Chasing the Puck (Sin Bin Stories #2)

1

TUCK

O ne hundred and eleven days. That’s how long it’s been since the last time I had sex.

For some people, that might not be a long time. For me? It’s a fucking eternity.

Tonight, breaking this dry spell would be as easy as snapping my fingers. The house where I live with four of my teammates is packed for a victory party. The place is buzzing, drinks are flowing, spirits are high, and beautiful women have been shamelessly ogling me all night.

I’m talking to one right now, a girl in a tight blue dress who would only be too eager to help me reset the clock on this one-hundred-and-eleven-day celibacy streak.

She’s making that very clear with the way she’s batting her long eye-lashes at me; with the way she lets out squeals of laughter whenever I make a lame joke that isn’t funny at all; with the way she’s been finding any excuse to touch my arm or my chest; and especially with the way she’s blasting me with fuck-me eyes blatant enough to spot from outer space.

Hell, ending this dry spell would be easier than snapping my fingers.

But I’m not looking at the girl standing in front of me, the one whose body language is practically begging me to bring her up to my room.

No. I’m looking at someone else.

I’m looking at the girl across the room. The one with chestnut hair, sparkly green eyes, and a light dusting of pale freckles on the apples of her cheeks.

The girl I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since I met her—one hundred and eleven days ago.

The girl who’s fixed herself in my mind and who’s kept my cock from as much as twitching for anyone else.

The girl who says she wants nothing to do with me. Olivia Lockley.

She’s over there talking to Summer, her best friend and my teammate Hudson’s girlfriend.

Her eyebrows bounce and her face becomes animated as she says something to Summer. There’s gotta be something really wrong with me, because I’m a lot more interested in wondering what she’s talking about than I am in the fact that the girl in front of me just mentioned how flexible she is.

Then Olivia’s face scrunches up, and I see her throw her head back to let out a peal of laughter. My heart leaps in my chest. I strain my ears to try and catch a note of it.

Olivia’s laughter—her real laughter, not the sarcastic, derisive kind she so often directs at me—is a sound like silver windchimes stirred by a gentle breeze. The kind of sound that grabs your heart.

But of course, I don’t catch even a hint of the sound over the pounding music and the loud rumble of conversation from the party.

My lips tug downward in disappointment. I raise my red Solo cup to my lips and down the last of my beer. Needing a refill will give me an excuse to disengage from the conversation with the girl in front of me. I’m just not feeling it.

I don’t want to be a dick, though. This girl—I’m pretty sure her name is Samantha—has been nice. Plus, she’s a fucking knock-out. If I weren’t in this weird hundred-plus-day funk, I’d be more than willing to give her exactly what she’s looking for.

So, instead of leaving her high and dry and bereft of a hunky hockey player, I call out to one of my teammates I notice walking by.

“Hey, Jamie!” I wave my hand to get the freshman second-liner’s attention.

He responds with a nod and walks over. I greet him with a clasp on the shoulder, and when my hand has a good hold of him, I do a little switcheroo, positioning him in front of Samantha while I step to the side.

“Samantha here was just telling me she’s from Northern California, too,” I say, an encouraging smile on my face as I glance between them. “Maybe you two have, uh, some acquaintances in common. Ya’ll get to know each other while I refill my drink.”

With that, I pull away from them and thread through the dense crowd towards the kitchen.

Okay, maybe that was pretty lame as far as introductions go. It’s not like the whole of fucking North California is a small town where everyone knows everyone.

But I didn’t want to dash Samantha’s dreams of ending the night with a hockey player, and Jamie’s so damn shy around girls that he needs an extra push sometimes. When I glance back and see that they both seem into the conversation with each other, I give myself a pat on the back.

Despite the best efforts of about a dozen scantily clad girls who try to snag my attention during the short walk through the crowd, I make it to the kitchen, where it’s less crowded. I fill up my drink and take a long first drag of it while I prop my hip against the counter of our kitchen island and let my eyes fall back on Olivia.

