Winning It All (Hometown Players Book 4) (25 page)

She lifts up, then rolls her hips, grinding down onto me, causing ripples of pleasure to shoot down my spine. Her hand, the one I tried to grab, slips over her taut stomach and then lower. She touches herself, fingers exploring and rubbing as she rides me, her breasts bouncing. I am so close to coming I see stars.

I sit up and grab the back of her neck before she can stop me. I crush my mouth to hers. When we break apart her pace picks up. Her hand slides back to her clit and she lets out the most fantastic little moan as she starts to come and
oh fuck
…

Panting, I drop back down on the mattress and watch the show. She’s coming. I can feel it, and I push up hard and let my own release take over, reaching up to pull her down on top of me. I run my hand through her silky hair and whisper, “You’re borrowing my car.”

“What?” she murmurs back sleepily.

“You’re going to use one of my cars until you get your own.”

“No, thanks,” she replies, her voice less groggy.

“I’m not offering. I’m telling.”

“Excuse me?” There is zero sleepiness in her voice now.

I may be ruining a moment, but oh well. I press my lips to her neck for a chaste kiss before giving her a snarky response. “You got to be bossy and now I do.”

“I’m not taking your car.”

“Then you’re moving.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

The moment is definitely lost. I gently pull out of her and try not to groan my protest. As soon as we are no longer attached, she gets off the bed and starts to put her clothes back on. But I’m not having it. As she reaches for her underwear, I take them out of her hand and toss them across the room.

“I didn’t sign on for this,” she rants and walks over to where her underwear landed by the bathroom door. “I don’t need another dad or anyone who thinks they can tell me what to do.”

“And I don’t need a girlfriend who is too stubborn to be safe,” I reply and again take her underwear from her as she tries to pick them up. This time I toss them toward the living room, and when she glares at me I grin and wink.

“Fuck off,” she hisses and storms past me. Giving up on the underwear, she tries to pull her T-shirt over her head. I hold onto the hem, making it impossible for her to lift her arms and pull it over her head. She tries to pull away. I step into her and push her against the wall next to her dresser. My naked body is pinning her now and the spark of rage in those gray eyes is like the flash of a lighthouse light—a bright, undeniable warning.

“I am not some fucking puck bunny you need to support,” she protests in a low voice. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“And I’m not some asshole who doesn’t give a shit about your well-being.”

I yank the T-shirt from her arms and throw it over my shoulder and close the space left between us. My lips are a fraction of an inch from her smart mouth and I want to close that space too, but she would probably slap me. It’s not even that threat that stops me, though. It’s that I have too much that still needs to be said. “I care about you. More than I have about anyone in a long time. Maybe ever. And I’m not going to let you do risky stupid shit to prove some kind of point you don’t need to make.”

Now I kiss her, because I’m more scared to see her reaction to that than I am of getting slapped. She responds to the kiss, which gives me courage. “You’ll borrow a fucking car or I’ll buy you a new one.” I swallow and give her the one last option that I can’t deny is a possibility. “Or you can end this thing between us. Those are your only options, Shay.”

Now I pull back so I can see her reaction. Her jaw clenches. Her eyes narrow. And then she kisses me. It’s angry and hot and I know she hates herself for it, but she’s not picking that last option. I try not to smile against her lips but it’s so damn hard.

“Oh my God, this thing is insane,” Audrey says, the whole sentence coming out like a gasp. Josh lets out a low whistle from the backseat, confirming he agrees with his girlfriend.

I frown and Audrey openly laughs at me. “You are the only person in the universe who would be pissed at being given a luxury car.”

“He didn’t
give
it to me,” I argue as I carefully turn into the gated VIP parking lot for the arena. “I’m borrowing it until I get a new one of my own. Which will be this weekend. I found a great deal on a used Sportage in Everett.”

“You’re going to go from a BMW to a Kia? Willingly?” In the rearview mirror I watch Josh shake his head in disdain. “Shayne, you’re certifiable.”

I ease into a spot at the far end of the parking lot, away from where most of the other cars are parked near the entrance. It’s safer that way, so that no one dings Sebastian’s car. When I begrudgingly agreed to his terms to borrow a car, I assumed it would be his SUV because there was no way he’d offer me the Aston Martin. But the next morning he’d driven me over to his place and opened the four-car garage that was a freestanding structure in an alley behind his house and offered me any car in there. Including the Aston Martin. I swear to God he is insane. I picked the BMW after a quick Google search that told me it was the least expensive of the four.

