Pucking Sweet: An MMF Workplace Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 3)
Pucking Sweet: Chapter 78

Two Months Later

Lukas and I walk side-by-side through the lobby of this swanky South Carolina hotel. Large potted palms tower in all the corners. Everything is marble and gold, dripping in elegance. It’s wedding weekend, and we have our game faces on. Literally. The moment the wheels of our team plane touched down in Jacksonville, we were getting in my car, and driving the four hours straight up to Charleston.

Poppy’s already been here for two days without us. Yesterday, she had to co-host a bridal shower, and then there was a “family only” dinner. Our grueling game schedule means this was the soonest we could get away. We’ve already missed out on the “guys and gals” events this morning. Apparently, the groom and his party went to play a round of golf, while the ladies headed to the spa.

Lukas and I are here just in time to check into our room, change our clothes, and head back downstairs for the start of the rehearsal dinner. He’s still got his shades on, a hint of stubble on his face. I trace my gaze down the thin pink scar on his jaw.

“Okay, now what are we gonna do?” I say, putting a hand on his shoulder.

I can see him roll his eyes at me behind his shades. “We’re gonna be polite to her family.”

I nod. “And what are we not gonna do?”

He sighs. “We’re not gonna punch the groom in the face.”

“And?” I press.

Now he’s scowling. “We’re not gonna fuck like rabbits in the church.”

“Very good,” I say, squeezing his shoulder.

There’s a small line at the check-in desk, so we drop our bags down and wait.

“Did you tell her we’re here?” he asks, eyes on his phone.

“I told her the moment we arrived,” I assure him.

As an added little “fuck you” from Poppy’s mom, she booked us in a separate room. Apparently, Poppy spent thirty minutes arguing with the hotel staff until she got us moved into adjoining rooms. Lukas pulls up the reservation on his phone.

Laughter has me glancing over my shoulder. A troop of about ten white men in a rainbow of matching pastel golf shirts and khaki shorts comes strolling in through the large glass doors. Jesus, they look like carbon copies of each other. Two of the men look a little older, graying at the temples. But most are young, ranging in age from sixteen to mid-thirties.

I know the guy in the middle in the mint green golf tee. I recognize his face. It’s the groom. He notices me and Lukas, and, for a brief moment, his carefree smile falls. He quickly replaces it with something that looks more eager, like a dog with a bone.

Lord, here we go.

I tap Lukas in the chest.

“Gentlemen,” Anderson calls out, holding his arms out as he walks up.

Lukas turns, his expression going stony. We already thought this guy was a douche based on his social media profile. We hate him for what he did to Poppy. But he’s somehow so much worse in person. He oozes wealth and sophistication, but the stronger scent wafting off him is bullshit. Yeah, he’s about to come over here and shovel it on thick.

“Rule two,” I mutter at Lukas.

No punching the groom in the face.

“You’re the hockey guys, right?” Anderson holds out a hand.

Lukas reaches for him first. “Yeah, and you’re Andy, right? Lukas Novikov.”

“It’s Anderson,” he replies. “But you knew that,” he adds with a smirk.

“Hey, I’m Colton Morrow,” I say, offering my hand.

Anderson shakes it. “And you two are Poppy’s friends…or is it coworkers? We’re all a little confused about that.”

“Sure,” Lukas replies.

“We’re friends, and we’re coworkers,” I add.

And, you know, soul mates…if you believe in that sort of thing.

We’re finally out to everyone on the team. That’s what happens when you can’t keep your hands off each other, and you just keep getting caught. Lukas and I were messing around in the storage closet the other day, when Jake and Sanny came busting in, looking to do the same thing. They dared to get offended, and said it was their storage closet. We stood there like a bunch of assholes playing rock, paper, scissors to decide who stayed and who left.

“That Poppy, I tell ya,” Anderson says. “She’s a little spitfire, isn’t she?” Why is he still holding my hand? “When will one of you step up, and lock that girl down, put a ring on her finger?”

“Poppy’s perfectly content as she is,” I reply.

Seriously, he’s still shaking my fucking hand.

“She’s not looking for a ring,” Lukas adds.

Anderson huffs a laugh, finally letting me go. “Have you met these St. James girls? My advice? Wife her up, or she’ll be moving on. Maybe someday the right guy will finally get her down that aisle. Lord knows I tried. Looks like you two are fumbling the ball too.”

“Yep, that’s us,” Lukas replies, his tone flat. “Pair of butterfingers over here.”

Oh, fuck me, I wanna leave. I want to walk out those doors and just fall head-first into the goddamn pool.

“Whoever he is, I hear he’ll have to be okay with becoming a step-daddy,” he goes on. “Shame about all that. She was really going places.”

I feather a touch over Lukas’s hand, keeping him at my side.

