Pucking Sweet: An MMF Workplace Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 3)
Pucking Sweet: Chapter 7

Florence & The Machine pulses through the sound system of my little sports car as I pull into the practice center parking garage. I bop my head to the beat, flipping my sunglasses up onto my head.

For once, I had a nice, relaxing morning. I get better internet back at my apartment, so I took a series of important fundraising calls from my lanai. I also treated myself to a proper homemade breakfast: avocado toast, a poached egg, and two cups of caramel iced coffee. I even squeezed in ten minutes of breathing meditation.

My afternoon, however, is stacked with in-person meetings downtown. I wouldn’t have even come to the office at all today, except I told Lukas Novikov to meet me here at ten o’clock. That flashy showboat somehow has the ability to ruin my day without even trying.

I blink in the sudden darkness of the garage, slowing my car to a crawl as I look for a parking spot. With a gasp, I pump the breaks, both hands tight on the wheel. “What the…?”

Speak the devil’s name, and he shall appear. Lukas Novikov and two of the rookies are standing in the middle of the garage. They spin around, eyes wide. They look like I’ve just caught them in the act of moving a dead body.

I gasp again. “Oh my…”

Clutched between them is something large and lumpy, wrapped in a black trash bag.

“Oh, sweet heavens, I do not get paid enough for this,” I hiss, jerking my car into park. I fling open my door and pop out the side. “Honeys, please tell me that is not a human body! Or an animal body!”

Lukas lets out a laugh that echoes in the empty concrete space. “Seriously, Poppy? Do you really think we’re down here moving bodies?”

“Well, I don’t know,” I cry. “Why do y’all look so suspicious then?”

“Maybe because you rounded the corner and flashed your lights at us,” he replies.

I take a breath. “Okay that’s good because I cannot be a witness to a murder this morning. My goodness, can you even imagine?”

“Uhh, boss…what do we do now?” the tall one mutters.

Lukas stands upright, still holding his side of the lumpy trash bag. “We greet the nice lady, Patrick, and we let her go on her way.”

I glance around the garage. “If you’re not moving bodies…then what are you doing?”

“Just hauling some gear,” Lukas replies. “You know—sticks and pads, some smelly jocks. Nothing to interest you.”

“Mhmm.” I cross my arms, still peering around.

“I think there’s some open parking spots down that row,” says the raven-haired cutie, pointing to the sunlit corner of the garage.

I level my gaze at him. This is the one. He’ll break for me so nicely. Lukas is a steel vault, and the tall blond is a brick wall. But Raven Boy? He’ll crack like an egg.

I leave my car in park, the headlights shining on their malfeasance, and saunter forward. My stiletto heels click softly on the concrete. I give my hips a little sway in my camel pencil skirt, feeling the flip of the fabric against my calves. I shift my long hair off my shoulder with a practiced flick of my wrist and stand before him. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Don’t tell her anything,” Lukas mutters.

Raven glances between us, lips slightly parted. “Uhh…Flash. Flash Gordon…ma’am.”

I smile, batting my lashes. “What’s your real name, sweets?”

During my time in the professional hockey world, I’ve found the players’ constant use of nicknames to be clever shields. Sure, it creates a sense of camaraderie, but it also helps these men hide who they really are. Which is why I’m out here like a perky, blonde Rumpelstiltskin, collecting names, growing in my power. I widen my smile, encouraging him to spill.

He shifts his weight, distracted by the death glare Lukas is no doubt giving him over my shoulder. “It’s uhh…Sam, ma’am. Samuel Gordon. It’s why they all call me Flash. You know, ’cause it’s for Flash Gordon, like the superhero.”

“Fuck,” Lukas mutters.

Cracked, just like a sweet little egg.

“Samuel.” I hum. “Now, what are you doing, Samuel?”

“We’re moving the balls from that truck into this truck,” he replies.

“Moving the—” I glance around to where he points. “What balls?”

“The ball pit balls,” says Big Blondie. I didn’t even need to give him the eyes and he’s cracked by association.

I slowly turn to face Lukas. “Do you want to fill in the blanks, here? Or should we all just keep playing rookie mad libs?”

He sighs. “We’re pranking Doc Price by putting ball pit balls in her car.”

I raise a brow at him. “We?”

“Me,” he admits. “I’m pranking her. These two proved to be completely useless.”

“Hey, we moved like half the balls without you,” Samuel retorts.

“Yeah, we had it under control,” Big Blondie adds.

Lukas turns on them, his tattooed arm flexing as he still holds the trash bag. “Then why did I get a text from Flash saying ‘Houston, we have a problem’ and a video of your dumb ass chasing the balls all over the damn parking garage?” He rounds on Samuel. “Oh, and Houston has two ‘o’s by the way, Flash.”

The three of them bicker about the spelling of Houston until I step forward and place a hand on Lukas’s shoulder. “Why don’t we leave these two to finish this good work alone? Lukas, you and I can go ahead and get an early start on our meeting. Sound good? Good.”

I walk over to my car and pluck out my purse and keys. Walking back over to the ball boys, I hold out my keys to Samuel. “Park my car and finish moving your balls. Then I expect to have my keys and Rachel’s keys returned to their owners. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Next to me, Lukas narrows his eyes. “Wait, you’re gonna let us finish the prank?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

I glance over at Rachel’s rental truck. I can see the mess of red, green, and yellow balls already filling her backseat. “Because this prank is utterly benign. And if I don’t let you do it, you’ll just do something else once my back is turned again, and it will likely be even worse…like putting a dead fish in her air vent…or gluing her shoes to the floor.”

He smirks, and I know I’ve just given him two fresh ideas for future pranks.

“Move your balls, and then bring me my keys,” I say at the rookies. “Lukas, let’s go. I’m moving up our meeting to now.”

I drop my keys into Samuel’s hand and turn on my heel, not waiting and not looking back. I know Lukas is following me. I know because I can hear him cursing at me under his breath.