I was a wreck driving it because I was constantly worried about scratches or dents. But I had to admit, it was an amazing vehicle. I’d never driven anything as state-of-the-art or as decadent. The leather seats felt like butter. They were heated and air-conditioned. It handled amazingly. I was in love. And I was beginning to think I wasn’t just in love with the car, which made me even more nervous than the thought of scratches on the Beemer.

We all get out of the car and I hit the lock on the key fob. As we walk toward the entrance, Audrey and Josh chatter to each other excitedly. It’s their first VIP game. I used to do this all the time as a kid, but this is the first one in a long time. And I definitely never thought I’d be doing it again. Audrey links her arm through mine. “I’m proud of you, Shaynie.”

I glance up at her because she’s in some killer heels. “For…?”

She smiles mischievously. “For finally doing something wrong.”

“What are you talking about?” I pause a few feet from the door to dig the passes Sebastian gave me out of my purse.

“Your one-night stand,” she explains and laughs. “It’s probably the only thing I’ve seen you, little miss perfectionist, screw up since we met. And I’m so glad you did.”

Josh chuckles, and I can’t help but laugh a little at that too. Then I hear my name called from behind us in the lot and I turn and see my father striding toward us. He’s in a suit, and I suddenly have flashbacks to my youth. Only if he was playing, he certainly wouldn’t be talking to me before a game.

“Dad. What are you doing here?”

“I was asked to do an interview at intermission,” he explains. “Seems no one can get enough of my stories about the glory days.”

Oh, you would be wrong about that, Dad.

Of course I don’t argue out loud. Instead Audrey steps forward and reacquaints herself with my dad before introducing Josh, who fawns all over my father, telling him what a big fan he is. When their love fest is over, he turns back to me. “What are
you
doing here would be a better question.”

“I…I got tickets from…”

I’m not sure I want to finish my sentence, but before I can even try, my dad, as usual, doesn’t wait to hear what I have to say. “And why are you driving a BMW? I know you didn’t buy it, so who owns it?”

He glances at Audrey and Josh, who both turn to me. Well, here goes nothing. “It’s my boyfriend’s.”

Audrey grins wildly at my admission. My father looks flabbergasted. “You’re dating someone?”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “I’m borrowing his car until I buy a new one, which should be this weekend.”

“Who?”

I take a deep breath. “Sebastian Deveau.”

My father’s reaction is priceless—at first. He blinks his big gray eyes. His mouth twitches, then falls open, and then slams shut. He looks confused, startled and quite frankly flummoxed. But then it becomes exactly what I dreaded—smug. “My little Shaynie is dating a hockey player?”

I feel the anger make my body rigid. So rigid I don’t even respond with a nod. He laughs a big, deep belly laugh. Audrey must understand how this is making me feel, so she hooks her arm through mine again and says, “He’s a really great guy.”

“Yeah, despite his profession,” I add bitingly.

My dad stops laughing at that, but the smug smile doesn’t die with the laughter. “Oh, we’re all great guys when we want to be.” Then he steps forward and pats my shoulder as he pushes open the door to the arena. “See you later, honey. I don’t want to be late.”

His words were condescending and flippant. And as we enter the arena behind him, flashing our passes at the security guard there, I watch him trot away, and I fight the urge to flip him off behind his back, in front of all the people milling about the concourse. Most of whom are recognizing him and pointing with excited smiles on their faces.

“What the hell does that mean, that we all are when we want to be?” Josh asks to no one in particular.

“It means he thinks Seb is acting like he’s not a womanizer but really is,” I mutter back. “Just like dear old Dad was.”

Josh and Audrey don’t respond because, really, what do you say?
Sorry your dad was a womanizing manwhore and just acted like a complete douche.
I glance at the passes and the section marked on them and start heading down the concrete corridor in that direction, even though the last thing I want is to watch a hockey game right now.

Two hours later and I’m regretting being here even more. The Winterhawks are about four minutes away from losing the second of two here at home, which would put the series at 2–2. The energy in the building is tense, and it’s even worse on the ice.

The Winterhawks were up 2–0 early in the first and added a goal to that in the opening minute of the second period, but the Thunder captain, Levi Casco, scored two goals. And a defenseman named Duncan Darby stole the puck from Sebastian and scored at the beginning of the third to tie the game. Then the Thunder’s assistant captain, Jude Braddock, scored, giving the Thunder the lead. If they win this game, it’s going to be a nightmare going back to San Francisco. The Winterhawks will have lost the momentum and probably some confidence.

