Pucking Parker (Face-Off Legacy Book 1)

by Jillian Quinn

  I roll my eyes. “I haven’t worn makeup since my dad made me wipe it off my face my sophomore year in high school. Anyway, who cares if my lip is busted open? I wear it like a badge of honor. I wasn’t about to let Stacey Weaver get to the net.”

  “Instead, you guarded her so hard, she ended up dropping bows on you like you’re in the UFC.”

  A rumble of laughter shakes through me. “Drop bows? You sound like a lunatic.”

  “What? Haven’t you ever seen a spinning back elbow? It’s pretty sweet. That’s basically what Stacy did to your face.”

  “I hustled my ass off to become a starter this year. I wasn’t about to punk out, allow her to make the easy layup, and show Coach Vaughn I wasn’t starting material.”

  “It was just a scrimmage. You can ease up a little bit. What if Preston tries to kiss you on Saturday and he tastes blood? That’s not sexy.”

  “He’s a hockey player. I’m sure he’s used to the taste of blood in his mouth. And it’s not like I’m going to kiss him.”

  Once we reach the outer edge of the ice, our conversation comes to a halt. Taylor’s eyes are as wide as her mouth, full on ogling the players. Her behavior is almost embarrassing. Almost. Because I’m doing the same thing after I spot Preston on the ice. He skates with such grace I can’t help but admire him in all of his glory.

  A quick squabble ensues, where two players fight for possession of the puck. In a blur of blue jerseys, I don’t have a good view, but someone takes a shot on goal. It hits the post and bounces to the left of the net. One of Preston’s teammates passes the puck to him, and then he’s gone. He moves so quickly down the ice I have to blink to refocus. Damn, he’s fast. My dad wasn’t kidding about Preston. He’s talented.

  I walk closer to the Plexiglas, stumbling over my high-top Chuck Taylors. Pressing my hand to the glass, I stare in awe as Preston scores for his team. I bite my lip, accidentally digging into the fresh cut from practice. A metallic taste fills my mouth. But I don’t care. All I can think about is Preston.

  Watching him play for the first time is… memorable. Similar to how I felt the first time I saw Coach, Preston’s mom, standing next to Dante Fisher. Dante was my favorite basketball player growing up. I idolized him for years. Because I wanted to be like Dante. And Charlotte “Coach” Coachman—now Parker—was the first female sports agent.

  People took her seriously. Coach was a force to be reckoned with in the sports world. I couldn’t believe it when I saw her on ESPN with a big grin on her face next to Dante. She’d just closed a massive deal for him. Most of all she gave me hope. I had wanted to be like her ever since. That was my dream—to become a sports agent.

  “You should get that to your dad,” Taylor says, whipping me out of my Preston induced stupor.

  “Right.” I make a beeline for my dad, who’s talking to a player in the box.

  With his back to us, I catch a few glimpses of the scrimmage taking place, before he angles his body enough to see us behind him. Dad holds up his hand, suggesting I meet him on the other side.

  Distracted by the players, I have to nudge Taylor to get her to follow me. She’s mesmerized by them. A few of them take note of us. One waves, though I can’t see his face. I return his gesture, hoping he wasn’t attached to one of the dicks I’d seen in the locker room.

  My dad pushes open the door that leads to the ice, and I hand him the wallet.

  He takes it from me with a closed mouth smile. “Thanks, honey. You’re a real lifesaver.” His gaze falls from me to Taylor. “Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been, Taylor?”

  “I’ve been around. Busy with school and basketball.”

  “Still working on your jump shot?”

  She bobs her head. “Yep. I got it down pat now.”

  He winks at her, and then turns to me, studying my face. “How was practice? Looks like you got a nice shiner forming on your cheek… and your lip. What happened? You look like you went a few rounds with Hopkins.”

  I laugh at his boxing joke. “Practice was fine. Could have been better. But at least I’ll have a cool battle scar.”

  My dad inspects the gash, shaking his head. “I wish you’d be more careful. You can be so rough.”

