SWNOVELS Pucking Sweet: Chapter 8
I follow Poppy into her fourth-floor executive office and frown as I glance around. It’s a drab place, with white walls, discount furniture, an L-shaped desk, and a pair of gray metal filing cabinets.
“You don’t even have a window in here,” I say, sinking onto the only rickety chair in front of her desk.
She sits behind the desk. “Only the outer offices have windows.”
Is that a drip I hear? My frown deepens. “You should spring for an office with windows. I mean, this is just sad.” As I say the words, the overhead fluorescent lights flicker ominously.
Poppy’s shoulders stiffen. “It’s fine.”
“Yeah, maybe add a pop of color or something.”
“Sure, a pop of color should do the trick.” She turns to her desktop computer, clicking the keys with her manicured nails. In seconds, the screen lights up. A few more clicks of her mouse, and she’s muttering something that sounds like, “At this point, I’d settle for some internet service.”
I scoot the chair forward on squeaky wheels. “Wait—you don’t even have internet in here?”
“It’s fine,” she says again. “They’re working on it. Steve down in IT assures me of that every day.”
I glance at the office phone perched on the corner of her desk. No lights glow from the screen. “And the phones?”
“I’m sorry. Are you from IT?” she snaps. “You wanna fix my flickering lights and connect my internet and hook my phone up to an actual jack? Be my guest, Lukas. I won’t stop you.”
I lean away, eyes wide.
She takes in the look on my face and deflates. “Oh goodness, I’m so sorry.” Her hand flutters over her chest. “That was uncalled for. I’m just…” She takes a deep breath. “You know, I’m just really tired of running my department from a cell phone.”
I nod, settling back in the uncomfortable chair. “You should talk to Talbot.”
She pulls out a manila folder, setting it on the desk between us. “I’m not going to bother the team owner about a few flickering light bulbs. Maintenance is on it. And IT is dealing with the phones. It’s all just growing pains. It’ll be dealt with in a timely manner.”
Is she trying to convince me or herself?
“No, I mean you should talk to him about moving you out of this coffin,” I say.
She straightens in her chair, her blue eyes wide as she looks at me. “What coffin?”
“Poppy, you’re the director of public relations for a major international sports team. You can’t be sitting in the dark with no internet and no phones with this janky-ass furniture. I mean, look at me. I’m, like, two hundred and twenty pounds, and I think I’m about to break this shitty chair.”
“Well then stand up,” she cries. “God, I only have the one in here, Lukas. I can’t have you snapping its little matchstick legs the first time you sit down.”
I roll my eyes. Of course she’s choosing to miss my point. “I’m not gonna stand for this meeting.”
She huffs, crossing her arms. “Well, then just sit very carefully.”
I jerk the chair forward with another squeak. “You know, this is starting to feel a bit like a hostile work environment.”
Her eyes go wide again. “Lukas, what—”
“Yeah, since I came in here, I’ve felt nothing but devalued and demeaned by you. I’m too unqualified to fix your internet, too heavy to sit in your chair.”
She knows I’m joking now, and her shoulders relax. “You are unqualified to fix my internet.”
“And we both know the only reason I’m here is because you’re taking preemptive disciplinary action against me.”
“That is not what this is about!” Oh, she’s rising to my baiting beautifully. The pink is glowing in her cheeks. I like her like this, angry and indignant.
“Maybe if I knew there was just one thing you actually liked about me,” I say with a dramatic wave of my hand. “One thing that made me a human worth knowing in your eyes. I think that would be enough.”
She searches my face. “Is that really how you feel?”
“Hard not to,” I reply, crossing my arms over my barrel chest. It’s a good look for me. I’ve got great arms—and a great chest. I know this angle makes my biceps pop. And girls always swoon for my colorful ink. It stretches up both arms from my wrists, under my T-shirt, and over my shoulders.
“Fine. You want to know one thing I like about you?”
“One thing is certainly a good start,” I say with a solemn nod.
She purses those pretty pink lips, her eyes searching my face.
As her silence stretches, I huff, leaning back in the squeaky chair. “Seriously? It’s really taking you this long to name one single thing you like about me? Should I just tunnel my way through this wall over to an office with a window and leap out?”
“You’ve got nice eyes,” she says at last.
Oh, shit. This is actually working? I lean forward and bat my lashes. “What, these eyes right here?”
She hides her smile.
“What do you like about them?”
“I like the color,” she replies.
“What color are they?”
She raises a brow. “You don’t know your own eye color?”
“I’ll admit, I don’t look at them much,” I say with a shrug.
“Interesting. With the way you were crossing your arms trying to get me to notice your rippling pectorals a moment ago, I would’ve thought your full-body mirror was your most prized possession. My only question would be does it stand along the wall, or is it mounted to the ceiling over your bed?”
