Pucked Love (Pucked, #6)
Helena Hunting
DEDICATION
For my Pucked Series readers: this one is like reading with your seatbelt off.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This was quite a journey, from Violet and Alex all the way to Charlene and Darren, I’ve had an amazing team of people supporting me through this series. Sebastian, you said this was the book and you were right. Sometimes I just need to write with my seatbelt off and The Pucked Series has given me that freedom.
Huge love to all the people who have made this possible. Mom, Dad and Mel, your love and support mean so much to me. Debra, for being my rock, Leigh for being my faith when I couldn’t manage it on my own, Kimberly for letting me write all the crazy on with this book.
Endless love to Nina and Jenn and the team at SBPR, (Sarah F and Bex, you rock my socks) for all your hard work with me on this series.
Sarah P, you’re a gem and I’m lucky to have you and the Hustlers with me on this.
Shannon, I know this cover was tough, but I think you rocked it ;) thank you for making these covers truly shine, Teeny, thank you for always making the inside so pretty and Jessica, thank you for always cleaning up my grammar and commas and all the other things I’m so terrible at.
Bloggers, without you, the love for Alex and Violet wouldn’t have had a chance to blossom, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for following this cast of characters all the way here with me. Readers, you’re amazing. Thank you for embracing the insanity of the Pucked Family. I love your love for them, which makes it hard to say goodbye.
To all my author friends who have been with me along the way, through the ups and downs and all the in-betweens, thank you for holding my hand. Kellie, thanks for the brainstorming session that started this all, Deb, Leigh, Tijan, Kelly, Susi, Ruth, Erika, Katherine, Marine, Julie, Kathrine, Karen, Marty, you’re my tribe. Thanks for pointing out I’m Violet and loving me anyway.
CHARLENE
I breathe into my palm to check for freshness. I brushed my teeth less than ten minutes ago, but I pop two Altoids anyway. Fresh breath is crucial. I crunch down and spread the fiery-cold bits over my tongue. The burst of mint makes my eyes water, so I have to dab at the corners with my sleeve and breathe through my nose to avoid making it worse.
Darren Westinghouse is picking me up for a coffee date. The Darren Westinghouse, Chicago’s NHL right wing and the most mysterious man in the league. There are loads of rumors about him. His dating history is unclear and based mostly on speculation and conjecture. I’m excited to get to know the man behind the intense, stoic mask.
My palms are sweaty, and my panties are inappropriately damp as I wander around my kitchen. My reaction to anxiety is weird. And rather inconvenient. I’ve already changed my panties once in the past half hour.
“It’s just coffee,” I scold my crotch.
It doesn’t seem to matter, though. She’s preparing for all possible scenarios.
I introduced myself to Darren when I went with my best friend, Violet, to an away game. He was gentlemanly and sweet, offering to walk me back to my room. I went in for a goodnight kiss that turned into an epic make-out session. We kissed like teenagers until my lips were raw. It took a week before they finally stopped peeling.
Today I’m wearing shiny gloss that tastes like cotton candy—my hope is that Darren likes the flavor and will want to kiss it off more than once. I smooth my sweaty palms down my jean-covered thighs. I’m going for casual—except under my jeans I’m wearing a nice pair of lacy panties, just in case his hand happens to find its way into them. My bra matches, of course.
I check the time. It’s nine forty-nine in the morning. He’s picking me up at ten, but those eleven minutes feel like they’re taking an eternity to pass. I mentally scroll through the approved topics of conversation: obviously hockey, weather, my job, and my college experience are all approved.
I’ve learned that it’s best to give people the barest of facts and then shift the topic away from the really personal stuff. People usually love to talk about themselves, so it’s not all that hard to do. At nine fifty three I do another breath check and startle as my doorbell chimes.
“He’s here!” I whisper-shriek to no one. Or maybe I’m addressing my anxious vagina. I take two deep breaths and count to three before I open the door.
I’m still not adequately prepared for the vision taking up my front porch.
Darren’s in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt—so different than the suit he was wearing the last time I saw him. His short hair is styled neatly, and his hard, icy blue eyes move over me in a casual sweep that I feel everywhere. Darren is intense. He’s lightness and darkness fused together. And he’s unearthly beautiful. It’s a lot to process.
A half-grin tips his mouth and quickly becomes a disarming full smile that transforms his face from severe to stunning for as long as it lasts.
“Hi.” It’s almost a moan it’s so breathy.
“Hello, Charlene.”
I have tingles below the waist from those two words.
“Hi.” I’m repeating myself. Not smooth.
“I’m a little early,” he says. “I hope that’s okay.”
I snap out of my Darren-induced daze. “Yes! Yeah, of course. Just let me get my purse.” I turn, prepared to grab it from the kitchen, when I realize it’s already hanging from my right arm. “Oh, never mind. Looks like I’m all set.” I hope he doesn’t think I’m a complete idiot.