Gauging the Player: A One-Night-Stand Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romance Book 3)

by G. K. Brady

  “Strictly business?”

  He drummed the dashboard while he regarded her. “Strictly business, though I’m still not convinced I should hire you in the first place. And we haven’t even discussed money yet.”

  “Tell you what, Professor. I’ll do the job for free the first month and give you a chance to evaluate my work. If I don’t up your followers by another thousand, then no harm, no foul. If I do, then you’ll hire me for three months. A win-win with little risk to you. What do you say?”

  A strange, fluttering sensation danced in his chest. Maybe it was a warning that the risk was, in fact, quite high. “I’ll think about it.”

  Amusement flashed in her eyes as she raised her hand. “No hanky-panky. I swear.”

  He almost laughed out loud at the old-fashioned term his grandmother was fond of using. “I’ll let you borrow my car, but no hanky-panky in the backseat, young man!”

  “All right,” he said. “I leave tomorrow—make that later today—and I’m back in a week. Let’s see what you can do in that time.”

  She broke out in a triumphant smile that gave his heart an unexpected squeeze. “You’re on, Professor.”

  “I’ll need your number.” Ha! I’m finally getting it six months later.

  As it rolled off her tongue and into his contacts, his stomach executed a few back flips, bumping into the chicken and waffles. Maybe that meal hadn’t been a good choice.

  Minutes later, she was gone, and he sat in his Porsche and texted her. This is my private cell number. Best way to reach me. Text me back when you’re safely home.

  Lily: I will, Professor.

  Gage: And don’t text while you drive.

  Elation two-stepped through his entire body. He’d found her! But a somber inner voice put a kibosh on the good feels.

  “Strictly business. No hanky-panky,” he muttered aloud. Never mind that his body had ideas of its own whenever he looked at her, leaving him in a constant state of semi-discomfort. Yeah, he’d probably have to work on that.

  Chapter 6

  Sisterhood Doesn’t Require Pants

  Lily walked into her quiet home. Dead quiet. Especially in contrast with IHOP’s noise and brightness just a short while ago.

  She launched a playlist over wireless speakers and flipped on hallway lights. Music played in the background while her eyes traveled over framed photos lining the walls. The rogues’ gallery, she and Jack used to call it. But tonight, instead of walking past, she stopped and studied them. Pictures of Jack as a baby. A boy. A shaggy-haired teenager playing guitar. The man he became: a young Chip Gaines lookalike with a devilish smile.

  From the day she’d met Jack, Lily had known he was her future. The man she’d grow old and rickety with. Her everything. People said there was no such thing as love at first sight, but she was living, breathing proof they were wrong.

  She ran her fingertips over pictures of them together: singing in the band; reciting wedding vows; opening gifts beside a pathetic Charlie Brown Christmas tree; holding Daisy when she was a newborn.

  Lily’s gaze traced Jack’s awed expression as he stared at their baby. As if on cue, “Have I Told You Lately”—their favorite song and a duet they’d performed together countless times—drifted from the living room. A shaky laugh became a sob, and Lily folded over at the waist, covering her face with her hands. The familiar ache stabbed her chest, followed by the inevitable anger that came rushing up from her gut. Fists clenched, she righted herself. Life isn’t fair! She hadn’t had enough time with him! Where were the other three kids they were going to have? The house they were going to build? The trip to Fiji they’d take on their twentieth wedding anniversary? Her dreams had all died along with him.

  Was she just tired, or had seeing Gage Nelson whipped up a vortex of guilt, grief, and isolation?

  Wiping her wet cheeks, she padded to her little girl’s room, but the lively pinks and purples did nothing to lift her heart. She only seemed able to focus on the pictures of Jack grouped on Daisy’s dresser and the pink toy guitar propped in a corner—the guitar he’d bought when Daisy had been born five years ago.

  The eerie silence closed in around Lily. An ever-present shroud when Daisy was away, it was just as oppressive late at night when Daisy was there and sleeping. As tempting as it was, Lily would find no escape from the crushing quiet in a half bottle of wine tonight. Between consuming a gallon of coffee and holding up under Gage’s blue-eyed scrutiny, she was too tightly wound to lie down. Throwing wine into the mix would guarantee a fitful doze at best.

