Penalty Play

by Lynda Aicher

  He stripped off the rest of his equipment as Hauke ran through his post-game captain’s spiel, which was followed by a short one from Coach O. Henrik listened with half focus, his mind stuck on the state of his life.

  He’d never been this confused before. But then, he’d never bother to analyze his life either. He’d simply cycled forward from girlfriend to girlfriend, season to season without pausing or questioning. There’d been no need to.

  So why was he now?

  He was in the middle of his post-game workout when Feeney ambled up. “A few of us are heading to Bart’s for a quick drink. You in?”

  “Nope.” He took another big step and dropped into a lunge, ignoring the protest of his tired muscles.

  “Entertainment should be there.”

  “Don’t care.” That might be his first true statement in years. He really didn’t care. Not about going out or the possible women or what anyone else was doing.

  Feeney crossed his arms, studying him. “So who are you banging?”

  Henrik grit his teeth at the crudeness. It’d never bothered him before. It’d always been just talk—when he hadn’t been invested in the women. He’d dished out just as many lewd comments and had never once stopped to consider how insulting crass words could be. He wasn’t banging Jacqui.

  He shook out his legs and picked up a set of weights, ignoring the other man to start a repetition of arm curls.

  “Come on, dude.” Feeney edged closer. “There hasn’t been a hint of a chick on your arm all season. What’s the deal?”

  “And it’s your business why?” He leveled a cold glare at the other man, hoping he’d take the big fucking hint and walk away.

  “No deal,” Feeney went on, oblivious to the big fucking hint. Or ignoring it. “I just haven’t known you to not have a woman.”

  The truth of that dug at Henrik and drove a spike of pain through his tight shoulder blades. Damn it. “Fuck off, Feeney.”

  Feeney stepped back, scowling around his fat lip. “Fine. Be a dick.”

  “Hey, Feenster,” Rylie called into the hallway. “Doc wants to see you.”

  “Christ.” Feeney turned to Rylie. “I’m fine.” He flexed his hand, sent one last glare at Henrik then headed into the locker room anyway. Thank fuck.

  “Curls only,” Steve said to Henrik before he could lift the weights over his head.

  Damn shoulder. He grunted and picked up a heavier set of weights to start another rep of curls, focusing on counting and breathing. He wanted to get this done and get home. He could blow off the workout, but fitting a quick one in after games gave him more recovery time before tomorrow’s practice. It was how a lot of the guys got in workouts during the season.

  Rylie picked up a set of weights and started in on arm curls, pacing Henrik. Great. He could feel another conversation coming on. But the man just lifted in silence, doing his own thing. Perfect.

  Excellent.

  Why?

  Shouldn’t he want to talk to these guys he called his brothers? When had he become such a dick? Had he always been one?

  “Am I a dick?” The question was out before he thought about it. What the hell? His stomach lurched, cramped. “Dude. Forget I said that.” He set the weights on the rack, prepared to bail.

  “No,” Rylie said, without pause. He kept his reps up, staring straight ahead. “You’re not a dick.”

  Henrik choked out a rough laugh. “Right.” He’d been called it often enough to believe it was at least partially true. Hell, he knew it was. He even perpetuated it. To what end?

  “You’re not,” Rylie insisted as Henrik started to walk away, which had him stopping. There were other guys around, but none close, thankfully. “A dick runs away instead of saying the hard shit to a friend when they need to hear it.”

  Rylie set his weights down, shook out his arms and finally faced Henrik. His serious expression was an oddity and added another twist to the knot in Henrik’s stomach. The fact that he was clueless as to what the man was talking about didn’t help his rising discomfort.

  Rylie stepped closer, voice lowered. “You told Walters what he needed to hear back in August. That impressed the shit out of me.” He cocked a half grin. “Surprised the shit out of me too. But that wasn’t a dick move. Not even close.”

  Henrik gripped his hips in a hard clamp that angered the muscle knot in his shoulder even more. Being reminded of Walters and the drugs and the number of people he’d lost to them wasn’t helping his mood. The storm thrashed in his chest, banging for a vent or something to lessen the questions and surfacing doubts.