“Trick question,” I tease. “I have two mirrors.”
“Of course you do.”
“But don’t stop now. You were saying you like the color of my eyes. What color are they, Poppy?”
She searches my face again, her gaze softening a little. “They remind me of salted caramel.”
“Mmm, sweet and delicious…and soft,” I tease. “I’d say I’m more of a hard and spicy rock candy, wouldn’t you?”
“During the holidays, my Nana used to make salted caramel sauce by the gallon,” she goes on. “She made so much, we couldn’t give it away fast enough. And the kitchen always smelled like caramel for weeks after.”
Shit, that was a deeply personal answer. I wasn’t expecting it. Time to deflect. “I remind you of your grandma?”
“Only your eyes,” she clarifies. “And it’s a compliment, Lukas. It’s the only one you’re getting today. Take it, and let’s change the subject.”
I cross my arms again and puff out my chest, just because I can. “Sure. Why don’t you tell me something else you like about me?”
“Still fishing for compliments? I never would have pegged you as insecure.”
“Try curious.”
She sighs. “You know you’re attractive, Lukas. You’re not as beautiful as Ryan, obviously. But then, what man can be?”
My chair squeaks as I roll forward again. “Wait. Who the hell is Ryan?”
“Langley. You know, Ryan Langley? Star forward of the Rays?” The minx practically purrs his name.
Why do I suddenly feel the urge to track down Langers and punch him in the head? “Seriously? That pretty boy? He’s all hair. Please tell me that’s not your type, I beg of you.”
“I never said he was my type,” she replies. “I’m simply saying he sets a standard for male beauty that even Adonis himself would fail to meet.”
Okay, this game is officially over. “Keep talking about Langley like that, and I may just turn green.”
Reaching up, she tucks a few loose strands of her blonde hair behind her ear. “No need for any jealous fits. You’re handsome too, and you know it. You’ve just got that ‘jock pretty’ look.”
I raise a brow. “Jock pretty?”
“Yeah, you know, the kind of pretty where you can tell all the conventional attributes of a handsome man are present—strong jaw, proud eyes, imposing profile—but you’ve also been knocked one too many times in the head, so it’s all starting to go a bit hazy.”
I bust out a laugh, surprising myself with the honesty of the sound. “Ain’t that the truth. This poor face has taken a real beating over the years. Broke my nose twice.” I point to the noticeable lump in my bridge. “And look.” I flash her a crocodile smile. “Four of these teeth aren’t real. Bet you can’t guess which ones.”
She leans away with a laugh of her own, reaching for her phone. “I’m good, thanks.”
I settle back in my chair, feeling more relaxed. “Yeah, I’ve got a great dentist. You have to if you wanna play hockey at this level.”
She slides over the manila folder one-handed, still balancing her phone in the other. “Is this how you bag all those bunnies? Flashing them your fake teeth?”
So, we’re getting down to business then? I cross my arms again. “You want me to show you how I bag puck bunnies? I thought you were the teacher in these sessions. Don’t rip the fantasy away now.”
She lowers her phone, meeting my gaze. “The fantasy?”
“Yeah, you know…you on that side of the desk in your pencil skirt looking all ‘bad teacher’ as you instruct me on how to keep my hookups secret? You gotta admit, Pops, it’s hot.”
She sets her phone down and flashes me a seductive smile. “Wanna play a game? A little teacher-student role-play?”
Well, color me the fuck intrigued. I mirror her body position. “I fucking love games.”
“I thought you would,” she coos. “Okay, here it is. You ready?”
I grin. “Always.”
Her gaze hardens with her tone. “Be serious for three minutes together, and I’ll buy you a pretzel from the lobby cart.”
I sigh, my sex drive coasting back to neutral as I stretch back in this janky chair. “Sorry, Pop. No can do.”
“You can’t stay focused and professional for three minutes?”
“A typical shift in hockey is only like sixty seconds long. That’s all the serious I can give.”
“Impressive.”
I shrug. “What can I say? I’m a well-programmed machine.”
“Shall I set a timer on my phone? We can take stretching and snack breaks in between.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
She opens the manila folder on the desk and pulls out a thin stack of stapled documents.
I pick it up and instantly note the legalese. “What’s this?”
“It’s a boilerplate nondisclosure agreement. I’ve used it with clients in the past who found themselves in your situation.”
“My situation?”
“Show it to your lawyer and your agent, let them approve the language and make any necessary tweaks. Then I want you to have all your intimate partners sign it, preferably before the deed is done. Send a copy to your lawyer and keep a copy for your own records. If you feel comfortable doing so, you can even send a copy to me.”