  “Basketball is a rough sport,” I shoot back. “I’m not some delicate flower, Dad. I can take a punch, or in this case, an elbow.”

  “You were never delicate, that’s for sure.” He sighs, as if he regrets turning me into a tomboy.

  Before my mother left us, she had me prancing around in floral dresses and ballet flats. Yuck. I never liked ballet or dresses. Track pants and T-shirts were more my speed. My dad was right to raise me the way he did. If my mom had stuck around, I would have been pretending to be someone I wasn’t to make her happy. And I would have hated every second of it.

  “Are you staying until practice is over?”

  I shrug. “I guess we can hang around a little while longer. Not like we have anything better to do.”

  “That’s the spirit.” He slaps me on the back like I’m one of the guys. “I could use another set of eyes on the team. This game is going to be tough for us.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Me neither,” Taylor adds.

  Dad forces a smile and slides his hands to his hip. Biting the inside of his cheek, he seems nervous. More anxious than I’ve seen him in a long time. Glancing at the ice, his gaze travels between various players, landing on no one in particular.

  With the game a few days away, he’s on edge, even though he would never admit it. It’s the first home game of the season, and his first as the new head coach. NCAA announcers will talk about his role, whether they win or lose. And even more so if they lose.

  I tap my dad on the shoulder. “Everything will work out. I have a good feeling about the game.”

  Dad grins. “Me, too.”

  We’re almost the same height, my dad maybe three inches taller, our eyes almost level to one another. I might have gotten my looks from my mom, but I have his height and athleticism. It wasn’t easy being five feet ten inches in high school. Kids picked on me. Most of the guys were shorter than me.

  I learned to develop a thick skin because of it. Class pictures were interesting. Teachers forced me to stand at the back of the line with the boys, arranging us in order of height.

  Dad blows the whistle around his neck, signaling for the guys to come over to the bench. “I have to get going, honey. Take a seat over there.” He points to the first row of seats. “I’ll meet you over there after we’re done. Maybe we can get dinner. If you want. Taylor, you can come, too.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good, Dad.” I push my hand out to shoo him away, and then he’s gone, back to coaching his team.

  I tug on Taylor’s arm to move her toward our seats.

  “You have an admirer,” she informs me.

  I glance over at the bench to see Preston staring at me. Hard. His gaze is intense, his deep blue eyes fixed on me. He winks. Why did he have to do that? I refuse to return his gesture, or even acknowledge him. Last night, I was rude and said whatever had come to mind. It was my way of keeping him at a distance.

  A guy like Preston will be the death of me. I have no room in my life for players—both on and off the court. Or in Preston’s case, the ice. But I can’t help feeling something for him. He didn’t have to offer for me to meet his mom. Preston doesn’t owe me a damn thing. Maybe I can be a little bit nicer without breaking the rules.

  “The way he’s looking at you is giving me chills,” Taylor says, entranced by Preston. “What I wouldn’t give to have someone look at me like that.”

  She’s not wrong about him. When Preston looks at me, he undresses me with his eyes. My skin pricks with tiny bumps, which spread down my arms. He glares at me like a piece of meat. Like he’s a starved animal, and he wants to sink his teeth into me.

  But there’s something else about his demeanor. I interest him. Other guys have given me the same look in the pas
t. I’ve ignored them no problem. So, why can’t I do the same with Preston? Somehow, he has crawled under my skin, and I allow it. Even though I shouldn’t give him another thought.

  He removes his helmet. His hair sticks up in little spikes, protruding up in different directions from the sweat. So many dirty thoughts run through my mind. I can’t stop them once they start.

  He knows he has me. It’s not just his looks that hold my attention. Preston plays with such grace for someone his size. The way he moved his hips was like a dance routine I memorized with each glide of his skates.

  Practice ends with my father telling the players to hit the showers, and me still drooling over Preston. Taylor does the same. She hasn’t stopped gawking at the Drake Donovan for the last five minutes. Tall and muscular, Drake has short dark hair and a body so big and toned he makes you want to climb him. Drake is worth looking at. But no one compares to Preston.

  Damn him.

