Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

2. Owen

2

OWEN

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she spits at me. “Not a chance.”

The girl who remains nameless is glaring at me. It’s a cute contrast because, on one hand, the girl’s got fire coming from her eyes. And on the other, she’s shivering from lack of clothing. I almost feel bad—but only almost. No complaints on what the chill is doing with those nipples right now.

“You sure?” My lips tick in the hint of a smile that I know well enough to keep hidden. I wouldn’t put it past this chick to clock me right now. “Wooden Adirondacks are great for a slouchy beer on a Sunday afternoon, but I’m betting they make shitty beds.”

Her eyes dart down to the patio furniture and then slice back up to me. “I’ll be fine.”

“Listen, babe—” I start.

“Don’t call me ‘babe.’”

“Okay, sweetheart, it’s not like I’m trying to get you to?—”

“And definitely don’t call me ‘sweetheart.’”

“Alright, woman! Jesus. You’re stuck. I have a door. Fucking use it or freeze to death. Better?”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, now, you’re just being a dick. One—” She takes a saucy step closer to me, and I gotta be honest, I don’t hate the vanishing proximity gap. She smells like red wine and pheromones. “—we are in Texas. We aren’t going to freeze to death. And two—” She takes another step closer but this time, jabbing a pointing finger in my face.

I grab her hand before she can tell me what her second point is.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I know. I told you. It was the bitch of a witch’s cat over there.” She tries to pull her hand back, but I hold it firmly in mine.

She did show me her hand earlier, but I was a bit too distracted by everything else she had going on to look at her palm.

“Well, now, you have to come inside. You’re injured.”

The girl yanks her hand out of mine. “It’s a scratch. I’m fine.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“Are you always this forward?”

“Since the day I was born.”

“And does it work for you?”

I think about that for a moment before looking back at her, grin firmly in place. “Pretty much always.”

“Of course it does. You’re a man with a pretty face. You can probably get all the girls you want with a flash of your abs and a lazy smile, am I right?”

“You’re not wrong. But also, you’re making a whole lot of judgy assumptions for a naked girl trapped on her cousin’s balcony on a Friday night. And you know what they say about assumptions.”

My eyes graze over her ass umption again. You know, for good measure.

I start to turn around, but I stop. Dare I say it, I’m actually having… fun? It’s not often a girl actually catches my attention. Puck bunnies usually want one thing and one thing only, and despite what this woman thinks, I don’t even have to smile. But that gets old.

This girl is all spice, but if I had to guess, there’s some sweet in there, too. The kind you have to earn.

The best kind.

I turn back around. “Are you even going to tell me your name?”

I expect a glare. More fire from those blue-ish, green-ish, oceanic eyes of hers. But instead, they soften. Not a lot, but a bit. Enough. “Callie.”

“Callie.” I repeat it, liking the way it sounds in my voice. Liking the way it tastes on my tongue. Wondering what other parts of Callie would taste sweet on my tongue, too. “Well, Callie, I’m Owen. I feel like we got off to a rough start.” I lean against the railing, crossing my arms. “What are you doing alone on a Friday night?”

She chews on her own tongue for a moment, no doubt trying to decide just how much barbed wire to unravel from her obviously guarded self. “If you must know, I wasn’t supposed to be alone tonight. Kennedy and I were supposed to have a girls’ night.”

“A girls’ night.”

“You know… Wine. Thai food. Bashing men and watching trashy TV?—”

“Pillow fights in your underwear. Got it.”

She shoots me a glare hot enough to incinerate the decals on my jersey. “But that didn’t happen, as you can obviously see. Kennedy is cannonballing into the cesspool of this city’s dating scene, so I thought I’d enjoy a quiet evening to myself. God knows I could use the double dose of wine. But it didn’t get that far.”

“Well, you got the wine and the cozy part down,” I motion my hand over her. “But the quiet part needs work.”

The look she gives me has enough venom to turn me to stone.

I hold out an apologetic hand. “Don’t get mad. I just appreciate the cosmic humor.”

“What about this strikes you as funny?” she hisses.

“All of it. The way we met. Your outfit. The fucking cat. You really should come inside. I’ll even say, ‘Please.’”

