Puck Block : A Brother’s Best Friend Hockey Romance (Bexley U)

I’m bored.

The whiskey has worn off, and the hyena is back, trying to steal all my attention. I’m allowing it for now, but there’s a nagging poke in the back of my head every time I let my mind wander.

There’s a perfectly round peach rubbing against my dick, and it’s softer than the week-old banana I found in the back of my locker the other day–which explained the rotting food smell that Coach was complaining about.

“Time to go,” I say into the hyena’s ear.

Unfortunately, she thinks she’s coming with me, but there’s only one girl I take home from each party, and she’s usually kicking and screaming the entire time.

“Hey, Claire!” I shout from across the party. She’s sitting on Theo’s lap, happy as ever. They both look up, and I instantly pause at the look that flies across Claire’s features. I move through the party with ease, dodging the dancing couples. I’m in front of my captain and his girl a few seconds later and ask, “Where is she?”

Claire sucks in her cheeks. “Who?”

Theo snorts behind her back.

“Bryant. Don’t mess with me. Where is she?”

The nickname she was given by Theo makes her smile, but she quickly looks away and tries to dodge my question. “I don’t know.”

I lean to the left and make eye contact with Theo. He sends me a silent warning, and I laugh under my breath.

“Ah, I get it. She told you to keep me from finding her, huh?”

Claire shakes her head and continues to rub her fingers over Theo’s knuckles.

My chest is tight, and I’m starting to sweat. Emory is going to kill me if she’s getting rammed somewhere in this damn party, and Taytum is going to kill me when she finds out I lied to Claire to find her, but a guy has to do what a guy has to do.

“Well, her glucose monitor just dinged, and I want to make sure she takes her insulin. So where is she?”

Claire sits up a little taller and pushes her brown hair behind her ear. “How do you know that?”

I think fast on my feet, because I’m me. “Because I downloaded the app to my phone too.” It’s a blatant lie, but it’s a good idea.

Her lips part. “Does she know that?”

The music switches to an upbeat song, and I glance around the party to see if I can catch a glimpse of her sunshiny hair. I’d call her, but I know she won’t answer.

“Claire, where is she? I’m ready to go home, and I’m not leaving without her, especially if her sugar is out of sync.”

Claire starts to nibble on her lip. “Claire, come on. For once, I’m being serious. Where is she?” It hurts to lie to her like this, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

“For once, being the key words,” Theo jokes.

Claire pulls out her phone and shoots Taytum a text. “I really don’t know, but I’ll text her.” She shows me the screen, and although Taytum might text her back and let her know which room she’s hiding in, I’m not waiting.

I turn and walk over to the stairs and jog up them one by one. I nod to a couple of teammates, and they’re lucky they’re within my eyesight and not trying to pull one over on Emory by fucking his sister.

“Taytummmm,” I sing, striding down the long hall. Most of the doors are shut with couples trapped behind them, but I know that Taytum is either in the media room, or she’s climbed through Rush’s window to sit on the roof and peer up at the stars–one of the many things she does that scares the shit out of me—which is precisely why she does it.

I slowly push on Rush’s door, hearing the creak echo throughout the room. The window is shut.

Come on, Taytum. 

I spot the media room across the hall, and the door is cracked.

Ready or not, Taytum. Come out, come out, wherever you are.

My phone vibrates, and I pull it out of my pocket.

Emory: You got Taytum? Can you drive her home?

Me: Yeah, I’ll get her home. We’re leaving in a second.

Whether she likes it or not.

I shove my phone back into my pocket and skip across the floor. My hand is on the door, ready to push it wider, but I freeze in place when I hear noises that better not be coming from her. I peek through the crack like a peeping Tom, and my mouth parts. I catch her blonde locks cascading down in between her stupidly hot top and some guy’s head.

My brow furrows, and my mouth runs dry. How dare she? 

I shake my head.

It’s the same reaction every time I find her with someone. It’s not often, but when I stumble into a room and she’s being touched by some guy, it feels like they’re taking something away that belongs to me. It’s utterly insane, but I’ve never been able to control the debilitating fear of losing her, even though she isn’t mine.

Not in that way, at least.

But right now, I can’t help but think she is.

I press on the door slowly and clamp my jaw. There’s a play-by-play inside my head of me rushing into the room, pulling her off this guy’s lap, and punching his lights out. But instead, I make my movements unknown. There’s no creaking of the door hinges, and my footsteps are stealthy.

