Pucking Road Trip (Bay Rebels #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Captain’s Hall, Freedom

R obyn

“Are all hockey players obsessed with their sticks?” I stretch out on the bed, aching deliciously after my wild night. I push my wavy, flame-red hair out of my emerald eyes. “Do you two need some alone time?”

I struggle to keep my face straight.

The dominant, gorgeous man who’s sprawled next to me, cradling his hockey stick on his lap and stroking it like this is how players jerk off, shoots me an icy glare.

Of course he does because he’s Jude fucking D’Angelo.

A grumpy dick.

Also, the man who is every dream and hope that I have.

I try to look innocent.

But it’s hard, when I’m naked with smudged mascara, puffy eyes from allergies, and a hickey on my neck.

I don’t regret the hickey.

Allergies, however, suck.

Robyn McKenna, twenty-seven, independent businesswoman and PR Director of the Bay Rebels, and hot mess .

I pull the glimmering covers closer around myself.

I glance under my eyelashes at D’Angelo, as he rubs his thumb in a way that’s far too suggestive over the toe of the stick.

I swallow.

That has to be deliberate, right?

Now, I wish that I could be a fly on the wall in the Bay Rebels locker room, if this is how the whole team act.

D’Angelo is captain of the Bay Rebels NHL hockey team, my best friend from college, and the man who I’m desperately in love with.

Unlike me, he’s dressed in an immaculate designer navy suit and waistcoat with the sleeves rolled back to reveal his strong forearms.

Does he get up half an hour early just to be certain that he’s dressed smartly, before I am?

It’d be the sort of thing that he would do.

D’Angelo is six foot three with olive skin and piercing ice blue eyes that are so frosty they make me shiver.

Raven curls frame his strong face, as he tips his head forward to finish retaping the stick heel-to-toe.

D’Angelo’s bedroom is large and overlooks the pasture at the back of Captain’s Hall ranch. The drapes are open. Soft morning light cascades over D’Angelo’s antique silver bed. The room is as elegant as the man himself.

The floors are carpeted and white like the walls. The entire far wall is a mirrored walk-in closet.

Scissors, tape, and stick wax lie on the nightstand.

D’Angelo smooths down the tape compulsively three times.

“Are you jealous? I find your possessiveness cute, principessa,” D’Angelo replies, coolly.

“Jealous?” When I sit up, the covers fall off me. “We’re already in a polyamorous relationship with the Prince twins. Fine, I’m open to discussing dating your stick as well.”

“You’ll like her. She helps me think of you, during every game that I play. I score more pucks by feeling that I’m touching you, even on the ice. She’s called Robyn.”

“You’ve named your stick after me?”

D’Angelo looks affronted. “You make it sound like I named my dick.”

“Well, have you?” I blush.

D’Angelo’s lips twitch, as he leisurely scans over my naked body; my skin goosebumps. “What if it’s Lady Godiva’s Horse?”

I definitely am okay with riding him.

Except, it so isn’t.

If D’Angelo wants to play this game, then I’m down with it. After all, our love language is banter.

“Moby Dick?” I quirk my brow. “Mount Vesuvius? Little Guy ?”

I can’t help it.

D’Angelo’s eyes darken. He growls, placing his stick down and leaning it against the bed.

Whoops, I’ve poked the bear.

D’Angelo twists to lean over me. His silky curls brush my face.

I can feel his hard cock through his pants against my hip.

It’s definitely not Little Guy .

“Would my cock receive its own VIP invitation to clubs?” D’Angelo claims my lips in a kiss that’s far too brief. “My cock is not a separate identity to me. So, it doesn’t need its own name. I’m not insecure or narcissistic enough for that. But little …?”

“Wilder named his dick,” I say to distract him.

Wilder Talon is my ex-husband who abused, stalked, and cheated on me. A star ‘golden boy’ of the NHL, as well as D’Angelo’s rival, Wilder lied to both D’Angelo and me to keep us apart for years.

And D’Angelo’s right, Wilder is a narcissist, one who wrecked our relationship.

This is our second chance.

