Pucking Wild: A Reverse Age Gap Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 2)

“Whoa,” I say, eyes wide, breath caught in my throat. “Tess, you look…”

She walks past the kitchen table over to where I’m standing by the couch, the full skirt of her dress swishing with each step. “Ravishing? Divine? Clean?” she adds with a teasing smile.

“All three,” I say with a stunned shake of my head. I keep the words I was actually thinking to myself.

Gorgeous. Fuckable. Goddamn desirable.

As soon as the guys started cleaning up the place, Tess disappeared into her room. That was over an hour ago. Now, the place is spotless, and she’s standing in front of me with her red curls tumbling around her face. She’s rocking a smoky eye and red lipstick that makes the freckles on her cheeks pop.

But I can barely pay attention to her beautiful face because she’s wearing the flounciest, girliest bubblegum pink dress with puff sleeves and a plunging “V” cut that perfectly shows off her breasts. As she steps closer, I see that the dress is covered in little pairs of bright red cherries.

Fuck me dead.

I don’t even bother suppressing my hungry groan. This woman is going to be the death of me.

“You look great, too, Ryan,” she says, taking me in.

She never said what this date entailed, so I’m just dressed in a pair of jeans, a white button up, and a half-zip sweater. I’ve got a more functional knee brace on under the jeans and Doc told me to start bearing weight, so I’m going without the crutches tonight.

She fumbles with the little clutch in her hands, pulling out a few cards and a lipstick from her other wallet and tucking them safely inside.

“So, what’s the plan?” I say, slipping my hands in my pockets.

“Hmm?” She keeps her eyes down, still rifling through her purse. “Oh, I have some ideas.” She glances up, flashing me another smile with those red-painted lips.

Okay, fuck her plans. I want to stay here. If I’m only getting this one night and this one date, I want to sit on the couch with her on my lap in that dress. I want to feel the way the soft tulle bunches in my hands as I pull it up, reaching under it to graze my fingers up her bare thigh, seeking out that heat between her legs—

“Is this the new contract?”

I blink, pulling my attention away from Tess’s ass and back to her face. She’s standing at the bar now, glancing over her shoulder at me, a packet of papers in hand. I refocus on the papers. “Oh…yeah, that’s it.”

She sets her clutch down on the bar and starts flipping through the first few pages. “Wow, I’ve never seen a professional sports contract before. This all seems pretty complicated. Have you taken a look at it yet?”

I shift uncomfortably. “Well, I have an agent to help with all the contract stuff, so…”

She turns back to the contract. “Agents are great, but it’s always good to read a contract for yourself just so you know all the particulars—”

“Hey, Lawyer Tess?” I tease, reaching over her to splay my hand across the page she’s reading. Our fingertips brush, and I feel her go still next to me. Fuck, standing this close to her I can smell her perfume. It mingles with the smell of her coconutty hair oil to make a fruity, floral bouquet. It’s like she’s a damn walking tropical paradise. My very own Sex on the Beach.

“Hmm?” She turns slightly to glance up at me.

I push on the contract and she lets me lower it to the bar. “I was promised a date with Tess Owens. I’d prefer we not spend it pouring over contracts.”

She purses those red lips at me. “Some might consider it foreplay.”

“What, are you gonna read aloud my bonus payout schedule line by line so we can both get hard over how much money will be pouring into my account?”

“Mhmm,” she says, the sound a hum in her throat. “A quarter million upon signing. Five hundred thousand will transfer on March first…”

Fuck, how is that actually working? Am I getting hard right now? Her eyes narrow like a sexy feline, and I know she knows. “Oh, fuck you,” I say with a laugh that morphs into a groan as I drag my hand down over my face. “You’re a goddamn she-devil.”

She laughs too. “You are too easy.”

“And you’re too cruel,” I tease back.

Somehow, I know the moment I’ve said the words that they were the wrong words. Something stutters behind those pretty hazel eyes. It’s like a broken TV with static as I see things I know she doesn’t want me to see—fear, anger, sadness, frustration. I blink and she’s back to smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Let’s go, handsome,” she says, ignoring the contract as she snaps her clutch shut. “I’m driving.”

