Playing Hard: A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance (The Chesapeake Blades Book 3)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  She blew out a deep breath then slowly nodded. “Okay, cool. So—how does this work? You ask me some questions, I answer. You clean it up and print it?”

  “Yes and no. I like to dig a little deeper, learn about the real person. Try to capture their personality and make it shine. Think more human interest than exposé.”

  Human interest? Shannon almost laughed. Holy shit, what had she gotten herself into? Yeah, she was human—duh. But interesting? Not hardly, not in her opinion.

  “Are you still up for it?”

  “Yeah, sure. Shoot.”

  TR laughed, the sound light, then settled more comfortably on the bench. She crossed one long denim-clad leg over the other, her booted foot gently swinging. “How long have you been playing hockey?”

  Shannon sighed in relief. That question was an easy one. If they were all like this, she’d ace the entire interview. “Since I was six.”

  TR nodded, her pen poised against the pad—unmoving. Shannon frowned, wondering why the woman wasn’t writing anything down.

  “Um, that would mean I’ve been playing for seventeen years.” She stared at the unmoving pen, her breath held as she waited for it to move. Still nothing. She glanced at the other woman then reached out and tapped the tip of her finger against the blank notepad. “Are you going to write that down?”

  A ghost of a smile hovered around the other woman’s mouth as she shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m waiting for more.”

  “More what? You asked. I answered. What more do you want?”

  TR’s smile grew a little wider. “You’re pretty literal, aren’t you?”

  “What? No, I don’t think so—”

  “People usually elaborate a bit more when they answer.”

  “Elaborate how? That one was pretty straightforward, right?”

  Another smile—but at least this time she was writing something. Shannon leaned forward, trying to read the woman’s notes, but the handwriting was nothing more than an illegible chicken scratch.

  Damn.

  “Why hockey?”

  “Um, because.”

  “You just woke up one morning and decided you wanted to play hockey?”

  “Well, no. Not really. I mean, my older brother played. And all of his friends. And there really weren’t any other girls in our neighborhood. At least, not ones I really wanted to hang out with because they were too busy playing with dolls or dress-up or whatever and that so wasn’t me because I’ve never been into that girly shit so I—” Shannon stopped, frowning at the pen racing across the page. What the hell was she writing?

  TR looked up. “Go on.”

  “Oh. Um, well—that’s pretty much it. My brother played.”

  “Does he still play?”

  “Steve? Nah. He gave it up before high school. Besides, he hated that I was better than he was.” Shannon tried to hide her smirk but couldn’t. She still loved teasing her brother about it, because he was so easy to tease.

  “Any other siblings?”

  “Nope, just us.”

  “And was that an issue?”

  “What? Not having any other brothers or sisters? No, I don’t think so. I mean, we were both a pretty big handful growing up, so I don’t think—”

  TR’s laughter interrupted her. “I meant, was it an issue that you were better than your brother?”

  “Oh. Not really. I mean, maybe. When we were growing up. But Steve’s heart wasn’t really into it, you know? He liked playing, but it wasn’t who he was. If that makes sense.”

  TR scribbled something else then looked up, understanding clear in her eyes. “Makes perfect sense. What about now?”

  “Um, what about it?”

  “Is playing now an issue for your brother? Or for any other man in your life?”

  “There is no man—” Shannon’s mouth snapped closed, heat filling her face. Had that sounded as pathetic as she thought it did? She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze. “I, uh, I don’t date much.” And yeah, okay, that sounded pretty pathetic.

  “Because of hockey?”

  “No, that’s not it. I mean, not really. I just—I don’t have time. Practice. Games. Work. Not much time left for anything personal.” That was a safe answer, wasn’t it? And it sure sounded a hell of a lot better than admitting that men tended to shy away from her because she was intimidating. Yeah, that was one thing she’d never admit, especially not to the woman sitting next to her.

  TR scribbled a few more notes then looked up, her gaze drifting to something behind Shannon. A small smile curled her mouth and she nodded in the direction of her gaze. “I think someone’s waiting for you.”

  “What? Who?” Shannon turned around, expecting to see Taylor or Dani or one of her other teammates standing there. Her stomach did a slow roll just as her heart slammed into her chest. Caleb Johnson was standing a few feet away, watching her with a heart-stopping grin. Heat filled her face and she quickly looked away, her mind racing. What the hell was he doing here? And why did he have to look so damn delicious?

  Shannon glanced behind her once more. Yeah, definitely delicious. He looked just as good in a pair of worn jeans and a Banners’ sweatshirt as he did in a tailored suit—which was so unfair, considering she looked like death warmed over in her hockey shorts, socks, and sweat-soaked t-shirt.

  She ran one hand through the tangled mess of her hair and quickly turned away again. The small grin on TR’s face surprised her, made her realize she must look like she was primping or something just as stupid. She dropped her hand into her lap and forced a smile on her face.

  “Next question?”

  TR shook her head and closed the notepad. “We can pick up again on Thursday after practice.”

  “But—I thought this was a one-time thing. Don’t you have to, you know, finish the story or something?”

