He Has MVP: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Boston Brawlers Hockey Romance)

by Stephanie Queen

  “Maybe the airport is open,” she says. “We could get a flight. But then there’s the dogs and what are the chances they’d let us take three puppies even if we paid for their seats? Maybe I could . . . but that wouldn’t be fair for me to leave you with the dogs.” She stops walking and her face collapses in disappointment.

  “Don’t worry about me, Pink. Go if you need to go. In fact, I insist.” Anything to wipe that tragic look from her face. She bites her lips, those perfect kissable lips that I’m dying to suck into my mouth again—along with all kinds of other body parts.

  “Are you sure? I—that’s really decent of you.” She looks at me with the kind of look that makes my heart race, the kind that says my hero but without being cheesy.

  When we get back to the car, I drive her straight to the airport only three miles away, although I’m hoping the whole time she’ll change her mind. She has Curly in her lap and she’s talking to the puppy, consoling her when I’m the one she ought to be consoling. But she doesn’t know that. Or does she?

  She knows I’m into her since I’ve made that perfectly clear. But she doesn’t realize how much. Maybe I’m not sure either. All I know is I don’t want her to go, but I can’t stop her, wouldn’t want to get in her way.

  I pull into the front end of the main parking lot, which is almost empty. After giving the pups a brief bathroom break, we leave them to amuse themselves. We go inside and, even in her heels, she rushes to the only open counter and I’m right there with her, barely.

  The friendly lady from Cape Air gives us good news and bad news. Pink can catch a plane, the last one cleared to take off today, but it leaves in thirty minutes. Her face lights up and she gives me a brief squeeze-hug, taking some of the sting off the good news of her impending sudden departure. We run back out to the car. She’s ahead of me, all excited that she’ll have working Internet and outlets where she can charge her phone and computer.

  “I have just enough time before my flight to send some crucial emails,” she says as we reach the car. My chest tightens with each word she says because it becomes clear she’s forgotten about me already, about our night and the promise of more. I’m already a memory to her and it’s not clear if it’s a pleasant one or just a minor annoyance in her scheme to take over the Boston business world. I get inside the car and grip the wheel. Taking a deep breath, I release it and get a grip on my head, on how I feel.

  I’m happy for her. I really am. Not even kidding and it’s fucking weird because I don’t want her to go.

  “I’ll miss you,” I say. I don’t think she’ll miss me. Which is also weird. She’s standing on the other side of the car and bends forward into the open passenger seat window.

  She reaches in and pets the dogs because I’m letting them travel out of their cage to keep me company. She says nothing.

  “It’s just me and Moe, Larry, and Curly for the duration,” I say, forcing good cheer. “We’re gonna bond over the storm.” Clouds darken the daylight and small sporadic drops of rain spit from the sky.

  “I owe you, Aiden,” she says. “Let’s get together. I’ll call you.” She smiles and I see some reluctance as she lifts one of her bags through the window. “I can only take one bag on the plane. So I guess I’m asking another favor.”

  “I’ll see that the rest of your stuff gets back to you.”

  Her face lights up with that too rare playfulness. “Then I will see you. Sometime this week when you deliver my luggage.” She doesn’t move away from the car.

  I nod, enjoying the sudden difficulty she’s having with her departure when she was so excited to leave a minute ago. She stands there petting Curly through the window and stalling.

  “Make sure you give Curly her due attention when I’m gone.”

  “I will.”

  The wind lifts her hair, whipping it across her face. She shakes her head, removing shiny blond strands from her mouth. She looks reckless and wild and something swells in me—not my dick, something in my chest, making me hurt with longing. I thought I was fine with her leaving. Thought I was okay with letting her get away with so much promise unfulfilled. Figuring I’d make sure there’d be another time. But now . . .

  “Guess I should go. Get some work done finally.” Still leaning on the window she reaches inside with both hands to pick up Curly and give her the hug and kiss that rightly belong to me. A stab of regret shoots through me, but I keep my smile fixed and nod at her when she waves goodbye, then blows me a kiss.

