The Pucking Wrong Man: A Hockey Romance (The Pucking Wrong Series Book 4)
Chapter 7

She was trying to blow me off. It was cute, really, that she thought she could do that.

There was nothing cute about the way she was limping, though.

I turned so my back was facing the kitchen as soon as Anastasia disappeared behind the swinging doors and put all my attention on the table of assholes.

When they looked up at me, the expression on their faces changed from amused to wary.

“Did you fucking do that on purpose?” I snarled.

“Do what on purpose?” one of them asked, an edge of fear to his face. He had a patch of hair above his upper lip that he was obviously trying to grow in. It looked like a caterpillar at this stage, though.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” I warned.

“Look man, it was an accident…” another of them quivered, the red-shirt-wearing douchebag that had tripped her in the first place. There was no doubt in my mind he’d stuck out his leg on purpose. Maybe he hadn’t had the intention of tripping her, but he’d definitely been trying to stop her and get her attention.

Either way, I couldn’t have that.

“You have one minute to get the fuck out of here,” I ground out, the threat evident in my voice.

“What?” the guys said, almost in unison like they were some kind of boy band announcing their next single on the radio. The one nearest to me suddenly gasped, his eyes flaring, and I knew he’d just recognized who I was.

I leaned over the table, my hands gripping the edge of it as I tried to keep myself from wringing their necks.

“Pay what you owe for dinner and leave. Don’t make me say it again.”

Red shirt’s mouth hung open like he was hoping to catch some flies. “Wait a minute—you’re Camden James. From the Knights!” he finally said excitedly, an edge of awe in his voice. It was obvious they’d been to games before because there was also the appropriate amount of fear that followed. I was six-four and shoved men around for a living—they should be scared.

“Yes, and yet you’re not listening to me. Why the fuck aren’t you moving?” I growled, losing my patience.

They stared at me again for too long, before they finally got the picture, frantically tossing bills onto the table like they were at a strip club and leaving in a hurry.

“Can I have an autograph?” one of them dared to ask.

The answering glare I gave him must have been terrifying enough, because he let out an actual squeak and started to run toward the exit like his ass was on fire. I caught his collar before he could get too far, and he let out a choking sound as I dragged him toward me.

“Don’t you ever fuck with another woman again, you piece of shit,” I hissed, shaking him once for good measure before I finally let him go.

He was trembling as he backed away, his hands up in front of him. “I promise,” he cried before he stumbled out the door.

I stared after them long enough that gawkers were probably wondering if they needed to call the cops because there was about to be a homicide…

I hated bastards who hurt women.

I especially hated men who hurt my women.

Anastasia just happened to be the only woman who fell under that category anymore.

I glanced around the diner and nodded to a few of the tables, plastering on my easygoing smile so I’d look less threatening. This seemed to work, and slowly, everyone turned away and went back to their business of eating.

I went back to my business of focusing on Anastasia.

Sliding into a booth and picking up a menu, I pretended to look over it as I replayed everything that had just happened.

The way she looked when she fell…that flare of pain in her eyes.

Should I go back there and insist I take her to the hospital to get checked out? The fall didn’t look too bad, but maybe it was worse than I thought?

No, no. I couldn’t just fucking kidnap her.

Yet.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that even being inside the restaurant where she worked was a big step. I’d been in my truck, waiting to see if she was working, when I’d seen her fall.

And then I couldn’t stop myself from running in to make sure she was okay.

I’d stood in the alleyway outside her dance studio for hours after my shift at the community kitchen, more and more concerned when everyone else seemed to have left for the day but her.

When she’d finally come out, I’d followed her here where I’d hovered out of sight for another few hours, watching her and trying to learn anything I could. I’d wanted to go in, but I’d figured that showing up at her workplace right after she’d seen me at the kitchen might have sent off stalker signals I wasn’t going for at the moment.

I mean, I was her stalker…but I didn’t want her to know that.

Some games and practices had gotten in the way of me doing more of the reconnaissance I was desperate to do. Tonight after practice, I’d been able to hustle over to the restaurant, absolutely delighted that she was here and I could finally come in.

I’d tried to convince myself on our road trip this past week that I’d imagined her perfection, that I must’ve created an image that wasn’t real because perfection like that couldn’t really exist.

Seeing her tonight had been the same religious experience it had been when I saw her on that stage. Even clearly exhausted and done for the day, with dark circles under her eyes that had me wanting to punch something—she was, without a doubt, the most stunning creature I’d ever seen.

I’d also found out that my girl was incredibly kind.