Taytum is moving over him sensually as his hands roam over every perfect part of her body. There’s fire in my veins, and the longer I watch him touch her curves, the hotter I burn. His mouth pulls from hers, and I raise an eyebrow, eager to hear what he has to say to her to get in her pants.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whispers.

He’s right. She is.

But he’s still on my shit list.

Taytum is staring down at him, and unbeknownst to her, I’m standing right inside the threshold, watching with my arms crossed. My veins are bursting with something I refuse to name, and when he reaches up to pull her shirt off, I take a step forward.

Taytum straightens with unease, and I know exactly why.

“She doesn’t want her shirt off,” I snip.

And…there goes my cover.

Taytum’s hot gasp flies through the room, but I can’t stand to look at her flushed cheeks because I’m afraid it’ll only piss me off more. If she knows I’m annoyed, she won’t stop for anything.

“Ford! For fuck’s sake. Leave!”

“Bro, whoa. It’s called privacy.” The shitbag looks familiar, but I can’t pinpoint where I know him from. He peers back at the open door, but his hands are still on Taytum’s waist, and I can’t pull my glare away.

“It’s time to go, Heartbreaker.” I refuse to look her in the eye.

“I am not leaving.” She is seething, and fuck if it doesn’t turn me on a little.

“Who is this? Please don’t tell me you have a boyfriend.”

Taytum scoffs and throws her arms across her rising chest. “No. He’s my brother.”

The guy looks between the two of us, and I smirk. “I am not her brother.”

Taytum drops her arms and places them on his shoulders. She scoots closer to him, and my chest constricts.

Is she trying to play games with me?

Because she’ll lose.

“Rush said you were single, but I’m beginning to feel like I stepped into something I shouldn’t have.”

Well, he isn’t an idiot. I’ll give him that.

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” Taytum reiterates. “He’s my brother’s best friend, and they’re both determined to ruin every bit of fun that I try to have.”

I laugh. “You call him fun?”

Truth be told, there’s nothing wrong with the guy. I’ve known worse, and he’s obviously not a complete douche if he isn’t mouthing off to me for interrupting his one night of bliss with Taytum, but still, he can fuck right off.

I step forward. “Let’s go.”

Taytum’s chin tilts, and that’s when I finally give in and meet her eye. It’s a sucker punch right to my jaw. The apples of her cheeks are flushed with heat, and the pink lipstick is wiped clean from her swollen lips. There’s a subtle gloss to her blue eyes, and I wonder what she’d look like after a good fuck.

Stop it. 

“Let’s go,” I say again but this time with a little more of an edge to it.

Taytum shakes out her blonde hair, and I watch as the waves roll over her shoulders. She peers down at the guy with her doe-like eyes, a silent plea for him to keep going instead of listening to me.

The second her hips start moving over him, I see red.

I stomp over to her, lift her up by the waist, and haul her over my shoulder.

“I don’t know who you are, but she’s off-limits,” I snap.

The guy stands up, quietly laughs, and walks out the door—all while Taytum is hitting my lower back and kicking her feet into my hard stomach.

“Thank God for these abs of steel, or that would actually hurt,” I joke.

“I fucking hate you, Ford!”

“No, you don’t,” I counter, flexing my abs again. The number of times I’ve heard that exact line from her is astronomical, and yet, I’ve never seen her smile at anyone else the way she does at me.

Taytum hits me a few more times but eventually gives up. I prepare myself for a verbal scolding, per usual, but she says nothing.

In fact…is she breathing?

I quickly pull her upright and frantically look at her face to make sure she hasn’t passed out. The second our eyes make contact, I lose my breath. Tears flood her eyes, and when one breaks the dam and tips over her thick eyelashes, I stop dead in my tracks. I drop my gaze to her quivering lip.

Shit.

I press her face into my chest, and my fingers disappear into the thick waves of her hair. “Hey, hey, hey. Stop.”

Please. 

Taytum shakes in my arms, and if she doesn’t stop crying, I might start shaking too.

I can’t take it.

I can’t stand to see anyone cry.

I can’t stand to see her cry.

My nose burns, and my throat closes. I grip her harder, hoping it’ll give her enough support to pull it together so I don’t have a fucking panic attack and add to the chaos.

