Power Play (Nashville Assassins: Next Generation Book 2)

by Toni Aleo

  “Yeah, sorry. Okay, your next round is on me.”

  Posey drops her hands. “Can I have a shot of vodka? Or three?”

  “Yup.”

  I look over at Posey and grin. “Can I get in on that?”

  “Yeah, as long as we never speak of this again.”

  I scoff. “Nope, I want the story.”

  Once the shots are on the bar, Stella apologizes once more, but Posey is completely over her. We throw them back quickly, and she makes this sound that gets me harder than a frozen puck. I look over at her, wiping my mouth. “Can’t handle your vodka?”

  “I can handle anything, thank you.” She wipes her mouth and exhales. “The story is—I made a jackass of myself and proclaimed my love for a guy who liked her and not me.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Oh, it was awful,” she groans, shaking her head. “We all grew up together, Aiden’s family and mine, so it was a tough pill to swallow, and I’ve been ignoring her.”

  “For good reason.”

  “Exactly,” she says as she picks up her hand. “Can I beat you real fast so we can eat and soak up this vodka?”

  I shake my head. “Nope, ’cause I’m about to beat you.”

  Her eyes flash with excitement. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  But she beats me.

  She even does a little dance when she lays down her hand, beaming from ear to ear.

  “I let you win,” I proclaim, and she laughs, her eyes dancing.

  “You’re a liar.”

  “Maybe,” I say, taking a huge bite of her nachos. “So, who was the guy?”

  “But I already changed the subject. Why are we back here?”

  I laugh. “Oh no. I want to know.”

  She shakes her head, leaning back to as she crosses her legs. She reaches for her beer, taking a long pull before meeting my gaze. “Our billet boy for three years. I thought he felt something for me. He did not, but in all reality, I romanticized the situation.”

  “Well, from what I gather, I sense it may have seemed like a relationship. I don’t think you can get the wrong idea based on what Stella said.”

  She shrugs. “But he was sleeping with her, and I ignored that.”

  I make a face. “Jesus, I can’t see you doing that.”

  “I wanted so badly for him to be with me.”

  “So, you allowed him to sleep with you and her?”

  She makes a face, and then she dissolves in laughter. “No! Wait.” More laughter. “We weren’t having sex. We shared a bed. Like cuddled and shit. But he was fucking her.”

  I laugh. “Okay, I didn’t see you as the type to share.”

  She scoffs. “Not even kind of.”

  She bites her lip as I take a pull of my beer. “My fiancée cheated on me.”

  “What a cunt.”

  I choke on my beer. “Right?”

  “Or, no! A cum dumpster! My sister said that to me, and I about pissed myself,” she laughs, and I grin.

  “That’s a good one.”

  “Exactly. I don’t understand that. Why cheat? If you don’t like the other person anymore, leave.”

  “Absolutely. We had no kids, so it made no sense why she kept hold of me. She was with him for six months before she dumped me, I think.”

  “What the hell? People fucking suck.”

  “They do.” I hold my beer out to her. She taps hers to mine, and we both take a long pull. The vodka is coursing through my body, and I’m feeling mighty talkative. “So why can’t you eat carbs?”

  Her brows come together. “Huh?”

  “Aiden said you couldn’t eat carbs at home.”

  She nods, a smile pulling at her lips. “My mom thinks they give us cancer.”

  I chuckle. “What? For real?”

  “Yes, it’s awful, which is why I’m spending entirely too much time and money at this place. I need fries, nachos, and wine. I can’t survive on no carbs.”

  “I hear that,” I say, nodding. “So, you live with your parents?”

  “I do. Pathetic, huh? But I owe them money, so I’m paying them back. Though, I don’t see myself moving out yet because we’re about to be traveling a lot. It wouldn’t make sense to get a place to pay for and not live in.”

  “That’s true. I bought a house for me and the ex, and she left. So now it’s Wes’s and my bachelor pad.”

  “That sounds awesome.”

  I shrug as I glance over at her. “I guess. It’s hard living in a house you bought for someone else.”