  She turns and runs between the raindrops back inside the toy airport, disappearing behind the closing glass door.

  “Well this sucks,” I say to the puppies. May as well get started with my new one-sided conversations. Curly bounds onto my lap and licks my face.

  “Leave it to the girl dog to understand a broken heart,” I say. Moe barks. Or it could have been Larry. Truthfully, I’m not always clear who’s who, but they know their names so it all sorts itself out in the end.

  On the way back to the house, I stop at a drugstore and buy a portable cell phone charger that operates on battery power, dog biscuits, and a box of Funny Bones because that shit is perfect consolation food. I also buy the last big-ass battery-powered lantern in the store, some extra batteries, and the latest Jack Reacher thriller novel to go with it. Then I head back to the empty dark house.

  The pups maintain their energy, though, so it’s impossible to stay down. I was prepared to spend the weekend alone with them in the first place, wasn’t I? It hadn’t been my idea to invite Pink to join the fun. She’s not my type. Never was. How could I have thought I was so into her, even for a few lost moments last night?

  Why the fuck am I all if only she was still here? What’s that shit about? She was a pain in my ass.

  A hot fun pain in my ass. A never boring pain. Oddly intriguing.

  Fuck. She’s my girl.

  I pull into the driveway, grab the leashes, and open the door. Moe, Larry, and Curly are thrilled to be home, yanking good and hard on my arm, leading me to the front door. Once we get inside the dark space, I set up the lantern, light a couple of candles, feed the dogs. Then light the fireplace.

  The stage is set for a seduction if I only had the one missing piece of the production. The seductee. I’m not going to bother wasting a bottle of wine on my solitary evening.

  “Guess it’s you, me, and the book tonight guys—and girl.” Talking to the pups doesn’t feel weird at all.

  My phone, which I’d set up on the new charger, surprises me with a revitalized ring. I jump to get it, more excited than a phone call deserves. Before I check the caller my heart leaps and announces its anticipation. Please be Pink.

  Fuck. One glance tells me it’s the opposite of Pink. It’s Jillian, the girl I made the mistake of dating three times over the summer. Once should have been enough, but I got shamed into date two, and date three shouldn’t count because she followed me and got me drunk enough to take her home. I think for a second about not answering as the phone goes into its third hearty ring, but hell, I have no one else to talk to right now.

  “Hello, Jillian.” I’m standing in the middle of the great room looking into the fire as she launches into a monologue about her life since I last saw her, when the front door opens with a whoosh.

  I turn, the phone to my ear, to see Pink walk inside and coming for me, smile beaming.

  “Pink,” I say, the phone still against my ear.

  “What?” Jillian says as Pink about reaches me. Then she stops short, smile gone, mouth open in shock and her pale face getting even paler. Fuck. Pink can hear Jillian’s voice as she continues talking.

  “Are you with someone, Aiden? Who are you talking to? What the hell is going on?”

  “I have to go,” I say into the phone, voice tight. Then I automatically add, “Call you later.”

  Mistake. Big mistake.

  Chapter 6

  Aiden

  Pink flinches. Even as I click the phone off and slip it in my pocket, I know I�
��ve inflicted pain, that she thinks the worst and I need to make it right.

  “That was Jillian,” I say. “She called out of the blue. She’s no one—”

  “No one? I’m sure she’d be thrilled to hear you say that. Is that what you’re going to say about me next week when you’re with someone else?” Pink shoves past me, not waiting for any further explanation.

  No fucking way I’m letting her think the wrong thing, so I follow her as she carries her bag into the guest room. She spins around.

  “You told me there was no mattress in here.” She points accusingly at the bed with a mostly intact mattress. “And to think, I came back here because I changed my mind about leaving you. Clearly I shouldn’t have bothered. You’re nothing but a lying man-whore.”

  “I didn’t lie. I exaggerated. There is a chunk missing.” I point out the corner where the puppies chewed, compromising the exterior covering down to the foam and then some. No springs are exposed, but Chelsea didn’t bother making it up for sleeping. But I know the mattress isn’t the real issue.