  “Can I ask you something?” Rylie asked.

  Henrik peered up at him, only moderately calmed by the honest curiosity he found. “What?”

  “You’ve changed this season.” The statement didn’t leave room for a response, and there wasn’t one for Henrik to give. He had changed. Jacqui’s influence had affected every part of his life. “Why? Your play and game’s still on, but your enthusiasm’s missing. What’s going on?”

  He could’ve given a smartass response or walked away, but he didn’t. Rylie was one of his closer friends, as close as he’d let people get anyway, and their bond had strengthened since they’d been paired up on defense. But mostly, he didn’t want to lie or blow him off. He didn’t want to hide Jacqui.

  Not with someone he trusted to understand.

  An uneasy itch fluttered over his skin, adrenaline spiking with nerves to punch at his comfortable shell. He headed to the open mats along the wall, motioning for Rylie to follow. He was into his second set of crunches before he’d relaxed enough to answer the man.

  “You know that thing you found with Sam?” Henrik asked, glancing at Rylie, who was matching him again.

  He grunted a “yes” without pausing or looking over.

  “That’s what.”

  Rylie froze mid-crunch, eyes wider than his grin when he turned his head. “No shit?”

  Heat flushed up Henrik’s neck to enflame his face. He blamed it on the workout and prayed Rylie did too. But yeah, it felt good to talk about it. His smile grew the more he tried to hide it. Oh, fuck it.

  He flopped back on the mat, chest heaving, grinning like a love-struck teenager. “Yeah.”

  “Fuck.” Rylie slugged his arm, laughing. “Good for you.”

  A weight he hadn’t realized had been pressing on his chest lifted with his friend’s easy acceptance. “Her name’s Jacqui,” he shared without thinking about it.

  Rylie nodded and lay back to restart his crunches. “How long have you been seeing her?”

  Henrik followed suit, incredibly grateful for Rylie’s easy acceptance. No razzing or mocking digs. “Since preseason.” It was easier to talk while he was half focused on his workout. Emotional dumping was not his norm.

  “That explains a lot.”

  “Like what?”

  “Hell. I don’t know.” Rylie fell back, sucking in air. “All the shit the guys have been ripping on you for. No woman on your arm for one.” He lifted his legs into the air and started another set of crunches. “You’ve been quiet too. Keeping to yourself more. Withdrawn.”

  Had he? Henrik puzzled this, grunting a response for lack of a real answer. They finished the rest of their workout in silence. He showered and redressed in his suit, still thinking on Rylie’s comments. He hadn’t been aware of how much he’d changed around the guys. Did he keep his nose out of the ribbing? Sure. Had his time hanging in the player lounge lessened? Yes. Did he spend more time alone in his hotel room on the road? Sure.

  And the guys had noticed?

  It stumped him as to why. He wasn’t the most popular guy on the team. Hell, he’d never tried for that status. He wasn’t the best player either. No delusions there. He just did his job—so he wouldn’t lose his hockey family. Partook in the banter to stay included. Dated the women to keep his house from being empty.

  He flipped his tie through the knot and tugged it tight. Rylie and his damn observations.


  “Hey,” the very man he was just cursing said at his side. “Let me know if you ever want to double.”

  Henrik frowned. “Double?”

  “On a date, dude.” He shook his head. “Like, with our girlfriends.”

  It took a moment for Henrik to process that offer. A double date. None of the guys had ever offered that before. Sure, he’d done dates with other couples, but it’d always been the women coordinating.

  The idea took hold, blooming into an even bigger idea that he went with. “Are you guys free next Sunday afternoon?”

  Rylie’s brows winged up before he frowned. “The Sunday before Thanksgiving? I think so.” He pulled out his phone and checked his calendar. “No practice that day. Sam’s in town too. We should be free.” He tucked his phone away. “Why?”

  “Put us on your calendar. Two o’clock. My place.” He was grinning now, excitement overriding nerves for his plan. “Bring your gear. I’ve got a rink we can play on.”

