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Here it is!! The exclusive epilogue just for my newsletter! Scroll down to read the whole thing (but only if you've already read Pucking Perfect! If you haven't, click the image then come back here!)!!
Have you read it? What did you think? Are you still reading it? What's your favorite moment?
Personally, I'm still thinking about the restaurant bathroom scene 🤫 It's one of the scenes I want to get some commissioned art and, I don't know, her brother knocking on the door makes it so hot! 🔥
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See you next!
xx
Erin
EXTRA EPILOGUE
JAMES
Ten Years Later
Some guys miss the roar of the crowd after they retire. Me? I’ll take the sound of my kids’ laughter on a clear winter day any time.
The sun glints off the ice as Agatha carves perfect figure eights across our private lake, her blonde hair streaming behind her. Meanwhile, Stephen wobbles ten feet away, arms windmilling as he fights for balance. All determination, zero coordination. The kid’s got his mother’s brains and my stubbornness, a dangerous combination.
I push off from the shore, my skates cutting through the ice, moving with the slower, more deliberate strokes of a man whose knees have endured two decades of professional hockey.
“Dad! Watch this!” Agatha calls, leaning into a graceful crossover turn which would make Olympic skaters nod in appreciation.
“Looking good, baby!” I glide toward Stephen, who’s staring at the ice as if it might transform into quicksand. “Need some help there, buddy?”
His gray eyes are exact replicas of Alicia’s as they narrow in concentration. “I can do it.”
“I know you can, but you can also ask for help!”
He ignores me as he takes three tentative steps, wobbles, and pitches forward. I catch him under the arms before he faceplants, lifting him upright.
“You’re thinking too much,” I tell him, adjusting his blue knit hat over his ears. “Your brain’s getting in the way of your feet.”
“Mom says thinking is good,” Stephen argues, his chin jutting forward.
“For writing books and solving puzzles? Absolutely.” I drop to one knee, meeting him eye-to-eye. “For skating, it can ruin the actual fun. Try this.”
I show the basic stance, knees bent, weight centered. “Feel the ice under you. Don’t fight it.”
Stephen mimics my position, still wobbling but less dramatically. Eight-year-old Agatha zips past us, spraying ice crystals in her wake.
“Show-off!” Stephen calls after his sister.
“Future Olympian!” she corrects without breaking stride.
I suppress a smile. Agatha emerged from the womb with my athletic instincts fully formed. She was skating by four, scoring goals by five, then switching to figure skating on her sixth birthday. Stephen, meanwhile, learned to read before kindergarten and builds LEGO structures so complex Alicia photographs each of them. Different kids, different paths. The miracle of parenthood.
“Dad, do the backwards thing,” Agatha asks, circling us like a tiny shark.
I push off, skating backward in a wide arc, crossing one foot over the other in the pattern ingrained in my muscle memory through thousands of practices. My knees protest but I ignore them, adding a little extra flourish for my audience.
“Whoa,” Stephen breathes, momentarily forgetting his own struggles.
“When can I learn?” Agatha demands, already moving to mimic my form.
“When your legs grow another six inches,” I tease, ruffling her hair as I pass.
Pretty sure she could learn now; Agatha has great balance and confidence. The same confidence which carried me through twenty NHL seasons, five Stanley Cups, and two Olympic gold medals.
These two are going to rule the world someday. Aggie, on ice; her brother, out of it. Both perfect in their own way.
“Uncle Danny!” Stephen’s eager shriek makes me jump.
I turn to see Alicia walking down the path from our cabin, bundled in her puffy cream-colored coat. Beside her strides my best friend, his blonde hair with its first streaks of silver, face creased from years of smiling.
“Uncle Danny’s here!” Alicia announces, her ungloved hands cupped around her mouth, her breath condensing.
The kids abandon me immediately, Stephen lurching toward shore while Agatha races to be first. I follow at a more measured pace, my heart swelling at the sight of my wife’s smile as she watches our children.
“Callahan!” I call, skating up to the edge where Daniel waits, arms already full of eager children. “About time you showed up.”
Daniel passes Stephen to Alicia so he can give me a proper bone-crushing and familiar hug. “Some of us had to pick up food because someone texted ‘bring snacks’ at seven in the morning.”
“It’s not a proper lake day without snacks.” I pull back, surveying him. “You look old.”