Thirty minutes later, I’m seated across from Tess at a small, candlelit table in a busy fish camp restaurant. Tess ordered a glass of rosé, and I ordered a beer, and we clinked our glasses to my new contract. A half-eaten shrimp cocktail sits on the table between us.

I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s distracted and present at the same time. I know she’s enjoying my company, and I made her laugh in the car the whole way here. But she’s lost in her own head too. I wish she would open up a little more.

“Can I ask you something?” she says, her thumb absently brushing up and down the slender stem of her wine glass.

I perk up. “Yeah, anything.”

“Why are you really crashing at Ilmari’s house?”

I tap the table, gesturing below it to my knee. “Busted knee, remember? The place I rent is a split-level with, like, four sets of stairs. Sully and the guys were being ogres about wanting me in a place without stairs while I rehab.”

She takes a sip of her wine, considering my words. “But why are you renting a split-level? Why are you renting period? If that contract I saw is any indication, you could be living in a much nicer situation. It doesn’t make sense that you’re mooching off Mars when you can clearly afford to take care of yourself.”

Shit, she wants to get deep tonight, doesn’t she? I guess that’s the way things are with Tess. She’s an ‘all or nothing’ kind of woman. Maybe if I share my truth with her, she’ll reciprocate and be more open with me.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “That’s probably too personal for a first date, right?”

Fuck, she’s pulling away again. She’s shutting off.

“I’m a planner,” I blurt, diving headfirst into my reply. “I don’t know, I’ve always been that guy that wants a plan. I like organization, and I like things being in their proper place.”

“Well, that makes sense, seeing as you’re a Virgo,” she replies, taking another sip of her wine.

I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re saying my birthday has something to do with why I like plans?”

Her head tips slightly to the side as she surveys me. “You don’t think so?”

“No. That’s just dumb.”

She laughs. “I’m sorry—” She dabs at her chin with her napkin. “That was a very Virgo thing to say.”

I just roll my eyes.

“You were talking about liking plans,” she prompts. “Please go on.”

I sigh, trying to think of the right way to explain it. “There are parts of hockey that are perfect for me because I have so much control, you know? The structure is there, and I just get to thrive inside it—meal plans, workout plans, practice schedules, game schedules, travel itineraries. Everything is orderly and organized and so crystal fucking clear. Does that make sense?”

“It does.”

“So, while I live my life under this constant weight of endless organization, there is one singular piece of this life that creates chaos.”

Her eyes brighten, and I know she’s already guessed it. “Contracts.”

“Contracts,” I echo with a nod. “You have guys out here picking up and moving their entire life every single season. If you only sign year to year, you have no idea where you’ll be next. There are even some guys, like the guys who play in the minors, that can get called up and sent down multiple times in a year. That’s what’s happening to Patty right now.”

“Oh, you mean Mr. Tall Broad and Glistening?” she teases.

I give her my best mock glare. “Call him that while you’re on a date with me again, and I’ll take you over my knee and spank you.”

Her eyes go wide as we hold each other’s gaze. It only lasts a moment before she busts out with a laugh. “Ohmygod, that was so fucking hot. But I can’t tell if you actually mean it.” She drops her glass down to the table and leans forward, eyes alight. She lowers her voice, her tone oozing sex. “Is that what you wanna do, Daddy? You want to take me into the bathroom, bend me over the sink, and spank me for being a bad girl?”

I lean back in my chair, eyes wide. “Holy fuck.”

She laughs, leaning back too. “No, you’re a good boy, aren’t you. My sweet, lost beach puppy without a home. Man, when I nail it, I really nail it,” she adds, almost to herself. “So, Ryan Langley, Mr. King of Organization, is organized in every aspect of his life except his living situation,” she summarizes.

“It’s where all my chaos reigns,” I reply with a shrug. “I’ve never cared where I live, or whether the house is a dump, or if the windows even lock. It just doesn’t matter to me, not until I have some control over my fate. So, I rent a shitty split-level over by the practice arena that the guys all affectionately call ‘the death trap.’ When the injury happened, I think Sully and the guys took it as their chance to rescue me.”

“And now what will you do?” she says, plucking a shrimp from the silver dish and dipping it in the cocktail sauce. “Now that star forward, No. 20 Ryan Langley, has a four-year contract and a three-mil signing bonus, you finally gonna invest in some curtains?”