  Instead, she launched herself into her go-to therapy for bringing order to her world whenever it wobbled on its axis. She gathered up her bucket of cleaning supplies and scrubbed her two toilets to a high porcelain sheen. Next she attacked the gas range. After that, the counters. With an inner headshake, she acknowledged that her little house took the brunt of her topsy-turvy emotions. It was always spotless. Apparently, a state of calm was a nirvana as elusive as the proverbial pot of gold the damn leprechauns were constantly moving on her.

  After placing a load of laundry in the washer, she glanced at the microwave’s digital clock. Three thirty. Way too early to call her sister.

  In need of another distraction, she opened her laptop at her kitchen table. No better time to build a file on her new client. She skimmed over the endless positive praise heaped on by coaches and teammates—it was obvious Gage Nelson had mad ice skills. Besides the many accolades, however, Gage—aka “Nelsy,” “The Admiral,” and God-knew-what else—seemed to be a model citizen. No compromising photos; no drunken escapades; no bad-boy behavior; no supermodels. Zero dirt. Zip. Nada. Was he really that wholesome? No one was. Especially not a pro hockey player. After all, he hadn’t hesitated when she’d invited him to stay that night, turning their time together into—as Ivy so quaintly put it—an epic fuckathon.

  Guilt swelled inside Lily again over her lapse. Even she agreed with Ivy that she needed to stop beating herself up. What was done was done.

  She detoured back to her new client, and her jaded self scoffed at the notion Gage didn’t sleep around. He probably practiced sex as devotedly as he practiced hockey, if the experience he’d shown in her bed was any measure. Maybe he was good at being discreet. She was inclined to give credit to a dynamite PR person who knew how to bury bad press, except Gage didn’t have a PR person. Well, he hadn’t had one.

  As her fingers tapped away, what little she discovered bolstered what she knew of Gage Nelson: he was smart, funny, and successful. Adored by fans and hockey pundits alike. Add polite and self-deprecating, and he was the perfect man. Never mind that he was also hotter than a pizza oven. Which begged the question: Where were his conquests? The puzzle drove Lily to mine deeper for women whose names had been linked with his. At first, she found nothing, but then she stumbled on a picture of him looking dapper in suit and tie—not unlike the night she met him—his arm draped comfortably over bare shoulders belonging to a slender brunette with sparkling blue eyes and hair like rippling silk. The woman’s head rested on his chest with a familiarity that gave Lily an unexpected jab. Where had that come from? She decided to let the question go, instead returning to her investigation that was growing more fruitless with each stroke of the keyboard.

  The closer time crept to six o’clock, the more it seemed to decelerate. Still on the indecent side of early to be calling, but Lily would bust a gut if she held out any longer. Taking slow, deliberate steps, she filled a water glass and plopped her butt back down before swiping her phone screen. Her older sister picked up on the second ring.

  “Oh good!” Lily breathed. “You’re up.”

  An exaggerated yawn on the other end. “Barely. What’s going on?”

  “So … you remember the guy I met last summer? From the wedding?”

  Ivy’s tone took a one-eighty into wide-awake and hyperactive mode. In other words, Ivy mode. “The hot hockey player you did? That guy from last summer? Did you finally look him up? Jump his b
ones and shake more rust off your poor, neglected caboose? Oh, please tell me you did, Lil.” An inhale. “I’m fixing myself a cup of coffee, so start talking.”

  “I didn’t do him,” Lily hissed. Why had calling her sister seemed like a good idea?

  “No, he did you,” Ivy hooted. “Like, three times!”

  “Twice!” He’d only had two condoms with him.

  Heat rose from Lily’s stomach, engulfing her chest, her neck, her entire face. She’d shared way too much information with her sister about that night. When would she ever learn not to supply Ivy with ammo?

  The distinct slosh of pouring coffee sounded in the background. Ha! Like her sister needed the caffeine. So much already flowed through her system that she’d bleed coffee if she were wounded—probably a habit she’d never break as long as she kept her wacky nurse hours. An emergency room nurse married to an EMT, no less.

