Dirty Pucker (Denver Bashers #2)

4. Del

Chapter 4

Del

I stand at the closed door of Ingrid’s office, about to knock, but I stop myself when I hear someone singing.

That’s Ingrid’s voice singing along to some pop song playing softly in the background. I smile.

She’s really fucking cute.

And then I halt that thought dead in its tracks.

She’s also the cousin of your teammate, who hates you. And she’s the social media manager for the team, which means you shouldn’t be thinking she’s cute or hot or be interested in her. At all.

It’s not like there are hard-and-fast rules about who hockey players can and can’t date. But I’m the new guy that everyone on the team hates. They’d hate me even more if I tried to get with the social media girl.

I think about what Coach Porter said to me yesterday after practice.

If you’re interested in playing for this team long-term, you need to clean up your act.

He meant my attitude on the ice and my fighting habit, not dating. But still. I need to stay out of trouble now that I play for the Bashers, and going after my teammate’s cousin, who’s also a team staff member, would make me look like a creep, which would make them hate me more.

I knock softly on the door. A second later, the music fades and Ingrid opens the door. She’s wearing an outfit similar to the one she was wearing yesterday: ankle boots, fitted jeans, and a blousy long-sleeve shirt that’s unbuttoned at the top, leaving a tiny peak of cleavage. She looks fucking dynamite.

Quit checking her out, you creep.

She flashes that gorgeous smile. “Hey. Morning. Come on in.”

She steps aside and lets me in. I follow her to her desk, but she stops suddenly and starts to turn around.

“I forgot to ask, do you—oof!”

She bumps into my chest and stumbles, off balance.

I instinctively grab her waist, steadying her. She’s propped against the front of my body, her palms on my chest, staring up at me, those blue eyes as wide as saucers.

A pink blush paints her cheeks. She lets out a flustered laugh. “Sorry about that.”

I swallow, trying not to think about how good it feels to have her pressed against me.

How soft and warm her body feels…

I clear my throat. “No worries.”

Her gaze drops to my mouth. My heart thuds and I hold my breath. She presses her fingers harder into my chest…

And then my brain goes somewhere it shouldn’t.

I imagine us in this exact same position, except we’re on my bed, she’s straddling me, and we’re wearing a lot less clothing…

I drop my hands from her waist at the same moment she steps out of my hold.

I shake my head, dazed. What the fuck is wrong with my brain?

She bites her lip as she looks at me, blinking quickly. “I, uh, meant to ask if you wanted some coffee.”

Heat flashes across my body. Jesus. That’s what five seconds of accidental physical contact with this woman does to me?

I shake my head. “I’ve already had some. Thanks though. You go ahead.”

“I’ve already had, like, four cups.”

“Four? Wow.”

She chuckles. “Yeah. I’m a little addicted to Americanos with oat milk. If I don’t have at least two a day, I feel like a zombie.”

When she smiles this time, the bridge of her nose wrinkles. Fuck, that’s cute.

Quit fantasizing about the social media girl, you fucking caveman.

She gestures to a white plush armchair in front of her desk.

I sit down and glance around her office just to distract myself. It looks like something out of a magazine.

The desk is sleek and made of some light-hued wood. Ingrid’s chair is the same style and design as the one I’m sitting in. Behind her desk, against the wall, is a backless bookshelf made of what looks like the same kind of wood her desk is made of. On the shelves are some small potted plants, framed photos, and delicate decorative pieces.

“Nice office,” I say.

“Thank you,” she says brightly as she sits behind her desk. Her hair is styled in a pretty and messy side braid. She swipes it over her shoulder before setting her hands on her desk and looking at me.

“So. I have to confess something,” she says. That playful smile I remember from yesterday pulls at her lips.

Her gaze trails down my chest. Her soft blue eyes widen the slightest bit as she gives me a once-over. Normally I wear a hoodie and workout pants, but I figured I’d try and put in some effort since I had a meeting. So I’m wearing a dark blue henley and jeans.

Her gaze catches on my chest, then my shoulders, then my arms. I try and fail to hold back a smile. This shirt does a better job than a hoodie of showing all the muscle I’ve put on during this season, and Ingrid seems to appreciate that.

I guess she likes what she sees too.

I don’t miss that dazed look in her eyes as she rakes her gaze all over my torso. My ego gets a nice little boost from witnessing this stunning woman get a bit flustered around me.

She blinks and quickly looks back up at my face. She clears her throat and refocuses. “I googled you last night.”

“Really? Find out anything good?”

“Mostly just YouTube videos of you smashing your opponents and getting into fights over it.”

I try to keep smiling even though my gaze drops to my lap in embarrassment. I rub the back of my neck. “I’ve been pretty quick to drop the gloves in my career. I want to change that though.”

I look back up at her.

“Do you really?” she asks.

I nod.

She tilts her head to the side as she looks at me, studying me. I usually hate it when someone looks like they’re trying to figure me out. But I like it when Ingrid looks at me. I like knowing that she’s thinking about me.

“Yeah. I want to be with this team for the long haul. And Coach Porter’s made it clear that I need to clean up my act if I want that to happen.”

“You’re ready to say goodbye to Dirty Del then?” she teases.

“Yeah. I think I’m ready to.”

“I can help you with that.”

“Really?”

She nods. “I did kind of a social media reconnaissance on you last night in preparation for this meeting.”

I smile at the way she’s worded that.

“It’s pretty clear you don’t like social media since I wasn’t able to find much of a presence for you online,” she says. “Just your Instagram account, but it doesn’t look like you’ve updated it for a few years.”

“I’ve never really been into that stuff.”

“Too busy brawling?” she teases.

“Obviously.”

“Look, I know a lot of people think social media is shallow and pointless. And it can be, but I’ve made a career out of using it strategically. Judging from your lack of a social media presence, I’m guessing you don’t value it all that much.”

She says it like a casual observation, not like she’s judging me, which is nice. I’m so used to people giving me all sorts of shit for not wanting to be on Instagram and TikTok and every other social media platform.

“If you’re open to it, I could help you use social media to revamp your image,” Ingrid says.

I’m quiet, impressed at how confident she sounds.

She smiles. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“It’s not that. It’s just that for years I’ve been known as the hockey asshole who doles out cheap shots and fights too much. You think you can change that with a few TikToks and Instagram posts?”

Her gaze turns determined. “Yeah. I really do. And like I told you yesterday. I don’t believe that you’re an asshole.”

“How can you be so confident? You barely know me.”

She blinks, her expression softening. “It’s a lot of things. The way you defended me yesterday. I was a total stranger, but you went out of your way to help me. Only a genuinely good person would do something like that. And the way you looked at me.” She pauses to swallow. “There’s a softness in your eyes. Like you really care. I don’t even know if you’re aware of it.”

I’m quiet, stunned at what she’s said about me.

“You’re not an asshole, Del. Not even close. And I have a sneaking suspicion that behind all that fighting and toughness on the ice, you’re a teddy bear.”

I almost laugh. “I’ve been called a lot of names in my life, but not teddy bear. Not once.”

“Well, I just called you that.”

I raise my eyebrow at her, intrigued by the determination in her voice and the teasing smile she’s giving me.

“So what’s your plan?” I ask. “How are you gonna make everyone see that I’m not the brawling asshole they’ve known me as for the past several years, but actually a teddy bear?”

Smiling, she leans down, grabs her purse, then stands up. “Come with me.”