I let out a sigh when I notice her face pinching in laughter again, and it prompts me to wonder—what the hell’s gotten into me?

Why am I so hung up on the one girl at Brumehill College who isn’t into me?

The answer most people might offer is that I’m so not used to rejection that my ego can’t handle it. But that’s not the case at all. Despite what most people assume, my ego isn’t fragile.

If one girl doesn’t want me, it’s no skin off my back. There are hundreds, thousands even, of others swarming this campus willing and eager.

No, that’s not it.

There’s just something about her. Something I can’t put my finger on.

Sure, it’s easy to list things about her that are attractive.

She’s drop-dead gorgeous for one. Funny. Witty. A good and loyal friend to Summer. And a talented as hell actress.

But all those reasons aren’t why I can’t get her out of my mind. There’s just something … else about her. Something I can’t identify or name. Something that has her lodged so deeply in my head there’s no way I can shake her out.

Since I can’t name that something , the best I can do is feel it by being around her.

My gaze lingers on Olivia and Summer as I take another long sip of my drink.

She wears an oversized grey sweater, contrasting with the tight pair of blue jeans that hug her shapely legs. Her light chestnut hair is tied back in a ponytail, showing off the smooth, creamy skin of her delicate neck.

Fuck, what I wouldn’t do to grip the side of that neck, my fingers curling possessively around the back of it, my thumb brushing underneath her ear as I pull her towards me …

Suddenly, their conversation is abruptly interrupted when a burly, tattooed goalie appears and dips down to scoop Summer up in his arms.

That would be my grumpy teammate Hudson, who’s grown a hell of a lot less grumpy than he used to be since he fell for Summer, his bubbly violinist girlfriend.

Less grumpy, which isn’t to say not at all. He still wears a scowl half the time and has a penchant for communicating in monosyllabic grunts. But that’s just part of his charm.

It’s not a scowl that Hudson’s wearing right now, but rather a look of hunger. Giggles bubble from Summer as she calls something to Olivia while Hudson marches her to the stairs and no doubt up to his room.

Olivia blows Summer a kiss, shaking her head with a smile on her face as she watches her best friend and my teammate disappear upstairs.

Something tugs in my chest. I can’t deny that I feel a twinge of envy at what Hudson and Summer have.

I don’t dwell on it, though, because seeing Olivia standing alone hits me with a new feeling: the same sense of opportunity that rushes through me when I’m on the ice and see the perfect opening for a shot on goal.

I finish my drink with a big gulp and set the cup down on the counter before striding towards Olivia, puffed up with confidence I have no right to feel where she’s concerned—except for the fact that Tuck McCoy is always confident.

“Olivia,” I greet her with only her name, savoring the vibration of it on my lips.

She side-eyes me, not even granting me the courtesy of turning her body in my direction. “Oh, hi, Tuck. I was just wondering whether I was ready to go home, and you being right here suddenly makes that decision a lot easier.”

A smile curls on my lips as she brushes past me. “But don’t you want to hear my notes?”

She stops. Slowly turns towards me with a quirked eyebrow. “Notes?”

My smile curls higher. “About your latest performance. I have some … constructive criticisms.”

Her lips purse, defiance flashing in her eyes.

Olivia is a drama major, and one hell of an actress. Fact is, I couldn’t find fault with any of her performances even if I wanted to.

Especially not the one she gave at the play she starred in last week. I was on my feet clapping and whistling like the rest of the crowd when she came out to take her final bow, and the reaction was totally genuine.

But that’s not going to stop me from teasing her.

“Criticisms?” she repeats. The outrage is evident in her voice. She folds her arms over her chest. “What would you know about acting to critique me ?”

I shrug. “I’m a quick study. Been thinking about picking up acting, actually. On the side. As a fallback option in case I get injured and can’t play hockey in the future.”