  “Where do you want to eat?” Taylor rubs her stomach. “I worked up an appetite watching these hockey hotties.”

  “I bet that’s not the only appetite you worked up,” I deadpan. “Don’t think I missed you obsessively watching Drake. I don’t blame you. I was doing the same to Preston.”

  Her eyes widen, and she clears her throat, making a strange movement with her head to indicate someone is behind me. When I turn around, I come face-to-face with Preston. Here, I thought all of the players were in the locker room.

  I have nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

  A wicked smirk turns up the right side of his mouth. An adorable dimple creases his cheek.

  Fucking hell.

  Chapter Five

  Preston

  All through practice I couldn’t get Bex out of my head. Every time I moved, it was as if she was there, watching me. Maybe I imagined her blue eyes following me. Or maybe I wasn’t crazy at all. Because when she spins around to face the ice, her eyes widen at the sight of me.

  I smirk. “Funny meeting you here.”

  Speechless, she opens her mouth but nothing comes out. I overheard her conversation with her friend, catching her in the act. At least now I know she wants me. Maybe she won’t be as much of a challenge as I thought.

  In a navy-and-white Strickland Senators basketball uniform and Chucks, Bex has never looked hotter. Even though I wish it were my jersey she has on. And nothing else.

  “Did you watch me play?”

  Of course, she did.

  Bex nods. “Uh-huh. My dad asked me to stay behind.”

  “Parker, stop bothering my daughter,” Coach Bryant yells. “Time to hit the showers.” He claps his hands together. “Let’s go.”

  Bex lets out a sigh of relief. “Saved by the bell.”

  “For now.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Wait for me. Right here.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  Sassy as ever, she drives me crazy with her mouth. Fuck, I love it. Way too much.

  “Do you know how to skate?”

  She snorts. “My dad is a hockey coach. I grew up at a rink. Are you serious?”

  I shrug, unaffected. “Hey, you never know. You could be good on your feet and horrible on skates. My older brother can’t skate to save his life, even with my dad teaching him.”

  “Really?” Her eyebrows rise. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true. JP is more like my mom in almost every way. He never took to hockey, at least not the way I did, and he hates the cold.”

  She laughs. “That’s interesting. I would have thought hockey was a mandatory requirement in your family.”

  “He’s the brains—”

  “And you’re the beauty,” she finishes for me, laughing.

  “No, that wasn’t what I was going to say. But... thanks, I guess.”

  I want more of Bex. More time. More of her mouth. My brain and body are in complete agreement, with my body winning out. I need to see her again, preferably off-campus and away from her father. Saturday cannot come fast enough.

  She stares at me, biting her cut lip. I strip the glove from my hand and touch her cheek, moving my thumb over her lip.

  “How did this happen?”

  “I took one for the team,” she says with a straight face.

  “Bex likes it rough,” her friend chimes.

  I laugh, my mind now wandering to dirty places. Her friend’s comment makes me think of sex. Regardless of Bex’s cracked lip, I want to take it between my teeth so fucking bad. She taunts me without even realizing she’s doing it. Fucking tease.

  A long pause ensues between us before Bex says, “You stink, Parker. Go take a shower.”

  I laugh. “Is that a yes?”

  “It’s not a no.”

  My God, I love her mouth.

  “What about your dad?” her friend asks.

  “Oh, right. We’re supposed to have dinner with my dad. I can’t. But I’ll see you on Friday.”

  “Can I call you?”

  She dismisses the idea with a quick shake of her head. “No, I don’t like talking on the phone.”

  “Texts, then?”

  She shrugs. “Umm…” Bex looks at her friend for confirmation this is okay, which strikes me as odd.

  Why does her friend give a shit if I text her?

  “Yeah,” her friend says. “Text her later.”

  I hold out my hand. “We haven’t met. I’m Preston Parker. And you are?”

  “Taylor Bradshaw. Bex’s roommate.”

  “You forgot teammate,” Bex says, now looking at me. “Taylor is also my best friend.”

