Puck Buddies Page 6

  Bree: We’ve had this discussion before. Good poetry won’t hurt your brain. It will make your heart swoop and your guts tingle. I grabbed a book today I think you’ll like, in fact, but forgot about it in all the Clementine excitement. I’ll bring it with me the next time we meet up.

  Shane: Me no like rhyming words.

  Bree: Cut the Cro-Magnon act, I know you too well. You’re a smart cookie, Walls. And I really wish I’d convinced you to put that brilliant business plan of yours into motion while you were still in Portland.

  Shane: Why’s that?

  Bree: Then you would have had a reason to come back to visit.

  Shane: I already have plenty of reasons to come back to visit. I love Portland and all the people who made my three years here the best of my life.

  Bree: Then why are you leaving us?

  Shane: It was time to make a change, Bree, to give myself a chance to make a name for myself in the NHL. Here, I’m part of a great group of goalies playing for a great team. In Kansas City, I’m going to be replacing a head goalie who’s a disaster and playing for a team on the cusp of a major turnaround. Brendan is going to be one hell of a coach. He’s going to bring the magic out in those guys, and I’m psyched to be a part of it.

  Bree: That makes sense, I guess.

  Shane: You guess?

  Bree: I won’t pretend to know about hockey, but that sounds like a solid career strategy. But you should still seriously consider opening your store in Portland. We’re the city of weird, friend. This is the kind of town that will appreciate an antique store filled with odd, unique, and occasionally creepy collectibles. The honest, fresh-faced Midwestern folk of Kansas City would be perplexed by your offerings.

  Shane: You could be right.

  Bree: I am right. And you should practice saying that aloud. That’s something I enjoy in a fromantic partner—being told I’m right.

  Shane: LOL. Fine, you’re right. When I’m ready to open up shop, I’ll consider Portland first. Or Austin, maybe. I hear they’re pretty weird down there, too.

  Bree: Portland first, then Austin for the second location, after you make tons of money and become a famous entrepreneur.

  Shane: I’d be happy with a modest profit. The joy of the hunt is the draw for me. If I can make a decent living doing something I enjoy almost as much as playing hockey, I’ll consider myself a lucky bastard. And it will make the inevitable end of my NHL career easier to handle.

  Bree: That’s still a long way down the road.

  You’ve got a lot of good years left in you, Walls, I can tell.

  Shane: Thanks, doc. You working tomorrow?

  Bree: Nope. I have class first thing in the morning, and I’m out at noon.

  Shane: Perfect. I’ll pick you up on campus around one.

  Bree: All right. What’s on the agenda?

  Shane: Fromance, baby. From now until the day I get on a jet plane to Kansas City, it’s going to be all fromance, all the time.

  Bree: Sounds intense.

  Maybe I should start working out again. Build up my endurance.

  Shane: You should definitely start working out. With me.

  I enjoy seeing you all hot and sweaty…

  Bree: I think I’d enjoy making you hot and sweaty more…

  Shane: *fire emoji* Damn, woman.

  Bree: I may be a virgin, friend, but my innuendo game is strong.

  Which reminds me, how did your prophylactic research go?

  I’ve been waiting all day to hear the verdict.

  Shane: I’m still researching, but I’ve narrowed it down to two strong contenders. I should have a winner chosen by tomorrow.

  Bree: Your dedication to research is hot.

  Shane: Everything about you is hot. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

  Bree: Today. It’s after midnight now.

  Shane: So it is. Then I’ll see you later today. ’Night witchy woman.

  Bree: Good night morning-loving demon spawn. Sweet dreams.

  Shane: *devil emoji* *sun emoji* You, too.

  Chapter 7

  Bree

  Fromance…

  The more I think about it, the more I absolutely adore the idea. As a shameless, die-hard romantic, I’m all for adding romance to just about anything—I can make brewing a pot of tea by myself in my apartment on a rainy day swoony if I put my mind to it—but this idea of Shane’s is especially brilliant.

  Inspired, really.

  Why shouldn’t our friends be the recipients of romantic gestures? Just because we’re not sleeping with most of them doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to be wooed.

  My girlfriends are the most important people in my life, next to Hailey, who I consider a friend as well as a sister. I can’t believe I haven’t considered romancing them before. If anyone deserves surprise presents, love notes, and poetry that reminds me of them folded into paper roses and sent to them at work, it’s my girls.

  All through the lecture on doctor-client privilege and boundaries, I keep scribbling fromance ideas in the margins of my notes. Not just for Shane, but for all my nearest and dearest. Our professor for this session has a bone-dry presentation style that makes concentrating difficult on a good day, but today it’s nearly impossible.

  Today I’m breathless with anticipation, lost in romantic daydreams, spirited away by imaginings of all the fun, fromantic things Shane and I might get up to this afternoon.

  Maybe we’ll go for a bike ride along the river and get donuts to eat in the park.

  Or maybe we’ll hit a vineyard outside of town and while away the afternoon sipping Chardonnay and playing poker for pennies.

  Or maybe he’ll agree to skip straight to the good stuff, and we’ll retreat to his apartment for epic amounts of kissing, and by the time I go to sleep tonight, I will no longer be the oldest virgin in Portland.