  “Of course you do.” Rylie was chuckling now. “Is it even cold enough?”

  “It’s artificially cooled.”

  “Right.” He shook his head. “We’re in…unless Samantha has something. She’ll want to play too.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Text me your address.” He slapped Henrik on the shoulder. “You heading out?”

  Henrik grabbed the rest of his stuff, still mulling the address comment. “You don’t know where I live?”

  Rylie shot him a puzzled side-glance. “I’ve never been there.”

  Another stumper. For as much as he hated being alone at home, how often had he had any of the guys over? Outside of Walters, he could only think of a few who were no longer on the team. And that’d been years ago.

  It was definitely time to change that.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jacqui caught a movement from the corner of her eye and jerked up, hands freezing on the piano keys. Her pulse skipped then restarted with her released breath.

  Henrik was home.

  “Hey,” she said, as he set his bag down. Her breath was gone again as she took him in. His black suit was tailored to fit him perfectly. His shoulders appeared even broader in the jacket, the cut tapering around his waist. His hair was still damp, slicked back with a few pieces falling across his brow.

  How was it possible he’d want a simple girl like her? Yet the heat in his eyes, the warm smile that curled his lips, said he did.

  He dipped to brush a kiss on her lips, hand lingering on her neck, thumb stroking her jaw when he lifted away. “How was your night?”

  She shrugged. “The usual.” Work was never that exciting, unless a handsome hockey player came through the door. Then look what happened. “Sorry about the loss.”

  “It happens.” He motioned to the piano. “You can keep playing.”

  “Do you want me to?” He enjoyed listening to her practice.

  “Sure. I need to unpack.” He brushed one more stroke down her jaw. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “No thanks.” She’d learned his routine by now. He preferred to decompress when he got home from a game. Unpack, get a sports drink, change his clothes. She picked up the song where she’d left off, finding the notes as he went back to grab his bag.

  It was closing in on midnight before she stopped. She’d been picking through the ending on her senior recital, rearranging it over and over, still not satisfied. At least she had months before it had to be finished. Her eyes landed on the still-boxed keyboard he’d bought her weeks ago now. Over a month? Already?

  Would it be that bad of her to unpack and use it? He obviously wasn’t going to return it.

  She flexed her fingers, stretching the digits. Henrik was lying back on the couch, watching her. He’d changed into sweats and a T-shirt and based on his relaxed position—one arm folded behind his head, feet up and crossed—he’d been there a while.

  She took care to close the lid on the grand piano and flicked off the light next to it before going to him. “Are you ready for bed?”

  “I’m not very tired yet.”

  She chuckled, holding out her hand. “That’s not what I asked.” That was another thing she’d learned. It was usually closer to one or two before he unwound enough to sleep.

  His languid expression changed to a heated gaze when he took her hand and sat up. He stood, stopping long enough to capture her mouth in a deep kiss that left her dazed. “I’ll lock up.” He dropped one, two, three more kisses on her lips before pressing one to her forehead. “I liked what you were doing with the song.”

  Her smile was instantaneous. “Thanks.”

  She was beneath the sheets, teeth brushed and clothes off, when he entered the room. The bedside lamp cast a soft glow over him. He paused to study her before going into the bathroom. She liked this too, the knowledge of what was coming. It was familiar now. Comfortable in a way she’d never let herself think about, let alone experience.

  Sex had always been about the moment. Ending things before they got to this point had been her MO.

  And what if…

  She swallowed back the persistent fear that was growing stronger the closer her appointment loomed. The pain in her stomach hadn’t faded. If anything, it was getting worse. It was too sharp and constant to brush off as simply nerves now.

  Henrik stepped out of the bathroom and she forced her fears back. He wanted her here, in his life, and she wanted to be here. If she focused on that, the rest wasn’t so overwhelming.

