The Season: Rush (Austin Arrows #1) (6 page)

Ellie

“I need a favor.”

Without looking up from the beer I’m pouring, I shake my head emphatically. I recognize the voice, but even if I didn’t, it’s male, so there is only one answer. “Nope. No way. I’ve heard that tone before, and I’m not falling for it.”

With a smirk that I know will irritate him, I look up at my brother.

“Come on, Ellie,” Spencer pleads. “You’re the only one who can help.”

If that isn’t a load of bullshit, I don’t know what is. The last time my brother asked for a favor, I allowed one of his girlfriend’s friends to cut my hair to show how great she was at it and ended up with a fucked-up bob that took eight months to grow out. Sue me, I was fourteen at the time, and for whatever reason, I had trusted them. That was the last time. Instead of getting mad, I fought back the tears and walked away, swearing I was done doing favors for him. Or any man, for that matter. Twenty years later, those are words of wisdom I still live by.

“I’m sure you can find someone else to help you in your hour of need, which, by the way,” I say pointedly, reaching for the bottle of sour apple schnapps, “there seem to be a lot of these days.”

“Actually…”

Oh, heaven help me, I know that voice, too.

I look up to see Kingston Rush moving toward us.

Yes.
That
Kingston Rush. The devilishly handsome goaltender for Austin’s very own professional hockey team, the Arrows. The same Kingston Rush who is nicknamed Mount Rushmore because he’s a mountain of a man.

Yep, him.

I glare at Spencer. “
He’s
the favor you texted me about earlier?” I admit I was curious when my brother messaged me to warn me he’d be stopping by, but not once did I think that it might involve Kingston.

“He is,” Spencer confirms.

Again, I shake my head, trying not to laugh. “Oh, hell no. If you’re the one needing a favor, then
definitely
no.”

“Oh, come on, Ell,” Kingston pleads, the seductive smirk on his lips belying his desperation. “You can stop pretending you don’t like me.”

It isn’t that I don’t like him. Kind of the opposite actually. Only Kingston doesn’t know that. Nor does my brother. And they never will. Since I can’t fight my hormones or pretend not to enjoy looking at the guy, I simply make a point to keep a safe distance from him.

It doesn’t help my resolve that Kingston’s plea is said in that sexy, rumbling baritone that causes an irritating stir low in my belly. It’s easy telling my brother no, but when it comes to my brother’s best friend … not quite so easy.

But not impossible.

As a matter of fact, I have successfully managed to tell him no for years. Considering Kingston and Spencer have been playing on the same team since they were drafted in college, that is a long damn time. Sixteen years, to be exact. It wasn’t until the Arrows were relocated from up north to Austin when the expansion team underwent new ownership that I found myself dealing with Kingston more often than not.

As I move back to the opposite end of the bar, I notice one of the waitresses eyeing Kingston appreciatively, her gaze sliding ever so slowly down his chest, hugged by the soft, white cotton of his T-shirt, then down to his jean-clad ass and lower to his… The man has the most amazing thighs. Like, seriously. Ah. Maz. Ing.

Six foot three inches, two hundred fifteen pounds of panty-melting muscle—yes, I’ve looked at his stats a few times—who rocks a suit as well as he can a pair of skates, isn’t easy to resist. Not to mention, dark hair, dark eyes, and a beard-lined jaw that females want to run their palms over, Mount Rushmore is the sort of chick magnet who stops traffic with a smile and makes women’s panties fall right off with a lopsided smirk.

And yes, it’s safe to say I’m not immune to his sexy charm. I am, after all, a red-blooded woman. However, unlike the rest of the female population, I’ve sworn off men like Kingston. For good reason. Mainly because Kingston is the type of dirty-talking bad boy who good girls are supposed to run away from.

Not to imply that I am, in any way, shape, or form, a good girl.

However, I do make a point to run the opposite direction as Kingston. He is simply too sexy, too demanding, too … alpha. Did I mention that he’s a player, with a capital P? And I’m not referring to sports. Nope, no long-term, serious relationships for that man.

My interests stray toward men who are less flirtatious, less promiscuous, less … intense.

After all, I had my alpha man once upon a time—for one night, anyway—and everyone knows how that has worked out for me.

