Twisted Wrister: A Next-Door-Neighbor Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 7)

by G. K. Brady

  With what little strength he had, he slid out and pulled her down on top of him as he tumbled onto the couch, her back to his front. Wrapping his arms around her, nuzzling her neck, he caressed her belly and breasts, and she hummed her contentment.

  When their breathing had slowed, she murmured, “Wow, you outdid yourself, big guy.”

  “I’m sorry I let go before you, M. I wanted you to come first.” He nibbled her earlobe. “You have a way of making me lose what little control I have.” He berated himself for not being able to hold off his orgasm while at the same time marveling at the effect she had on him. There was that next level with her he’d never known existed … and he couldn’t imagine living without.

  “I like knowing I can drive you out of your mind.” She flipped in his arms, her breasts pillowing against his chest. A sweet, satisfied smile tugged her kiss-puffed lips. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she purred.

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  Her long eyelashes fluttered. “I held off this time, but when you came? I lost it. Wasn’t my plan.” Her fingers twiddled with his hair, sending chills dancing along his spinal column, while her other hand scraped against his stubbled cheek.

  He chuckled, easing inside. “You had a plan? That, I find fascinating.” His index finger traced the vines along her upper arm, then drifted to her temple, over her cheekbone and jaw before coming to rest on her bottom lip. Everything about you is fascinating. She kissed his fingertip. His fingers tunneled into her curls, and he swept his eyes over her face. “God, you’re beautiful,” he sighed.

  The corners of her mouth tipped up higher, and, holding his eyes, she whispered, “You make me feel beautiful.”

  I love you, M.

  She nestled against his chest, and he wrestled back the words, holding them tucked in his heart. A different secret reared its ugly head instead. He quelled the urgency to tell her, reluctant to ruin their perfect dream state. He’d find another time—not during post-sex cuddling—when they were relaxed. The next road trip wasn’t for a few more days, and he’d have plenty of opportunities to bare the ugly truth before he left.

  Yeah, that’s how I’ll handle it.

  He closed his eyes and drifted off on a cloud of sated slumber.

  Chapter 32

  Family Ties

  Michaela sent Blake a sidelong glance as he guided his SUV through Denver’s dark streets. They were heading home after his game—a losing game, though he’d played well—and she sat on eggshells. Not that he was about to flare, but he’d been acting funny the last few days, as if he was holding something back. Did it have to do with him leaving on an East Coast swing tomorrow? Or was it that Christmas was only eleven days away and he’d soon be dealing with his mom again?

  Michaela had her own pressing issues: her looming meeting with Steadman and the end of her suspension.” She still didn’t know if it would result in her being asked to leave the firm or if they’d invite her back into their fold. Neither outcome appealed, which had her all kinds of twisted inside. Besides her conflicted emotions, she hadn’t heard a word about the “investigation”—even April Super-Spy hadn’t been able to uncover anything. Blake would be gone when she got whatever news was coming her way, and she realized how much that affected her. She’d come to lean on his strong shoulders, which also twisted her up. Having his support was … wonderful. But was she turning into a starry-eyed mushball who relied on his presence in her life too much?

  Ugh!

  Then there was the man himself. What was she going to get him for his birthday and Christmas when he could buy whatever the hell he wanted? She’d picked up a book of silly trivia facts, but it seemed so … inadequate. And dumb. Maybe she could ask one of his teammates. Too bad he and Owen were on the outs. Wonder what happened between those two? A memory of something Blake had said, something she’d totally forgotten, winked on like a bright light.

  So when he asked what had her thinking so hard, she replied, “You said something I’ve been wondering about.”

  Keeping a steady gaze on the road, he sprouted a wicked grin. “Was it about doing you in the elevator? Or when I told you how perfect your tits are and how much I love having my mouth on them?”

  “What do you mean when?” she scoffed. “You say that like it was one time and not every single time you sneak your hand under my top, which, by my latest count, is north of fifty times a day.”

  The smile slid from his face. “And this is a problem?”

