Puck Buddies Read online

  Puck Buddies

  Lili Valente

  Contents

  PUCK BUDDIES

  About the Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Tell Lili your Favorite Part!

  Sneak Peek

  About the Author

  Also by Lili Valente

  PUCK BUDDIES

  A Bad Motherpuckers Novel

  By Lili Valente

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright Puck Buddies © 2018 Lili Valente

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This erotic romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This e-book is licensed for your personal use only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy hot, sexy, emotional novels featuring hockey-playing alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. Cover design by Bootstrap Designs. Editorial services provided by Help Me Edit.

  Created with Vellum

  About the Book

  Bree Marks is my best friend…

  My secret crush…

  And—wait for it—cursed with a deadly allergy to erecto-plasm. As in she’ll seriously swell up and die if seminal fluid even touches her. Which means finding the perfect guy to punch her V card is literally a matter of life and death.

  She wants a no-strings summer fling, but she needs someone she can trust. A puck buddy who isn’t going to get overly emotional. Someone who’s as savvy in the sack as he is on the ice.

  That’s where I come in.

  It’s a simple request, really—and one I would be happy to honor.

  If it weren’t for the whole life-and-death thing.

  If I hadn’t just been traded to a team thousands of miles away from this girl who makes me think not all relationships are a losing game.

  If I wasn’t already crazy in love with her.

  This arrangement is a disaster waiting to happen, but the heart wants what it wants, and mine wants Bree, danger and all.

  PUCK BUDDIES is a sexy, standalone romantic comedy from USA Today bestseller Lili Valente.

  Chapter 1

  Bree

  My sister’s wedding is something special, and so is she.

  Hailey has always been my hero. Long before she beat cancer, graduated valedictorian, or made the “Thirty Under Thirty Businesswomen in Portland to Watch” list, she was my kick-ass sissy and very best friend.

  And Will, her soon-to-be-husband, is the big brother I never had, a true knight in shining armor.

  Or knight in shining black leather, I guess…since he and Hailey are living kinkily ever after. But I’ve done my best to put what little I know about my sister’s sex life out of my mind. That’s not the kind of thing I want to have rolling around in my head when facing my brother-in-law across the Thanksgiving dinner table. So I did a Jedi mind-wipe on myself, and it worked.

  Mostly…

  Though, sometimes when Hailey shows up for a Saturday morning sister date with an especially goofy smile on her face, I do wonder what naughtiness put the spring in her step. I also wonder if I’m ever going to find someone to put a spring in mine, but that kind of worry isn’t on the agenda for today.

  Today isn’t a day for mourning the tragically intact state of my ancient hymen; today is a day for celebrating the awesome and inspiring power of true love. The sun is shining, Oregon is covered in spring green and June flowers, and my sister is getting married on the rooftop of a hotel in McMinnville, Oregon, with vineyards blanketing the surrounding hills and UFO enthusiasts cheering from the streets below.

  The UFO enthusiasts weren’t a planned part of the celebration—Hailey somehow managed to book her wedding on the same weekend as quirky McMinnville’s annual Alien Days Festival—but I think they add flair and fun.

  My mother, however, is not amused.

  “What is that on that man’s head?” Mom fusses, her blond brow furrowing as she leans over the railing to peer at the street below.

  I glance over my shoulder. “Antennae?”

  “Do aliens have antennae? Are they like insects? And why is that woman’s baby painted blue? She’s green, and the baby is blue.”

  “I’m guessing the father must be blue,” I offer dryly. “Or maybe the grandmother or grandfather in the case of a recessive gene, but I’m not an expert in alien genetics, so don’t quote me.”

  Mom shifts her narrow gaze my way. “Very funny, Sabrina.”

  “Just trying to lighten the mood, Mother. It’s all in good fun, and Will and Hailey don’t seem to mind sharing their special day with the aliens.”

  “But what if we can’t hear the vows?” Mom fluffs her bob with one ring-laden hand as she tsks. “And why are those men dressed like hammers? That makes absolutely no sense.”

  “Hammerhead aliens? Like a hammerhead shark?” I glance back down at the street where the men dressed as hammers are cavorting down the parade route behind a group of cackling witches. “Or it could have something to do with beer. Doesn’t a brewery around here have a hammerhead ale?”

  “I have no idea, but I could go for a drink. A strong one,” Mom says, making me laugh as I kiss her forehead.

  “Then I’ll go fetch you one, sweet mama. Don’t worry. It’s all going to be perfect. Just wait and see.”