“You look domestic.” He gestures to my fleece-lined sweatpants and Ravens beanie. “Next you’ll be driving a minivan.”
“It’s on the list.” I wink at Alicia. “Where’s your wife?”
Daniel sighs dramatically. “Working. The international art world waits for no woman, apparently. She’s flying in tomorrow.”
“Auntie promised to bring me a real French beret,” Agatha tells us and flicks her blond hair over her shoulder. She’s in Daniel’s arm even though she’s eight and too big to be carried.
“And she will,” Daniel assures her, shifting her weight before putting her down. “Damn, I’m forty-three but I have the back of an eighty-years-old.”
Getting old is weird. Your mind doesn’t change that much and you still think you can do things your body refuses to accept. Daniel’s laugh lines are deeper, but he’s still the same Daniel who passed me the puck for my first NHL goal twenty years ago. His retirement preceded mine by two seasons, his right knee finally surrendering after fifteen years of punishment. Now he splits his time between Toronto and traveling with his busy wife.
“How’s retirement treating you, old man?” I ask.
Daniel tucks his hands in his pockets. “Better now I’ve got plans. Did Ace tell you? I’m opening a hockey school. Elite training for serious prospects.”
“She mentioned.” I nod, recalling our conversation last week. “Where?”
“Bought an old facility in Etobicoke. Renovations start next month.” His eyes gleam with familiar enthusiasm. “Which brings me to my proposition…”
“Uncle Danny, skate with us!” Stephen tugs at Daniel’s jacket, interrupting whatever pitch was coming.
“Yeah, show us your fancy moves!” Agatha bounces on the tips of her skates.
Daniel raises an eyebrow at me. “Fancy moves? You been telling lies about me, Blackwood?”
“Only good ones.” I lift Stephen from the ground. “You want your uncle to give you some tips? Maybe you like them better than mine.”
“Will you skate with us?” Stephen asks again, vibrating with excitement.
Daniel grins. “Got my skates in the car. Give me five minutes.”
“Yes!” Agatha pumps her fist.
“Are yours here, Ace?” Daniel asks my wife with a mocking smile. “The ones with a million gems sewed onto them? With Mrs. Callahan-Blackwood written onto the blades?”
Alicia chuckles, huddling deeper into her coat. “Stop making fun of my skates. They were a gift!”
“Custom-made, blah blah blah,” Daniel mocks me and I punch his shoulder.
“She loves them,” I say. “That’s what matters.”
“With pink laces!” Daniel laughs, then juts his chin at Alicia. “So, are you joining?”
Alicia shakes her head. “I’ll leave the ice to you professionals. I’m freezing already and I have to go back to work.”
I notice the pink tinge to her cheeks, the slight shiver as a breeze cuts across the lake. My protective instincts kick in.
“Why don’t you head back to the house?” I suggest, taking her hands in mine and brushing them together. “I’ll get the fire going higher.”
“I’m fine,” she begins.
“You two can go back inside,” Daniel interrupts. “I’ve got them. Besides, I need to show them how real hockey players move.”
“Real old hockey players,” I correct, earning a shove from my brother-in-law.
“Alright, my little monsters.” Daniel claps his hands. “Let me get my skates. When I come back, I’m teaching you how to deke like a champion.”
The kids cheer as Daniel jogs back to his SUV. I turn to Alicia, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Seriously, go warm up. We won’t be much longer out here.”
She leans into me, her body seeking my warmth. “You sure? I can wait.”
“Daniel’s got this. He’s been dying to show off.” I press a kiss to her temple. “Besides, you’re working today, remember? We can’t have you getting frostbite before finishing your latest masterpiece.”
Alicia smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not exactly a masterpiece yet.”
“It will be. They always are.” I squeeze her shoulder. “Go. I’ll bring the kids in when their faces turn red.”
She nods, casting one more fond look at our children before heading back up the path toward our cabin. I watch her go, still captivated by her after fifteen years together.
“Uncle Danny’s coming back!” Agatha calls, breaking my trance.
Daniel approaches, hockey skates slung over his shoulder. He drops onto a nearby log to lace up, fingers working with the same dexterity as when we played together.
He looks up at me and frowns. “What are you still doing here?”
“Aren’t we going to skate?”