  Damn, he was cute. She gave him the requisite eye-roll. “It could be if sex is all you think about whenever you look at me.”

  He pried her hand from her lap and kissed each knuckle before tucking it in his own hand against his thigh. “It’s not, but I’d be lying if I said being naked with you doesn’t occupy a huge chunk of my daily thoughts. Did you know men think about sex nineteen times a day on average compared to women at only ten?”

  “Uh …” Is he doing this on purpose? And I’m pretty sure I think about it way more than ten times a day, especially when he’s around.

  “Then again,” he rambled, “men think about food and sleep twice as much as women too. Which makes me wonder: What do women think about if they aren’t thinking about sex, food, and sleep? Puppies? The mechanics of air-traffic control? Billboard’s top forty hits?” He side-eyed her with an arched brow and a hint of mischief tugging at his lips.

  “Something tells me you’re avoiding my question.”

  “Uh, what was the question?”

  “At the gala, you said something about why you hit Owen, that it had something to do with me. I never heard the rest of the story.”

  “Oh.” He dragged his hand over his jaw, then pointed out the windshield. “We’re almost home. Why don’t we talk about it inside?”

  An ominous silence settled over them. Michaela sank back in her seat on a sigh. She’d bide her time, but he would answer her, damn it, tonight, before he left on his road trip. I’m probably going to need a few bracers of vodka—on top of the two glasses of wine at the arena—to hear whatever it is he has to say because this is not sounding good. Slipping her hands under her thighs, she steadied herself.

  His phone rang over the car’s speakers, and Amanda’s face lit up the dashboard screen. Blake hit the connect button with super-ninja speed. “Hey, little sis. What’s shaking in Hawaii? Hopefully not a volcano.”

  “Blake, are you somewhere where you can talk?” Her voice sounded off, strained.

  He hit a button, and the underground garage door lifted. “Just pulling into my parking spot after the game.” He shot Michaela a quick glance. “M’s with me.”

  “It’s okay if she hears. In fact, I want her to. Tell me about your game while you guys go upstairs. I didn’t catch any of the details.”

  His brows drew together in a frown. “Okaaaay.” As he recited game stats and some of the plays, they parked and made their way up to Michaela’s condo. Once inside, she kicked off her shoes and angled toward the kitchen, where she pulled out her bottle of Chopin and the largest shot glass she had icing in the freezer. Phone to his ear, Blake ambled in behind her and raised a questioning eyebrow as she poured herself a hefty helping. She threw it back in one go, letting the cool liquid slide down her throat. Blake’s brows climbed higher on his forehead.

  As she poured the second shot, he said, “We’re in M’s kitchen now, so I’m putting you on speaker.”

  Michaela was sipping her second pour when he laid the phone on the counter, hit an icon, and announced, “You’re on speaker, sis.”

  “Hey, Amanda,” Michaela called, forcing a smile into her voice.

  “Hi, Micky. I hope you’re keeping my big goon of a brother in line.”

  Michaela took another sip, catching Blake’s gaze, and let out a humorless chuckle. “I’m trying my best.”

  Green eyes flashed, though she couldn’t read what thoughts lurked there. The vodka sped into her bloodstream, its bite warm, and she felt her muscles ease a tic.
>
  “So I’ve been wanting to discover who my birth father is,” Amanda began, her voice shaky. “My adoptive parents used all kinds of arguments over the years to talk me out of it, which I never understood, so I-I finally bought a 23andMe test a few months ago without them knowing. I have the results.”

  Staring at the phone, Blake slid onto a barstool. “What did you find out?”

  An extended exhale sounded on the speaker, and Michaela downed another quick gulp before Amanda spoke again. “I actually got the results weeks ago, but I had to dig to figure out the connections because it turns out my biological father isn’t registered. But some of his relatives are, and I narrowed down his identity.”

  Blake’s back went ramrod straight. “I’m listening.”

  “Blake, my dad is … my dad.”

