Dirty Pucker (Denver Bashers #2)

15. Del

Chapter 15

Del

I race across the ice, my legs and lungs on fire.

Sweat pours down my face, into my eyes. It burns but I keep going.

I skid to a halt at the line on the ice, then flip around and race to the other side. I do it again and again until I hear Coach Porter blow the whistle.

The second he does, I hunch over and brace my hands on my legs. I’m gasping for air and my ears are ringing.

When I look up, he’s frowning at us, arms crossed over his chest. He says something about how we should thank the handful of us who were late to practice for that especially tough drill.

Behind me, a few of my teammates grumble. I don’t blame them. Suicide drills are the fucking worst.

But part of me is glad that practice was so tough today. I was trying so hard not to pass out that I was distracted from thinking about that kiss with Ingrid the other night.

I guess it wasn’t technically a kiss. Our lips touched for about two seconds before we were interrupted and she jumped off my lap.

My dick can’t tell the difference though. I think about Ingrid constantly. About how silky her mouth felt against mine, how hot and soft her thighs felt on my lap, how her big blue eyes were cloudy with arousal as she looked at me, how she smelled like vanilla and lemon and flowers…

I think about what would have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted.

I would have cupped her soft face in my hands and kissed her. I would have slowly teased her tongue with mine. I would have run my hands all over her body, relishing her silky soft skin.

And if she wanted it, I would have run my mouth along the side of her neck, all the way down her chest to those perfect boobs in that tiny bikini top…

And there’s goes my dick again, twitching to life.

I huff out a breath, annoyed with myself for letting myself fantasize about Ingrid. Again.

I’ve jerked off to fantasizing about kissing Ingrid three times since the night we almost kissed.

I know it’s wrong. I know that’s not the way you’re supposed to think about your friends.

But part of me doesn’t care. When I fantasize about Ingrid, I come harder and faster than I ever have.

“Richards!” Porter hollers, pulling me out of my thoughts. My boner instantly shrivels at the sound of his scolding tone.

“Yeah, Coach?” I brace myself for him to chew me out.

“Good work out there today. Way to hustle,” he says in his trademark curt tone.

“Thanks.”

He glances around at the rest of the team. “That’s the kind of effort I want to see out of all of you. I don’t want to see any of the laziness I saw at the start of practice,” he says. “Playoffs are just around the corner. No showing up late to practice, no half-assing it on the ice. I want two hundred percent out of all of you from this moment on. Understood?”

We all say yes.

Coach Porter dismisses us and we head off the ice toward the locker room. Alanna walks up to me.

“Hey, Del. When you get a second, can you come to my office and see me?”

I tell her sure. After showering and getting dressed, I stop by her office. She looks up from her computer and grins.

“I have some fantastic news,” she says as I sit down in the chair in front of her desk.

“Yeah?”

“I just got a call from a friend of mine, Luc Jean Pierre.”

“Oh…” The name sounds familiar. I feel like I should know who that is.

“The fashion photographer.”

“Oh right.”

“He’s photographing a series about the beauty of the athletic physique. His first spread is professional hockey, and he wants you to pose as one of the models.”

I blink, shocked. “Seriously?”

She beams. “Yes. Isn’t it exciting?”

“Wow, I…definitely wasn’t expecting you to say that.” I shake my head in disbelief.

Alanna chuckles. “I’m sure it’s quite a shock, but Del, this is such a thrilling opportunity for you.”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t know anything about fashion or photography, but I’m flattered that a famous photographer would want to feature me in something like this.”

I’m one of the better two-way centers in the league, so I stay in the best shape I can. But being athletic is different from being a figure model for a photoshoot.

“I’ve never done anything like that before,” I say to Alanna. “I don’t know how impressive I’ll be on a photoshoot.”

“I totally understand your concern,” she says. “Fashion and modeling are very different from professional sports. But that’s the whole point of this photoshoot. Luc Jean wants to highlight athletic physiques. He wants to showcase bodies that are built from conditioning and training and playing. Plus, he loves hockey and he asked for you personally. He’s a big fan of yours.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He’s hoping you’ll say yes to this project,” Alanna says. “Sam McKesson from the Seattle Sea Monsters just agreed to do it. I heard that you two are friends.”

I raise my eyebrow. “He did?”

She nods.

“Well, if he’s in, then I’m in.”

Alanna clasps her hands together. “Great! I’ll get the details from Luc Jean and forward them to your agent.”

She tells me that the photoshoot is next weekend in Las Vegas, the same weekend we’re playing there for an away game.

I thank Alanna before standing up and heading out.

As I walk back to the locker room to grab my gear bag, I grab my phone and text Sam.

Me: You got roped into this naked photoshoot too?

I’m walking to my car when he texts back.

Sam: Yup. Aren’t you excited to see my pasty white ass?

Me: I saw plenty of it when we played in college together

Sam: Does that mean you’re doing the photoshoot too?

Me: Yup

Sam: I thought you’d for sure say no

Me: I won’t have this Adonis body forever. This is a great way to document it.

Sam sends an eye roll emoji.

Sam: Have your new teammates kicked the shit out of you yet?

Me: Nope. I’ve managed to survive so far.

I think about Ingrid, how if Theo had caught us kissing in the steam room, I’d be a dead man.

Sam: BTW did you know you’re blowing up on TikTok? That video where you say you’re into blondes went viral

When I make it to my car, I pull up the Bashers’ TikTok account. Sure enough, Sam’s right. That video has more than a million views. I do a quick skim of the comments. Most of them are people freaking out about how I’m flirting with the person filming me.

I shake my head. Damn. That really caught on.

Sam: It’s clear as day that you’re into whoever you were talking to in that video

Me: Her name’s Ingrid. She’s head of social media for the Bashers. And Theo Thompson’s cousin

Me: And you’re right. I’m into her

Sam sends back a skull emoji.

Sam: Tread carefully. You and Theo have a messy history. He’ll murder you if you hook up with his cousin

Me: We’ve never done more than flirt. We’re just friends. You know me. I don’t shit where I eat, I never have

Sam: Yeah…but I’ve also never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at her in that video

The whole drive home, I think about what Sam said. He’s right. This thing with Ingrid is different. I can feel it.

But I can’t do anything about it.

On my way home, my agent calls me. When I answer, he gives me all the details about the physique photoshoot in Vegas. I push thoughts of Ingrid out of my mind and try to focus. My nerves kick up as I think more about doing the nude photoshoot. I don’t have any qualms about being naked—I grew up in locker rooms, getting undressed and showering around my teammates. But a photoshoot is completely different.

At least this is another distraction from thinking about Ingrid.