Game On
A Hometown Players Novel
Victoria Denault
New York Boston
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Victoria Denault
Excerpt from Slammed Copyright © 2017 by Victoria Denault
Cover design by Elizabeth Turner
Cover photography by Claudio Marinesco
Cover copyright © 2017 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First published as an ebook and as a print on demand: October 2017
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ISBNs: 978-1-5387-2701-0 (print on demand edition), 978-1-5387-2700-3 (ebook)
E3-20170809-DA-NF
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1: Alex
Chapter 2: Brie
Chapter 3: Alex
Chapter 4: Brie
Chapter 5: Alex
Chapter 6: Alex
Chapter 7: Brie
Chapter 8: Alex
Chapter 9: Brie
Chapter 10: Alex
Chapter 11: Brie
Chapter 12: Alex
Chapter 13: Brie
Chapter 14: Alex
Chapter 15: Brie
Chapter 16: Brie
Chapter 17: Alex
Chapter 18: Brie
Chapter 19: Brie
Chapter 20: Brie
Chapter 21: Alex
Chapter 22: Brie
Chapter 23: Alex
Chapter 24: Brie
Chapter 25: Alex
Chapter 26: Alex
Epilogue: Alex
A Preview of SLAMMED
About the Author
Also by Victoria Denault
You Might Also Like…
Newsletters
For my dad, who is always there to talk hockey with me.
Acknowledgments
Hometown Players started as a trilogy. Three books about three loving, sometimes wild sisters and their hockey hunks that I wrote “for fun.” My husband was working overnights and I was bored and trying to save money so I jumped back into my childhood hobby (writing) to avoid boredom and going out and spending money. And here we are, two and a half years and six Hometown books later, and I’m stunned, thrilled and so damn grateful.
Absolutely none of this would have happened without my agent Kimberly Brower. Thank you for taking a chance on me, for all your amazing hard work and for talking me off all the ledges.
Thank you Leah Hultenschmidt for being a fantastic, enthusiastic and supportive editor. The schedule has been crazy at times throughout this series but your positivity and willingness to talk through anything and everything has made the craziness manageable. Thank you to the rest of the fabulous team at Forever Yours who touched this book and this series in some way. From the cover art to the promotion you guys have been nothing short of amazing.
To my husband, Jack, thank you for being my personal cheerleader. I couldn’t do this without your positivity and support. To my family and friends who have been so supportive, I don’t know what I did to deserve you all but I am forever grateful.
To the authors who have created such a strong, supportive community and welcomed me into it, thank you. To the bloggers and readers who not only gave this series a chance but embraced it and loved it—I owe you everything. Thank you.
Chapter 1
Alex
As I stand on the busy Brooklyn sidewalk waiting for the light to change, I notice a boy, about eight, looking at me. His mom is saying something about their plans after school but he’s not listening. He keeps glancing over his shoulder at me, sneaking quick glimpses and then looking away. When we make eye contact, I smile.
“Are you Alex Larue?” he asks and I can tell it’s a courageous act for him. He turns instantly red. His mother stops talking and looks back at me, confused.
“I am,” I reply and his whole face lights up brighter than a Christmas tree. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Dylan,” he announces. “And I’m super excited you’re playing for my team now.”
“I’m super excited to be playing here too,” I tell him and his mom looks more confused so I introduce myself to her. “Alex Larue. I play for the Brooklyn Barons hockey team.”
“Oh! Yeah he loves them,” she says as she smiles. “His dad takes him to a few games a year.”
“I didn’t like you when you played for San Diego because you always made our players mad and they end up punching you and getting penalties,” Dylan explains and I can’t help but chuckle. His mom looks worried about his candor. “But then my dad said that now that you play for us you’ll make other teams mad instead so I decided to like you.”
“Thanks, Dylan. I’ll try my best,” I vow and smile. “Hey, do you want your mom to take a picture of us?”
“That would be awesome!” he says as his eyes light up in excitement. After his mother takes a picture and I say good-bye, I make my way toward the Starbucks where I said I would meet one of my new teammates.
It’s great that Dylan is happy to have me in Brooklyn. I’m a little shocked to be here. The season started three weeks ago and I assumed San Diego was going to keep me since they’d made a bunch of trades in the summer and I wasn’t one of them. But here we are—middle of October, only one week into the season—and I’m suddenly a Baron.
Luc Richard is waiting just inside. He smiles at me. “Bonjour!” He gives me a quick man hug. “How was your flight?”
“Good. Came in a little late so I didn’t get to the hotel until three in the morning,” I explain. “You want anything to drink?”
He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “I don’t do caffeine during the season. And I never do Starbucks. Overpriced toilet water.”