My heart stops. “You want me to send you signed gag orders from all the women I fuck?”
“I prefer the language of ‘NDA’ to ‘gag order,’ but yes. As head of public relations, it’s my job to protect not only the image of the team and the overall brand, but the individual players as well. I can assure you that my staff and I will operate with the utmost discretion. But we can only be as well-armed as you make us. Every signature, Lukas. Just think of it as a legal condom. I assume you know how condoms work?”
I blink at her before dropping my gaze back to the stack of papers in my hand. “So, what do you expect me to do here? I just make copies of this and stuff them into my pockets before I head out to the club? I suppose I can just hand them out like business cards. That’ll really make sure I never have sex again.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have a phone, right?”
I eye her across the desk. Is this the flirting again or still business? “Are you asking for my number, Poppy?”
“I already have your number.”
I grin. “Eager, are we?”
“It’s in your personnel file. Along with your new roster photo…which looks like a mugshot, by the way. Is it really so difficult for you men to smile?” She pulls it up on her phone, flashing me the new picture of my broody face.
“Impossible,” I tease. “I can’t let the other teams know I’m actually a nice guy. Besides, I like to save all my smiles for you.”
She goes still, searching my face.
Fuck. Too far. Dial it back, Nov.
She sets her phone down. “Does all this bravado actually work on women?”
Seriously, are we back to the harmless flirting? I can’t tell. “Usually, yes. But I think my software isn’t compatible with your current operating system. That’s a little IT talk,” I tease. “See, you underestimated me before about the phones and internet.”
There it is, a real smile.
Fuck, she’s pretty when she smiles.
She clears her throat and it’s gone. “As to your question regarding logistics, that’s just a paper copy for your records. I’ve already sent you the PDF as well. Have all your intimate partners sign electronically. You can send them in batches if that’s easier.”
“Perhaps we can establish a weekly deadline,” I offer. “Like homework for teacher. My signed sex contracts are due to Ms. St. James every Sunday night at 8 p.m. If I’m late, you’ll make me write lines on Coach Johnson’s whiteboard.”
“I don’t think we need to be that dramatic. But if you’d prefer to set a scheduled time for me to mark the receipt of your contracts each week, I’m amenable to that.”
I can’t help but shake my head, staring at her in wonder. “You’re serious. You really expect me to get women to sign this, fuck them, then send the signed ‘we fucked’ contracts over to you?”
“It’s a standard practice with public figures who find themselves in this position—”
“This position being philandering manwhore. Just say it, Poppy.”
She stiffens. “Lukas, I swear this isn’t a trap. I’m not trying to trick you or reprimand you or judge you. I’m trying to help you. You can send the contracts to one of my male staff members if that will make you more comfortable.”
“Fucking hell,” I mutter.
Before either of us can say another word, there comes a sharp knock at the door.
“Knock, knock,” says a deep voice. “Hey, Poppy, I just wanted to—oh—Novy, hey.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Morrow standing in Poppy’s doorway, holding a plant.
“Hey, Colton,” she says brightly. “Lukas and I are just finishing up. Can this possibly wait?”
He looks from me to Poppy, and fuck if I don’t know that look. Is Morrow seriously about to get territorial with me over our public relations director? “There’s nothing I needed other than to just drop this off, a little ‘thank you’ for the granola.” His smile falls as he glances around. “But now I see there’s no window in here so…”
I stretch out my legs, making a show of getting comfortable in the only chair. “Pathetic, right?”
“Excuse me, but I happen to like this office.” As Poppy says the words, the lights overhead flicker.
Morrow is still looking around with a frown. “Not to be rude but…why?”
I snort.
Poppy casts me a pointed glare before looking over my shoulder to Morrow. “Thank you, Colton. This was so sweet of you. Tell you what—why don’t you take the plant home with you for now, and you can drop it off at my apartment later?”
He brightens, clutching the plant like it’s the last one on earth. “Yeah, sure. That works.”
My gaze darts between them. “You know where she lives?”
The asshole grins and Poppy laughs. “Well, he better, seeing as we share a wall.”
Okay, what the actual fuck?
I spin around and glare up at Morrow. Goddamn it, why does he have to be so handsome? He’s rocking the whole biracial heartthrob look with his stupid cool haircut that fades up the sides, and his perfect stubbled jaw. His medium brown skin has a bronze glow from our time at the beach this weekend. Meanwhile, I’m this pasty white Canadian asshole who can’t tan. I just burn.
I glance between them again. “You’re neighbors?”
He smirks down at me. “Yep.”
“It’s only temporary,” Poppy says. “Colton just needs to get with a realtor so he can scope out some places. Oh, I was meaning to ask you, honey. Do you need help with any of that?” I know she’s not talking to me in that sweet tone. No, I’m just Novy the fuckup. Novy the pig with the sex contracts she has to scold and sigh at and suffer through.
