Pucking Sweet: An MMF Workplace Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 3)
Pucking Sweet: Chapter 29

“Wait, what are we doing?” I glance around at all the stuff Wednesday Addams and the social media interns have set out for us. Word to the wise: never say “nothing” when someone asks you what you’re doing until you’ve one hundred percent confirmed their identity. I walked right into this and have no one to blame but myself.

“It’s called the tortilla slap challenge,” Wednesday says again.

“That tells us nothing,” says Karlsson.

She glares at him. He doesn’t take offense; she just doesn’t have another way she looks at people. “You each take a large drink of water and hold it in your mouth,” she explains again. “Don’t swallow. Then you pick up a tortilla. Then you take turns slapping each other in the face with it. What’s hard to understand?”

Sully glances from the bottles of water to the stack of tortillas. “Yeah, but…why?”

“Because it’s funny and it’s trending. Now, Karlsson and Sully, you’re up first.”

“Why do we need the water?” asks Karlsson.

“Just put the water in your mouth and don’t swallow it,” she says. “When Sully hits you with the tortilla, try not to spit it out.”

“Hear that, Hen?” I elbow Karlsson. “In this game, you don’t get to spit or swallow. You just gotta hold that shit in your mouth. Gargle it. Really give it a good soak.”

He mutters something in Swedish as Sully says, “This sounds so dumb.”

“It is dumb,” Wednesday replies. “But it’s trending and you all volunteered. So, pick up the tortillas and get slapping. Come on, I want to post this content within the hour.”

Woody raises his hand like he’s twelve and this is class.

Wednesday looks at him. “What, Woodson?”

“Yeah, uhh, I think I’d like to change my previous answer to ‘I’m busy.’ Can I do that? Can I go?”

Wednesday just stares him down until he lowers his hand.

“How ’bout I just watch the first round?” he offers.

She turns away from him and looks to Sully and Karlsson. “You’re up first, gentlemen.”

“So dumb,” Sully mutters, grabbing a bottle of water. He and Karlsson stand on their marks.

“Okay, and…we’re rolling,” Wednesday calls, standing behind the phone tripod.

“Hey, y’all,” Sully says to the camera with a wave. “Uhh, so we’re the Rays. I’m Team Captain Josh O’Sullivan, and this here is my fellow lineman Henrik Karlsson.” Always a man of few words, Hen just gives a nod to the camera. “And uhh, yeah, this is the tortilla slap challenge.”

I shake my head, grinning as I watch them take big swigs of water. They hold it in their cheeks like a pair of chipmunks. Then an intern hands them each a tortilla. Sully gives Hen the nod, and Hen slaps him as hard as he can with the limp tortilla.

My eyes go wide as the tortilla makes the loudest cartoon slap noise I’ve ever heard. I join everyone behind the camera, roaring with laughter as Sully slaps Hen and they both spray water everywhere, choking as they laugh too.

“Oh my god. I wanna play,” says Paulie, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Woody, come slap me with a tortilla.”

Woody and Paulie go next, introducing themselves to the camera before they take their swigs of water and start slapping. This is so fucking stupid. I’m crying, I’m laughing so hard. Holding my sides, I wheeze, tears in my eyes as Woody sprays Paulie in the face.

“Hey, what did I miss?”

I turn to see Cole standing at my shoulder, and my smile falls. I pull him back a few steps away from the camera. “What the hell? You weren’t answering my calls. What happened with Poppy?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, we sorta got trapped in an elevator.”

My eyes go wide. “What?”

“Cool out. She’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it. Seriously, what are they doing?” He’s distracted, watching as Sully and Hen join Woody and Paulie. Now they’re doing a four-way slap fight with the tortillas, spraying water everywhere as the others howl with laughter.

“Oh man, water just went up my nose,” Paulie says on a snort.

“It’s the tortilla slap challenge,” I say. “Wait, what do you mean I don’t need to worry about it? Is she okay? What did the sister want?”

His smile falls as he places a hand on my shoulder. “Look, Novikov, whatever did or didn’t happen between you and Poppy is finished. Find another shiny object.”

Did this asshole just full-last-name me? I shrug his hand off my shoulder. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Before he can respond, I catch a whiff of his cologne…only he doesn’t just smell like his cologne. He smells like rosemary and mint and a warm summer’s day. And I’ve had enough sex to know that this fucking asshole is standing right next to me smelling like a freshly fucked pussy. My hackles rise. I bet if I lifted his fingers to my mouth, I could still taste Poppy on him.

“Trapped in an elevator?” I say with a raised brow. “That’s the story?”

“Yeah, and it’s a long story,” he mutters, daring to move away.

I grab his arm, stepping close to speak in his ear. “Yeah, a story that ends with you three-fingers-deep inside our PR director’s cunt—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he growls.

