Pucking Only (Night Hawks Hockey #2)

Chapter Nine Hungover

CHAPTER NINE: HUNGOVER

CARSON

Ughhh…my head. It feels like I got nailed right in the temple with multiple hockey-pucks shot at me by the Hulk.

Groaning, I pry my eyes open and immediately regret that decision when the sunlight streaming into my bedroom sears my retinas. I squeeze them closed again and yank my comforter up over my head.

Fuck, how much did I have to drink last night?

Even though it feels like my brain is just sloshing around in my skull, I force it to recall the events of the previous night that led me to waking up on the verge of death.

The last thing I really remember is Skyler storming off after our kiss in the alley. Definitely not something I had planned to do, by the way. Still, it had been hot. Really, really hot. Maybe the hottest kiss I’ve ever had.

Her body had been soft and giving, and her curves had seemed to fit perfectly in my hands. I have no doubt if I’d reached between her legs, she’d have been wet. Feeling her respond to my kiss so eagerly…to have her touching me and toying with my hair…ugh, the memory itself has my body going hot and my dick twitching and fighting for life .

But, Skyler had been pissed. Even though she’d told me not to follow her inside, I had. I’d watched as she made her way straight to Zander and the two had left the bar together.

After that, things get blurry.

All I really recall is lots and lots of shots. Too many shots. A nauseating number of shots.

At some point, I didn’t care. I just wanted to be shit faced so I didn’t have to think about what could possibly be happening between Skyler and Zander.

I do remember having no interest in hooking up with anyone else, though. That girl in the tight black dress had approached me at least two more times as the night had progressed. At one point, she outright invited me back to her place. I usually would have said yes without hesitation, but last night…it just didn’t appeal.

With a groan, I push my covers aside and force myself to slither out of bed. Making my way into the bathroom, I turn my shower onto the hottest setting I can stand. The water feels like tiny pinpricks against my too-sensitive skin, but the steam and the heat are soothing. I wash the smell of stale alcohol off my body, then dry off and drag on a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. Thankfully, there’s no practice today. Otherwise, I would be in a world of hurt.

I trudge through my apartment with the intent to collapse on my couch and not move for the next eight to twelve hours.

The layout of my place is pretty identical to Grace’s. The main difference between the two apartments is how clean, organized and homey hers is, versus how bare-bones and messy mine is. I’m not a pig — I throw my trash away and I’m not a hoarder by any means, but I don’t have a lot of decor like Grace. I really only have the basic furniture, like a leather couch, table and chairs, bed, etcetera.

Just before I can reach the living room, I’m surprised by a knock on my front door. Who the hell is bothering me when I’m recovering from marinating in tequila all night long?

Begrudgingly, I walk to the door and open it. To my surprise, Jensen is standing in the hallway, a big shit-eating grin on his face.

“Well hello there, sleeping beauty,” he greets.

“What are you doing here?” I grumble.

“Wilder called and said you had a rough night,” Jensen explains. “I thought I’d stop over and make sure you hadn’t puked yourself to death. Plus, I brought breakfast.”

He holds up a paper bag, the bottom of which is wet from grease. I can smell fried things inside the bag and my stomach gurgles a good way.

“All right,” I sigh. “Come in.”

I step aside to give him room to walk through the door and shut it behind him. He takes the bag of food into the kitchen. I reluctantly follow. I’m not in the mood for a lecture, but I’m pretty sure there’s bacon in that bag.

He sets out styrofoam containers of fried hash browns, bacon, eggs, sausage, and jelly-filled donuts. My mouth starts watering at the sight of the smorgasbord. It’s the perfect hangover meal for me.

“Dig in,” he says, handing me a fork.

I grab the container of scrambled eggs and start shoveling them into my mouth.

“So,” Jensen begins in a curious tone. “Want to tell me what exactly happened last night?”

I’m not touching that question with a ten-foot pole. Jensen is in Papa mode - when he steps in and tries to give me advice or set me straight because he’s a year older and wiser than me. He does know me better than anyone else on our team because we’ve been friends since college.

I shrug and say, “Just went too hard. It happens. ”

“Uh huh,” Jensen says, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t suppose your head-first dive into a tequila bottle had something to do with Skyler, did it?”

“What?” I snap, my whole body tensing in an instant. “The fuck you talking about man?”

Too late, I realize that my response was way too defensive.

Jensen gazes at me with a skeptical look, his mouth pressed together in a thin line. He clearly doesn’t believe me.

“You’ve been acting strange ever since she got here,” he says, all but ignoring my outburst. “You’re moodier, more agitated, and you're not as focused during practice when she’s watching.”

I shrug and try to maintain a calm and even tone when I reply, “I act differently around her because she’s like a little sister to me. She’s not a conquest.”