  She makes a face. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

  I nod. “Sucks.”

  “Yeah, but at least you can eat carbs.”

  I point my beer to her. “This is true.” I shrug. “I have an extra room if you want it.”

  What in the ever-loving fuck did I just say?

  Pretty girls make you stupid.

  She widens her eyes. “I don’t feel that’s appropriate, and I’m pretty sure my dad would come after you, even if it was innocent.”

  I chuckle. But one thing is for sure, it wouldn’t be innocent. Not even in the slightest. If she’s in my house, she’s under me. Or on top of me. One of the two, or both—shit, she’s gorgeous.

  “You sure? We have carbs at my house.”

  She snorts. “Believe me, I can be lured. But it’s highly inappropriate, Hoenes.”

  Her eyes meet mine, and the fire in them has me not giving two fucks about being appropriate. “Is it?”

  She licks her lips. “I think it might be.”

  Oh fuck, I’m gonna kiss her. But before I can, she looks away. She reaches for a helping of nachos before finishing her beer. I’m tempted to grab her by her jaw and direct her attention back to me, but I hesitate. Is she blowing me off? I feel something. I think she feels it too, but I’m unsure.

  Fuck, there is only one way to find out.

  “We should get out of here.”

  Okay, we’re going that route. Ballsy, Hoenes.

  She looks over at me, her brow perked, but then she glances at her phone. “Oh. Oh yeah, I guess you’re right. It is late, and I have a meeting before morning skate.” She gets up quickly, almost falling over herself before throwing a twenty on the bar. Before I can do the same, she gives me a look. “You aren’t drunk, are you? You can drive?”

  “Yeah, I can.” Sorry, Wes. Your spot is taken.

  “Great. I just want to make sure you get home okay.”

  Wait. “Huh—”

  “So, yeah. I guess I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks for this. It was fun.”

  And then she walks off.

  Doesn’t even look back at me.

  I blink once and then twice before I drop my head to the bar.

  She blew me off. Again. Maybe it is time to take a hint.

  Or completely ignore it once more and try again.

  Am I pathetic?

  Chapter Ten

  Boon

  I can’t keep from tossing and turning.

  I drank more vodka. Nothing.

  I masturbated. Nothing

  I drank a little more, and still, I can’t sleep.

  Nothing I do can keep me from thinking of her. A normal person would take the rejection and move on, but apparently I can’t. I don’t do failure well. I can’t stop thinking that maybe I wasn’t forward enough. Maybe I should have just kissed her. Maybe I should have just told her I wanted to take her to my place, feed her carbs, and fuck her brains out. I feel like she would have taken me up on my offer.

  But maybe I’m delusional. Maybe now I’m romanticizing the situation. She told me twice it was inappropriate, but I wouldn’t listen. I’m making this more than it is, and now I’m lying here alone, feeling stupid and hating life.

  I glance at the clock, and it’s close to two. I have to get up in five hours and go to the rink for morning skate. I don’t even know how I am supposed to face her and not show that I’m hurt by her rejection. If it is rejection. Jesus, I’m still romantic
izing this, and it’s obvious there is nothing to romanticize. I’m pathetic. This is why I didn’t want to get involved with anyone or have a crush. This is why I don’t do relationships anymore. But apparently the universe isn’t listening to me because I can’t stop thinking of her.

  I reach for my phone and click on my Instagram. I search for her and notice she follows me. I had no idea. I click on her profile and begin the social media stalking. I’m not proud. I scroll through her account, looking at every picture. It goes all the way back to when she was sixteen. The reason I know this is because she’s holding balloons of the numbers one and six. When I scroll back up, I see she has added to her stories. I see a picture of her lunch and then the nachos at the bar. When I hit the screen to click forward and a picture pops up of her in bed, I go hard everywhere. She’s wearing only a tank, her breasts high in the frame from how she is lying down. Her hair is all in her face and spread on the pillow. She looks distraught, unhappy, her lips pouting.

  The caption: Can’t sleep.

  Oh, lovely, neither can I.

