Dirty Pucker (Denver Bashers #2)

28. Del

Chapter 28

Del

C oach Porter blows the whistle, signaling the end of practice.

I’m gasping as I skate over to where he’s standing. Practice was hell today, but I expected it. He wasn’t going to go easy on us after our loss to Las Vegas. After running us through some serious sprinting drills, we scrimmaged, working through a few of the plays we messed up when we played the Bandits.

Sweat pours all over my face. I yank off my helmet and shake my head. Sweat goes flying everywhere. Blomdahl, who’s standing next to me, glares.

“Sorry.”

“You’re in a good mood,” he mutters.

That’s when I realize I’m smiling. I bet I look like a freak, grinning after a practice that nearly killed us.

But I can’t help it. I’m running on the high of spending last night and this morning with Ingrid.

I replay every filthy thing we got up to in her hotel room. We didn’t even have sex, but it was the hottest night of my life.

I think about the way she spread her mile-long legs wide on the bed and touched herself while I watched. The sexy as fuck sounds she made. The way her entire body flushed the more turned on she got. How wet she was when I used my fingers on her, how tight her pussy felt, how sweet she tasted. The way she worked my dick in that sweet little mouth, the way she swallowed every last drop of my release when I came down her throat.

Waking up with her cuddled into my chest this morning was bliss. It felt so comfortable and natural.

We kept things professional on the flight back to Denver. She flashed me a sexy smile as she walked up to my row on the plane and sat next to me, but we didn’t do anything affectionate on the flight back to Denver. I wanted to. I was aching to touch her and kiss her, but we were surrounded by the entire team so we knew we needed to keep things professional.

Now that we’re back in Denver, I can’t wait to see her again.

And not just because I want to fuck her brains out. Of course I want to do that.

But honestly, I’d be happy just to spend time with her. I don’t even care what we do. I just like being around her.

My mind goes to the day we met, how she refused to believe I was an asshole. How she, unlike so everyone else, saw the softness in me. How she befriended me and helped me build up my social media accounts. How she used the Bashers’ TikTok to show fans that I was more than the hockey player everyone loved to hate. How she helped me see that I was so much more than that.

I think about how sweet and funny and bubbly she is. How much I like the sound of her voice. How I can’t stop staring at her every time I see her, she’s that beautiful.

A giddy feeling swoops through me. When was the last time just thinking about someone got me this excited?

I shrug at Blomdahl. “I love a tough practice.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, right. You sure you’re not smiling because of a certain blonde social media expert?”

I roll my eyes, but I’m still smiling.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Coach Porter says. We stop talking and immediately focus on him. “I know that practice was rough, but it had to be done,” Coach says. “You put in the work today, and I liked what I saw out there. Fantastic effort and drive. High energy. Tenacity. That’s exactly what we need going into playoffs.”

Despite our loss to Las Vegas, we have a strong enough record that we made it through to the first round of playoffs. We’re taking on the Los Angeles Devils.

Coach Porter pauses as he looks at all of us. “The Devils are a tough team. They won the Cup a few years ago.” He frowns. “But I’ve won two. We can beat them, I know we can.”

We all holler, pumped to take them on. He dismisses us and we head toward the locker room.

“Richards, hang back for a sec.”

I stay on the ice while the rest of the guys walk off. Coach makes his way toward me.

“I heard back from the department of player safety.” He frowns at me.

I tense up. Coach Porter is almost always frowning, so I can’t even tell if this is good news or bad news.

“You’ve been suspended for one game.”

I let out a breath and nod. “Okay.”

“I know that missing even one game is upsetting, but they were adamant about it.”

“It’s okay, I understand.”

“I told them why you did it. That Crowley made a sexual threat against a member of our organization and you were reacting to that.”

“You did?”

He nods. “They admitted that Crowley crossed a line, but they said that it didn’t excuse your physical retaliation. I told them that was utter crap and that if Crowley or anyone else speaks like that around one of my players again, I’m going to tell my team to retaliate just like you did.”

I stare at him, shocked to hear Porter defend what I did. “You said that?”

He’s quiet for a second as he looks at me. “You did the right thing, Richards. I don’t care what the department of player safety thinks. If I were still young enough to play and a guy said something like that around me, I’d have kicked the crap out of him too. I’m proud of what you did.”

He pats my shoulder and the tension riddling me instantly fades. It feels good to know that Coach Porter supports me on this.

But “support” doesn’t even feel like the right word. It feels more like he’s defending me and putting himself on the line for me too.

And then, for some strange reason, I think about my dad. I think about how he never once told me he was proud of me. I think about how I can count on one hand the number of times he made it to my hockey games as a kid. Other parents never missed a game. And the ones that did had good reasons to, like they were working to support their families, which is of course understandable.

But my dad never had that excuse. He just didn’t care enough. He didn’t care enough about me to be proud of me. But Coach does.

Emotion flashes through me.

“Thanks for having my back, Coach,” I finally say.

Porter nods. “Of course.”

I walk off into the locker room, head to my spot, and start peeling off my gear.

“Did Porter chew you out?” Blomdahl asks.

I unlace my skates. “He heard back from the department of player safety. I’m suspended one game.”

Everyone stops and looks at me. Xander frowns. “That’s some bullshit.”

“Yeah, but it’s not as bad as it could have been,” I say.

Theo looks at me. “It’s still not fair. Sorry, man.”

The rest of the team says similar things.

“The next time we play Vegas, Crowley’s mine. I’m aching to beat that fucker’s ass,” Theo says as he strips off his pads. He juts his chin at me. “Besides, I owe you a fight.”

I chuckle. “Thanks.”

Everyone goes back to what they were doing. I grab a fresh towel and dig around for my shower stuff when I hear Theo say my name.

I turn around.

“What are you doing over the bye week?” he asks.

“Nothing exciting. You?”

“Some of the guys were thinking about heading to Cabo before the playoffs to blow off some steam for a few days. You interested?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You really wanna spend your vacation with me?”

Theo laughs. “Yeah. It’ll be a blast. We’re gonna get drunk off tequila, eat tacos, maybe go fishing.”

Part of me wants to say no. After the fight with Crowley, Theo and my other teammates have been more welcoming of me. But they don’t know about Ingrid and me getting together. I’m certain Theo will be pissed once he finds out.

Xander bumps me with his shoulder. “Doesn’t that sound like a blast? Being hungover with us?”

“That does sound tempting.”

They tell me they’ll text me the travel plans.

“Our ladies are coming too,” Xander says.

“And Ingrid,” Theo says. “I talked to her before practice and convinced her to come.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Blomdahl turn to look at me. I pretend to mess with my gear bag so Theo and Xander won’t notice me fighting the smile on my face.

I try my best to play it cool. “Count me in.”