  Pink snorts, unimpressed. Her eyes glitter. She’s hurt. And I hurt her. My gut roils and I rake my hands through my hair, not knowing what to say, how to explain that she’s nothing like Jillian, nothing like any woman I’ve ever been with, or not quite been with, to be exact.

  “Look, Pink—Allie,” I start.

  She looks up at me, surprise softens her expression, and I proceed with caution.

  “There’s nothing between Jillian and me. I was never into her the way she’s into me. But apparently I haven’t done a good job of communicating that to her because she called out of the blue. Unprovoked, I promise.” I sigh. “And I have no plans to ever call her back.”

  “Of course not,” she says, derisiveness back in her tone of voice and twisting her mouth, even as the glittering sadness still haunts her eyes. “Because you’re a liar. You’re the kind of dickhead who promises to call and then doesn’t.”

  She’s right. “I guess I am,” I confess on a long, resigned breath, not liking the self-image. “Or I was. But I promise I’m not anymore. I think of you differently, Allie.”

  She stares at me in silence. Then she opens a drawer, takes out some sheets and proceeds to make up the bed while I watch. Searching my head for what to say next, I’m at a loss. I have no experience with real relationships with women I care about.

  Words, even if I could find them, will mean little now. I have a lot to prove. Now I need to figure out how to prove to Pink and myself that I’m capable of committing to a relationship and that I’m worthy of her.

  “Go,” she says. “Just because you call me Allie doesn’t mean I should take you seriously.”

  Her voice drips with disdain making it perfectly clear that she’s not taking me seriously. Not now or anytime soon.

  But I’m no quitter and I smile as I leave the room. It’s an evil smile, but with good intent behind it. The stubborn determination in me takes over, that streak I have that doesn’t listen to what other people say, that ignores good sense and reason. My instincts tell me I can win this game, because now I know what the game is and, more importantly, what’s at stake.

  I need to win Allie Pink’s affection and respect.

  Spending the rest of the afternoon cleaning the yard as much as I can with the dogs helping and hampering me alternately, the rush of wind and rain refreshes me until the intensity picks up and the pelts of water sting my face. I would have stayed outside in spite of that, to give Pink space, but the pups start whining and I take mercy on them.

  Changing into the last of my dry clothes, I check my phone and send a text to Ryan. I know he won’t see it tonight, but he should know about the storm. Then I call my coach.

  “What do you mean you’re stuck on Nantucket?” Predictable response.

  “I mean the hurricane has shut down transportation off the island. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to get off by tomorrow night, but I wanted to let you know—”

  “You’d damn better get back here by Tuesday morning and I don’t care about the fucking storm.”

  “Got it, Coach. Will do.” I end the call. His bark is worse than his bite, but I probably should have texted him. He got the message either way. It’s funny that I have no anxiety about getting back for the season. Maybe I should be worried, but right now all my worrying space is taken up with Pink and winning her back. Not that I ever had her. But we had promise and I want that again.

  Heading through the kitchen to the great room, it looks like nothing’s been touched, like Pink hasn’t come out of her room all afternoon. It’s almost dark now, so I start a fire while the pups try to eat the last of the dry wood in the box. Once I get the fire going, I contemplate my next move.

  “Maybe I ought to bring her a snack. What do you think of that idea, Curly?”

  “Still talking to the dogs?” Pink’s voice sneaks up behind me and I turn, my heart lurching to life like it was smacked with electronic paddles.

  I try to hold my grin back without smirking, but I’ve totally lost my cool.

  “How about s’mores? We’ll do an indoor marshmallow roast.”

  She nods. “Sounds like a dessert I can look forward to after a cold sandwich for supper.” No smile. She’s cool, taking a book with her to her spot in front of the fire.

  “All right then, cold sandwiches coming up.”