  “Admit it, Little Sis,” the coffee addict said. “It was the best damn thing that’s happened to you in a loooong time. I was so proud of you! I was cheering from clear across town.”

  “Yeah, and I can still hear you.”

  “Okay. Back to the good stuff, namely Pucking Hot Hockey Guy.” Her sister let out a noise that Lily presumed was meant to be a tiger growl but more closely resembled a cat coughing up a hairball.

  “Pucking Hot Hockey Guy? Seriously?”

  “It’s what you’ve reduced me to since you won’t tell me his name.” A noisy slurp. “I keep picturing some big Russian dude named Sergei who’s sporting a monobrow, by the way.”

  Lily dropped her forehead into her cupped palm and stifled a groan. “This is precisely why I am not telling you his name. I’m regretting kissing and blabbing as it is.”

  “Telling me doesn’t count as kissing and blabbing. Besides, you are the last person to blab about a romp. Hell, you’re the last person on this planet to actually romp. You do understand humans have sex because they enjoy it, right? It’s not just about procreation.”

  “I saw him last night,” Lily blurted. “Actually, I just left him a few hours ago.”

  A long beat of silence was followed by a squeal. “Omigod. Hyperventilating here. No, I’m good. Was it as hot as last time? How did you hook up with him again? Deets, Lil! Oh, sweet baby Jesus, it’s January thirty-first, and my little sister already got laid! Happy New Year!”

  “Ivy, stop! We didn’t hook up. By sheer coincidence, I bumped into him outside, er, in a parking lot.” No need to give her sister the exact location—it would just turn into more ammo Ivy could fire at her later.

  “Oh shit, Lil! You plowed into him? Did you damage his car? He’s probably got a really expensive car. All those guys do.”

  Four years her senior, Ivy reminded Lily of a tornado: lots of wind blowing stuff around and causing general mayhem of the batten-down-the-hatches variety. When the chips were down, though, Ivy was as steady as a flat tide.

  “No, I didn’t hit his car. He saw me and … stopped to say hello.” Lily filled her sister in on breakfast at IHOP.

  “So you guys ate breakfast? That’s it? No sexcapades?” Ivy’s tone was shot through with disappointment; Lily almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

  In spite of herself, Lily laughed. “No, just talk.” Nor was Lily planning on anything more. Furthermore, in the off chance she wanted to rekindle their fling, he’d closed that door tighter than one leading to a vacuum-sealed meat locker, judging by his chilly vibe. Not that she could blame him for his obvious resentment over her exit last summer. Funny thing about that, though. She’d been surprised by his reaction because it was, after all, a guy move—sneaking out before the awkward wake-up scene. Not that she had personal experience, but she’d listened to other women lament.

  And a handsome pro athlete like him? His nights had to be filled with oodles of opportunities to execute the “guy move.”

  Lily grudgingly admitted—to herself only—that Ivy was right on one score. Being with Gage had reminded her that her lady parts still functioned normally, even if her heart didn’t. And the real deal hadn’t matched the fantasies that had fueled her for years—it had blown them away like the buildings in the final scene of V for Vendetta.

  She shook her head to dislodge her dirty thoughts.

  Her sister’s voice jolted her back to reality. “There’s no such thing as coincidence, Lil. This was meant to happen. So no horizontal bop for you last night, but you’re seeing him again, right? Please tell me you are. Your vibrator called and begged for a night off.”

  “God, you’re … That’s … Ugh!”

  “Just calling it like I see it. And you know I’m right. Your tied tongue always gives you away. So when do you see him again?”

  “How do you know I’m seeing him?” Out came Lily’s chain, and she slid the ring over its smooth links.

  “Because I’m your big sister. I know all, I see all.”

  Lily let out a sigh. “I sorta talked my way into being his social media expert, so I’ve got some work to do for him this next week.” A high-pitched noise, like a deflating balloon, came from the other end. Ivy was emitting a long, reedy squeak of delight. “It’s strictly business, Ive.”

  Lily stifled a niggling doubt about that declaration. If she repeated it enough, maybe it would take root and spread until a canopy of belief sheltered her.