  “Nice to meet you, Taylor.” I shove the glove back on my hand. “Nice seeing you, Bex. I’ll text you later, okay?”

  She nods.

  I leave Bex and Taylor behind and head toward the locker room to catch up with the rest of my team.

  “Parker.” Coach Bryant summons me with a stern look on his face. “Can I have a word?”

  Shit.

  “Yeah, Coach.”

  “Stay away from Bex,” he growls. “She’s not like other girls.”

  “That’s a good thing,” I admit.

  It’s also the reason I have trouble staying away from her.

  “I mean, she’s not like the girls you date… if you catch my drift.”

  “I’m taking her to meet my mom on Saturday. Is that not okay?”

  His expression softens, the corners of his mouth slowly turning up into a smile. “Yes, that’s fine and nice of you to arrange. Promise me you will keep it at that. Someday, you’ll be a star—just like your dad. Bex won’t fit into that equation. She’s had enough disappointments in her life, she doesn’t need another one.” He pats me on the back. “You get what I’m saying, right?”

  “Sure,” I mutter, somewhat annoyed. “I got it, Coach.”

  Sitting on the edge of the mattress, with my cell phone in hand, I call my mom.

  On the first ring, her voice blares through the speaker. “You’ve got Coach.”

  My mom is all business, all the time.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Oh, hey, sweetie. I didn’t realize it was you. I’m driving over the Brooklyn Bridge right now to see a client. I didn’t even look at the Caller ID. Is everything okay?” She sounds worried. “How come you’re calling on my business line?”

  “I didn’t even notice,” I confess. “I hit the first number on my speed dial.”

  “So, what’s up? Everything okay at school?”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine, Mom.” I lay back on my bed, holding the phone to my ear. “I’m bringing someone with me on Saturday.”

  “Who is it? Do I know him?”

  “No. It’s a girl.”

  “Ooh, this is great.” She can’t contain her excitement, her voice rising to a higher octave. “You’re finally letting me meet a girl you’re dating. About time.”

  I laugh. “No, Mom, it’s nothing like that. You know I don’t date.”

  She chuckles. “Like father, like son. Maybe t
his girl will be the one to change your mind. I did that for your dad.”

  I make a gagging sound, and she laughs.

  My parents are so sappy, still so madly in love after twenty-five years together. They showed me a love like theirs is possible. But I’m not ready for all of that. I have my career to worry about.

  “She’s not the one, Mom. Her dad is my coach. Coach Bryant already gave me the lecture about dating his daughter. She plays basketball for Strick U. She’s a big fan of yours.”

  “Well, I would love to meet Coach Bryant’s daughter. He’s doing an incredible job with you and the team.” I can almost hear the smile crossing her lips. “What’s her name?”

  “Bex.”

  “Bex? Is that a real name?”

  I laugh. “I thought the same thing the first time I heard her name. It’s short for Bexley.”

  “Ah, that’s cute. I lucked out and had all boys, so I didn’t have to think of crazy names for girls.”

  “John and Peter,” I say. “How unoriginal could you get?”

  “Hey,” she shoots back. “Your grandfather’s name was John. The name John Parker means something to hockey fans.”

  “And yet you let Uncle Jameson name me after his favorite comic book character.”

  “A bet is a bet, Peter Parker.” Even my mom mocks me. “Names build character.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

  “Hey, sweetie, I have a phone call beeping on the other line. Can I call you right back?”

  “No, that’s okay. I have to get going anyway. Jamie’s new girl is making us dinner.”

  “Jamie has a girlfriend?” She just about squeals.

  “No, Mom, she’s some random chick. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  “Okay, love you, baby.”

  “Love you, too, Mom.”

  Then, the line goes dead.

  Chapter Six

  Preston

  “Hey, dick,” Drake says to Jamie. “Would you stop feeding your girl with your fingers? The rest of us have to eat from that bowl.”

  Jamie sets down the bowl of penne pasta on the marble island in the kitchen, his fingers covered in spaghetti sauce. He steps out from between Shannon’s legs and helps her down from the counter. She giggles when he whispers something into her ear.