Even worn down and working herself to death, everyone in the restaurant smiled at her as she worked. She’d stop and chat with an old guy I’d seen the last time I was here, filling his coffee when his waitress was too busy flirting with some coeds to help him. She’d crouched down and helped a mother soothe her crying toddler, grabbing a lollipop from the hostess stand and gifting it to him so he would be distracted and let his mom actually eat.

I straightened up in my seat when she suddenly reappeared, this time pushing a cart with two bins on top of it. She winced when the wheel hit something and a spray bottle landed on the floor with a clatter.

I hated seeing her work this hard. It made me sick actually. Someone had come out to sweep up the broken plates while she’d been in the back room—so at least she hadn’t had to do that.

Anastasia wasn’t a waitress, that part was surprising. A face like hers would have raked in all the tips. Charlie’s wasn’t fine dining, but it was established in the city, enough that I’d heard about it and recognized the name.

The mysteries just kept coming. Why was my gorgeous little dancer, with one of the most decorated dance companies in the country, cleaning up tables after dancing all day and then sleeping at a shelter at night? Where was her family?

I was truly flabbergasted at this point.

Flabbergasted…and chomping at the bit to step in and take care of her. The way she’d stared up at me with those otherworldly eyes, soaking in the slight touch I’d given her even though I was practically a stranger—I couldn’t wait to spoil her. Couldn’t wait to put that dreamy look in her eyes every day because her life was so fucking good.

My dick hardened at the thought.

I was pretty sure I had some kind of caregiver kink—there was probably a weird word attached to that particular preference, but I was firmly under its umbrella.

She rolled the cart past, clearly trying to look everywhere but at me. At the last second, though, she glanced over her shoulder, squeaking and yanking her face away when she saw that I had caught her.

I grinned.

Maybe I should have been playing it cool, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, and she knew it too. There was a cute blush to her cheeks as she grabbed a napkin from the table across from me.

Anastasia bent over to grab an errant fork, and my attention got caught on her ass.

Fuck, every part of her really was perfect.

“Hello, sir, welcome to Charlie’s. My name is Whitney, and I’ll be your server tonight. Would you like to hear the specials?” I blinked, coming back from wherever staring at Anastasia took me. It certainly wasn’t earth, because now that I was back in reality, glancing at the hopeful looking waitress, I felt like I’d landed on an alien planet.

And I wasn’t happy to be there.

“Just a water, please,” I told her, glancing disinterestedly at the menu. Belatedly, I realized that she’d asked me if I was interested in the specials, but considering she was now blocking my view of Anastasia, my drink order was all she was going to get at the moment.

The waitress flinched at my tone, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

You’re being a dick, a voice whispered in my head, reminding me that I was nice to women—nice to a fault.

“And the grilled salmon platter,” I added, smoothing out the annoyance in my voice so she wouldn’t think I was upset with her.

Her shoulders dropped and she relaxed. Great…and now she was going to try and stay and chat.

“Whitney!” someone called, and she frowned and gave me a longing look before turning to leave.

“I’ll be back with your water in just a moment,” she said before striding away.

“Take your time,” I muttered under my breath, cursing when I saw that Anastasia had disappeared to the back again.

That’s how the rest of dinner went. Me living for glances of my girl…and her doing her best to avoid me.

An encouraging sign really, the more she ignored me, the more I knew I’d gotten under her skin. She was skittish, trying her best to stay away. But she couldn’t fool me. I saw the way she snuck looks in my direction. The way her cheeks blushed. She was as attracted to me as I was to her.

That was a good first step.

I finally couldn’t take it anymore.

The bathroom was just beyond where she kept disappearing to, so I headed down the long hallway. Luckily, she walked out of the back room just as I came around the corner.

And then it was just me and her.

Finally.

“Hi,” I murmured, taking a few steps toward her so she had to look up at me.

Her breathing picked up and she bit down on her lip as she glanced at my face. “Can I help you with something?”

I stared at her, watching as she fidgeted under my gaze, eyes darting toward the dining room and then back to me.

“Usually, Whitney’s great at giving customers what they need.”

It could have just been my imagination, but my little dancer almost seemed jealous. It was nice to see another sign that she wasn’t immune to me.

I was over here losing my fucking mind.

It only seemed fitting that she should join me.

“I’m not here for Whitney,” I said bluntly.

She pulled nervously at the apron tied around her waist. “Okay. So you’re here for…?”

I continued to watch her, a small smile spreading across my face.

“You.”

Her eyes widened, a small gasp coming out of her mouth. She was so fucking pretty.