He scoffs. “No. I am going to skate with the kids. You go be with your woman.” He nods toward Alicia’s retreating figure. “I’ve got this. Consider it practice for my coaching career.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” He tightens his laces with a sharp tug. “Besides, we both know you’re dying to sneak off with her. You two are disgusting.”
“We’re married, not disgusting.”
“Save it.” Daniel holds up a hand, grinning. “Over ten years of marriage and you still look at her like you did when you proposed. It’s disgusting and weirdly reassuring.”
I punch his shoulder. “You’re one to talk. How many ‘business trips’ have you taken because you can’t sleep away from your wife?”
“Four in the past six months.” He stands, testing his weight on the blades. “And yes, they were exactly what you’re implying.”
We grin at each other. We never expected our forties to be this good.
“Go,” he repeats, more gently. “I’ll keep the kids for half an hour.”
“You’re a good man, Callahan.”
“The best,” he agrees without a hint of modesty. “Now scram before I change my mind.”
I change out of my skates and jog up the path. Alicia is a few steps from the house and she stops once she hears me coming. She opens that beautiful smile that still makes my heart skip a beat.
“Daniel kicked you out?” she asks as she rubs her hands together.
“Technically, he encouraged a strategic retreat.” I squeeze her fingers. “Said he needed coaching practice.” My gloved hand covers her cold fingers as we walk side by side.
Our cabin rises before us, nestled among towering pines. It has three stories of honey-colored logs and wide windows reflecting the naked trees on the other side of our private lake. It’s not as grand as our Toronto home, but I love it more, this private sanctuary we built five years ago, far from prying eyes.
We knew it would be a challenge to raise the kids protected from gossip and cameras. It was our biggest challenge as parents; how to maintain their privacy and safety while both of us were public figures. This house lets us relax. The closest city is ten miles away. We would have moved even deeper into the wild if we didn’t feel safer having a hospital nearby. Kids and skates might be a dangerous combination.
“Will Stephen be okay with Danny?” Alicia asks as we climb the porch steps. “You know how frustrated he gets when skating doesn’t come naturally.”
“Dan has more patience than people realize.” I stamp snow from my boots. “And Stephen worships him. He’ll be fine.”
The cabin’s warmth envelops us as I open the front door. Alicia sighs in appreciation, tapping her icy fingers to her cheeks. I help her out of her coat, hanging both our outerwear on the antique coat rack Riley gifted us when we bought this place.
Our living room stretches before us. Cathedral ceilings with exposed beams, a stone fireplace dominating one wall, comfortable furniture arranged to maximize the view of the lake through floor-to-ceiling windows. Family photos crowd the mantelpiece: Alicia holding newborn Agatha, me with Stephen on my shoulders at his first Ravens game, our wedding day with Daniel as best man.
Hockey memorabilia mingles with literary awards on the built-in shelves. My Hart Trophy beside Alicia’s Edgar Award, my gold medals near her framed book covers. Not a shrine to past glory but pieces of our journey woven into our home.
I cross to the fireplace, adding another log to the embers I’d banked earlier. The flames catch, filling the room with warmth. Alicia stands at the window, watching Daniel skate with our children, her features soft with affection.
“Coffee?” I offer, coming up behind her.
She shakes her head, turning to face me. “I should get some work done while it’s quiet. My editor’s expecting the revised chapters Monday.”
I offer my hand. “I’ll walk you to your office then.”
We climb the stairs to the second floor, passing Agatha’s room with its hockey and figure skating posters and Stephen’s with bookshelves already overflowing. At the end of the hall, double doors open into Alicia’s office.
A second, smaller fireplace already burns in here, programmed to light an hour before Alicia works. Her massive oak desk dominates the space, covered with stacked manuscripts, reference books, and her laptop closed next to a half-empty mug of tea.
“Productive morning?” I ask, nodding toward the scattered papers.
Alicia runs her fingers across a handwritten page. “Getting there. The characters are finally talking to me again.”
“Any murders I should worry about?”
“That would be a spoiler.” She smiles, pushing a stack of papers into a more orderly pile. “But Priya does want more blood this time.”
“Priya always wants more blood.” I step closer, sliding my arms around her waist. “She’s possibly a vampire.”
Alicia laughs, leaning back against my chest. “Probably.”
I glance at her laptop, sitting next to her notes. “I could peek. Give you my expert opinion.”