  Is she thinking of me? Is that why? Instagram is challenging me to message her. While I understand it gives everyone the opportunity to comment, I truly feel it’s speaking to me.

  Am I about to slide into Posey’s DMs?

  I sure as fuck am.

  I sit up and type quickly.

  Me: Me neither.

  The app tells me she’s seen it, and then those glorious dots appear.

  Posey: This is not good, Hoenes. We have to be on our game tomorrow.

  Me: We’ll be fine.

  Posey: We’re playing the Wild. I’m nervous. Their PK is insane.

  Me: I believe in us.

  Posey: I hope you’re right.

  Me: I usually am.

  Posey: Hardly.

  When she sends me a winky face emoji, I draw in a deep breath.

  Me: Why can’t you sleep?

  Posey: ??? No clue. You?

  Me: My mind is moving a mile a minute.

  Posey: Me too. Sucks.

  Me: Yeah.

  Posey: I’m starving too. I’m eating celery and peanut butter. It’s depressing.

  Me: Ew. Who eats that?

  Posey: My mom and her no-carb self.

  Me: LOL. Go buy some cookies.

  Posey: I wish. I really need to try to sleep.

  Posey: I’ve been saying that for the last two hours, though.

  Me: I’ve got cookies.

  Posey: Rude. Don’t tease me.

  Oh. Oh fuck, I want to tease her.

  With my teeth.

  Me: You can come here.

  Posey: ??? Why? If I’m gonna go out, I can get cookies myself and not eat yours.

  At this point, why doesn’t she just kick me in the balls too?

  No. Be direct, Hoenes.

  Me: We could hang. And eat the cookies.

  Posey: We could hang?

  Me: Yeah.

  Posey: Is that a good idea? I mean, what would we do?

  Me: I think it’s a fantastic idea because I can come up with a lot of things for us to do.

  She sends me the wide-eyed emoji, and I can’t help but grin.

  Posey: Just so we’re clear, are you sliding into my DMs to hit on me?

  Me: Pathetically, yes.

  Posey: I’m shocked.

  Me: Why?

  Posey: I never thought you’d go about it this way. I thought you’d do it at the bar.

  Me: I did, and you blew me off. So here I am, offering carbs and a damn good time.

  Posey: Wait, are you drunk?

  Me: A little.

  She sends the eye-rolling emoji.

  Posey: So that’s why you’re doing this?

  Me: It may have given me liquid courage, but I wanted to do it at the bar.

  Another eye-rolling emoji.

  Posey: We have a game tomorrow.

  Me: Are you blowing me off again?

  Posey: If it makes it any better, I don’t want to.

  Me: Then don’t.

  Posey: I’ll see you tomorrow morning, but I’m unsure about this.

  Posey: It could make things weird.

  Me: Or it could be pretty fucking great.

  Posey: Sober up, Hoenes. We have a game tomorrow.

  I groan loudly and throw my phone across the bed.

  Well, if I was worried about making things awkward, I don’t have to worry anymore.

  Because I just did.

  I drank way too much last night.

  The venti black coffee I got at Starbucks is helping, but I’m not looking forward to morning skate. Beside me, Wes hasn’t stopped laughing.

  “You didn’t.”

  I groan. “Please stop talking.”

  “I cannot believe you slid in there and said that. She probably thinks you wanted a booty call.”

  “Great, because I was so excited to see her already,” I say dryly.

  He snorts. “I can’t believe you did that. Did you even think first? That’s so damn pathetic.”

  I groan even louder. “Please, don’t consider my feelings.” He just laughs. “I wasn’t thinking. I wanted her. God, I fucking want her. I love the way she laughs—you should have seen her last night. And, dude, for real, things were going really great. I felt good about it. I really thought we would take it back to my place, but she blew me off.”

  He looks over at me when we stop at a red light. “Maybe, just maybe, she isn’t the kind of girl to go home with a dude after the first date.”

  “She said it wasn’t a date.”

  He squints at me. “Jesus, do you even know how to land a woman?”

  “Fuck you,” I sneer. “I was drunk, horny, and really frustrated. I just wanted her, so I slid in there, and now I’m unsure how to face her.”

