Just a Pucking Prank [COMPLETED]

Chapter 3 - And so it begins...

Lydia

It doesn't take long to find out the situation with Wes and Chloe. Lots of people saw the encounter. They also saw her leaving him and him storming off. Some more digging reveals that they've been on and off for a while and finally broke up during the summer.

"If you go through with this, I will be forever grateful," Trisha says as we're getting ready at her place.

I pull my shoulders back and study myself in the mirror. I am dressed for war. In a short dress and high heels that show off my legs, I look almost tall for my 5 feet 3 inches. My blonde hair frames my face in soft curls and I'm loving it.

I place a hand on my hip and quickly run it down the skirt, as if I'm adjusting it. I blink a few times and turn to my friends.

"How do I look?"

"Amazing," Trisha says. "He won't know what hit him."

"This is going to be so much fun to watch," Pres says and grins. "I can't wait for the hockey boys to see one of their own fall."

"If it works." A swarm of butterflies stir in my stomach and I reach for the vodka martini Pres made me. It's strong and eases the feelings that are growing inside.

"Do we know for sure he'll be at the party?" Trisha asks.

I nod and grab my phone. "His roommates are all going. Liam just posted a picture of them getting ready." I show her the photo. Wes is in the background, fixing his hair in a mirror. He's wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. The shirt shows off his muscles as he raises his arm.

"Are we ready, then?" Pres grabs her purse and slings it across her chest.

We head out to the car.

"You know what to do?" I ask.

"Yes, we've been over this." Pres rolls her eyes and gets in the driver's seat. "Just make sure you get him there."

The party is already going strong when we arrive. I step inside, into the cocoon of music and the smell of stale beer and body spray. It's a warm night and the windows are open. A breeze is carrying in scented smoke from the vapers.

I relax. This is familiar. This is where I thrive.

Someone gets me a drink and I dance.

I'm interrupted by Trisha gesturing strangely at me, trying to be discreet and failing miserably. I follow her frantic waving and spot the hockey players. As usual, they're standing in a group. I roll my eyes and put our plan into action.

Laughing as if Trisha said something funny, I head straight for the group. Just as I'm about to pass them by, I stumble.

My hand reaches out to keep me from falling. It lands on a rock-hard chest just as Wes' hands grab my waist.

I forget how to breathe.

His hands burn through the fabric of my dress and the smell of him is adding to my intoxication, making my head spin. He smells of citrus fruits, but more. There's a deeper scent underneath. Sandalwood? Amber? For a second, I get lost in it.

When I finally raise my eyes, he's staring down at me. Our eyes meet and I want to swim in the pools of caramel.

With a blink, I remember myself and look at his jawline instead. It's hard and strong.

"I'm so sorry," I say and push away from him.

"Not a problem." He takes his hands off me and I wonder when my heart started beating so fast as I walk away.

I push past a group of sorority girls and head into the kitchen. My head is still swimming so I grab a water. I need to keep my wits about me tonight. I wait by the table of drinks, where the music isn't quite as loud.

"Have I seen you here before?"

I smile in triumph at the question. Before I turn to face him, I put on a neutral expression.

"I've seen you," I say.

He looks just as cocky at that as I imagined he would. "So, are you a hockey fan?"

"I love it." Not quite true. I like hockey. Hockey players I have mixed feelings about. Mostly negative. But tonight, I'm the biggest puck bunny to ever cross this man's path.

"Really?" He relaxes ever so slightly and smiles, and I know I've got him hooked.

"I love going to games."

"Have you seen me play?"

"Of course." I look up at him under my eyelashes. "You're very good."

"What's your name, babe?"

"Lydia."

"Lydia." The way he tastes my names gives me goosebumps. "It's nice to meet you, Lydia. I'm Wes."

"Do you have any plans after this?" I ask and gesture to the party around us.

"Is there something you would want to do?"

I smile up at him. "There is."

He leans in closer. "And what might that be?"

I'm close enough to inhale that heady scent again, and I'm glad I stopped at two drinks.

"Have you ever done it on the ice at the Den?"

He looks at me for a while, then he laughs. "I think it might get a bit cold."

"Locker room?"

"With the smell of sweaty dudes surrounding you?"

I pout. "You know, you're really killing my fantasies here."

"I'm sorry, babe. How about at my place?"

"Don't you live with a bunch of other guys?"

"Yeah, is that a problem?"

I wrinkle my nose. "I was really hoping to get more familiar with the ice."

"I can't really take you there. It's off limits this late."

"But you know how to get in?"

"Yeah..." he hesitates.

I take a step closer and realize how tall he is. I place a finger just at the opening to his jeans pocket and pull him gently toward me.

"You think I'm silly, don't you?" I bite my lip and look up.

He quickly shifts his gaze from my cleavage to my face and shakes his head. "I don't think that."

"I've just always had this fantasy..." I take a moment to inhale him.

"Yeah?"

I keep my voice low so he has to lean in close to hear me.

"When I watch a game, I keep thinking what it would be like to be on the ice. With all the people gone. Just me and... you..."

He swallows. "Then what?"

I shrug. "Lots of things. Sometimes I wonder what it would sound like to..." I glance up at him. "... to scream in an empty stadium. Would it echo?"

He's blinking at me.

"Maybe you could make me scream?" I suggest innocently.

He clears his throat. "Sure. Let me just... One minute. Don't move."

I smile and take a sip of water as he hurries away. I was banking on him being able to get me onto the ice, and it looks like I was right.

In less than half a minute, he's back. "Let's go." He heads for the door and I follow him. As we pass the dance floor, he reaches a hand back. I take it without hesitation and he squeezes my fingers.

We make it out of the house and he takes me to a car. A silver something-or-other that looks shiny and new. He opens the door and I hesitate and look up at him.

"I haven't been drinking," he says. "I'm the designated driver tonight."

I get in.