Plus, Wilder is the jerk who liked to get creative with his stick in the kinkiest ways. If I could wipe my brain of my ex being butt naked with his own hockey stick up that butt, then I’d be eternally happy.

Or at least, would need less therapy.

I could also do without the memory of how he’d fart like he was trying to compose a hit record, each morning as he woke up.

D’Angelo’s eyes light with amusement. “Please tell me that Talon’s is named Little Guy.”

“Sorry. It’s Thor.”

“Talon looks like a Viking turned dark. If I was naming mine, it would be Lucifer.”

Of course.

D’Angelo is a beautiful fallen angel .

He straddles the line between devil and angel. Right now, he’s definitely on the wicked side of that line.

I reach up, tracing the scruff of stubble on D’Angelo’s chin. His gaze softens.

He kisses me again, and this time, his plush lips linger.

D’Angelo’s fresh, masculine scent wraps around me. I reach out, carding my fingers through his hair. His strong hand rests on my thigh, stroking circles.

D’Angelo deepens the kiss, dominating it.

I melt into it, but he draws back with a final nibble over my bottom lip.

“Are you okay, principessa?” He asks.

“I’m good. Better than.” I smile. “Last night, celebrating your victory on the ice and our victory over the journalist who’s been trying to destroy us, was incredible. Melanie has bullied my brother and me since high school. Seeing her get the justice that she’s always escaped was everything. Plus, being able to show Shay that he could be bound in ropes but also held safe by them, after what he suffered at the hands of his abusive domme, felt healing. I know that it’s only the first step in a hard journey, but we can take it together. We have each other, right?”

D'Angelo nods.

He scans me, assessing.

He does this.

He’s good at aftercare.

He doesn’t only check up during a scene or after it. He’ll check in for at least the day after. If something has been intense, then he’ll keep a close eye for the next week.

D’Angelo is a trained dom and he’s the most protective — and possessive — man who I’ve ever met.

Even though I’m in a polyamorous relationship, D’Angelo needs to snatch these quiet moments together, when it’s just the two of us.

My eyes widen. Panic floods through me. My heartbeat races.

Wildly, I look around myself. “Where are the twins? Where did we put them?”

D’Angelo scrunches up his nose. “They’re not pets. What am I saying? Shay is our pet. Our good boy.”

My cheeks pink.

Our good boy.

Those words pull at something deep inside me.

Shay Prince is loved by both D’Angelo and me. He wants to be owned — fucking possessed — by us.

He’s equally part of our relationship. I can’t imagine my life without Shay held between us.

Since he arrived from England with his twin, the two brothers have not only been adopted by my small town of Freedom and the Bay Rebels.

They’re both in my heart, and I couldn’t cut them out without dying.

“I can’t help it.” I wet my dry lips. “Shouldn’t Shay at least still be sleeping wrapped around me like a limpet?”

I love the way that Shay tangles his legs around mine, while his golden hair falls over my cheeks, as he sleeps.

He’s a sleep cuddler.

“An adorable one,” D’Angelo says. “Don’t tell him I said that. I’ll deny it.”

“I get the same panicky feeling as when I don’t know where my iPhone is.”

D’Angelo snorts. “It’s not surprising. Shay is a walking disaster. He has the same klutzy charm as you, although he falls over less often. I should take out insurance for both of you. The puppy has broken two vases, a picture frame, and the mirror in the bathroom with an impressive high kick. And that’s not to mention the window at the back of Captain’s Hall, when he was playing football. The equipment manager, Kay, despairs because somehow Shay breaks his stick almost every game.”

“Plus, he’s lost his iPhone—”

“Every day. But Eden always finds it for him.”

We both chuckle.

Eden cares for all of us. He has an equal place in our lives.

Eden was a hockey player, until an injury knocked him out of the NHL. Yet he doesn’t resent that his brother shines as one of the best players still. He supports Shay.

That takes strength.

Now, Eden works as D’Angelo’s PA, despite his social anxiety, while he recovers from severe post-concussion symptoms.