“Me?” she whispered.

“Yeah, you. And you’re hurting my feelings, baby girl. It seems like you don’t want to be my friend,” I said, and then I took a chance and reached up to push a strand of hair behind her ear.

She let me, and I had to stop myself from wrapping my arm around her and pulling her in. A shiver passed over her at my touch as my fingers brushed against her neck before I pulled away.

My grin only widened.

Wait until I’m touching every inch of you, sweetheart.

With my tongue.

It was dangerous to be this close to her.

Anastasia blinked up at me, her face a little dazed. “Is that what you’re doing? Trying to be my friend?”

“I’ve been told I’m a very good friend,” I teased, not answering her question.

I definitely did not want to be just her friend.

I wanted to own her, crawl under her skin, protect her forever, become a part of her so she could never leave me.

Wow…had I really just thought that? A flicker of unease slipped through my gut. I was starting to not recognize myself. What was this girl doing to me?

“Why would someone like you want to be friends with someone like…me?” she asked, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. “You saw me…the other day. We don’t live in the same world.”

Ahh. At the community kitchen. She was embarrassed I’d seen her there. That needed to be straightened out right now.

“I saw you. At your performance the other night. I should be the one asking why you would want to be friends with someone like me.”

Her eyes widened, her lips opening again in shock, and now I was trying to keep my dick down because all I could think about is what it would be like to fuck that pretty mouth.

She was so fucking young. At least ten years younger than me I was pretty sure. I should feel like a dirty old man right now as I brushed her bare shoulder, pretending like there’d been something there just so I could touch her again.

But I didn’t, not at all.

Because I knew she was mine.

“You saw me?” she gasped, her gaze filling with suspicion and something that almost looked like…desperation?

“I’ve never seen something so beautiful in my whole fucking life,” I said, my voice sounding hoarse all of a sudden. I hoped she knew I wasn’t just talking about her dancing—I meant that she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life too.

She dipped her eyes down shyly…and I knew she’d gotten it.

Anastasia took a deep, shuddering breath before she caught my gaze again. And it seemed like a switch had completely flipped.

“Well, thank you. But I really need to get back to work,” she said, her voice flat as she tried to go around me.

What had just happened?

“Hey,” I said, touching her again gently. She stiffened at my touch this time, and I was even more confused. What invisible landmine had I accidentally stumbled over?

“Look. I don’t know who put you up to this,” she told me, her eyes searching our surroundings like she was expecting someone to be there watching with a camera or something. “But it’s not funny. Not only is it not funny…it’s cruel. You—you should be ashamed of yourself.” Her eyes grew shiny, like she was going to cry, and there was a quiver in her voice now that was breaking my fucking heart.

And there really wasn’t anything I could do at this point. It was impossible to explain to a normal human being that they’d done something to you. That one look at their face and you’d come undone—become obsessed. You couldn’t tell them that you now lived in the space between their breath and their heartbeats. I certainly couldn’t assure her that the last thing I ever wanted to do was to hurt her because I wanted to make her mine forever.

I backed away, putting my hands up in front of me. “I promise you, there’s no joke here. I happened to be passing by tonight and saw you through the window. But I didn’t come here to mess with you, or whatever got you so upset just now. It’s just…I saw a literal angel performing on that stage, and I couldn’t help but want to meet you properly. Since I didn’t do such a good job of that the other day.”

Her gaze bore into me, and I was a little afraid she might have some sort of superpower, able to see inside me and all the sins I was willing to commit to make her mine.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, so softly that I could barely hear her just steps away. “But I’m not looking for any friends,” she finished, turning around and walking back toward the dining room like her life depended on it.

I watched her go, staring where she disappeared around the corner.

Well…shit.

Somehow, I’d fucked that up.

But instead of wallowing or getting pissed at myself, I let determination fill me, just like I did on the ice. I didn’t let obstacles kill my shot.

And I certainly wasn’t going to miss my shot with Anastasia.

I knew how to work hard…

And I could be infinitely patient. Whether it was practicing every day so that I was good enough to get a hockey scholarship for college, or studying hard so I could get straight A’s, or waiting years to finally be strong enough and smart enough to hurt my stepfather after what he’d done.

I had no problem with working hard. In fact, I relished it. I was quite sure that nothing in my life would compare to the reward it would be when I finally got her. When it came to Anastasia, I knew she was worth every bit of effort.

I was going to figure out exactly what my baby girl needed. She had demons and struggles, I could see that clearly.

But I was going to fucking fix all of it for her. She just didn’t know it yet.