I grin from ear to ear. “You know my number.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve watched you play, remember? I was in L.A.”

“Oh, I remember,” I reply, holding her gaze. “At the wedding, you told me I was your favorite Ray to watch.”

“Hmm,” she hums, popping the shrimp cocktail in her mouth. “You must have misheard me.”

“I didn’t mishear anything,” I reply, unable to look away. She’s just so goddamn gorgeous.

I’m saved the embarrassment of saying something regrettable like ‘sit in my lap’ by the arrival of our meals.

Our conversation takes a more fun, casual turn as we eat. We fight over the check—her demanding that this was her idea and thus her treat, and me arguing that I never let a lady pay on a first date. I only get her to relent by promising that she can buy me ice cream.

By the time we leave the restaurant, it’s dark outside, but this part of the beach is hopping with night life. The restaurants are all packed, with people milling around outside waiting to be seated. It’s a bit chilly, but not too bad that more people aren’t strolling with dogs and kids.

There’s a line out the door at the little ice cream shop. Tess pouts when she sees it, glancing around the other shop fronts looking for an alternative. “Hey, let’s walk over to the beach,” she says, pointing to the ghostly white stretch of sand that marks the hilly dunes. “The line will die down in a few minutes, and we can come back. Can you manage without crutches?” she adds, gesturing to my knee.

“I’m not sure,” I reply with a grin. “I may need you to wrap your arm around me…you know, for balance.”

“Oh, well that was happening anyway because I’m cold,” she replies, slipping herself right up next to my side and wrapping an arm around my waist.

I blink in my surprise as my arm goes automatically around her shoulders. I’m not actually sure what it is that we’re doing here. She called it a date. More than once. But she’s also distracted and sad and something definitely happened to her today.

Fuck, I just need her to let me in. She’s gotta give me something. Anything.

Sure, I want sex. I want another taste of her so badly. But this has already moved so far beyond sex for me. I want…her. I want her laughter and her curious questions. I want the way she explains about the nonprofit and building out a donor base. I want foreplay as we talk about the environmental scourge of geotubes and compare our favorite plot lines of SOA. I want the smell of her coconutty hair on my pillow.

The truth is that I’m falling hard for this woman, and from everything I see and feel, she’s just…falling. And I don’t know how to catch her. I don’t know how to make it stop. And she won’t give me a goddamn clue. It’s driving me insane.

“Let’s stop by the car,” she says. “I think I’ve got a beach towel in the trunk.”

“Are we sitting out on the sand?”

“No,” she says with a laugh. “I’m gonna use it as a blanket.”

We hurry over to the car—well, as fast as I can go in my current state. She pops the trunk and whips out a big striped beach towel.

“Aha,” she says with delight, shaking it loose of sand. “Get over here. There will be better body heat with both of us—and hold my phone.”

She tosses her clutch into the back, and I shut the lid of her trunk. Tucking her phone in my pocket, I let her drape the extra-large beach towel over my shoulders. Then she tucks herself against me, wrapping the other end around her shoulders. I hold one end, and she holds the other, and that’s the way we walk down the boardwalk to the beach. I’m not even cold but fuck if I’m gonna tell her that.

“Oh god, it’s so beautiful,” she says with a sigh, looking up at the dark, starry sky.

The moon is out tonight, large but not quite full. Only a few clouds dot the sky. There’s quite a bit of light pollution down this stretch of the beach, but you can still see a few stars. I gaze out at the quiet ocean. The surf is strong, the white caps breaking once, twice, as the water inches towards us.

I’ve always liked seeing how the ocean can change day to day. Some days you’ll come out here and the beach will stretch out for almost a hundred feet before you hit ocean. On a night like tonight, with the tides rising high, there’s really not much further we can go off the end of the boardwalk.

Another couple slips past us with a dog on a leash. Losing their shoes in the sand, they walk hand-in-hand along the dune. Next to me, Tess shifts her weight, her hand under the towel brushing my hip.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, borrowing her line from the restaurant.

She nods, even though I see that wary look in her eyes.

Braving my fear that she’ll shut me down again, I ask the question I’ve been pondering for weeks. “When did you know your marriage was over?”