He was attacked on the ice, during a game. His injuries ended his career. He’d already received too many blows to his head as a kid to make receiving any more the same as playing Russian roullete with his life.

Now, he’s receiving treatment from the hospital and my brother, Cody.

Cody’s Director of Physical Therapy at the Bay Rebels.

Eden never complains.

It worries me that he doesn’t think he deserves to.

I fucking adore him.

I’ve woken up each morning for the last few weeks thankful for these three men who each meet a different need in me in the same way that I do for them.

Since I was trapped in a marriage to Wilder, I never expected to experience this type of love.

These men have opened my eyes to what’s possible.

This relationship is liberating and empowering. I ’ve never felt so seen.

Warmth and contentment curls through me.

This is my found family. My home. My new life.

D’Angelo shifts to sit next to me with his back against the headboard. He crosses his long legs at the ankles, smoothing out his suit.

“Take a deep breath,” D’Angelo drawls. “What can you smell?”

When I wrinkle my nose, I’m instantly flooded by the delicious aroma of fragrant, aromatic tea and smoky bacon.

My mouth waters. “Tea and bacon. Eden promised to bring it up to bed this morning. He’s the best boyfriend.”

D’Angelo looks close to pouting. I pretend not to notice.

“All I can offer is being a millionaire star player who gives debauchery a PR facelift, while looking beautiful draped over a piano or with a riding crop in my hand.”

“And having no ego at all.”

“None whatsoever.” D’Angelo smirks. “You know, Atlas tapes his stick at the arena before games. The guy owns four dogs. He’s worried about their fur messing it up.”

“Isn’t it me who normally rambles with non sequiturs?”

“If I offer to adopt a cat for Eden, I’d have to tape my stick at the arena.” D’Angelo’s expression has become thoughtful.

My eyes widen. “You’re serious.”

He nods.

D’Angelo pretends to be a grumpy dick. Sometimes, he is.

But I can see behind the mask.

I grasp D’Angelo’s hand, entwining our fingers. “Eden loves animals. He walks in the woods because he finds it easier to be around them than humans. He told me that when he was young, he wanted to be a vet. He’d officially adopt a squirrel, if he could.”

D’Angelo’s eyes crease at the edges, as he smiles. “To save us from the fate of finding nuts in our shoes or pants, then I’d better offer to adopt a cat from a shelter. How about after the season ends?”

“That makes sense. Eden’s never had a girlfriend before. I’m all his firsts. This new family for him is overwhelming. He doesn’t understand friendship like we do. It will prove to Eden that you truly mean this isn’t a short term set up but that you see a future together.”

“It’s Shay who needs to be reassured about that.”

He’s right.

Shay is haunted by fears that D’Angelo only sees this as a hookup. He can’t understand that he’s worthy of being loved or a true relationship. He’s never had one before. He’s been abused and used for sex like he’s a toy simply because he’s a submissive.

D’Angelo and I are both going to prove to him that he’s a man first.

“Is Shay with his brother?” I ask.

D’Angelo shakes his head. “After I carried you into bed last night, I gave Shay aftercare for a couple of hours.”

I flush at the memory of being manhandled over D’Angelo’s shoulder.

Also, how’s he able to make me wet simply with a memory?

D’Angelo’s sultry, half-hooded look, which he’s now giving me, should be illegal.

“Wasn’t my massage effective?” I ask.

When D’Angelo winces, I narrow my eyes.

Don’t people like my massages?

Huh.

“I’m sure that it was something ,” D’Angelo replies. “I ran Shay a hot bath with scented oils and allowed him a long soak. He was half-asleep by the end. Then I gave him the praise and petting that he needs. I didn’t want his insomnia to keep him up. Not that coach’s phone call of doom helped.”

D'Angelo’s piercing gaze meets mine.

I cringe.

Dad rang late last night with his brand of hard-ass parental concern. He warned of the upcoming road trip for the away games, which I had been looking forward to.

Except, now dread coils through me about them.

…And this road trip…hell, the shit is going to hit the fan. I can’t protect you. All the dark secrets of our family are going to be exposed...