  Wes grins. “I’m praying she calls you out or laughs in your face. This is classic.”

  “I hate you,” I say, but he just laughs. “Is it really as bad as I think it is?”

  Wes whips his head toward me, grinning from ear to ear. “You hit on our coach after lusting over her for over a week, and she turns you down. So you hit on her in DM while you were trashed. Yes, this is as bad as you think, and I think it’s awesome.” He guffaws. “It’s like a really bad Netflix rom-com. So damn funny.”

  “I’m so glad my life is a comedy for you,” I deadpan, but then I groan. I really don’t want to face her. She will probably laugh at me. God, pretty girls make me stupid.

  The rest of the ride is torture. Wes laughs at me, and I down the coffee. Which is a bad idea because once we get to the rink, I have to piss like no other. I rush through the parking lot, mostly because I have to but also because I want to keep my friendship with Wes. He’s enjoying my misery a little too much. As I relieve myself, I look up at the ceiling and wonder what the hell I am doing. I probably should find Posey and apologize. It was tacky, what I did, and I don’t want her to think I don’t respect her. I do, but I still want to feed her carbs and fuck her stupid.

  Both at the same time would be an absolute dream.

  Once I am done, I wash my hands, but as I walk out of the bathroom, Aiden is coming in. “There you are.”

  I pause. “Where was I supposed to be?”

  “I was looking for you. Wes said you were in here.”

  I don’t move, just stand there looking at him.

  “Oh yeah. So I need to speak to you.”

  “Okay?”

  “So, if I heard something from a very reliable source, but I wasn’t supposed to tell you because it was pillow talk. But as your best friend, I have to tell you, right?”

  I don’t even know how to respond. I just stare at him. “I’m too hungover for this, Aiden. What are you saying?”

  He’s impatient, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Shelli told me something, and I want to tell you. But she told me not to.”

  I blink. “I’m still very much too hungover for this. Either tell me or move.”

  He stares at
me. “The only reason I’m telling you is because I believe you can change her mind. So, yeah.”

  I wait, but he just stares up at me. “Today, Aiden.”

  “Posey is pushing to get you off the power play.”

  Am I still drunk? “Say what?”

  “Yeah, she says you aren’t power play material and is trying to get Shelli on her side. But Shelli told me that she and Jakob feel you are doing your job, that Posey is trying to prove herself and make a big change to shake things up,” he says slowly, and I can see he is nervous to tell me this.

  Probably because I’m about to lose my fucking mind.

  “She said you’re a great player but that you aren’t made for the power play.”

  “The fuck I’m not,” I sneer as I push past him. He tries to stop me, but I outweigh him and, yeah, I have a bone to pick with Posey Adler. I throw my coffee in the trash as I walk with fucking purpose toward the staff offices. I’m unsure where Posey’s office is, but I’m going to find it. I look around wildly, almost feeling like I’m going to puke, but I will find out what the fuck her game is. I get it, things change and stuff, but I won’t have my coach replace me for a bullshit reason. There is no reason. I’m a strong player, and she knows it.

  If this is because I messaged her last night, I don’t even know what I’ll do.

  I see her name on a door and head right for it. It’s closed, so I rap my knuckles against it forcefully.

  “Come in,” she calls, and I throw open the door.

  Behind the desk, Posey sits with one hand in her hair and a coffee cup in the other. Her tablet lays in front of her, and I can see video of the team. Her eyes meet mine, and when her lips curve, I almost forget that I am fucking pissed.

  Almost.

  She puts down her coffee as she brings in her brows. “You okay?”

  I slam the door behind me. “Nope.”

  She stands slowly, her head tilting as she regards me. “What’s up?”

  “Did you tell the coaching staff that you want me off the power play?”

  She doesn’t even pause. “Not today.”

  “Before today?”

  “Yes,” she says simply, coming around the desk with her arms crossed over that naughty chest of hers. She’s wearing short little shorts and a long tee. It takes everything in me not to check her out. I may fail, but I do it with my shoulders back and vibrating with anger.