Puck Block : A Brother’s Best Friend Hockey Romance (Bexley U)

The neon sign that flashes The Rodeo Bar every few seconds is probably tempting to every girl my age, in any other situation except the one I’m currently in. Ford opens my door, and I peer up at him through my thick lashes that I coated with mascara on the drive over and immediately laugh.

“Are you kidding me?” I ask through a laugh, all while ignoring his outstretched hand.

My cowgirl boots crunch against the gravel as I erase the short distance between us. I tip my chin and meet his lazy smile, but even with my boots giving me an advantage, Ford is at least a head taller than me.

His cowboy hat is at least two heads taller than me.

“What?” How he keeps a straight face, I’ll never know.

My father always said Ford had the best poker face, and at this moment, I agree.

Another laugh falls out of my mouth, and before I know it, I’m placing my hand on his crisp white tee to steady myself as my shoulders shake with laughter.

“Excuse me, ma’am...” Ford has a Southern drawl to his voice that typically makes an appearance when he’s been drinking, but I know for a fact he’s sober, because otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to stay in character. “Is something funny?”

I snort, and there’s the tiniest dimple digging into his cheek.

“Come on.” I flip my blonde hair over my shoulder to get a glimpse of the business behind me. “What is all this?”

Ford gestures to the bar sign flashing. “It’s our stage.”

I bite my lip with confusion, but Ford grips my hand and tugs me to the front of the bar before I can ask any questions. Blue lights illuminate his tight t-shirt, and I can’t help but stare at him for a second too long. Who would’ve thought that a hockey player in leather boots, blue jeans, a perfectly clean white t-shirt–hugging his biceps–and a cowboy hat could look so hot?

I briefly touch my forehead with the back of my hand when shame heats my skin. Even though he’s dressed up as a cowboy like it’s Halloween, he’s still Ford. He’s still the guy who sabotaged every date I’ve ever been on and the one who helped my brother spread rumors around our high school so no one would ask me out. He’s also the same broody hockey player that has interrupted every kiss I’ve ever encountered in the last several years.

“After you, pretty lady.”

My lips quiver and beg to smile at his feigned Southern accent. His hand lands on my lower back, and I’m instantly aware of his touch as he pushes me further inside the establishment. After giving it a once-over, I meet his eye, and he’s smiling sheepishly.

“How the hell did you find this place?” I ask in awe.

It’s dark and moody inside with another neon sign placed above the bar. The walls are lined in bricks that are made to look like it’s a dilapidated building, but the wooden beams and shiny dance floor look sturdy enough–especially with a ring of people line-dancing over top of it.Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

Ford nods at a few people here and there as we continue to walk toward the bar. Chills coat my arms when his warm breath skims my ear. “You know I always do my research. I thought it would be good to get out of Bexley U for the night so I could hand you the reins.” Ford wiggles his eyebrows and knocks his shoulder into mine. “You get it? Reins.”

I try not to smile. “I knew you’d have at least one pun with me dressed like this.”

He chuckles and leads me to the bar. “You fit right in dressed like that. We both do.” After I sit down in a seat, Ford tips his cowboy hat to me and then turns to leave.

I panic and grip his arm. “Wait! Where are you going? You’re just going to leave me here?”

Ford peels my tight grasp from his bicep. “Excuse me, do I know you?”

My mouth drops open at the same time my boots touch the sticky floor. “Are you seriously quoting me from earlier? Is this payback?”

The shadows along Ford’s flexing jaw catch my eye before he quips his lip. “Stay in character! We’re here for you to practice, Taytum. Why do you think I brought you so far away from Bexley U?”

I raise my voice when a crew of loud college girls pulls up to the bar and asks for shots. “Practice what?”

“Scoring a date, babe.” He leans in closer, and I get a whiff of his cologne. “With me.” The music switches to an ear-splitting country song, and Ford pulls me in close to whisper-yell into my ear. “Tonight, you’re not Taytum. You’re…” He thinks for a second. “Belle?”

“Belle? Like a Southern belle?” He can’t be serious.

He shrugs, and I purse my lips. “Fine, then who are you?”

My stomach dips when he shoots me his best grin. I know the girls behind me are staring at him, and he drives the point further when he crosses his arms against his chest and flexes his biceps. “I’ll be anyone you want me to be.”

His tone is beyond sexy, and it does something scary to me. Warmth flows to my cheeks, and my thighs clench. No way. I quickly shake my head. “I’m not practicing with you.”

Ford and I share silence, and there really isn’t anyone more stubborn than me when it comes to him. Our little bubble is becoming tighter as more customers pile at the bar, and it’s hard to breathe the longer he holds my stare.

Ford is the first to sigh, seemingly giving up. “In that case…” He turns and taps the bar with his knuckle. Right away, the female bartender pops on over. She was practically salivating the moment we walked in. “Whiskey. Neat.”

“Yes, sir.”

I roll my eyes at the drag in her tone.

Ford leans back onto the bar and gestures to the dance floor. “Well, take your pick, then, Belle. I’ll be here if ya need me.”

I look away from his strong profile and skim the dance floor a few times before he leans into my space with his whiskey breath. “I know how you like to challenge me, so let’s see who can score first.”

I stomp my boot onto the floor. “That is not fair. You’re one of Bexley U’s most sought-out playboys. You can have anyone here, and you know it.”

“Not true.” I go to argue, but he looks away and says, “I can’t have you.”

My heart does a weird flip. I take my hand and press the heel of my palm into my chest for a brief second before rushing out onto the dance floor to run from whatever that statement just did to my insides.

I can’t have you.

I know he’s only saying things to get a rise out of me, but it totally worked. I survey the dance floor like a floozy predator and bounce back and forth between several guys. My stomach fills with nerves, but I can’t figure out why. My jaw tightens with frustration. I turn to look at Ford for help, but I’m suddenly struck in the chest with a heavy punch. He’s already surrounded by wannabe cowgirls wearing Daisy Dukes and crop tops.

A rush of adrenaline pushes me to latch onto the nearest guy, and I’m quick to turn up the charm. My spine tingles when his hand wraps around my waist, and I pray he doesn’t mention my glucose monitor.

“Hey,” he says, pulling me in closer. I turn and press against the front of his jeans. “I already know you’re not from Wilder U.”

My hair falls down my back when I tilt my chin to look at him. “How do you know that?”

“Because I would have noticed you.” His fingertips trace the skin above my jeans. “Trust me.”

I bat my eyelashes and smile before snagging the near-empty drink from his hand and downing it in a single gulp. Alcohol is on my no-go list, but Dr. McCarthy told me that one won’t cause too much of an issue once I get my insulin dosage stabilized. There’s a spark of excitement that follows the burn, and with every one of his touches, I feel a little more confident. When I spin around and put my arms around his neck with the change of song, my confidence wobbles a little. I’m grounded by Ford’s lingering gaze, and my cheeks flame–like I’m in trouble. Did he see me finish off the drink?

The flirty gleam in his blue eyes hardens with something dangerous, and I gulp. His neck moves with a slow swallow, and I stop functioning when he grabs the nearest girl by the hand and drags her to the dance floor.

Right beside me.