I hold the smile. A smile that usually scores the goal. A smile I’ve known how to use my entire life because it falls somewhere between the devil you want to know and the boy next door.

But this girl is different.

This girl ain’t buying it.

“You know what? I changed my mind. I wouldn’t go through that door if it was the only open door in the world!”

I look at it and raise a brow. “It kind of is the only open door?—”

“And this Adirondack is looking like a California King in the Bahamas. So I’ll be just fine out here ‘til Kennedy gets home. Go back and watch your game, super fan. Thanks but no thanks.”

With that, she curls up in the chair, hugging her knees against herself.

I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting a no. I can see how badly she wants a warm room—and pants. But this game is even more entertaining than the one I was watching on my flatscreen, and I intend to keep playing.

“Suit yourself.” I sigh, walking back inside. “I’ll leave it unlocked if you change your mind.”

I close the patio door softly behind me and pad over to the couch where I left my phone. Even through the glass, I can hear her cussing out “Satan’s feline spawn.” I have to chuckle a little. I almost feel bad for not telling her that Kennedy keeps a spare key taped inside the cat dome.

Emphasis on “almost.” For a girl stuck on a balcony, she sure is stubborn. And ungrateful. And right now, I have enough on my hands.

“I’ve rescued enough damsels,” I mutter to my empty living room.

I take my phone with me to the kitchen, grabbing another beer from the fridge. I pop the cap on the bottle opener hanging on the wall. It’s one of those ones where the cap falls through a maze of nails, Plinko style, before landing in a column at the bottom. This one says, Drink .

Don’t mind if I do. I take a long pull from the bottle just as my phone begins to vibrate.

“‘Sup?” I ask after swallowing.

My best friend Lance’s voice fills the room. “Yo, brother! Where you at?” He is practically yelling and, from the way his words are running together like cursive, he’s well past buzzed and on his way to straight up hammered.

“I think I should be asking you that.” I round the counter back to the couch. My eyes scan the balcony. She hasn’t moved.

“I’m at Red Light. You coming out? It’s gonna be a good night!”

I sigh, rubbing my chin. “I don’t think so.”

“What? Why the fuck not?” He’s shouting over the club music, and I turn the volume on my phone down.

“Not feeling it tonight. You got the boys with you? You know we have to be on the ice at 7:00 A.M., right?”

“Yes, Dad, I know.” The cacophony of bass beats and voices is dying a little, replaced by car horns and sirens. He’s outside now. Thankfully, it’s a little quieter. “Life is supposed to be fun. Weekends are supposed to be fun. Hockey is supposed to be fun.”

I lean back with a sigh. “It was fun.”

“‘Was’? Owen, listen to yourself. You sound like fuckin’ Eeyore.”

“I know. I get it. But life is… complicated now.” I don’t want to talk about the shitshow that’s overtaken my life—overtaken my apartment—in the last few months.

Most people don’t know a thing about any of it. Can’t know. But Lance is my best friend.

“Gotta stop being the white knight all the time, brother. Good deeds don’t cover the past and the past ain’t your fault, you feel me?”

I feel him. I feel him too much. Lance is a solid guy, but he gets real soft and fluffy when he’s saturated with tequila. “Yeah, well. It is what it is.”

“You got me. You got the team. Can’t forget about them.”

But I am on a rollercoaster slowly spiraling downward. “Miles is leaving.”

“Not yet.”

“He’s retiring. He’s not even thirty.”

“Again, not yet. And we still have Lachlan. Heath. Kason and Dax. Who are all here by the way, so get your ass out and join us! Have some fun, O. You deserve that much at least.”

I have to smile, at least for a moment. I’m almost tempted. But my eyes haven’t left the patio door since I sat down.

“Some other time.” I stand up.

“Fine. Lame ass.”

“Love you, too, Lanny boy. See you tomorrow. Bright and early.”

“Yeah, yeah, kiss my ass.” He burps and I can hear the music getting loud again. I laugh, ending the call. But the laugh quickly melts into a weary sigh. I snap off the TV and tilt my head enough to see out the window.

Sure enough, she’s still shivering on the chair. Still huddled. Still stubborn. She’s even recruited the demonic cat to her lap, presumably for warmth.

I snag a fleece throw blanket off the couch and open the patio door.