  I cross the roof to the bar on the other side, where a number of the groomsmen are already crowded around a table, nursing pints as they wait for the festivities to begin. I sidle up to the bar beside a familiar pair of broad shoulders and nudge Shane Wallace’s elbow with mine. “You ready for this, best man?”

  He shakes his shaggy blond head, triggering that little flip in my stomach that happens every time he casts his baby blues my way.

  Wallace is a looker, no doubt—all American golden boy with a side of buff, hockey-playing alpha male and an inner goofball that keeps a near-perpetual smile on his face. But friends are on my “Look, Don’t Touch” list. I treasure my buddies too much to risk losing one to post-traumatic-romance disorder.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he says, stretching his head to one side and rubbing at the place where his neck meets his muscled shoulder.

  I laugh. “Nervous?”

  “A little,” he admits with a crooked grin. “Mostly about the reception toast. As soon as that’s over, I’ll be all good. I’m not a fan of public speaking.”

  “Just imagine everyone naked,” I offer. “That’s what I’m goin
g to do during my speech.”

  He clears his throat. “I think I’ll pass on that.”

  “Why?” I tease. “Most of the people here would probably look okay naked. Even my mom’s a babe for fifty-two.”

  Shane’s face wrinkles in horror so intense I can’t help but laugh.

  “You’re evil,” he says, nudging me in the ribs. “I’m a gentleman, Sabrina. I don’t imagine ladies naked, especially ladies old enough to be my mother. Besides, I have my own coping strategy, thank you very much.”

  “And what’s that?” I ask, still giggling.

  “Reminding myself that I’m in the home stretch around here. Aside from a few parties and the summer scrimmage pick-up games, I’m pretty much done with the Badgers. So if I screw up, they can only make my life miserable in the locker room for so long.”

  My smile falls away so fast I flinch like I’ve dropped something. “Wait. What? Why? You aren’t quitting hockey, are you? You love hockey.”

  Shane’s dark blond brows draw together. “No, I’m not quitting. I was transferred to Kansas City. I thought you knew. Hailey asked if she could invite you to my goodbye BBQ, and I said yes…”

  “No, she hasn’t asked me. At least, not yet. But she’s been busy with the wedding, so…” I shake my head numbly, feeling strangely abandoned. Shane and I have been hanging out a lot more in the past six months. I thought we’d become good friends, but apparently, I was wrong.

  Why didn’t he tell me himself?

  And why do I suddenly want to dive into his arms, hug him so tight he can’t breathe, and beg him not to go?

  “Brendan’s retiring to go coach the new expansion team, and I’m going with him,” he continues. “I’m actually looking forward to it. I’ll always love Portland, but I’m ready to move on, try something new.”

  “Yeah, I mean…that’s great.” I feign interest in scraping a bit of stray pink polish from the skin next to my thumbnail. “I hope it’s awesome.”

  He laugh-grunts. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  I look up sharply. “No, I do. I just wish you’d told me.”

  “I just did,” he says, holding my gaze with an intensity that makes me feel too warm despite the cool evening.

  “You know what I mean,” I murmur, my pulse beating faster.

  “I’m not sure I do, Bree. If I’d told you earlier…” He shrugs. “I don’t think it would have changed anything, do you?”

  My mouth opens, closes, opens again, but no words come out. Shane and I have danced around this subject more than once, but he’s never gotten this close to flat out saying that he wants more than friendship. And I’ve never gotten this close to confessing that it’s impossible for me to be more than his gourmet-French-fry and antique-hunting buddy.

  Even though I want to.

  Even though I have naughty dreams about sexy Shane Wallace more often than I would like to admit.

  Even though he’s not only drop-dead gorgeous, but also unfailingly kind. And fun. And easy to be around. He’s the kind of guy the whole “friends with benefits” thing was invented to accommodate. Because sometimes you just need to be close to someone you trust while you’re waiting for Mr. Perfect to come along.

  If I were capable of making that leap, he would be the ideal Number One. If I weren’t a weirdo with a medical condition insane enough to ensure I’ll most likely spend the rest of my life alone.

  “Blah,” I finally blurt out. Words have failed me once again. It happens a lot, making me fear my dream of getting my Ph.D. in Marriage and Family Therapy will always remain just that—a dream. Therapists have to have words. It’s a non-negotiable part of the talking-to-people-about-their-feelings-for-a-living gig.

  “Blah?” Shane arches a brow.

  “Yes, blah.” I flip my bangs from my forehead with a nervous flick of my fingers before I lift a hand to the bartender. “A white wine please, sir. A big, nerve-soothing one. For the mother of the bride.”

  “Is she having wedding day jitters?” Shane asks, gracefully changing the subject.