There’s a faceoff just left of the Thunder goalie and Jordan wins it, shooting the puck back to Sebastian, who spins to get free of Darby and manages to get a shot off on net. The Thunder’s goalie blocks the shot, but the puck bounces off him and Seb clambers for the rebound shot as the Thunder team converges on him. He gets the shot off, but, unfortunately, the goalie gloves the puck. The whistle blows, but the shoving and swearing with the pile of Thunder and Winterhawks players in front of the net doesn’t stop.

I can see, even from here, the frustration all over Sebastian’s face. The linesmen both get in there and start to tug on jerseys, breaking up the scrum.

As the ref gathers the puck for another faceoff, I watch Sebastian glide toward Jordan. Braddock’s jaw keeps flapping, and he must say something that gets to Jordan, because he spins back to Braddock. They both drop their sticks but not their gloves and start shoving each other. Sebastian skates over, I think to break it up, and Braddock’s mouth starts moving again, and then suddenly Sebastian’s glove is flying over Jordan’s shoulder and Braddock is tumbling backward onto the ice after getting a solid punch to the side of his helmet.

Whistles blow. Seb is hauled off to the penalty box and a second later so is Jordan because, even though the whistle had blown, he dropped his glove and skates at Braddock.

“You’ve got a feisty one,” Audrey murmurs, and I can’t tell if she’s impressed or horrified. I don’t look over to find out. I’m too busy glaring at Sebastian in the penalty box.

“He just cost them the game,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else, but Josh hears me.

“Yeah, you can’t pull the goalie and go hard to the net when you’ve got two guys in the box. This one is over.” He sounds like a kid who just found out Santa Claus isn’t real.

And three minutes later it’s confirmed. The Thunder win 4–3, tying the series and ending this one with a massive brawl on the ice. Every single player on the ice is shoving or punching someone and the players on the bench are yelling at the other bench, sticks up and curses hurling.

“We should go,” I say quietly.

“I thought Seb said we should go downstairs after the game and meet him in the family lounge,” Josh reminds me.

“I don’t know about that now…” I caution, my instincts from childhood kicking in. After losses like this, my mother learned to stay away. Just head straight home and don’t expect my father to join until the wee hours of the morning, if at all.

But then our conversation from the other night, the one he started while taking off his clothes in my bedroom, comes back to me.

“But there are two kinds of players. The ones that use it as an excuse to mistreat and ignore the people who love them, and the ones who find balance.”

“Haven’t met one of those balanced ones yet.”

“Yes, you have.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say to Josh. “Let’s go down and meet him.”

Glenn Beckford waltzes into the room like he owns it as I’m tightening the knot on my tie. Most of the guys are in their suits now, but no one is really leaving the locker room yet. Everyone is still trying to come to terms with the way that game imploded on us before facing our families and loved ones. I know I’m not looking forward to seeing Shay. I know she won’t like what she saw. I don’t regret going after Jude Braddock and I won’t pretend I do, and I know she’ll like my lack of remorse even less.

I grew up watching her dad lose his temper on the ice. He was a real pest: his nasty, personal attacks on the other team’s players often landed him in the penalty box without him even throwing a punch. By the time he retired, Glenn Beckford held the record for the most unsportsmanlike penalty minutes in the league. At least my penalty minutes are usually for my actions and not my words. I defend teammates and don’t take low blows with my fists or my mouth.

He stands there and surveys the room.

“Undisciplined loss out there, boys,” he lectures loudly, like he’s our coach or something. “You just made this whole series harder for yourselves, but you can rein it in and get it back next time. I know you can. Westwood, I don’t have to tell you it’s up to you to make sure of it.”

Avery frowns at him but, ever the Boy Scout, he doesn’t tell him to shut up. Avery, being the captain, has already given us a lecture, as has our actual coach. Neither of those lectures did anything to improve my mood, so this third one isn’t helping either. I glance over at Jordan, who is shrugging into his navy blue suit jacket. I grab my own from the hook in my locker and turn to find Glenn’s eyes pinning me. He grins, but it’s not friendly. It’s dark and cool.

“Deveau,” he addresses me. “You had some good chances out there. You probably would have had more if you didn’t have your ass in the box at the end.”

“Yeah, well, next time,” I reply tersely and give him a smile I know looks as fake as it feels. Jordan walks up beside me and mutters something about finding Jessie, but he doesn’t walk away because Glenn is standing directly in front of both of us now.

