Filthy Puck

Iris

Last year for my 21st birthday, my younger sister bought us each one of those mail-in DNA testing kits. It was all fun and games until we received the results. I've spent the last year searching for my biological father, only to find he passed away a few years ago. But what I did find was a half-brother. He’s a professional hockey player, and I’m in town to attend one of his games. We’ve talked numerous times on the phone and even over video chat, but tomorrow is the first time I will meet him in person.

But tonight, for my 22nd birthday, I want to do something just for me—something to erase the heartache of the last year. Going from the daughter of a prominent congressman to the daughter of a deceased professional hockey player can take a toll on a person. Not to mention finding out your mother was once a puck bunny and you were conceived during a random hook-up. No, tonight I want to do whatever it takes to feel something again, anything, even if it is for only one night.

Jackson

Hockey has been my life for as long as I can remember. The early years of my professional career are a hazy mix of alcohol and puck bunnies. But I haven’t been that guy in over seven years, deciding early on that I wouldn't be ruled by any skills other than my hockey skills. The puck bunnies still throw themselves at me, but I stay out of the limelight, choosing to hang out in the quiet hotel restaurants for a quick meal before returning to my room to rest up before games.

That was my plan tonight until she walked in, all long legs and curvy body. Her body alone could turn a Saint into a Sinner. But her face is a mixture of temptation and innocence. When her gaze falls on mine, and I see a spark of desire in their depth, all I want is to spend the night doing all the filthy things to her that are running through my mind. But after one taste of her, I'm not sure one night will be enough.