Pucked

I just snuck out of pro hockey's most notorious playboy's bed last night. I have zero interest in legendary hockey player Alex Waters or his pretty, beat-up face and rock-hard six-pack abs. Having a famous pro athlete for a stepbrother means I'm aware that a lot of these guys are notorious f-boys, therefore all hockey games I attend are under duress. That is until Alex starts talking books to me.

Then he becomes more than just a hot body with the face to match.

And I discover just how good Alex is with the hockey stick in his pants. I consider our night of orgasmic magic as just that: one night.

But Alex starts to call.

And text.

And email and send extravagant--and quirky--gifts. Suddenly, he's too difficult to ignore, and nearly impossible not to like. The problem?

Alex is a total player.

And me?

I don't want to be part of the game.