“You hate reading works in progress.” She turns in my arms, an eyebrow raised. “You’ve said eight thousand times.”
“True.” I trace her jawline with my thumb. “I prefer being your first reader when it’s done. Seeing the complete vision.”
“My personal focus group of one.” Her hands slide up my chest, resting on my shoulders.
“Your biggest fan.” I dip my head, pressing my lips to the sensitive spot below her ear. “Your most devoted reader.”
She shivers, but not from cold this time. “Jay…”
“You’re still chilled,” I observe, rubbing a hand up and down her arm. “I should warm you up.”
Her eyes darken with familiar heat. “Danny and the kids…”
“…are skating for at least twenty minutes.” I walk her backward until she bumps against the desk. “Plenty of time.”
“Plenty of time for what?” she asks, her voice dropping to the husky register which still sends all my blood rushing south.
I answer by capturing her mouth with mine, the kiss deepening into hunger. My desire for Alicia hasn’t diminished. If anything, it’s intensified, enriched by shared history and deepening intimacy. Also, two pregnancies gave her the most amazing ass.
Her hands find my hair, tugging me closer as she opens for me. I run my palms down her sides, savoring her curves. Alicia remains the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen; her blonde hair now highlighted with a few strands of silver she refuses to cover, laugh lines framing eyes which see through my every defense, her body softened into fuller curves which drive me wild.
I break the kiss to trail my lips down her neck, my hands already pulling her sweater up. “How much do you need these papers?”
She glances at her desk. “I can reorganize later.”
“Good answer.” I sweep an arm across the surface, sending papers cascading to the floor in a satisfying whoosh.
“James!” She gasps, half-scandalized, half-aroused.
“I’ll help you sort them.” I lift her onto the cleared space, stepping between her legs. “After.”
Her sweater joins the papers on the floor. I slip a hand under her shirt and bra to cup her breast, my thumb brushing over her hardening nipple. Alicia arches into the contact, her head falling back to expose her throat.
“Beautiful,” I murmur against her skin. “Fucking exquisite.”
Her hands work at my belt buckle, impatient fingers fumbling in their haste. I capture her wrists, pressing them to the desk on either side of her hips.
“Not yet,” I whisper. “Let me worship you properly.”
A flush spreads up her neck, into her cheeks. It’s my favorite sight in the world. I release her wrists to tease the waistband of her sweatpants, sliding them down her legs along with her underwear. The firelight casts golden shadows across the smooth skin of her thighs.
I drop to my knees before her, pressing kisses to her inner thighs. “Spread for me, love.”
She complies, legs parting to reveal pink, glistening flesh. I growl in appreciation, hands caressing up her thighs to grip her hips.
“You’re already so wet for me.” I press my nose to her center, inhaling deeply. “Fucking intoxicating.”
“Jay, please,” she whispers, fingers tangling in my hair.
I give her what she wants, dragging my tongue through her folds in a long, deliberate stroke. Her taste explodes across my senses, familiar and addictive. I lap at her at first, savoring each tremor, each gasp. My tongue circles her clit without touching it, teasing until her thighs tense around my head.
“Stop teasing,” she hisses, tugging my hair.
I chuckle against her most sensitive flesh, sending vibrations through her core. “So demanding.”
“You love it.” A gasp interrupts her words as I flick my tongue directly over her clit.
“I fucking worship it,” I correct, sealing my mouth over her bundle of nerves and sucking.
Her hips buck against my face, seeking more pressure, more friction. I hold her steady, one arm across her abdomen, as I devour her with single-minded focus. My tongue alternates between broad strokes and pointed precision as I claim her thoroughly.
I slide two fingers inside her, curling upward to find the spot which makes her…
“Fuck!” she cries out, back arching off the desk.
Found it.
I set a relentless rhythm, fingers pumping while my tongue works her clit. Alicia writhes beneath me, one hand still fisted in my hair, the other covering her mouth to muffle her increasingly desperate sounds. Her thighs quiver beneath my hands, the telltale sign she’s close.
“Come on my tongue,” I command against her flesh. “Let me taste you, love.”
She shatters with a muffled scream, her inner walls clenching around my fingers as her release floods my mouth. I drink her down greedily, continuing gentle licks to draw out her pleasure.