  “What does that mean?” Blake’s voice held a sharp edge, and Michaela threw him a frown, but he ignored her.

  “He’s my adoptive dad. Our mom got pregnant by my adoptive dad. Now it makes sense why they didn’t want me taking the test, but what do I do? I can’t tell him.”

  “Have you spoken to DeeAnn about it?” Michaela asked softly. Blake’s head snapped to her as if he’d just re-entered his body from some extended astral projection and wasn’t happy to find her there.

  “No, I haven’t. I’m not sure how to approach it, and I don’t need her going off on me right now.”

  “Why can’t you talk to your biological father?”

  “Are you serious?” Amanda croaked.

  “Maybe not today, but now that the cat’s out of the bag, don’t you think he’d be relieved to know you found out?” Michaela posed.

  “But what about his wife—my other mom?” Amanda near-wailed.

  Michaela finished her drink with Blake’s heavy gaze on her. He said nothing, looking between her and the phone, apparently waiting for her to continue skating with the puck. So she did. “Amanda, was your biological father married to your adoptive mother when they adopted you?”

  “Yes,” she sniffed. “But what if she doesn’t know the truth? What if this breaks them up?”

  “Chances are your adoptive mom knew about the affair when they adopted you. No one can be sure how people will react, but if that didn’t break them up back then, how would having the truth out in the open break them up now?”

  “I … I hadn’t thought of that.” Amanda blew out another breath. “I don’t want to do it alone, though. Blake, would you maybe come out here—”

  “No!” His sharp reply made Michaela flinch. “Mom will find out, and it’ll be one more reason for her to drink herself under the table.” His eyes darted to Michaela’s mostly empty glass, and she bristled inside at his silent meaning.

  Instead of calling Blake out like Michaela wanted her to do, Amanda threw out another bombshell when she said, “I’ll call Owen, then. I haven’t talked to him since before your charity thing last week. Did you see him there, Blake? He said he was re-joining the team and I—”

  For the second time in as many minutes, Blake chopped off her words with a growl. What the hell was wrong with him? “I saw him there—with his date—but I barely spoke to him. Why are you talking to him?”

  A strangled noise came from the other end.

  Michaela shot Blake a warning glare. “Amanda?” she soothed.

  “Uh, I didn’t know he was seeing someone.” Echoes of pain threaded through Amanda’s small voice, and Michaela’s heart constricted.

  “Several someones,” Blake snarled.

  “Shut up!” Michaela mouthed at him, but he simply glared back at her. You dense man! She resisted the urge to throttle him.

  Silence stretched so long Michaela asked Amanda if she was still there. The sob that came through the phone twisted Blake’s features with naked shock.

  “He told me he didn’t have any girlfriends,” she cried. “Now I find out he has several?”

  Blake swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “’Manda, why does it matter to you who he’s seeing?”

  She burst out in a tearful wail. “Because I-I hoped he was in love with me!”

  Michaela covered her mouth to stifle a gasp.

  Blake’s cheekbones flared crimson. “What. The. Fuck? Did he tell you he was in love with you?”

  “Not in so many words, but it seemed obvious,” Amanda snapped back.

  Michaela pressed her lips together as Blake dragged a hand over his face. “How, Amanda? How did it seem obvious? Fuck! Please tell me you didn’t sleep with him. Please!”

  “I’m not telling you anything.” Her voice was a series of tearful hiccups.

  “Why did you do it?” He slammed the heel of his hand against the countertop. “Were you deliberately trying to hurt me?”

  “Hurt you? This isn’t about you, Blake!” Amanda shrieked.

  M’s hand shot out and rested on his forearm. He shook it off. “Not now,” he bit. She snatched her hand back and refilled her glass, biting back the urge to point out that Amanda hadn’t actually admitted to sleeping with Owen. Something clued her Blake didn’t want to hear it.

  “Michaela?” came Amanda’s trembling voice.

  “I’m here.” She ignored the glare Blake swung on her.

  “Can I call you tomorrow? I don’t think I can talk anymore tonight.”