“Dark secrets, huh?” D’Angelo quirks his brow. “What did coach mean?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Who doesn’t have those?”

D’Angelo’s expression is inscrutable. “No one.”

Unsettled, I shift on the bed.

Suddenly, my hip knocks against something hard underneath the covers.

Unless D’Angelo’s cock has grown in size over night and now is tail length (I’ve been reading far too many monster romances, even if demons have beautiful possibilities with their tails), then there’s something else in bed with us.

Confused, I slip my hand underneath the covers.

“Hmm,” D’Angelo grips me by the chin, “a little higher.”

“I’m not trying to stroke your stick ,” I squeak.

D’Angelo’s brow furrows, and his hand drops from my chin.

Hurriedly, my hand closes on the item, and I pull it out from underneath the covers with a flourish.

I wriggle closer to D’Angelo, squinting against the light at the thin, pretty book.

So, not a devil’s tail.

Disappointing.

At first glance, it looks like a hockey strategy book in arctic blue and white with lines, arrows, and arcs on the front.

There’s also a crude puck and hockey stick.

I drew those.

I also wrote the scrawled words, which are along the top:

A GUIDE TO AVOID DATING HOCKEY PLAYERS

The AVOID is scratched out with silver pen.

During my yearlong nightmare divorce proceedings with Wilder, I created it as a guide with rules to keep me on the path to never, ever date a hockey player again.

Obviously, I fell off that path…spectacularly.

Three times.

And that’s when I scratched out the AVOID .

The Guide includes photographs and press clippings.

There’s an entire chapter on D’Angelo, including photographs of him pole dancing, being spitroasted over tables at kinky clubs, and wearing a horse riding outfit complete with riding crop that makes him look like Darcy meets Christian Grey.

Actually, I should have changed therapists. Is it any wonder that I remained obsessed with my first love?

At least I listed his negative characteristics.

Okay, bullet pointed, numbered, and written in different colors.

Using glitter pens.

Yet that only made D’Angelo look like the bad boy in an inevitable enemies-to-lovers romance with the best hate sex.

“Hey, where’s my hate sex?” I wave the Guide at D’Angelo.

D’Angelo blinks. “How could we have that, when I love you more than life itself, cara mia? Or is that one of your fantasy role plays? Then add it to your list.”

Of course, the fantasy lists.

D’Angelo has turned the Guide onto its head as the reasons that we should be dating with tips, positions, and our desires.

It’s now the Hockey Kamasutra.

We all contribute to it.

A journal on our explorations, kinks, and fantasies is exactly the type of thing that I’d imagine D’Angelo would think up.

Anticipation thrums through me, as I sneakily turn to the back.

I run my finger over the lists of our fantasies. They’re stamped with one word CONFIDENTIAL , and have been stapled into the Guide.

D’Angelo made the rule, when we negotiated our contracts, boundaries, and limits that we couldn’t see the lists yet.

I had fun writing down my innermost desires.

I lick over my lips, itching to find out what the men’s fantasies are.

Why are secret, forbidden things so much more tempting?

D’Angelo tuts, gently drawing away my hand.

“Do you want to know one of the reasons that Shay loves orgasm denial?” D’Angelo leans closer, pushing my hair back from my face. Then he kisses behind my ear, just where I’m most sensitive. My back arches, and I whine embarrassingly loudly. I feel D’Angelo’s mouth smile against my skin. “The anticipation. The buildup of arousal, so that when the pleasure finally hits…” He kisses me again, and my knuckles whiten around the Guide. “It’s mind blowing. Understand?”

“Uh-huh.” I carefully turn over the page away from the folded lists of fantasies.

In approval, D’Angelo licks across the shell of my ear, and my eyelashes flutter. “Good girl.”

I melt.

Shit, those two words .

D’Angelo pulls back but lays his arm comfortably around my shoulders. Our hips are touching. His warmth seeps through my naked skin.

I burrow even closer, resting my head on his shoulder.