“Well, that’s why you came down here, right? To tell me you fucked her? Because you could’ve just left. Practice is long over, and you’ve got no PT. But no, you wanted to come rub it in my face first, you fucking caveman.”

“I didn’t come to crow over you, I came to warn you,” he counters.

“Warn me?”

He holds my gaze, his expression dark and fucking menacing. Usually, he reserves this attitude for the ice and the opposition. “I’m only saying it once: You had your taste. Now, you’re done. Poppy is off-limits.”

I huff a hollow laugh. “Are you calling dibs on our PR director?”

“Yeah, I am,” he replies with a solemn nod.

I stuff my hands in my pockets, my frustration rising. “Well, shouldn’t that be her decision? I don’t think she’d take too kindly to learn how you kicked me out of her bed.”

“I’m sure you already kicked yourself out of it with your usual self-sabotaging bullshit.”

Ouch. Fucker.

He leans in, that hand back on my shoulder like we’re fucking friends. “Look, I know you, Nov. I know you like games, and I know your favorite game is the chase. So, I’m doing you this favor.”

I shrug his hand away again. “What fucking favor?”

“Consider it a warning,” he clarifies, his tone cold as ice. “I’m in the game now too.”

Something dark and heavy churns in my gut. Are Cole and I seriously about to fall out over our PR director? Am I about to lose my only real friend on this team?

“Who’s next?” Wednesday calls.

Clearly done with me, Cole raises his hand and calls out, “I’ll play.” He steps around the camera tripod, heading over to the table with the water and tortillas.

“I’m playing too,” I say, shouldering past Woody.

“On your marks then.” Wednesday points to the tape Xs on the floor.

I unscrew my water bottle and take a deep swig, filling my mouth. Cole does the same. Then we’re each handed a tortilla. He gives a nod, and I slap him as hard as I can. Even as the guys behind the camera cheer, he doesn’t laugh, and he doesn’t spray his water. Neither do I. Suddenly, this all got very un-fucking-funny.

I’m barely back on my mark before he’s backhanding me with his fucking tortilla. I spit a little water in surprise, swallowing the rest. “Dude—what the fuck?”

He spits his water out on the carpet. Then he lunges, tackling me to the floor. We hit the table as we grapple, scattering the tortillas and bottles of water.

“Whoa—hey—this is not how you do the tortilla challenge,” Wednesday shouts.

“Guys, what the fuck?”

‘Hey, break it up!”

“I’m not gonna fight you,” I grunt. “Getoffme—”

Cole glares down at me, his hips pinning mine down as he presses his forearm to my chest. Fuck, this guy’s so strong. “You’re done chasing her, understand?”

“Dude, what’s your fucking problem? No chick is worth this,” I say, twisting a hand free and punching him in the ribs.

He grunts, absorbing it. “She is. Now, get there faster, and I’ll stop.”

“Guys, knock it off—”

“That’s enough—”

Two pairs of strong hands pull him off me. I blink up from the floor to see Sully and Woody with hands on him, holding him back.

“What the fuck is this?” Sully says, looking from Cole to me.

“Yeah, I thought you two were tight,” says Paulie, eyes wide with confusion.

“We are,” I pant from the floor.

Cole just keeps his gaze locked on me. “We’re just working through a puzzle here, guys. Give Novy one more minute to solve it on his own.”

As they all look down at me lying spread-eagle on the carpet, realization sinks deep.

“Got there yet?” Cole asks.

Sitting up with a groan, I nod, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yeah, I got it.”

God, he’s fucking right. The problem with chasing someone like Poppy St. James is that she’s the kind of girl you catch to keep—and no woman worth having would ever want to be caught by me. Worse, I don’t know the first thing about catching someone to keep them. Cole knows, and I know, that if I keep playing my fun chase games, I’ll only end up hurting her.

And now he’s in the game too, and his threat is crystal fucking clear: He will hurt me if I hurt her.

“We good?” he mutters.

I nod again. “Yeah.”

He relaxes and gives a nod to Sully and Paulie. “We’re good, guys. Nov and I are on the same page again.”

They let him go and he stalks off, not giving me a second look.

“Someone wanna fucking fill me in?” Sully calls after his retreating form.

I just sit there on the floor next to the crushed tortillas, feeling emptier than I’ve ever felt in my life. Cole is mad at me, and my Poppy-chasing days are officially over. I respect her enough as my colleague, and I respect him enough as a friend, to bow out gracefully, right?

I had my little taste of heaven, and now I’m done.

This is fine. I can live with this easy.

Plenty more fish in the sea, right?

So, you tell me why, for the first time in my fucking life, I’m lying here on this floor fighting the aching feeling that I want to be the one who gets caught for once, but only if Poppy St. James is doing the chasing.