  “No, I think she has an alien phobia.” I lean back against the bar, glancing across the roof to where my mother is still shaking her head and clucking at the UFO parade streaming by below. “Or maybe just a weirdness phobia. Mom likes to color inside the lines.”

  “It must have been hard for her, raising a weirdo like you.”

  Grin curving my lips, I bonk Shane’s shoulder with a loose fist. “I am not a weirdo.”

  “Weird,” Shane insists.

  “Like you’re one to talk. Last time I checked you were still collecting creepy salt and pepper shakers.”

  “Not creepy. Unique.” He pauses, lifting a hand to adjust the flower crown that’s been slipping down into my eyes all afternoon. “I have a deep appreciation for unique things. And unique people.”

  My lips part and electricity prickles sweetly across my skin, promising that this could be the night, that Shane could be the one, that things could be different this time if I’m careful and honest.

  But how to be honest about something like my crazy something?

  Shane says he likes unique things, but I doubt that applies to the unique absurdity of my whacked out immune system. My body turned traitor to love.

  Or sex, anyway…

  And what man wants love without sex?

  Certainly not Shane. He may be a sweetheart, but he also oozes sensuality. He sizzles with it, exudes an “I’d love to pounce” vibe that makes me a little anxious sometimes when we’re alone. It’s one of the reasons I prefer to hang out with him with other friends, in public places.

  I’m afraid that I’ll do something, say something, confess something I shouldn’t.

  You’re drop-dead delicious, Shane, but I’m allergic to semen. Like, for real. It makes my entire body break out in hives and my throat close up. Sexy, huh? So, I’m imagining that’s probably a deal breaker for you, but if it isn’t… I can imagine myself blurting it all out right now, can imagine the expression on his face as he realizes I’m definitely not his kind of unique.

  Not any guy’s kind of unique.

  Thankfully, before the awkward silence can stretch on any longer, the bartender saves me by plunking a glass of wine next to my arm. “Thanks.” I grip the thin stem like a lifeline as I glance back up at Shane. “Good luck. I’m sure your speech will be great. I’ll be rooting for you.”

  “Ditto, doc,” he says.

  “I’m still finishing undergrad. It’s going to be a long time before I’m a doc,” I remind him. “If I ever get there.”

  “You’ll get there,” he says without a trace of doubt. “I believe in you, Sabrina Marks. And I’ll miss you. Take care of yourself, okay?”

  “Okay,” I echo as my heart does a somersault and my throat squeezes tight.

  Why, oh why, does he have to be like this? So wonderful? So kind? So absolutely booty-call irresistible in every way?

  The questions linger as I proceed to get my mother gently drunk, ensuring that by wedding go-time she’s sufficiently relaxed not to care that someone in a room downstairs is blasting the theme song from The X-Files so loud it’s competing with the wedding march as Hailey glides down the aisle. But it’s hard to be stressed out when in the presence of this kind of joy.

  Hailey and Will are shining, glowing, sparkling with love, the pair of them so perfectly in sync in their adoration that their gathered friends and family spend most of the ceremony sighing with sappy happiness.

  The reception is just as lovely, with a delicious meal, inspiring toasts—Shane’s is as perfect as I’d expected it to be—and Will and Hailey spinning around the floor for their first dance like they were made to move together, to be two halves of one whole. To be forever.

  Forever…

  I want that. So much.

  But I would be happy with much less—with a summer fling with a good friend. Or maybe just a really sexy June, during which I might finally be able to ditch the V card that’s weighing
me down, making every obstacle to finding Mr. Right seem even more insurmountable.

  Most nights I know better than to hope for such things. But whether it’s the romance in the air or the moonlight on my skin or that third glass of wine I probably shouldn’t have gulped quite so fast, by the time Shane asks me to dance I’m starting to wonder if I’ve been too hasty.

  Too closed-minded.

  Too eager to shut things down when I should be lighting them up.

  As Shane pulls me into his arms, one big hand flat on the small of my back and the other curled around my fingers, I let myself sway closer than I would have before. I pull the spicy-sweet smell of his cologne deep into my lungs and relish the way his scent makes me ache in places someone who’s “just a friend” shouldn’t.

  Though really, it’s his fault for having such strong hands, such pretty muscles, and such a sexy neck.

  How have I never noticed what a delicious neck this man has?

  I tilt my head, drifting toward Shane as one slow song ends and another begins, bringing my nose closer to his smooth skin as I draw in a breath.

  “Bree?” His voice is a soothing rumble that makes me want to rest my ear on his chest and let the reverberations fill me up like a seashell.

  “Yes, Shane,” I murmur, starting to feel a little drunk on his scent.