He turns and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

I flick through the Guide, smiling at the list of kinks that Shay has added that he wants to explore. He’s included complex ratings out of ten, which look like football scores. I also study the smutty stick men illustrations that D’Angelo added, then the romantic but heartbreaking Ten Reasons I Love Robyn, which Eden wrote and signed like a marriage contract.

I flip to the final page.

Last night, I added something new myself.

I wrote in blue pen on the top of a fresh page:

A GUIDE TO LOVING HOCKEY PLAYERS.

Because I do...love these three men.

I wanted them to understand that this guide should no longer be about dating but loving.

Eden needed to know that no longer playing hockey didn’t mean that hockey wasn’t in his blood or part of his voice.

It will always be his identity, even if his journey is now to find out how to live after hockey.

To my surprise, someone has already written something beneath it.

Having lived next to D’Angelo in dorms at college and spent many late nights trying to drag him away from his work, I’d know his handwriting anywhere.

A Guide to Loving Hockey Players

Robyn’s Number One Rule: Learn to love hockey players by remembering three essential things…

They’re gods on the ice but are more devoted to you than their sticks.

They’ll burn down the world to protect you against your dark past.

The Prince twins

.

But never forget it all began with D’Angelo...

“You wrote it in glitter pen,” I point out.

“They’re your favorite.”

“At least you own the stick obsession.”

“Don’t kink shame.”

“What’s this about learning to love you?” I close the book, leaning to place it on the nightstand. “I already love you. Haven’t I made that clear enough? I know that I screwed up by believing Wilder’s lies and manipulations. I hurt you by rejecting and abandoning you. But I’ll give everything to make this work. I fucking love you.”

D'Angelo hesitates, before clasping my hands between his.

He looks like he’s thinking hard about how to put this into words.

My heart is beating too hard. Adrenaline spikes through me.

What the hell is he going to say?

“We only have a week until the California road trip.” D’Angelo tightens his grip on my hands. “They’re the most brutal away games. This week is our chance to truly get to know each other without (please Christ), stalkers or crazy journalists. I adore you, principessa. But Eden is only at the start of exploring his first relationship and his dominance. Shay has been abused or used in every relationship that he’s been in. He doesn’t know what it means to be loved. We need to show him. I’ve known that I’ve loved you since college, just like I’ve been openly bisexual for years. Our Shay’s only just started his journey, however, discovering about his sexuality. See, we know that we love each other but not how this will work.”

“You’re a good man, Jude D’Angelo.”

He scrunches up his nose. “No need for insults.”

I can tell by the flush that’s staining his cheeks, however, that he’s pleased.

“You’re our goddess, cara mia.” D’Angelo’s cold voice becomes rumbling and warm in a way that makes my core throb. I push my thighs together. “And we’re going to learn how to worship you. I suggest to do that, we each spend a full day this week with you, separately.”

“Three day long dates…?” I grin. “I can get behind that. Plus, you have a point. We need to connect both as a group and individually.”

“I’ll take Shay on a second date as well.” D’Angelo’s lips curl up at one side. “He’ll probably be flustered about being included. But under no circumstances am I letting the ball of sunshine who is also a horror fanatic choose the movie this time.”

“Did you have nightmares?” I ask, sympathetically.

D’Angelo was freaked out in college by watching Labyrinth with me.

I realized that it was love, when on his first date with Shay, he suffered through Hellraiser .

“ Oh, it’s just a touching love story , he said,” D’Angelo mutters. “ A classic . Yeah, I’m not trusting that English freaky horror fan again. He’d probably choose The Ring and convince me that it’s only a thriller about videotapes.”

Poor D’Angelo.

“If you watch that,” I can’t stop myself, “I’ll definitely call you mid film and see which of you is brave enough to pick up the phone.”

“Since we’re watching my choice of comedy this time,” D’Angelo replies, “the answer is irrelevant.”

It would definitely be Shay.

He’d probably answer cheerily, even if he was talking to a vengeful ghost calling to warn him of his death.

Unexpectedly, D’Angelo shifts on the bed to kneel in front of me.

I stare at him in surprise.

He slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a small, luxurious velvet box. It’s bound with a silk blue ribbon that matches his eyes. The ribbon is tied in a bow.