“You want to help me?” Morrow asks.
“With finding a realtor,” she clarifies. “I don’t want to cut in or anything. I just wanted to offer since…you know.” Her tone changes, more somber now, and I glance between them again.
“Well, I don’t know,” I say into the void.
“It’s not important,” Morrow mutters, keeping me firmly locked out of what now feels like a private conversation. Which is frankly a bit annoying, seeing as I was the one in her office with the door mostly closed when he charged in here carrying that stupid fucking plant. “I’ll just see you at home, Poppy,” he says. “Sorry I interrupted, and thanks again for the granola.”
“You’re welcome, honey,” she calls as he ducks out, leaving the door cracked.
I give the air in the room a moment to settle. We had a lead balloon vibe in here I was quite happy with. Morrow had to go and ruin it with his positivity and general goodness. “So…when’s the wedding?”
Poppy looks up from her phone. “What?”
“You and Morrow.” I hate myself for putting the idea into her head, but apparently that’s not going to stop me from diving in with both feet. “I sensed a little something there just now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Oh, I’m ridiculous? You make him granola and he buys you office plants. Tit for tat.”
“He’s just being nice.”
“Nice? I’m nice, and I didn’t bring you an office plant.”
“You’re calculating,” she retorts. “There’s a difference. Colton does favors just to do them. You would only ever do me a favor as part of your carefully calculated exchange program. Tit for tat.”
Well, fuck me. That felt a little too on target. “So, what’s next? You gonna find him a realtor?”
“Probably,” she says with a shrug, eyes still on her phone.
I hate that I’m losing her attention. She’s done with me, moving on. Pretty soon, I’ll be as useful to her as the damn filing cabinet.
I sit forward in this stupid squeaky chair. “Okay but be warned that he’s gonna demand to take you to dinner as a ‘thank you.’ Before you know it, you’ll be exchanging sexual favors with your new wall buddy, likely up against a wall. From there, it’s just a short walk down Sex Friend Alley before he’ll be down on one knee as you’re pulling a diamond ring out of a chocolate lava cake while you’re on a couple’s vacation in Aruba. Then it’ll be all babies and buying a bigger house until, at last, you’re arguing while he’s on the road about whether you’ll spend the offseason in Jacksonville or Jackson Hole. I’ve seen it all a hundred times before.”
She just stares at me. “Wow. You’ve painted quite the picture. You’re just missing one important detail.”
“Am I?”
“Mhmm.”
“Lay it on me.”
“Colton and I are friends. We knew each other from before.”
I raise a brow. “Before?”
“Before the Rays. We were both up at the Washington Capitals. We were friendly then, and we’re friendly now. You know why?”
“Why?”
It’s her turn to lean forward. “Because Colton Morrow is friendly. He knows how to have a relationship with a woman and not make it more—or less, in your case.”
Everything tightens in my chest as I stare at her. “Does he now?”
“Yes, he knows how to be sweet to a woman and not expect anything in return. Not everything in life is a transaction, Lukas. Not everyone is out to get you, or hurt you, or use you. I wanted to give him the granola because I had enough to share. Simple as that. Now, can we please finish our meeting? I really do have a lot to do today.”
I narrow my gaze at her. “You mean our meeting about my transactional love contracts?”
She purses those damn lips again. “Hmm, do we really want to use the word ‘love’?”
“Fine. Transactional sex contracts.”
“Better.”
Fuck me. How did this entire exchange go so completely off the rails? We were flirting, and that was fun. I’ve always been a heavy flirt. Hell, I could flirt with a cereal box. But I’m also selfish and emotionally closed off to an almost pathological degree.
Women can only get two things from me: sexy banter—the wittier the better—and, if they’re lucky, an unforgettable lay. I don’t do feelings. Ever. I don’t question the motives and meanings of every word in a conversation either. When you make it a point to never be serious about anything, you never have to be taken seriously. It’s pure freedom.
So why the fuck is Poppy looking at me like that? Why does she look like she fucking cares? I swear to god, I think she might even feel sorry for me.
This can’t happen. This whole exchange was a mistake. No more flirting with Poppy St. James. I’m not out here trying to reveal my dark sadness to my goddamn PR director.
I stand, every part of me feeling coiled tight. “Don’t worry, Poppy. I never forget to use a condom, latex or legal. You can expect my first batch of signed sex contracts on Sunday night.”
I can’t let her have the last word. I don’t think I could bear it after seeing the way she lit up for Colton fucking Morrow. I escape the room as fast as I can, leaving her sitting alone under the faintly flickering fluorescent lights.