  He wore only his boxer briefs, which he stripped away before sliding beneath the blankets. His skin was chilled when he pulled her into his arms. She went willingly, lips parting before they met his. They’d stopped the pretense of clothes in bed weeks ago, and she reveled in his heat, in the soft tickle of his leg hair beneath her soles and the strength of his thighs. Of him.

  He held her hair away from her face, diving deeper and harder into her mouth until he’d pressed her back against the mattress. His hand drifted down her side, gripped her breast before pinching her nipple. She arched, gasping into his mouth at the shot of pleasure/pain that fired through her chest and down to her sex.

  Damn. She dug her fingers into his scalp, held him firm and dove into this kiss. Into the slightly manic air that flowed from him and infected her. He was between her spread legs, grinding his firming erection on her hip in quick jerks that matched his panting breaths as he devoured the skin on her jaw, neck then ear.

  “I want you so badly,” he told her, nipping her lobe. “I want to feel you around me, stroking me.” She shuddered at the rush of goose bumps that raced down her neck to bead her nipples tighter. “Loving me.”

  He swallowed her moan with a plundering kiss that stole her breath. Her head was spinning when he freed her mouth to suck in a heaving lungful of air. She lost track of everything except his demanding touch, warm lips and wet tongue. He worshipped her breasts until she writhed beneath him, whimpered for more or for mercy—she didn’t know.

  She tried to give back, find some control, but he wouldn’t let her. No, tonight he was driving, and she gave it to him.

  He buried his mouth in her sex, tongue flicking over her clit in a fast, rhythmic flutter that fired through her groin. Hot, sensual, shattering—he kept it up, fingers thrusting into her channel in a maddening drive that yanked her orgasm forward.

  “God,” she cried out, clenching his head to hold him closer. Her legs were spread, heels digging into the mattress as she pushed up, reaching, searching, wanting that peak.

  He shoved her legs up so she was spread wide, bared to him completely. She felt no shame though, not when he stared at her with such adoration. Not when he released a leg to run a finger through her wetness from top to bottom, dipping into the depths of her heat before dropping down to circle over her anus.

  She sucked in a breath, hips bucking at the burst of sensation the play evoked. Her muscles clenched, seeking more. Her mind raced back to him tonguing her and how’d he’d driven
her crazy with lust.

  “Yes,” she said, voice barely a whisper. Would it feel strange to have him in there? Good or bad, she could experience it before…if… “Do it.” Her demand was firm. She took control of it, pressing up so his finger penetrated her.

  His groan clawed over her, throaty and raw that matched the clench of need that raced through her. It was so different yet not. New yet similar. His tongue had played the sensitive ring, fingers too, but not so…precise. She flexed her hips, rode his digit on slow glides that let her adjust, sense and enjoy the new fullness firing from the responsive muscles.

  “Damn, Jacqui.” His voice was coarse, eyes so dark they were almost black.

  “More,” she managed to say around her own dry throat. She refused to be embarrassed, wouldn’t shy away from this new desire, from the forbidden nature of the lustful wrongs.

  He mumbled a curse, pulled his finger out. “Just a sec.”

  Her hole clenched and released in a dual act of relief and wanting the digit back as he urged her to roll onto her stomach. She didn’t question him, just followed, lifting her hips when he tucked a pillow beneath them then grabbed stuff from the bedside drawer. He shoved her legs wide, gripped her ass cheeks, cool air hitting her hole before it was covered in wet heat.

  Oh, God. She buried her face in a pillow, knees coming under her to raise her bottom higher, seeking more of the illicit touch. He sucked and licked, his fingers dipping into her vagina to tease her further. She became lost in his touch, in the probing tip of his tongue and the rolling press on her clit. He seemed to be everywhere at once, but never long enough to relieve the building pressure that centered in her core.

  Sweat heated and cooled down her spine, her mind conjuring wild images of what he was doing to her. Loud slurps and sucks provided a sordid harmony to his assault on her.

  “You’re so amazing,” he murmured, nipping her bottom. The pain blended so quickly with the overwhelming pleasure she hardly noticed it. She whimpered for more. Another bite followed on the other cheek, answering her request.