Puck One Night Stands: a grumpy-sunshine, best friend’s brother hockey rom com (Chicago Racketeers Book 1)

WHAT DID I do wrong now?

I didn’t drop her this time. I didn’t even touch her. I dropped a pretzel, but geez, is that really a big deal? Carbs just slow you down, anyway.

But according to the muttered, “Goddammit. This is just fucking great. Just. Fucking. Great!” in my earpiece there’s a problem.

I think I should head home early tonight. I do not want to go back upstairs, that is for sure.

Mr. Armstrong is a scary motherfucker.