And okay, so maybe having a desire for lackluster men isn’t entirely true, but still. It’s what I have to tell myself to keep my mind from wandering. At the risk of repeating myself, Kingston is not only my brother’s teammate, he is also Spencer’s best friend. And sisters do not mix things up with their brother’s best friend. I’ve been on this earth long enough to know that.

“It’s for the good of the team,” Kingston mentions as he joins me behind the bar, reaching around me to grab a mug. “Apparently I’m this week’s charity case. So think of it as a way to give back to the community.”

He’s so close my brain doesn’t function enough to make out what he’s saying. That little move of his gives me a chance to smell him. And he smells … delicious. A little woodsy, a little citrusy, a whole lot sexy.

Not that I like it.

Oh, God, I like it.

“Get out from behind my bar,” I order, pointing a bottle of vodka in his direction.

The damn man has the nerve to wink, and I find myself clenching my thighs together.

Stupid thighs.

“Seriously,” my brother says, drawing my attention back to him. “We need a favor.”

“Oh, now it’s
we
?”

Spencer rolls his eyes, but clearly that doesn’t affect his ability to talk. “Remember that trip I told you about? The one to Detroit back at the end of last season?”

“Vaguely,” I answer, pouring several liberal shots of vodka into a glass. Honestly, I don’t remember half the shit Spencer tells me when it comes to the team. There is so much going on, so many of them, that it’s hard to keep up.

“Let’s just say, speculation has reared its ugly head once again and the media is in a frenzy.” Spencer’s gaze flips to Kingston momentarily, then back to me. “In order to quell that particular story, we need a distraction.”

I set the bottle down and stare at him. Although I adore my brother, think he hung the moon most of the time, I know better than to give in to Spencer right away. “And that means what to me?”

“I’ll do it!” comes the cheerful voice over my shoulder.

I glance back to see Noelle moving in our direction.

“You don’t even know what they want,” I tell her, rolling my eyes.

“Doesn’t matter. Hot hockey players asking for favors… I’m in.” Noelle comes to stand beside me, resting her elbows on the bar, her grin widening when her eyes sweep over Spencer. “So, what’s the favor?” Noelle asks, her big blue eyes bouncing between Kingston and Spencer. “Please, please,
please
tell me it requires some sort of kinky sexual position between the two of you.”

Eww.

Even though that visual disgusts me—seriously, Spencer is my brother—I still choke out a laugh. That’s Noelle for you. We’ve been best friends since high school, when she moved in next door to us, and though we are still damn near inseparable, we couldn’t possibly be more different. I’m five foot seven; Noelle is five two. I’ve got green eyes; Noelle has blue. I have long brown hair; Noelle sports a cute little curly blond bob. Noelle is outspoken and lacks a filter on her mouth, while I’m far more introverted and tend to be politically correct.

Like I said, complete opposites.

About the only thing we really have in common is the fact that we both grew up around hockey. Oh, and we’re both single.

“No sex,” Spencer says, his tone gruff and deeper than I expected. He glances over at Kingston. “Absolutely
no
sex.”

Well, that piques my interest. Knowing I’ll regret asking, I can’t help myself. “What’s the favor?”

“Our boy here”—Spencer nods toward Kingston—“has found himself in a bit of hot water. With the fans and the media.”

“Not the first time,” I note.

Noelle’s head bobs back and forth as she watches the verbal volley. Then again, she generally hangs on every word Spencer says. Or any hockey player, for that matter. She insists one day she will marry one, but up to this point, she has refused any who have made a pass at her. And trust me when I say there have been a lot. She’s not a puck bunny, because she doesn’t chase after the players, she simply wants to have a happily ever after with one. In her warped little mind, it would be the thing of fairy tales. If, you know, fairy tales were real.

However, unlike the puck bunnies who’ll take the first one to look their way, Noelle is waiting for the right one to come along, whoever that might be. Personally, I think the right one is sitting right in front of her. Literally. In my opinion, Spencer and Noelle would make an incredibly cute couple. However, for some reason, the two of them have never realized that.

“And probably not the last,” Kingston says, his smirk mirroring the mischievous gleam in his dark eyes.

“Definitely the last,” Spencer counters firmly. “Thing is … the team’s in the process of … doing some makeovers. Kingston’s first.”