I rise to my feet, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I take in the sight before me. My brilliant, successful wife sprawled across her desk, flushed and panting, dripping wet. Pride and possessiveness surge through me.
“You’re looking very pleased with yourself,” she murmurs, propping herself up on her elbows.
“I am.” I unbutton my jeans, pushing them down just enough to free my aching cock. “Now I’m going to fuck you right here on your desk, where you’ll think of me every time you write another chapter.”
Her eyes darken, pupils blown wide with renewed desire. “Big promises, Blackwood.”
“I always deliver.” I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock sliding through her wetness. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want you,” she answers immediately, wrapping her legs around my waist. “Always you.”
I push inside in one smooth thrust, both of us groaning at the perfect fit. All these years, and this still feels like coming home. I give her a moment to adjust before establishing a steady rhythm, hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks.
“You feel so fucking good,” I groan, watching where our bodies join. “So perfect for me.”
She moans, her head falling back as I hit the perfect angle. I lean forward, shoving her shirt up and capturing a nipple between my lips, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Mine. The possessiveness never fades. This incredible woman chose me, bears my name, raises our children, shares my life.
“Harder,” she demands, nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt.
I comply, snapping my hips with increased force, the desk creaking beneath us. More papers flutter to the floor with each thrust, probably important notes for her novel, but neither of us cares.
“Wait!” She calls out, making my motions stutter. “Let me turn around,” she says, breathless.
I pull away enough for her to slip down from the desk and turn around. Alicia bends over, her stomach resting over the desk, her elbows keeping her balance.
“Fuck yes,” I hiss, entering her from behind. My fingers grab hard at her ass-cheeks, making her moan. I shift my angle, hitting deeper, and Alicia cries out as she pushes off her tiptoes.
“There.” She gasps. “Right there.”
I maintain the position, driving into her hard. Her inner walls flutter around me. She’s close again. I pull my hand back and slap her ass. She yelps, her body vibrating with her approaching orgasm.
“Come again,” I command, my voice strained with the effort of holding back my release. I lean forward, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back. She glances at me over her shoulder, her eyes glazed with so much lust I almost come on the spot. “Come on my cock, love.”
She comes apart around me, her cry echoing off the office walls. Good thing I can hear everyone outside. The pulsing of Alicia’s walls triggers my climax, and I bury myself to the hilt as I come, filling her with hot spurts while whispering her name like a prayer.
We collapse together, my face buried in her nape as we catch our breath. For several moments, we remain connected, and I trace lazy kisses down her neck as our heartbeats slow.
A distant shout from outside breaks the spell. Children’s laughter drifts through the window. They’re still on the lake but coming inside soon. I reluctantly withdraw from Alicia’s warmth, both of us wincing at the separation.
“We made a mess,” she whispers, looking at the papers scattered across the floor.
I tuck myself away, zipping up my jeans before helping her down from the desk. “Worth it.”
“Says the man who doesn’t have to reorganize three chapters.” But she’s smiling as she gathers her clothes.
I crouch to collect the nearest pages, scanning lines of her elegant handwriting. “Your killer uses an ice pick? Seasonal.”
She snatches the paper from my hand. “No spoilers.”
“Sorry, sorry.” I continue gathering pages, careful not to read more.
We dress quickly, Alicia straightening her sweater as I attempt to flatten my hair where she gripped it. More shouts from outside show the skating lesson is concluding. Alicia glances at herself in her phone camera, finger-combing her hair into some semblance of order.
“Do I look like I’ve been thoroughly fucked on my desk?” she asks, eyes meeting mine in the reflection.
“Absolutely.” I press a kiss to her neck. “It’s a good look on you.”
She turns, wrapping her arms around my waist. “You’re insatiable.”
“Only for you.” I rest my forehead against hers. “Always for you.”
The front door bangs open downstairs, followed by the stomping of small feet and Daniel’s voice calling our names. Alicia moves to step away, but I hold her for one more moment, stealing a last kiss.
“We should go downstairs,” she murmurs against my lips.
“We should.” I don’t release her.
“Dad! Mom! Uncle Danny taught us how to stop like hockey players!” Agatha’s voice carries up the stairs.
Alicia chuckles, pushing against my chest. “Duty calls.”
Funny. It feels nothing like duty. It feels like a dream come true.
THE END
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