  She doesn’t respond, but I don’t mind the ice queen act or playing servant to her princess. She has it coming. Going to the cooler for the cold cuts and cheese we picked up, I put together the sandwiches and assemble the ingredients for the s’mores, including the sticks I gathered from the yard to roast the marshmallows.

  Remaining quiet with only a nod of acknowledgment when I deliver the sandwiches, she keeps her eyes on whatever she’s reading. She’s cool until I impale the marshmallows on the ends of the sticks and wave one over the top of her book. I set the plate of graham crackers and chocolate squares on the coffee table and open the glass doors of the fireplace to expose the open flames. Then I take a seat on the rug and extend my marshmallow into the fire.

  “So tell me,” she says, leaning against the couch, sitting close to the fire and holding her marshmallow stick over the flames. I’m sitting near the dog bed where the puppies are all curled up sleeping. It’s the same way we were last night, except tonight it’s all wrong.

  I hold my breath waiting to hear what she wants me to tell her, knowing I’ll reveal just about anything to her right now as I watch her golden hair in the flickering firelight, the pale perfection of her skin. She seems so delicate, yet she’s tougher than nails. Must be the ballerina training she had early on.

  “What?” I say in a hoarse whisper.

  “When you’re done being a hockey player, will you build bridges?” She turns her eyes from the fire and levels them at me, serious and intense, like I’m a screwed-up column of numbers on her ledger.

  The answer is an unqualified yes, but I hold back. She’s testing me—no, she’s judging me.

  “Why? You think playing hockey isn’t a real job?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Her tone says she’s on defense.

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “I don’t have to answer you.” That was mean. She flinches at the lash and I feel like the shit I am.

  “I’m sorry, Pink. I meant that—”

  “I know exactly what you mean. I have no business asking you because I’m no one to you—”

  “That’s not true. You’re a friend.”

  “A friend?” Her voice squeaks with anger and hurt and then anger again.

  “You’re right. You’re more than a friend. I want you in a way that’s way past friendly,” I say, moving closer to her.

  She snorts, one of her many amusing habits. “No doubt. Get in line,” she says.

  I laugh. “No doubt. You’re a prize, Pink.”

  “I’m no one’s prize,” she say
s with a lift of her chin.

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” Real cool, Cavanaugh. Way to win her over. She rolls her eyes. Yet again. And I deserve it yet again.

  “Did I mention I’m focused on my new business? I’m not interested in romantic relationships right now.” She picks up her book and that sparks something like panic in me. I don’t want to lose her interest, however disdainful it may be, so I take her wrist to stop her from going anywhere.

  “We have chemistry, Pink.” Holding her gaze, for a split second I see the hesitation, the acknowledgment of that spark between us. My body heats up until she yanks her arm away from me, shutting me down.

  Ignoring my assertion, she says, “I think I’ll turn in early.” She lifts herself from the floor in a graceful ballerina glide and my mouth goes dry with disappointment.

  Fuck. Get over yourself, Cavanaugh. A few s’mores doesn’t make up for being a dickhead the way I handled the phone call from Jillian. She takes the last bite of her cracker and picks up the plate, ready for clean-up duty like the good girl she is and heads to the kitchen area. I stand, shoving my hands through my hair.

  “Look, don’t sleep in the guest room. You can have the master bedroom,” I say. I have a lot to make up for.

  “With the puppies? No thank you,” she says. “I’ll never get a good night’s sleep with them and I need one.” She doesn’t add after last night, but I hear it on her mind all the same.

  “I’ll keep the dogs out here with me and sleep on the couch.”

  “You will?” She looks skeptical and I nod.

  She doesn’t thank me, but she retreats to the master bedroom with her book. Fuck. I go back to the fire and stare at the dancing flames, trying to puzzle a way to redeem myself. I’m surprised when she brings back a pillow and blanket for me.

  “You’ll need these things if you’re going to get any sleep out here with the dogs.” Her tone makes it clear she thinks this is where I belong. No thank you in sight for the sacrifice.

  “Is that what you think of me? That I’m like a dog?”