Yet, even as I say the words out loud, they feel…wrong. Like a lie. That’s ridiculous, though, because I don’t view Skyler as more than a sister.

So…why did I kiss her last night? And why does the memory of her body pressed tight to mine have my dick twitching to life despite how shitty I feel?

Jensen releases a long sigh. “All right, well, if that’s the story you want to stick with, not much I can say to argue with you.” He pats me on the shoulder as he moves past me. “I’ll let you eat and rest. Try not to get into any more trouble today, okay? Stay away from the booze.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I huff. I’m pretty certain I’m never going to drink again.

Once Jensen leaves, I gather up the rest of the food he brought me and make my way into the living room and my sweet, sweet couch. I sink down on the cushions and grab my remote. Time to put on some bad TV and veg for the rest of the day .

Just as I settle on some Sylvester Stallone movie, my phone starts to buzz. I’m tempted to ignore it. When I pick it up and see that it’s my mom, I know I can’t do that. Mom always checks in around game days to see how I’m doing. She hates flying, so she and dad aren’t often able to attend games in person. They watch every one of my games on TV. She feels so bad about not being there that she goes above and beyond in other ways to make up for it...not that she needs to. I know my parents love and support me. I’ve never doubted that in my entire life.

Taking a deep breath, I answer the phone and try my best not to sound as miserable as I feel.

“Hey, Mom,” I say.

“Hello, sweetie!” my mom replies. Her voice is as bright and cheerful as always. “How are you? I feel like it’s been ages since I talked to you.”

I chuckle. “Mom, we talked on the phone two days ago.”

“Ages!” she insists, then lets out a small laugh. “How are things going? Practices are good I hope?”

“Yeah,” I assure her. “Practices are good. Everything’s good, Mom. I don’t have anything to complain about.”

Except for my soul-crushing hangover and a sexy little computer nerd driving me crazy. Since she’s arrived, anytime I looked up during a practice and spotted her in the stands, her laptop perched on her knees and fingers flying over the keyboard, I felt an instant surge of lust that I’ve never experienced before. That feeling was usually followed quickly by frustration because I couldn’t understand why I kept waiting for her to look up and give me that level of undivided attention.

“That’s good,” Mom says. “Oh, I miss you and your sister so much. It’s been too long since you both have been home.”

I smile softly, feeling somewhat better at the sound of her voice. No matter how old I get, I always feel more at ease and relaxed when I talk to my mom.

“I miss you too,” I tell her. “How’s dad?”

“Your father has a brand new hobby,” Mom answers. Her tone is laced with exasperation and adoration all at once. “He’s decided he’s going to start smoking meat. The neighbors got a smoker a few months back, and so of course, he had to get one as well. But not just any smoker…the Ferrari of smokers, or something like that.”

I chuckle. “Well, you might get some good hams out of the deal.”

She laughs. “You’re dad is all the ham I need.”

Whenever my mom talks about my dad, her love for him is obvious in her voice, and vice versa. My dad is obsessed with her. She is the center of his world. I’ve honestly never met a couple more devoted and in love with each other than my parents, especially after thirty years of marriage.

My parents have one of those rare relationships where their passion for each other doesn’t dull…it only grows. Growing up, even if they had arguments, I never doubted how much they loved each other. It’s something I’ve always admired, but have never experienced or think I ever will. That kind of love is one in a million, and I don’t think I can bring myself to settle for anything less.

That likely means I’ll just stay single. I’m okay with that. Mom and Dad simply set the bar too high.

“Sweetheart, the main reason I called was to let you know that your father and I are throwing an anniversary party for ourselves next month,” she says, pulling me out of my wandering thoughts. “I just wanted to make sure you can come if we have it on the day of our actual anniversary. I know your schedule is packed between practice and games, but…”

“Don’t worry, Mom,” I assure her with a grin. “I’ll be there. I was already planning on heading home that weekend anyway because I was going to treat you guys to dinner. Since you’re throwing a party, all the better.”

“That’s so thoughtful of you!” Mom exclaims. “You’re such a good boy, and I’m thrilled you’ll be able to come. I’m going to talk to your sister later and let her know. Also Skyler! She’s there in Denver right now, isn’t she?”

My stomach cramps and I cough as I choke on a gulp of air.

“Uh…yeah,” I stammer. “She is.”

“Great! I want to invite her too. Her dad will be there. He’s flying in from Alaska for the week! I’ll have to have Grace let her know the details!”

Of course she would want Skyler to be there. My parents adore her. They always have. She was at our house growing up almost as often as she was at her own.

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to be there,” I tell Mom. “She loves you guys.”

“And we love her,” Mom says.

And that just makes me feel even worse.