“Tell me how you really feel.” I laugh. “I actually like their coffee.”
Starbucks is comforting to me. I’ve lived in a bunch of different cities and one thing is a constant—there’s always a Starbucks. I don’t tell him this because it makes me look like a pussy. Luc and I are acquaintances and I like him because all the people I trust in this world like him a lot, but I don’t really know him. That means I go into my usual happy-go-lucky, jokester mode. Honestly, even the few people I trust haven’t seen much else.
“To each his own.” Luc shrugs as I walk over to stand in line.
“So did management pick you to be my buddy because we’re both French?”
“Nah, it�
�s because no one else wanted to do it,” Luc says with a grin so I know he’s kidding. The team management always assigns a new player a veteran to help them assimilate to the team and the city. “It might be the French thing but I don’t think they put that much thought into it. We have so many new rookies or trades that anyone who has been on the team more than a year has a buddy this season.”
I nod. “Yeah they really cleaned house in the off-season. You and Devin must be psyched you get to play with Jordan.”
Luc’s face lights up. Luc grew up with Jordan and Devin Garrison playing hockey in Maine. Devin is the captain of the Barons and Luc was traded here a couple years ago. This summer so was Jordan, who incidentally I used to play with in Seattle. “Yeah. It’s pretty stellar. I didn’t expect that would happen during our careers. But I think the girls are more excited than we are.”
Right. Devin and Jordan married sisters, Callie and Jessie Caplan, and Luc is engaged to their younger sister, Rose. Luc smiles again as he runs a hand through his long shaggy hair. “How about your family? Are they excited about your trade or do they wish you’d stayed in San Diego?”
I shift from one foot to the other and pretend to examine the menu board. “I get traded every couple of years, so this is no big deal.”
He nods, thankfully accepting my nonanswer. “So I was wondering if you wanted the name of the real estate broker Rose and I used when I was traded here. She’s fantastic.”
“Yeah! Definitely,” I reply as the line inches forward. “The sooner I can get out of the hotel the better.”
“Yeah, we spend enough time in them on the road,” Luc agrees.
I glance down the line to see how much longer it’ll be and that’s when I see her. She’s right there in front of us and honestly, I’m ashamed of myself for not noticing her the second we entered. I must be slipping. Long, shapely legs in a charcoal pencil skirt. She’s wearing dark stockings with the line in the back, which is seriously hot, and a pair of red leather heels. I can’t see her face but between that body and the long, thick, rich brown hair, hell, I’m getting hard.
“Elle est jolie.” I nod toward her. A bonus of having a fellow Frenchman on the team is that we can have candid conversations and no one here will understand us. She’ll never know I was calling her pretty.
Luc looks up and his eyes do a swift up and down but he seems unimpressed. “Oui.”
He’s head over heels in love with his fiancée Rose so I don’t take it as a reflection of my taste. It could be a supermodel in front of us and he’d react the same. Still, I push it further like I’m known to do. I’m nothing if not consistent.
“Regardez ce cul.” My eyes linger on the perfect curve of her ass under that tight skirt. “C’est manifique.”
She’s got her head tipped down and her phone up. Clearly she’s absorbed in something on the screen. We could probably talk English and she wouldn’t even notice. But I don’t. I miss talking in French. I don’t do it nearly enough.
“Jordan est correct,” Luc tells me and chuckles. “Tu n’as pas un filtre.”
I grin and shrug at his comment that Jordan is right about me not having a filter. The line shuffles forward and I check out her ass again, only to realize she’s spun around. I immediately, and probably way too abruptly not to be noticed, snap my head up. She’s just as pretty from the front as the back. The chestnut color of her hair is mimicked by her big doe eyes. Her skin is flawless and her lips are full and pouty and glossed with the perfect cherry color.
“You’re French?” she asks, her eyes darting from me to Luc.
I glance at Luc and he looks like he’s shitting his pants. I give her a relaxed smile because I’m confident that just because she recognized the language doesn’t mean she understood the words. “Yes.”
“We’re both from Quebec, originally,” Luc explains. “We play—”
“Hockey?” she finishes for him and we both nod. “Yeah, I thought so. I mean with the arena just down the block. I figure there’s a lot of French Canadian hockey players around here.”
“Are you a fan of the Barons?” I ask. She doesn’t look like a typical hockey fan and she definitely doesn’t come across as a puck bunny, but you never know. And there’s something about her that feels like déjà vu, which is odd because even if she was a Barons’ superfan, I’ve only been a Baron for forty-eight hours. That said I’ve slept with a lot of women on previous road trips to New York. But I would remember if I saw her naked.
“I’m Alex Larue,” I extend my hand. She places hers in mine, but it’s reluctant. Her hand is warm and delicate but her handshake is firm. I cock my head to the side. “This is my teammate Luc Richard.”