  “Ooh, better wear the sexy underwear, Lil. Shit. You don’t have any sexy underwear.” A coffee cup clattered on the other end. “Okay. I have a plan. You need to go shopping, and I’ll come with.”

  “Last summer was … a mistake. I got swept away in the moment. It’s not happening again.”

  The phone rattled with indistinct muttering, which sounded suspiciously like cursing.

  “Memories don’t keep you warm, Lil. Come on. At least think about it. This guy might be perfect for you. I mean, you don’t have to fall in love with him. Keep it light, fun. Just naked times between the sheets. Treat it like practice. Sharpen your skills. And just think! You could score hockey tickets and take your favorite sis to a game or two.”

  Even though Ivy couldn’t see her, Lily shook her head vigorously. “I can’t do that.”

  “What? Take me to a hockey game? Why not?”

  “No! I meant I can’t just sleep with him. That’s … I can’t. Besides, who says he’d sleep with me again anyway?” No hanky-panky. “You caught me in a moment of weakness. I’m not accepting applications.” Lily recoiled inside from the sting.

  “Pfft. He’s a guy. Correction. He’s a player, which is a polite way of saying fuckboy. They’ll sleep with anyone, anytime.”

  “Gee, you’re really making me feel good about myself here.”

  Ivy scoffed. “You know what I mean.”

  Lily glanced down at the ring at the end of her necklace. “It won’t work. The guilt is … it’s not worth it.” Her stomach turned over, just like it had when she’d awakened beside Gage and realized what she’d done.

  Ivy’s voice took on a soothing quality. “You’re my baby sister, and I love you.” Lily braced herself for the “but” that came next. “But Jack’s been gone over four years now. It’s like you’re stuck in your grieving steps—somewhere between despair and guilt—and you can’t get yourself unstuck. Don’t you think it’s time to move on? There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to another man. It’s natural.”

  The fresh rise of tears stinging her eyes surprised Lily. The anguish was raw, stealthy like a thief. A thief that sneaked up on her and stole breath from her lungs.

  “I can’t move on.” Lily hated the quaver in her voice. Hated how pitiful she sounded.

  “Maybe you need to join your own group again or at least take a listen to what you tell others. I mean, I know your people love you, but I don’t understand how you can counsel them if you haven’t gotten to a place you’re trying to guide them to.”

  Lily wanted to shout—if only she could breathe. It didn’t help that Ivy was poking another of her sore spots, the one tha
t told her she was an impostor.

  Ivy went on. “Hell, your house is practically a shrine to Jack. Maybe you should take down some pictures, get his clothes out of your closet so you don’t see them every day. I’ll come over and help you box everything up and—”

  All of Lily screamed, No, no, no! “You don’t know what it feels like, Ivy,” she cried. “You still have the love of your life. And Parker adores you as much as you adore him.” When Ivy had married Parker Wilde, Lily had nicknamed her I.B. Wilde. It suited her to a tee.

  Just as she had adored Jack and he had adored her. This perfect man—once her perfect man—had owned her heart. In fact, he’d taken up every part of it, making it impossible to let anyone else move in.

  “Lil, you’re a beautiful young woman with her whole future ahead of her, and I’m not just saying that because you’re my sis. What you had with Jack was wonderful, but is it just the tiniest bit possible you’ve built him up into something more than he was?”

  Heat clawed its way up Lily’s throat. “Not fair, Ivy.”

  “No? Neither is what you’re doing to yourself. Or to Daisy.”

  They hung up not long after. Utterly spent, Ivy’s words haunting her, Lily bundled herself under her covers and started up her DVD player. And like Anna Crowe in The Sixth Sense, Lily tortured herself with every press of the rewind button as she watched an old clip of Jack playing guitar.

  Chapter 7

  Flow with the Go

  Gage parked his rental car and strode toward Skyview’s covered entrance, scanning the parking lot as he went. He eased slightly when he entered the lobby and spied the middle-aged, rotund woman behind the receptionist’s desk. “Evelyn?”

  Brown eyes rose to meet his, recognition dawning. She broke into a wide smile. “Gage! My goodness, it’s been ages since I last saw you. Is this a quick visit, or are you here for a longer spell this time?”