  “Didn’t Chuckie tell you? There’s no set deadline. I’m working on a series of articles featuring all of you, so no rush. Besides, it looks like your date is here.”

  “Date?” Shannon’s voice rose an octave and she cleared her throat, cursing the fiery blush racing across her cheeks. “Caleb so isn’t my date. Not even close. So please, don’t even put that in there anywhere, okay? Because that would be—yeah, just don’t.”

  “Shannon, don’t worry. I have no intention of writing anything that would embarrass you or the team.” TR shoved the pad and phone into her bag then tossed it over her shoulder and stood. “We can pick this up on Thursday, okay?”

  Shannon nodded, watched as the woman gave her a quick smile and walked away. Then she took a deep breath and spun around, frowning as Caleb approached her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  His steps faltered, but only for a second. “Just came by to say hi.”

  “Seriously?” She didn’t bother to keep the surprise from her voice. “Why am I not believing that?”

  “No idea.” He dropped to the bench beside her—too close beside her. Shannon slid away, frowning.

  “Seriously. What are you doing here?”

  “I told you, just wanted to stop by and say hi.”

  “Uh-huh, sure.”

  “Fine. Don’t believe me.”

  “I don’t.”

  Caleb’s chuckle sent a shiver dancing along her spine. She frowned, praying he didn’t see the way her flesh pebbled—or if he did, that he’d think it was because she was cold. “Feel like grabbing something to eat?”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why can’t I?”

  Shannon glanced at her watch then held her wrist out for him to see. “Because it’s after ten o’clock, that’s why.”

  “You don’t eat after practice? Because I’m usually starving afterward.”

  She did, and she was. But that was beside the point. “What do you really want?”

  “I told you—just stopped by to say hi and see if you wanted to grab a bite.”

  Shannon snorted, the
sound filled with disbelief. “Uh-huh, sure you did.”

  Impatience flashed across his face, there and gone so quickly, she almost thought she imagined it. “You’re not very trusting, are you?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Fine. The truth is, I wanted to see you again.”

  “Why?”

  Caleb’s intense gaze met hers, pulling her in, making her skin feel hot and prickly. He leaned forward, the faint smell of soap and aftershave wrapping around her. His voice was low and warm, just above a whisper when he spoke. “Why not?”

  She jerked her gaze from his and slid back a few more inches. Dangerous. So fucking dangerous. And she didn’t trust him, no way in hell. He was after something, she knew it.

  Taylor’s words came back to her once more. Stay away. He’s a player.

  Maybe. No, more like probably. But that didn’t stop Shannon from wondering what his mouth would feel like against hers, or what it would be like to have Caleb’s body stretched out on top of hers, hard and—

  “I’m not sleeping with you.” She blurted the words out before she could stop herself, then cringed at the desperation even she could hear in them. And damn if he didn’t chuckle and lean in closer.

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Because I mean it.”

  He shrugged, like he didn’t care one way or the other, then patted her on the leg and stood up. “I’ll wait while you clean up.”

  “But—” She didn’t bother to finish because he was already walking away, like it was a foregone conclusion that she’d go with him.

  Shannon sat there for a few minutes, fighting the temptation to chase after him and tell him she wasn’t going. Then she sat there for another minute, annoyed with herself because she wasn’t chasing after him to tell him she wasn’t going with him.

  Because she wanted to go. Wanted to see what the hell he was up to.

  Wanted to pretend, for just a little bit, that he was actually interested. In her.

  “You’re a fucking idiot.” She muttered the words under her breath then snorted and pushed to her feet. Yeah, she really was.

  Because she was going to go with him.

  But no way in hell was she going to sleep with him.

  Chapter Five

  Shannon leaned across the table, snagged a fry from Caleb’s plate, then tossed it into her mouth. She laughed at the frown on his face, at the way his mouth gaped open ever so slightly before he snapped it closed.

  Like he wasn’t used to sharing. Or like he wasn’t used to anyone else taking something from him. Too bad for him because she didn’t care.

  She reached across and grabbed one more fry, just because she could, then leaned back against the vinyl seat of the corner booth. “Okay, Johnson, out with it.”

  “Out with what?”

  “With whatever game you’re playing.”

  His gaze darted to hers then dropped to his plate, which he was pulling a little closer to him—probably to stop her from stealing another fry. “Who says I’m playing a game?”

  “Please.” She filled the word with as much sarcasm as she could muster and dragged it out into three long syllables. “Like I believe you were in the area and just decided to stop by.”

  “I was.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure you were.” She rolled her eyes then leaned forward and propped her elbows on the edge of the table. “What do you really want?”

  Caleb looked up, the expression in his green eyes unreadable. That didn’t stop the flash of awareness from rippling through her. Damn if she’d look away, though. If she did, he might realize the effect he had on her, and that was the last thing she wanted. Let him think she wasn’t interested. Something told her Caleb didn’t get that very often—the new experience would do him some good.

  “I told you: I just wanted to say hi. See if you wanted to grab a bite to eat.”

  “And you expect me to believe that why?”

  “I said hi, didn’t I?” The corner of his mouth kicked up into a grin. “And look: we’re eating. Imagine that. Must mean I was right and got what I wanted.”