Another man steps in behind Anderson. I know his face too. I know it because it’s Poppy’s face, or at least a version of it. It’s a bit rounder and more masculine, but he has the same blond hair and blue eyes. “Hey, are these the hockey guys?”

“These are the hockey guys,” Anderson replies. The way they both say it, you’d think we were a pair of phone salesmen who play beer league hockey on the weekends, not two of the top-ranked defensemen in the world, worth a combined fifty million dollars.

The blond steps in. “Hey, I’m Rowan St. James, Poppy’s brother. Hey, Dad—” he calls, before either of us can introduce ourselves.

One of the older men glances our way, lured in by his son’s waving hand. He’s built like a damn house. I think Poppy mentioned he played some American football in college. I can see a glimmer of her in his features. His blond hair has all but gone silver.

“These are the hockey guys,” Rowan calls out.

“Seriously, should we get shirts made or something?” Lukas mutters at me.

Her dad’s eyes narrow at us as he steps over. I feel like I’m getting x-rayed as he offers out a hand. “Hello, I’m Hank St. James, Poppy’s father.”

Poppy says his nickname in DC is “the Kingmaker.” He’s some super high-powered political lobbyist who sits in the shadows and launches political careers. That’s the main reason Anderson is so interested in marrying into the family. The asshole fancies himself the next JFK. He’s just out here desperate to replace his perfect Jackie. Who better than the daughter of the Kingmaker himself? Turns out Anderson isn’t picky about which daughter, much to my goddamn relief.

“Hey, how you doing?” I say. “I’m Colton Morrow, this is Lukas Novikov.”

Lukas holds out his hand and Hank shakes it too. Looking down, he takes in Lukas’s colorful ink. I groan as he turns his arm slightly. “Son, is that a hairy johnson tattooed on your arm?”

“Uhh…yeah,” Lukas replies.

Behind Hank, some of the guys laugh, including Rowan and Anderson.

“It’s a long story,” Lukas adds.

“I hope you were drunk,” Hank replies, dropping Lukas’s hand.

“If only, sir.” Lukas looks to me for help, but what the hell am I supposed to do? He’s the one with the goddamn cock and balls tattoo.

“Poppy says you boys are having a good season,” Hank goes on.

“We are,” I reply.

“You headed for the playoffs?”

I laugh. “Well, you know, we don’t count anything out. We’re a new team, so it’s been more about restructuring this year—”

“Hey.” Rowan snaps his fingers, pointing at Lukas. “Weren’t you the guy that got in all that trouble for punching out a ref last season?”

“He swung first,” Lukas replies. “It’s on video. The review committee cleared me with a minor fine.” He’s trying so damn hard right now. He deserves a medal for not chirping this guy into tears.

“Right. Well, a fight video is small potatoes,” Rowan goes on. “Not like all the videos of you partying it up with blondes that aren’t my sister.”

Okay, seriously? Fuck Rowan.

Next to his son, Hank just frowns. “That’s enough, Rowan.”

Yeah, eat a dick, Rowan.

I think it, I don’t say it. Instead, I wrap an arm around Lukas, pulling him a step back. “Well, it was great to meet you all, but we gotta get checked in. We’ll see you at dinner, yeah?”

“You’re gonna cover the dick tattoo, right?” Anderson calls after us. “This is a nice hotel, and we’re nice people.”

Could’ve fucking fooled me.

“I’ll make sure he puts on long sleeves,” I say, still pulling Lukas back. We turn away to the sound of their laughter, nearly tripping over our bags in the process.

Their voices fade away as they all walk off toward the elevators.

Lukas ducks down, grabbing the strap of his weekender bag, and slinging it over his shoulder. “Hey, Coley, be a pal and check. Is there blood coming out of my goddamn ears?” He tips his head to the side.

“No, why?”

“Okay, cool. So, it just felt like all the vessels in my head were exploding.”

I know the feeling. “Man, fuck Rowan, eh?”

Lukas just grinds his teeth, walking up to the empty check-in counter. “That fucking weasel’s gonna eat my fist if he comes at me again, I swear to fucking god.”

I grab the back of his shirt. “Hey—rules one and two.”

“I’ll be nice to him if he’s nice to me,” he growls. “And rule two only applies to the groom.”

“This is for Poppy,” I remind him. “She wants us to make a good impression.”

“Coley, they made up their minds about us long before we ever walked through that door.”

I know, he’s right. This is a total lost cause. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna do anything to add stress to Poppy’s waking nightmare of a weekend. “Come on,” I beg him. “We said we would do this. We love her. She’s worth it, right?”

He sighs. “Yeah, she’s fucking worth it.”

I smile, patting his back. “That’s the spirit. Hey, maybe before the rehearsal dinner, we can go get His & His eels shoved up our asses?”

He snorts a laugh.

We then spend the next twenty minutes getting checked in and replaceing our room, exchanging ideas of all the things we’d rather be doing than attending this goddamn wedding.