“What’d that little runt Braddock say to you two to make you so angry it cost you the game?”

That’s fucking harsh. What Jude Braddock did was ask Jordan if his fiancée was as easy as her sister. Turns out Braddock and Callie had fooled around a few years ago. There’s a code on the ice: you can knock a guy about almost anything—their skill, their intelligence, their looks—but children, wives or girlfriends are supposed to be off limits. So, yeah, Jordan wanted to kill him—and I went after him too, because I heard it and I will always back up my boys.

Jordan bristles beside me now as he faces this over-the-hill blowhard. “He made a personal attack. Directed at my fiancée and her family.”

Glenn’s expression doesn’t change. He looks as unimpressed as he did a second ago. “What? Did he claim to bang her before you or something?”

I can feel the anger radiating off Jordan, but Glenn doesn’t seem to feel it. In fact he seems completely oblivious to the crassness of his words. “Guys will say anything to get under your skin on the ice. Even if it’s true, you have to blow it off. You can’t cost your whole team a game over some chick.”

I put a hand on Jordy’s shoulder and squeeze. “Go find Jessie,” I urge, because I don’t want him to start something with Shay’s dad. Oh God, this man is going to be in my life for a while. That realization fills me with dread.

Jordan storms out of the room. I glance at Avery, who is eyeing the situation cautiously as he buttons his dress shirt. Our eyes meet and I see the plea in them to stay calm. I have to, he’s right, but I want to tell this jerk to get bent. I inhale deeply and try to excuse myself like Jordan did. “I have to go. I have friends waiting in the lounge.”

“You mean my daughter?” Our eyes connect. “I saw her arrive in the car you gave her. Thanks for that, by the way. She won’t let me help her. Now if you could get her an apartment in a better area of town, I wouldn’t have to worry so much.”

“I didn’t give her a car,” I reply, because I feel like it would matter to Shay that her dad knows she’s not accepting handouts from me either. “She’s borrowing it until this weekend when she gets her own.”

He scratches the back of his neck while he absorbs that information. “Pity. I thought maybe she’d come to her senses and realize she can’t do this on her own. Not as a silly yoga instructor anyway.”

“She’s also a nutritionist,” I remind him, and I can’t believe I have to defend her to her own father. “And an amazing human being, for the record.”

His gray eyes land on mine again, and he breaks into a soft, friendly grin. “Deveau, you don’t have to prove your feelings for my daughter to me. I know she’s a wonderful person, albeit a bit too opinionated and stubborn most of the time.” He reaches out and cups my shoulder in a fatherly gesture. “I’m happy you want to take that on. I hope it works out for the long haul. But I’m warning you: she’s never going to be easy. She doesn’t play by the hockey wives code. Consider that carefully, my friend. You’ll be giving up a lot of your extracurricular activity.”

“Glenn, why don’t you come to the friends and family lounge with me. I’m sure everyone would love to see you there,” I say smoothly, and without waiting for an answer, I escort Beckford out of the locker room.

My girlfriend’s father has no clue how close I was to punching him. I’m not even sure I realize how close I was until Chooch, who was sitting across the locker room watching the whole thing, says, “Unclench those fists, Seb.”

I relax my hands and shake them out before shoving them into my pockets. “Did that guy just honestly warn you that if you date his daughter she might not let you fuck other people?”

“Yeah. Not because he cares if I cheat on her, but because she might.”

“He made it seem like that fact was a fault in her character.” Chooch is also blown away, judging by the awed pitch to his voice. “Who the fuck thinks not being able to cheat is a bad thing?”

“A man who thinks it’s okay to make out with his former teammate’s wife at his own jersey retirement ceremony,” I reply and watch Chooch’s jaw drop. But it’s weird because even though he looks fittingly shocked, Chooch’s eyes don’t seem to be focused on me. They’re looking past me.

I turn and see Shay standing in the open locker room door.

“What did you just say?” Her voice is low and serious and it settles over the entire room, covering it in an ominous silence as the few remaining players glance up.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.”

It’s the truth. Family and friends aren’t allowed in the locker room. But it’s the worst possible thing I could say. She’s staring at me with such intensity, such hurt and anger and pain that I just…panic. After the words leave my mouth she lifts the lanyard with her VIP pass from around her neck and says, “You couldn’t be more right. I knew I was never supposed to be here.”

And then she drops the pass on the locker room floor and disappears.