Page 117 of The Puck Bunny

Her mouth drops open and she throws her arms around me, screaming, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Lifting her in my arms as I stand, I swing her around. “I wanted to buy you a proper ring and give you a proper proposal and, more than anything, I want to marry you, sweetheart. I want to spend the rest of our lives together because I love you.”

She’s crying and I put her down and wipe her tears as the team crowds around, congratulating us and the organist plays “Here Comes the Bride.” I can’t stop grinning like a giddy kid who won the biggest jackpot ever imagined, better than shooting the winning goal in The Stanley Cup finals.

I end up carrying her off the ice because she’s too shaky to walk.

“You okay?” I whisper in her ear, nuzzling the delicate skin there and wanting to take a bite.

“I’m so much better than okay. I’m in-another-galaxy-okay. But don’t put me down anytime soon because my bellagambas are not okay.”

* * *

After the team gets through with me in the locker room, alternately roasting me and congratulating me—and having a fucking good time at my expense—I make it out to find Sara still surrounded by family and friends and a few media. I don’t want to think about how many pictures and videos were taken of the spectacle, but it should put to rest any rumors that might have started up—by the princess no doubt—that I’d never intended to marry Sara.

The idea that I do anything but spend my life with her is absurd. And unthinkable.

“Can I tear you away from your admirers?” I ask her as I pull her into my arms away from Billie Mae and Bobby.

“That was some show,” Bobby says. “I heard what you planned to do and I didn’t think you could pull it off. You sang to my sister, you fucking nut.” He laughs and pulls me in for a bro hug, bumping my back with his fist and murmuring congratulations.

Before he lets me go, he whispers, “Don’t ever let her down. I don’t care who you are, Hollywood.” He gives me a stony-eyed stare for a split second and I nod, giving him the same stare back to let him know I’m more than a Hollywood-style hockey player who can sing.

“Leave him alone, Bobby,” Sara says. “He has an incredible voice.”

“You have to say that,” Chris says, “now that you’re stuck with him. Be careful what you wish for.”

Everyone in our combined family circle laughs, including me.

“Watch out. I still haven’t decided if it’s you or Derico for my best man,” I say, having every intention of including them both in that role.

Derico steps in. “Don’t worry on my account. He’ll probably want karaoke for his bachelor party and I want no part of that.”

“As much fun as it is to listen to how much you all adore me, it’s time for me and my bride-to-be to get out of here.”

“I second that,” Sara says. “All of a sudden, my bellagambas are feeling great, like I could run all the way to Revere.” She takes my hand and tugs.

I give my mother a quick hug and wink at my soon-to-be mother-in-law, then let Sara drag me to the exit.

* * *

From the minute I close the car door, I can’t stop kissing her.

“Should we call a limo and get someone else to drive us?” I suggest, my breathing heavy and my dick harder than her new diamond.

“No way am I making it with you in the back seat while the driver knows what’s going on. But I do have an idea.” She straightens, pulls down her Brawlers jersey and pushes me back behind the wheel. “Start it up and drive. Let’s test your nerves.”

I start the car and pull out of the garage.

“What do you have in mind?” There’s a crazy sexy look on her face, looking far from the innocent Sara Bellagamba and reminding me distinctly of Lola. “Should I be afraid? Don’t you think my nerves have been tested enough tonight?” I’m mostly joking and more than curious. Titillated might be the right word if I used that kind of word.

“This is a special test of your self-control,” she says, licking her lips in a way that jolts my cock to strain against my zipper.

Fuck. I’m way past titillated now.

“I think you’re already testing me, sweetheart.” I shift in my seat and try to keep my eyes on the road. “What happens if I don’t pass your test?”

“Oh, you will.”