  Squee!

  “Miss Marks?” Professor Boring’s drone shatters my reverie. “Can you name the branch of study focusing on the links between biology and behavior?”

  Goofy grin falling from my face, I stammer, “Um n-neuropsychology or behavioral genetics?”

  Boring grunts, “Correct,” before moving on to the reading assignment for the week.

  I sag back into my chair in relief. That was close. Class participation is fifteen percent of our grade, and Boring has a sixth sense about who’s focused and who’s given in and let his drone put them into a waking coma.

  Time to be here now.

  I do my best to put all forms of romance far from my mind for the remainder of the lecture, but when I drift across the quad an hour later, my feet still aren’t quite touching the ground. And when I see Shane leaning against the door of my lizard-green Gremlin, looking good enough to eat in a pair of low-slung jeans and a tight blue T-shirt that accentuates the muscly-ness of his chest and the dreaminess of his eyes, I can’t resist skipping across the pavement.

  I spin into a spontaneous pirouette followed by an exuberant sashay and a split-leap that lands me mere inches away from my now laughing partner in fromance.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were happy to see me,” Shane says, his hands coming to rest on my hips, sending a rush of heat sizzling across my skin.

  I tilt my head back, grinning up at him. “I am happy to see you. I’ve been thinking about you all day, you brilliant man.”

  “I like the sound of that,” he murmurs. “What did I do that was so brilliant? So I can be sure to do it again?”

  “Your plan for us. It inspired me.” I loop my arms around his neck, surprised by how easy and natural this added intimacy already feels. “I decided to extend the fromantic love to my entire circle of friends. I’m going to write Katie a love letter, send Stephanie a book of Buddhist meditations on peace I found at a thrift store, and surprise Hailey with a sunflower bouquet as soon as she gets back from her honeymoon. I want to woo all the buddies in my life.”

  His smiles. “Nice. I bet that will make their day.”


  “I hope so.” I sigh happily. “I love my friends, and I love making them happy, and I love fromance. I love it so much I can’t wait to put my wooing plans for you into motion.”

  “What’s that?” he asks, his eyes lighting up. “Are you going to show up at my place at the witching hour wearing nothing but a pointy hat?”

  I wiggle my brows. “Maybe. If you play your cards right. Though, that wasn’t on my short list of woo-tactics.”

  “What is on your list?”

  “Un-uh. No way.” I wag a finger back and forth. “I believe in the importance of mystery. There will be no hints. No warning. The wooing is simply going to descend upon you when you least expect it. Like a cloudburst. Or a bird of prey. Or pigeon droppings off that old bridge by the farmer’s market.”

  Shane laughs. “Fine, then I’m not telling you where we’re going, either. You’ll have to wait until we get there.”

  “Good!” I spin away from him in another pirouette. “Your vehicle? Since you know where we’re ending up?”

  “Mine,” Shane agrees, nodding over his shoulder. “I’m parked a few rows back.”

  I dance away across the lot, and Shane follows with a spring in his step and not a hint of embarrassment. Even when a pair of girls wearing matching pink hoodies turn to give me a critical once-over as I twirl by, Shane’s relaxed stride doesn’t waver. He doesn’t care that I’m a goofball who believes in random acts of dancing and refuses to straighten up and act like a real adult.

  Like me, he knows that being a “real” adult is a trap set by a society bent on tricking us all into giving up on fun.

  “Society wants us to forget how to dance,” I say as I stop beside his truck—he’s driving his old gray SUV today instead of the monster van he uses for treasure hunting, and the automatic locks are broken. I have to wait for him to come put the key in the lock and open my door for me, an old-fashioned ritual I enjoy.

  Shane nods. “And cartwheel.”

  “Yes!” I bounce on my toes as I clap my hands. “Let’s do that. Let’s go cartwheel! We can go to Waterfront Park, cartwheel until we’re dizzy, and then get ice cream and play in the fountain!”

  “Seriously?” Shane curses under his breath as he opens the door. “Did you seriously just ruin my surprise?”

  My eyes go wide. “Did I?”

  He exhales as he jabs a thumb toward the backseat. “I brought towels and fountain-playing gear. I was planning on renting bikes, not cartwheeling, but…”

  “But this is great,” I say, determined to banish the disappointment from his features. I rest my hands on his chest, rubbing my palms back and forth in soothing sweeps. “It’s perfect. We’re already in sync. Vibing on the same wavelength.” I lean in, adding in my best sultry voice. “Which should come in useful tonight, right?”

  Shane clears his throat. “About that…”

  I pin him with a narrow-eyed look. “Yes? What about it? You’re not backing out on me again, are you?”

  “No, I’m not, but I couldn’t find the brand of condoms I want anywhere in town. I had to order them from a place in Seattle. They should be in a delivery locker by tomorrow morning. That was faster than having them shipped directly to my address.”

  My shoulders relax. “Oh, well, that’s not much of a wait. What’s one more day after twenty-three years, right?”

  He bares his teeth. “Except that I have plans to head up the coast tomorrow to do some van camping. I would cancel, but I told Yoda I’d track him down this week. If I don’t show up, he’ll get his feelings hurt.”