D’Angelo holds the box on the palm of his hand like an offering. “I got you a gift.”

“It’s not my birthday,” I blurt.

“I’m aware,” D’Angelo replies. “It’s also not Christmas, Easter, or the one year anniversary of when we first fucked.” I flush. “I had this commissioned for you, a couple of days after we first met up again, during the pre-season. But with everything going on…”

“Like my stalker ex, the intense press scrutiny, and the start of the most important season of your life?”

“There didn’t seem to be an appropriate moment.”

I stare down at the curves of my naked breasts, sticky skin, and tangled hair. “And you thought that me sitting in a messy bed with smudged mascara and dried cum like a necklace (blame your kink for marking me as yours), would make the perfect romantic moment…?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Butterflies swarm in my stomach.

D’Angelo really is looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman who he’s ever seen.

No matter if I’m surrounded by models or billionaires in perfect dresses, rather than creased clothes that I haven’t had the time to iron, D’Angelo doesn’t notice anyone else because all his attention is on me.

It’s the best feeling in the world, after having been married to a man like Wilder who made me feel undesirable in and out of bed.

When I found out about Wilder’s multiple affairs, it broke me for a while because it felt like the proof that I wasn’t enough.

Except, I am for D’Angelo.

I am for the twins.

They show me that every day.

I bite my lip. “I haven’t bought you anything.”

“ You’re the gift.”

“Smooth.”

“I try.”

When D’Angelo significantly looks down at the velvet box, I take it from his hand.

Excitement rushes through me.

What’s inside?

I pull off the ribbon, which is as elegant as D’Angelo is himself. I toss the thick ribbon onto the bed.

Then I hold out the box in front of me.

I take a slow breath, before I open it.

“I’m sorry that it’s not diamonds,” D’Angelo apologizes, when I don’t immediately say anything. He taps out a rhythm of three on his knee, anxiously. “I’ll buy you those next time. But this is special to me.”

“It’s perfect.” I trace over the silver 22 design, which appears to have been sunk into a gold signet ring. “Twenty-two is my favorite number. You remembered.”

“I remember everything about you, principessa.” D’Angelo gently takes out the ring, while I drop the box to the side. I shiver at the intensity in his gaze. “It’s why I chose it for my jersey number.”

My eyes widen.

“So, all those years, when we were apart…” I whisper.

D’Angelo caresses his fingers up my neck, before burying his hand in my hair and tightening his hold. “I was thinking of you. The silver twenty-two in this ring was a lucky charm that I carried in my pocket. Like my jersey, it was a way that I could feel close to you during my games. I had it made into a ring for you. Then you can think about me, while you wear it.”

I suck in a sharp breath.

D’Angelo’s love is all-encompassing.

It’s a fucking obsession.

In nine years, while we weren’t together, he had casual sex but never dated because he was in love with me , even though he thought that he’d lost me forever.

Wilder damaged both of us.

We do need to learn to love each other.

“Can I put it on you?” D’Angelo murmurs.

I hear the yearning in his voice. I know how much this means to him. But his hand is steady.

In answer, I hold out my right hand.

It’s never going to be my left one.

All my men are equal, and as much as it feels that we’re married in our hearts, there’s no way for us to make this type of relationship official.

I won’t marry just one of them.

Why do I need that label anyway, when our relationship is deeper, more real, and loving than my marriage ever was to Wilder?

When D’Angelo slips the ring onto my finger with a self-satisfied look like he’s been imagining this exact moment for weeks (and I bet that he has, although did it include me with a hickey and puffy eyes?), I lean forward and kiss him.

“Don’t think that this means I’m promising to love, honor, and obey you.”

D’Angelo’s expression becomes wicked. “But you’ve already signed a contract agreeing to obey me.”

Damn, never make a deal with the devil.

D’Angelo raises my hand to his lips, kissing the ring like he’s sealing the deal.

All of a sudden, I hear fast footfalls out in the corridor. Then a gasp.

“You proposed to her,” Shay’s shocked voice comes from the open doorway.