Luc extends his hand and I realize she’s far less hesitant giving her hand to him. “I’m Brie.”
The line shuffles forward again and it’s her turn to order. She asks for a grande sugarfree vanilla iced latte with an extra shot, soy milk and extra ice. Most high-maintenance drink I’ve ever heard and it might be a red flag to a guy looking to date her, but that’s never been what I’ve looked for. Besides, the high-maintenance ones are usually fantastic in bed. She starts to pull out her wallet to pay but I step forward and gently place a hand on her back.
It’s meant as a friendly gesture but she swiftly steps away from it. I ignore that and address the cashier. “I’ll pay for her drink. And an Americano for me, please.”
The cashier nods. Brie looks at me, a frown fighting for control of her face. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. But I’d like to, Brie.” I give her my best, most dazzling smile. “And if you’re interested in a hockey game I’d love to give you some tickets. I would just need your phone number.”
She smiles. It’s pretty but it’s also guarded. Very. “That’s not necessary, but thank you for the offer.”
I think I know what the problem is—she must have a boyfriend so I say, “You and your boyfriend could make it a date night.”
Her smile softens. She looks amused. “This isn’t about whether I have a boyfriend. I’m just not interested…in hockey tickets.”
She’s shooting me down. I glance at Luc who looks like he thinks it’s hysterical. The barista calls out my Americano but her drink, being the Mensa project that it is, is still being made so instead of going to grab some cream at the condiment stand, I use the extra time to hit on her again. Since I’ve already been shot down, might as well add flames to the wreckage.
“Have you lived in New York long?” I ask her.
“Since I was eight years old,” she replies.
I smile again. “You must know the city well.”
“Like the back of my hand,” she replies absently as her big brown eyes look over my shoulder at the barista.
“I’m just got here last night. I would love someone to show me around,” I tell her and that finally brings her eyes back to me. “I’m betting you’d be a perfect fit.”
I say that line casually but then realize the innuendo in it. I have a bad habit of saying stuff that can be taken the wrong way. I think it’s because English is my second language and I learned it on the street, not in a classroom. I usually don’t mind it ’cause most people just think I’m that kind of guy, which makes it easier for me to be looked at as the jokester, but at the same time, I don’t want to offend people. In this case though, I let the inadvertent innuendo stand. I can tell by the way her eyes widen that she catches it. She’s as smart as she looks.
The barista calls out her drink. We both reach for it at the same time; our fingers touch. Neither one of us pulls away. She looks me straight in the eye, shoulders back. She’s not tense, she’s just confident and it lights a fire in me in places she’s made clear she’s not interested in.
“You have your teammates like Luc here to show you around,” she reminds me coolly but then she takes a step closer and the fire inside me gets hotter. She’s a few inches away and she’s even more stunning this close. Flawless skin and thick lashes and a s
cent like warm vanilla. “Thank you, again, for the drink.”
She steps back, gently tugging the drink and her hand away from me and she takes a few steps toward the entrance to the Starbucks. My mind is racing as I stare at that perfect ass and try to figure out one last way to get her number. I hate losing. Luc is snickering beside me because apparently me getting shutdown is entertaining.
She stops with her hand on the glass door and turns her head back toward me so quickly that long, luxurious mane of hair flies about her head. “When is your next game?”
She’s reconsidering?
“We play tomorrow night at seven,” I tell her.
“Marquer un but pour ma manifique cul demain soir, Alex,” she replies in perfect French with a perfectly smug smile on her lips.
My mouth falls open. She just told me to score a goal for her perfect ass. Luc bursts out laughing. Brie disappears out the door and into Brooklyn’s morning foot traffic. She understood everything I said about her. Every. Single. Word.
Luc is still laughing—loudly. I want to punch him. “I thought for a second there all those rumors about your mad skills with the ladies was exaggerated,” he says, “but apparently it just sucks with ones who can understand you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I shrug like it’s no big deal but I’m actually feeling a little embarrassed, which hasn’t happened in decades. “I was just being honest. Seriously, she was gorgeous.”
“She’s pretty and pretty smart if she’s staying clear of you.” Luc grins and I give his shoulder a shove.
“Let’s go. I don’t want to be late to my first practice.” I start toward the door and he follows. Outside we head east toward the arena, which is just a few blocks down. I can’t help but scan the faces of people passing by, hoping I’ll see her again but of course I don’t.
When we get to the arena we head straight to the locker room. Most of the team is already there and as soon as I walk in the guys start to holler and clap and I get that warm rush inside me that I only ever get from being on a team. Devin Garrison stands up and walks over. “Glad to have ya, Rue.”
Game On Page 1