  Michaela’s heart fractured for the foolish, heartbroken girl with the unreasonable, pissed-off brother. “Of course you can. I’ll be around all day, so whenever you feel up to it, you give me a call, okay?”

  Blake ended the call and tapped furious fingers on the countertop. Michaela held her breath, and when he leveled his gaze at her, his eyes were glacial green. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  “About Owen? I knew she’d seen him during Thanksgiving. She was about to bust with excitement, and Fiona and I were the only ones she trusted within hearing distance. She swore us to secrecy because she worried about how you’d react.” With good reason, apparently. “I couldn’t stop her before she blurted it out, or I would have asked her not to include me in her secrets. I didn’t like keeping it from you, but she promised she’d tell you. Obviously, she hadn’t gotten around to it.”

  “Obviously.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “So she trusted you, but not me?”

  Well, duh, she refrained from saying. Instead, she gave him a blank look that appeared to poke the bear a little harder. “What is it with you and Owen anyway? Sisters fall for their brothers’ best friends all the time.”

  He snorted, and his nostrils flared, but his voice was chillingly calm. “First of all, he’s not my best friend. Not anymore. The guy’s turned into an A-one douche. And you look like you’re about to argue with me on that point too, so before you start talking about something you know nothing about, let me give you a little example. You keep nagging me about what happened at the charity event. Well, I’ll tell you.”

  She didn’t know what jolted her more. Being accused of arguing, nagging, or of talking about something she had no knowledge of. Whose sister came to me because she couldn’t talk to her brother? And now I see why! Michaela folded her arms across her chest and held her temper in check.

  “I have this picture,” he said.

  Okay. Not what I expected. She frowned in confusion. “Like him in some kind of compromising situation?”

  Pain flickered in his eyes but was quickly doused with a shot of ice. “No. It’s more like you … in a compromising situation.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. I have a picture of you.”

  She eyed her shot glass. “I think I need another drink.”

  “You drink too much.”

  A mini-explosion detonated inside her, and she clamped down on the urge to throw him out—after throwing the shot glass at him. She needed to get to the bottom of what was going on, and then she’d throw him out. Meanwhile, thoughts bounced around in her head like superheated ping-pong balls because nothing made sense. “I’m going to be generous here and write
off your snide remark to you being pissed at Owen or in a continual state of pissed-off-ness at your mother and taking it out on your sister and me, not that that gives you a pass to be callous.” She gave herself an inner pat on the back for keeping her voice even. “So let’s hear it. What kind of picture, Blake?”

  His reply held a modicum of sheepishness. “I wanted a picture of you to … to take with me on the road, and one morning while you were sleeping, I …”

  Translation: I took a picture of you naked without your permission. “You took a picture of me while I was asleep?” Owen’s words swam back to her, suddenly making sense. “Very nice picture, by the way. Love the tat.” She narrowed her eyes and pressed her fingertips hard to the underside of the counter to steady herself. Her breathing bottomed out, and her heart weighed heavy in her chest like a hunk of granite. “Oh. My. God! You took a picture of me naked—without asking!—and you showed it to Owen? Who the hell does that?”

  “I didn’t show it to him,” he thundered. “He saw it, and he’s been giving me shit about it because he’s jealous as hell.”

  “You still have it?” she yelped.

  He had the decency to hang his head. “No one else has seen it, for what that’s worth.”

  “It’s worth shit! Show me. Now.” She held out her hand. No wonder I’m drinking!

  He picked up the phone, tapped and scrolled, and handed it to her. “I took it just for me, and I should have asked first, but—”

  “Yeah, you should have, and you didn’t,” she finished for him. The picture on the screen wasn’t as bad as it could have been. An inch of her ass crack peeked above the sheet, and a slice of ass cheeks below. A sliver of side boob by her bent arm. And her tattoo in all its glory. But nothing revealing … in an X-rated kinda way. For a quick phone pic, it was actually kinda sexy and arty. But that did not make it okay!

  “Did you take other pictures?”