Noelle’s head tilts to the side as she looks at Kingston. “Why in the hell would they wanna do that? He’s so … pretty.”

I laugh, can’t help it. Kingston Rush is not pretty by any stretch of the imagination. Ruggedly handsome? Yes. Body to die for? Check. Hot as hell? Most definitely. But he certainly doesn’t need a makeover.

“Last I checked, I owned a sports bar, not a beauty salon,” I tell Spencer.

“Not the kind of makeover I’m talking about.”

Oh.

I meet my brother’s gaze.

Oh
. “Not interested,” I blurt as I grab a beer bottle, pop off the top, then push it toward the waitress currently waiting for me.

“Oh, come on,” Noelle pleads, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “You’re thirty-four and single. What’ve you got to lose?”

Traitor.
“You don’t even know what the favor is.” I can’t believe she’s doing this to me.

Okay, scratch that. Yes, I can. Noelle’s been attempting to hook me up with Kingston for longer than I care to remember. When I said that no one knows about my infatuation with him, I forgot about Noelle. She knows, and she enjoys the hell out of exploiting that.

“Does it matter?” Noelle asks, tilting her head toward Kingston. “Have you
seen
him?”

I cock my head, pretending to be looking at him for the first time. Heat ignites low in my belly, and I have to look away, busying myself with another drink order. “Answer’s still no.”

“Hear them out,” Noelle says sweetly.

I don’t need to hear them out. Whatever they want, I’m not interested.

“He needs a girlfriend,” Spencer finally says.

I choke on my own spit, leaning over behind the bar and coughing uncontrollably.

Surely I’m hearing things. The last thing in this world that Kingston Rush needs is a girlfriend.

Then it dawns on me…

“Wait.” I pop my head back up to bar level, peeking over the top so I can glare at Spencer. “You want
me
to be his girlfriend? Are you insane?”

“Hey,” Kingston grumbles. “Sitting right here.”

Yes, he is, but that doesn’t change a thing. No way am I going to sign up to be Kingston’s pretend girlfriend. No way, no how.

Still, I’m curious as to whose stupid idea this was.

“Who in the world decided to pimp him out?” I ask, glaring at my brother. This is quite possibly the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. “No, better yet,
why
?” I clarify.

“If he looks to be in a relationship, some of the heat from last year will go away,” Spencer explains.

Yeah. I’m not buying it.

“And you agreed to this?” I turn to Kingston. Surely he isn’t going along with this … nonsense. Then again, maybe this was his idea. If that’s the case, I might be a little flattered.

A
little
.

The shrug he offers says it all. Whether it was his idea or not, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have much of a choice.

“I think this is a stupid idea,” I offer, taking the drink I just poured around to a customer at one of the nearby tables before heading back to the bar. “Really stupid.”

Although my brain is screaming for me to turn Spencer down, to refuse to support this crazy idea, I can’t help but think it through. I’ve always been that way. I try to think before I react.

Granted, any thoughts of being Kingston’s girlfriend—pretend or otherwise—result in visions of hot, sweaty sex, and I seriously doubt my brother had that in mind when he made the suggestion. Or maybe he thinks that is a possibility because he specifically said absolutely
no
sex.

It doesn’t matter. I can’t help it. Sex is what
always
comes to mind when I think about Kingston. Not that I think about him. Not much, anyway.

Okay, yes. I think about him. A lot. A hell of a lot more than I should. I’ve had a secret crush on the guy for … shit, for most of my adult life, I guess.

“She’ll do it,” Noelle announces, her tone serious.

“Bullshit,” I counter, composing myself as best I can. “He can juggle three women in a month. I don’t think Kingston’ll have trouble finding his own girlfriend.”

Kingston laughs just as I expect him to. His reputation precedes him, and though he might find it amusing, he can’t deny it. The man has women sneaking into the locker room in the simple hope that he’ll be interested in a little personal goaltending, in reverse. His
puck
. Her
goal
.

“That’s the problem,” Spencer adds. “They want someone who’ll
help
his image. Someone who won’t go running her mouth to the press.”

“Why me?” I have to ask. I just have to.

“’Cause you’ll be easy to control.”