  “Yoda,” I echo, brows arching. “Is this some kind of Star Wars cosplay thing? If it is, you know I’m not usually one to judge—I enjoy dress-up as much as any four-year-old—but if you’re choosing geekery over sexy times with me, I’m pretty sure I’m clear to feel insulted.”

  “No, no, no,” Shane says, laughing as he squeezes my hip. “Yoda is an equipment artist. An all-around artist, really, but he specializes in air-brushing goalie masks for his money job. He got started when he was in high school, and now he does all the top goalies in the league. We’ve been tight since he did my Badger mask years ago.”

  “Oh, well, I’m less insulted now.” I sigh. “But I am disappointed. We’ve only got a month, Shane, and I don’t just want to lose it, you know? I want to gain experience, too. Make sure I’m doing it right.”

  Shane’s gaze darkens, sending a shiver across my skin. “You don’t need to worry about that. You’re going to be mind-blowing in bed.” His lips dip closer to mine. “I can tell from the way you kiss.”

  “Yeah?” I whisper, heart racing as his Christmas in June scent floods my head.

  “Yes, but let me kiss you again to make sure.” His mouth meets mine, and my blood ignites, catching fire the way it does every time he touches me.

  By the time we pull apart, I’m dancing on the inside, my every cell doing the disco. Just kissing him is enough to reduce me to a puddle of helpless lust. I can’t wait to be as close to him as two people can get, to have the freedom to explore every inch of his incredible body.

  Four days will be an eternity.

  I sag back against the sun-warmed truck, letting my lids slide closed with a tortured sigh. “Four days? How am I going to survive the wait?”

  “I was going to suggest that you come with me,” he says, making my eyes pop open again. “There’s plenty of room on my van mattress for two, and we’ll be back in town by Friday morning.”

  I bite my lip, dangerously tempted. “I would have to get someone to cover for me at work, though, and I’d miss two days of tips.”

  “But you would gain life experience and make priceless memories,” Shane wheedles, giving my hip another squeeze. “And I’ll cover all expenses, including as many hamburgers as you can eat.”

  “Endless hamburgers,” I murmur, grateful for the shade provided by the open door and Shane’s large shoulders. It’s unusually warm for a June day, and that fountain is sounding better with every passing minute. But a four-day sex van adventure with Shane sounds even better. “That’s generous.”

  “I would offer to compensate you for the lost work days and tips if I thought you would let me.”

  I shake my head. “No. I refuse your money. All I want from you is friendship and hot sex.”

  He presses a fist to his chest and winces in mock hurt. “Not my grilling skills?”

  “Your grilling skills are mediocre at best. So if I go, I’ll be doing the cooking.”

  “What about warming food on the grill?” he asks. “Am I allowed to do that?”

  “Yes, I will allow it, but all real cooking falls to me. That will be my contribution to the vacation, along with road trip games and assistance avoiding poisonous plants.”

  Shane grins. “So you’re coming?”

  “Assuming I can get my shifts covered at the bar,” I say, already making a mental list of people who might want extra hours. “I’ll start making phone calls while you drive.”

  Shane and I pack into the SUV, and he heads east toward the river. By the time we reach the turn into Waterfront Park’s Porta-Potty storage yard, where sneaky locals score parking for free, I’ve got Alicia booked to cover my Tuesday and Wednesday shifts and Bernard lined up to do Friday just in case Yoda proves elusive and we end up needing an extra day to find him.

  “Done!” I announce, tossing my phone triumphantly into my backpack before hopping out of the SUV.

  “We’re cleared for van life?” Shane asks as he circles around the front. “It’s a go?”

  “It’s a go,” I say with a giddy grin. “I’m so excited! I haven’t been camping in years, and I’ve never helped track down an eccentric nomadic hockey helmet artist.” I tickle Shane’s ribs as he fetches the towels and a canvas bag from the back seat. “This is going to be awesome. I can feel it!”

  He laughs as he swats at my hands. “It is, but don’t poke me. I’m ticklish.”

  “Oh, you are?” I ask, wicked intentions bl
ooming in my heart. “How did I not know this about you until now?” I advance, my rib-poking fingers wiggling as he backs away down the sidewalk.

  “No, Marks,” he warns. “Don’t try it. I’m not kidding. Tickling is off-limits.”

  “But that just makes me want to tickle you more,” I say, speeding my footsteps as the concrete sidewalk gives way to the wooden planks of the river walk.

  “Don’t make me shut you down,” Shane says, his voice so dangerously, deliciously deep I can’t resist a tickle attack.

  I rush him, fingers clawed, but before I can get at his ribs, Shane crouches down and grabs me around the waist with his free arm, easily flipping me over his shoulder.

  “Not fair!” I shout, the blood rushing to my head as the world turns upside down. “That’s use of excessive force.”

  “You were warned,” he says, starting back along the walk. “Now you suffer the consequences.”

  “Is your butt ticklish?” I ask as I realize both muscled cheeks are within easy reach.

  “Not sure, but unless you want me to accidentally drop you on your head, I wouldn’t try it, psycho. Take your punishment like a woman.”