. I knew a lot of women had triggers about that—especially here.

“How’s that turkey sub treating you?” I mused, wanting to drop kick myself in the face because why was my voice coming out that deep and weird sounding?

She nearly dropped the sub in question at the sound of my voice—the first semi-ungraceful thing I’d seen her do. Her eyes were wide and confused looking, and she glanced around as if she thought I wasn’t talking to her.

I wasn’t sure what was so shocking. Any man on earth would be following her around like a lost puppy.

Anastasia finally tipped her gaze up to mine, realizing there wasn’t anyone else around I could be talking to. Her lush lips parted for a moment, like she was having trouble replaceing words. I held her gaze and she cleared her throat slightly. “The turkey sub is great,” she finally murmured as she took a big bite for good measure.

I awkwardly stared at her, continuing to take in all her glorious details.

She was young, I was really getting that now. Her face was completely void of any lines or blemishes, and wide-eyed innocence was written all over her. Over eighteen, though, because this particular place didn’t allow unaccompanied minors. They were sticklers about it.

Still. What was she? Nineteen? Twenty? And I was thirty-one-fucking-years old.

Well, that was fine.

I tended to go for older women, but there was something about Anastasia that drew me in. Not just her talent or the way she’d performed like she’d die up there on the stage because she was giving it her all.

There was also the vulnerability in her eyes, it pulled at something inside me. I wanted to protect her. To make her mine. It didn’t matter that I was probably quite a bit older than her. Something told me my baby girl needed that.

Besides, as I was constantly telling Logan, our cheeky, arrogant little rookie. I wasn’t an old man.

I was seasoned.

I could be the best kind of seasoning for her.

“Did you need something?” she whispered, her gaze falling to the table. She fiddled with the bun on her sandwich, crushing the edges as she bit down on her plump lower lip that I had the urge to lean forward and take between my own teeth.

I was making her nervous. Fuck. How long had I been standing here without saying anything?

“I…I just haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Hmm.” She pushed a tendril of her white-blonde hair behind her ear and gifted me her crystalline gaze. Anastasia eyed me thoughtfully for a moment, like she was deciding my fate. It kind of felt like she held my entire life in her pretty hands as I stood there and waited for whatever was going to come next.

“You must be a Wednesday volunteer,” she finally said. “I usually come in…another day.” She’d cut herself off before she said “another day,” which meant that she was probably thinking I was some kind of demented stalker and didn’t want to give me too much information.

I would have told her I wasn’t a stalker, but overnight, that had become one of the untruest things that could be said about me.

I was a stalker.

Her fucking stalker.

And I didn’t see that changing. Because by the looks of things, fate was decidedly onboard with that new life calling since it had brought her to me today.

“Yep, Wednesdays are my day,” I said, wondering if I’d be able to sneak in some other days here and there. It’s just that I volunteered at the nursing home on Mondays with practice right after, and I had games usually on Tuesdays and Fridays. Thursday we had weights and then practice.

Fuck. Well, I was just going to have to figure something out. If I was going to be her stalker, I was going to be good at it.

It was needling at my insides, though…why was someone her age needing to come to a community kitchen for food in the first place?

My eyes roamed over her, delving past the beauty, and seeing what I hadn’t before. She was thin—overly so I would say, even though I didn’t make a habit of judging women’s bodies. I’d thought it was from dancing…but maybe it was because she didn’t have anything to eat. Fuck. And those slight circles under her eyes…maybe they weren’t from just a busy dance routine, but a deeper stress in her life.

Now that the shock of seeing her had worn off, the fact that she was here…really fucking bothered me.

I didn’t want her to struggle. I needed to help my little dancer.

“Do you need anything else?” she pressed.

She was trying to act like she was annoyed, but no. Now that I was studying her more closely, I could see her fidgeting, the way she’d stopped eating, and how she could barely meet my eyes…

I made her nervous.

Most girls just looked at me like eye candy, and were very forward with their attraction. Anastasia was…shy.

Her eyes darted to my face, then to my chest, and a blush rose to her cheeks before she jerked her eyes back down to her tray.