  “Something tells me that happens a lot.”

  “What?”

  “You getting what you want.”

  He shrugged, the motion—and the expression on his face—devoid of any guilt. “Yeah? So?”

  “Wow. Cocky much?”

  Caleb leaned closer, his grin widening. “It’s not being cocky when it’s true.”

  The sharp bark of laughter escaped her before she had a chance to swallow it back. Caleb’s smile dimmed and just the briefest hint of confusion glinted in his eyes—but only for a second, only until he blinked it away.

  “You find that amusing?”

  “No. I find you amusing. But something tells me that wasn’t the impression you were going for.”

  “Why do you think I’m going for any impression?”

  Shannon shrugged then reached for the glass of iced tea, draining it with a few long swallows. She wiped her mouth off with the napkin, balled it up, and tossed it onto her empty plate. “No idea. Call it intuition. And I’m ninety-nine percent positive you have an ulterior motive for stopping by and asking me to grab a bite to eat.”

  Caleb frowned but refused to look away. In fact, he actually leaned closer—close enough that she had the sudden urge to back into the corner of the booth. How ridiculous was that? There was a table full of empty dishes and glassware between them. What was he going to do? Tip the table over and push it out of his way to get to her?

  Yeah, right.

  “Why do you have such a hard time believing that I don’t have an ulterior motive? Why can’t you just accept the fact that I really wanted to see you and grab a bite to eat?”

  “Because—” Shannon snapped her mouth closed and looked away, afraid he’d be able to see the truth in her eyes. Because guys like him always ever wanted just one thing. Because guys in general always seemed to want that same thing from her. Because she’d been burned too many times and didn’t trust anyone, not when it came to the opposite sex. She’d learned long ago that guys weren’t interested in her, they were interested in what they thought they could get from her. And once they actually got to know her—if they even stuck around that long—they usually took off in the opposite direction, running as fast as their poor legs could carry them.

  “It’s because of Taylor running her mouth, right?”

  Oh, yeah—that, too. Caleb was a player. She couldn’t forget that.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Because you don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me—”

  “Which is what I’m trying to fix—”

  “—but I’m supposed to believe that, all of a sudden, you’re so interested—”

  “Yeah, that’s how it generally works.”

  “Oh, bullshit.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m not an idiot, Johnson. I know what guys usually think when they first see me. But as soon as they get the tiniest glimpse of who I really am, off they go, running scared.”

  “You don’t see me running, do you?”

  “No. And that’s why I’m pretty sure you’re after something. Maybe you’re trying to prove something. Guys like you are used to the sure thing, which is why I can’t figure out what the hell you want.”

  “Christ. Double standard much?” He tossed the crumbled napkin beside his plate then sat back, slowly shaking his head. His frustration was clear, from the way his mouth pursed to the muscle jumping along his jaw. “Guys like me? What the hell is that even supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t play stupid. You’re a pretty boy, with those gorgeous eyes and that stupid ass dimple.” And why the hell was she still talking? She needed to shut up, to stop while she was ahead. Caleb was passing the frustration zone and slowly skating into impatience. But her mouth had other ideas—as usual—and the words kept falling out. “Don’t tell me you’re not used to wome
n throwing themselves at you. Big name superstar. Good looks. A multi-million-dollar contract.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Don’t even say that’s not true. I’ve been around sports long enough to know better. Which means you must see me as some kind of challenge, right?”

  “Yeah, you’re a challenge, alright. A challenge to my patience. What the hell, Wiley? How the hell did we go from grabbing a bite to eat to—to—whatever the hell this even is?”

  His use of her last name acted like a bucket of cold water thrown over her, dousing the flames of her pent-up anger and frustration. What the hell was she doing, taking things out on him? Going off on him like that when he’d done absolutely nothing wrong? Did he have ulterior motives? Maybe. Probably. But if he did, so what? He hadn’t acted on them, hadn’t done anything except invite her out for a bite to eat.

  The heat of mortification filled her face and she looked away, more embarrassed than she’d been in a long time. What the hell was wrong with her? She glanced around, caught the attention of the waitress, and signaled for their check before turning back to face Caleb.

  At least, face in his direction. She was too embarrassed to actually look at him, too worried about what she might see on his face. “Sorry, I was out of line.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  She heard the curt abruptness in his voice, opened her mouth to apologize again. To blame her over-the-top rant on lack of sleep and stress and whatever other excuse she could come up with. No, she wasn’t going to make excuses, not when none existed. Yes, she was tired—but that didn’t excuse her rant. Nothing did.

  The waitress placed the check on the edge of the table, not even bothering to glance at Shannon. Not that Shannon could blame her for giving Caleb a thorough once-over. Or, in the woman’s case, an eight-times-over, considering she’d been watching Caleb from the moment they had taken their seats.

  Whatever. Shannon bit her tongue, not bothering to use the poor waitress as an example of everything she’d just said. She simply rolled her eyes and reached for the check—

  At the exact same time as Caleb.

  Their hands collided, their fingers twisting together as they both fought to gain possession of the paper slip. And kept fighting, until the paper started to tear. Shannon curled her fingers tighter, squeezing Caleb’s until he finally let go.