Page 57 of He Has Pluck

“I would have guessed you two might have something going on, but what do I know?” She smiles, softens her eyes and takes my arm. I wonder briefly what she sees because I’m trying like hell to act cool and keep neutral in her presence. I glance at Josh, and he’s shaking his head, telling me with his skeptical expression that I’m a fool.

Or maybe I need to get out of my head and stop overthinking this, forget about Juliette and enjoy my family for the night.

I give it a shot. It sort of works. The part about enjoying my family goes well, but when they leave after dinner and I’m back in my room, I’m back to having Juliette on my mind where hockey should be.

Instead of texting her like my fingers itch to do, I text Finn. It’s ten at night, and I hope he’s not already in bed.

He calls me about two seconds after I hit send.

“What’s the matter? Did the rats in that infested shithole finally get to you? I’m not surprised you can’t sleep.”

I laugh despite everything.

“I can’t sleep, but it’s not the rats—not yet anyway, but now you’ve put that thought in my head.”

“Let me guess. A. You’re nervous about the game tomorrow. B. You’re having girl trouble.”

“B.”

“You’re a fucking idiot, but I would be a hypocritical asshole if I didn’t admit that I totally get it.”

“Great. So what do I do?”

“Put it aside and play hockey, you idiot. What do you think I’m going to tell you? If she’s worth anything, she’ll still be there when the season’s over.”

I don’t tell him that the problem is exactly the fact that I know she won’t be there when the season’s over. She’ll be on the first plane out of here after we celebrate our Stanley Cup and before the sun comes up the next day.

“You’re right,” I say because he is. The not-so-big news is that she’s not worth all this shit if she isn’t sticking around. I knew it going in, and I didn’t care because I wasn’t looking for anything more. I only wanted to scratch the deep, burning itch she ignited in me. I only wanted a fling.

That’s all this was between her and me.

But no matter how much my head tells me this, how every rational thought points to the same conclusion, my chest squeezes my heart so hard I don’t know if I’ll make it to the morning without it seizing up.

“Sorry I bothered you,” I say.

“You going to be all right?”

“Sure. No choice. This is the big show, and I can’t do anything but answer the call.”

We sign off, and I throw the phone back on the floor after checking my messages again.

If I have to stay up all night to convince myself of what I have to do, to purge my obsession with Juliette Sullivan like I’m an addict going cold turkey, that’s what I’ll do.

Chapter Nineteen

JASON

With ruthless disregard for my insomnia, I purge my obsession and make my choice. The war between my dreams of hockey and my cock’s obsession has no winner. I refuse to examine why it’s so hard-fought when it shouldn’t be by any rational measure.

I’ve always wanted my NHL hockey career and a shot at the Stanley Cup.

I’ve never wanted to get entangled with a woman who takes over my body and soul so thoroughly that I question everything.

After we eliminate New York, we have another week before the second round against Washington. The first two games are in Boston, and we split them, putting us at a disadvantage, but we fight back. The series is at three-to-two, and we’re back at home tonight, facing elimination.

It’s been strange getting used to Juliette missing from my bed. Am I beyond pathetic if I hold onto my phone every night, waiting for a text, and worse, take a life-threatening risk by leaving my door unlocked? Or is that past pathetic and into seriously deranged territory?

But hell, I hold onto my thread of so-called sanity and don’t invite her over, don’t call her or text her or speak to her, except when required, and most of all, I never touch her.