A grin spread across my face.

She was attracted to me. She just hid it well.

I could work with that.

I liked a challenge, and her reaction was adorable.

I took a step closer to her, intentionally forcing her to meet my eyes—or else she’d be looking straight at my dick.

I liked this vantage point, her staring up at me.

She was going to be absolutely exquisite on her knees.

“You should eat up,” I told her, glancing at everything on her plate and fighting the urge to feed it to her by hand.

Too soon. That would definitely be crossing the line.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, her breath hitching as soon as the words had come out of her mouth.

Fuck. I liked that.

“Good girl.”

Her eyes widened, her blush spreading down to her chest. I watched as she obediently took a bite of the sandwich.

“Want another peanut butter cookie?” I rasped.

She paused and bit down on her lip. I leaned in, wanting whatever she was about to give me.

“I thought you were allergic to peanuts,” she whispered, and a flare of mischievous amusement lit up in her eyes.

I pulled back, my mouth open in complete shock.

She had heard me.

I was slayed. Destroyed. Gone.

A smile spread across her gorgeous face. “See you around,” she said brightly, clearly dismissing me, even though she’d just knocked me to the ground.

“Umm, yeah. Bye,” I stuttered, my cheeks burning.

Forget thirty-one years old. Right now, I felt like I was about ten.

But I didn’t care. Didn’t care that I looked like an idiot right now, or that I had been completely off my game all night. Because now I knew one thing.

She had noticed me.

Anastasia stayed at the table eating her dinner for another half hour. I stayed too, a lot longer than my usual shift because I wasn’t going anywhere while she was still in the building.

I couldn’t tell you exactly what I did…I may have filled some mustard bottles. Or maybe I didn’t.

And when she left…

I followed.

Because I was fully committed to the stalker thing now.

She left on foot—completely expected since most of the people visiting the community center relied on walking or public transportation rather than cars to get around. I left my truck behind at the shelter and trailed after her, staying a half a block or so behind her as she went along. This part of town was definitely on the rougher side of things, though—so that we could be close to the city’s occupants without them needing cars.

Which meant that she wasn’t safe…and I couldn’t take that. I needed to make sure she was safe.

It was a compulsion at this point.

Some men sitting on the street corner of a closed down gas station called out to her, and I plotted their deaths.

She went under a fucking bridge, and I almost had a heart attack.

And when she cut through an alleyway, I almost snatched her up to take her home with me.

There wasn’t very much housing around here. It was mostly boarded up buildings and smaller stores that were hanging on for dear life.

Where was she going?

I knew I was going to have to replace a way to get into her place. I wanted to know everything about her. Where she lived.

Who lived with her…

Alright, I wasn’t going to think about that right now.

She turned another corner, and I got even more confused—there was nothing here but the…

My stomach dropped as she walked up the steps of Haven…a homeless shelter for women and children.

She was fucking homeless.

There was a strange feeling in my heart—a mix of anger and sadness and fucking devastation as I pictured her laying on a cot, a thin blanket and flat pillow all she had for the night. She’d be sleeping in the same clothes she’d worn today, lucky if her things didn’t get stolen during the night.

I knew from those couple of months with my mom, you didn’t get much sleep in a place like that…

No wonder she had dark circles under her eyes.

While Haven was better than most, it was still dangerous. Despair and desperation and finite resources tended to do that.

What if something happened to her tonight? Even with all the connections I’d made volunteering with most of the organizations in the city—I couldn’t get into that place.

I paced up and down the alley, my heart feeling like it was going to pound right out of my chest.

I had to get her out of there. I took a step toward the stairs, even knowing it was pointless. A guard stood up from the security desk behind the doors, watching me sternly, and I sighed and turned around. They weren’t going to help me, no matter how charming I was. That was the whole point of these kinds of shelters.

How had Anastasia ended up in a place like this? Why was she getting food from a community kitchen…weekly? But yet also dancing for a fancy studio?

I couldn’t take it. I was going to go insane from worrying about her.

One way or another, I was going to replace out everything about Anastasia Lennox.

And then, I decided….

I was going to save her.