She pushes out a laugh. Not the sweet, genuine laugh I long to hear, but the dismissive kind I’m used to her directing at me.

Still, I’ll take it.

“Right,” she begins, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Actors have to work hard their whole lives to hone their art and become successful, but I’m sure you’ll just pick it up . As a fallback.”

“Glad you have as much confidence in me as I do.”

“I have confidence you’ll keep finding ways to prove yourself even more delusional and obnoxious than I already knew you were, that’s for sure,” she retorts.

“Just think,” I say, lifting my gaze like I’m falling into a daydream, “we’re both big movie stars and become a Hollywood power couple. Tuck and Olivia. They’d call us … Tolivia. Or maybe Oluck.”

She snorts. “You’ve got no luck if you’re hoping for that to ever happen.”

“We’ll lead a romcom revival starring in a string of romantic movies together. The audiences won’t be able to get enough of our chemistry. We’ll be a pop cultural phenomenon. As big as Taylor Swift.”

Another laugh pushes from her, still dismissive, but this time I don’t think I’m imagining the slight twitch upward I catch at the edge of her pretty mouth.

“Why don’t you go hit on Melissa instead?” she says, tilting her head towards someone over my shoulder. “She’d be happy with the attention, and she’s more your type.”

“She’s not my type at all,” I say, not turning my gaze from Olivia.

She narrows her eyes. “You didn’t even look.”

“Don’t have to. She have chestnut hair? Deep green eyes? Light freckles on her cheeks? Freckles that stand out even more when she blushes when I pay her a compliment, even though she tries not to? If not, then she’s not my type.”

Normally, Olivia will hit me with a comeback without missing a beat. This time, there’s about a beat and a half of silence between us.

“You do not make me blush, Tuck.”

“I’ll whip out my pocket mirror next time it happens and prove you wrong.”

“Why do I actually believe you carry one?” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “Besides, lame pickup lines don’t count as compliments.”

“Lame?” I ask, making an offended face as I place my hand over my heart. “I spend a lot of time working on those pick-up lines.”

“Instead of that, have you ever tried asking ?”

Her question comes out pointed and catches me off guard. My brow furrows. “Huh?”

“Asking someone on a date. You know, like normal people who aren’t full of themselves do. Instead of spewing lame pick-up lines and expecting the girl you’re throwing them at to immediately jump into bed with you? You haven’t tried that , have you?”

“Well, I …” I never get tongue-tied when talking to a pretty girl, but the accusation she just threw at me has the ring of truth to it. I’m feeling uncharacteristically tripped up.

“Has the thought ever crossed your mind that maybe if you just asked me out, maybe if you even did it politely …” she tilts her head, softening her voice to conclude, “I might actually say yes?”

Holy shit.

I never have flat-out asked her to go on a date with me, have I?

Is it possible that I wasted one hundred and eleven days waiting for this girl to succumb to the cocky playboy charm that’s always worked on everyone else, when really I just needed a different approach?

Could I have really sealed the deal with Olivia months ago by just … asking her on a date? Like a normal person would have?

As I see her green eyes softening, her body language opening up to me as beats of silence tick between us … fuck, I think the answer is yes.

I’ll kick myself for the wasted time later. Right now, I’m just worried about making up for it.

I take a deep breath, puff out my chest, and do what I obviously should have done a long time ago.

“Olivia, could I take you on a date sometime?”

“No. Bye.”

With that, she spins around and walks away.

My jaw falls when she turns her back to me. As my eyes track her striding through the crowd to the door, an impressed smile slowly tilts my open mouth.

This girl’s already made me sexless, but now she’s rendered me speechless, too. Two things I’m very not used to being.

Olivia Lockley puts me in a lot of states I’m not used to.

When she steps outside and disappears from my sight, she sure as shit doesn’t disappear from my mind. I know for a fact she’s not going to any time soon.

And you know what? As much as she might not want to admit it right now, I don’t think I’m going to disappear from hers, either.