My mind is reeling, so I think of the rink, the little black puck, the worn handle of my stick, and the cool ice beneath my skates. I shut my eyes and go to the one constant in my life that has never changed. Hockey. Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

I picture the last game I played and remember the number of assists I had. I think of everything about the game so I can hide from the trauma that’s creeping toward me from hearing her cry. I block out the sterile scent of the hospital that I know isn’t really there and pretend I’m in the middle of the rink, celebrating with my team, instead of in a room, watching the doctor’s failed attempt at bringing my mother back.

My hand grips Taytum’s head a little tighter, and when she pulls back and peers at me with watery eyes, I know I’ll do anything to make her stop crying.

“I don’t want to die alone,” she whispers, licking her swollen lips.

Her hiccup cuts through her cries, and I swallow. What?

“You’re not going to. You have me,” I say.

“That’s not what I mean!” She’s getting worked up again, and I try to ground myself.

My hands find her cheeks, and I wipe away the moisture soaking her soft skin when I sit us on the couch. “I’m sick of pleasing everyone. The pressure is suffocating, Ford.” She turns away and holds back the rest of her ambitions before snapping her soul-wrecking blue eyes to mine. “Don’t you get it? I’m just so tired. I don’t want to feel apologetic for experiencing college and dating or losing myself to some guy in a random room at a party when I’m already apologetic for this.” She points to the monitor that I know is under her shirt. “I can’t control this, and I can’t control everyone worrying about me.” There’s a hitch in her voice, and I hate it.

“Stop being so perfect, and maybe we’ll stop worrying that we’re going to lose you,” I crack, trying to lighten the mood. My eyes bounce between hers, and I say something a little too emotional. “If I could take your diabetes away, I would.” It’s a staggering truth, but it’s out there in the open now. “But we can’t control that.”

Her head pops up, and I’m not sure I like the look festering in her glossy eyes. “You’re right. That’s why you’re going to help me.”

My heart beats a little too fast, especially with her on my lap. “Help you with what?”

The hope blossoms, and her tears start to dry. She doesn’t know it, but I could be swayed to do anything with her looking at me like she is right now. “You’re going to help me date.”

No.

No way.

Nope.

Taytum sits up, and I’m too shocked by her straddling me to muster up my refusal. She flips her blonde hair over her shoulder, and her desires begin to fall from her mouth like a waterfall. I’m drowning by the end.

I want to talk to a guy without you and Emory sending him a death glare. 

I want to go on dates.

I want to have one-night stands.

I want to feel as confident as I make myself seem.

I want to fall in love.

Each of her wants is a knife in my stomach, but the last one twists in real good. The thought of her falling in love and getting her heart broken will send me and Emory to prison. The thought of her falling in love and him loving her back? That’ll kill me.

“You owe me, Ford.”

I snap to attention.

“You’ve ruined every date I’ve ever had. Guys look at me like I’m a game instead of a potential girlfriend, and that’s your fault.”

I swallow because she’s right. I’ve always been on a one-track mindset that was planted by Emory years ago. Taytum has been off-limits to everyone, and if I couldn’t have her, no one could.

I sigh. “Fine.”

She perks up, and I think about other guys touching her to keep my dick from getting hard beneath her shifting in my lap. “You’ll help me? You’ll take care of Emory? And you’ll stop interfering?”

I nod.

Taytum rolls her eyes. “Say it.”

The look I give her causes her to raise her eyebrow with attitude. “Fine,” I grit. “I will hide your little rendezvous from Emory, and I won’t interfere…”

“Like you did tonight,” she adds.

I growl with annoyance. “Like I did tonight.”

She looks pleased with her little victory before losing her smile and tapping her chin with her finger. “And…”

I drop my hands and grab her waist to steady her. “Whatever you’re going to add…no.”

“I need you to teach me how to date and…”

My heart skips a beat. “And what?”

She looks away bashfully, so I put my thumb on her cheek and bring her eyes back to me. Her thick lashes flutter against her pink cheeks. “Teach me how to be one of those girls that has one-night stands.”

No way.

“Please, Ford.”

I wish she’d stop looking at me like she is, but the hope in her gaze makes me feel like I can help her hang the moon.

“Okay, Heartbreaker,” I say. “I’ll help you.”

She smiles, and my world spins.

I grab her hand, and for once, she doesn’t pull away.

I’m not exactly thrilled about what I just agreed to, but at least she stopped crying.

A win is a win.