Holiday Games (A Play-By-Play Novella)

by Burton, Jaci

  “Can I fix you something to drink, Drew?”

  He smiled up at Carolina. “A beer would be great, if you have one.”

  She went to the bar and grabbed a beer out of the fridge at the bar, then brought it back to him.

  “Thanks. So tell me about your fashion design. What’s going on?”

  She took a seat in the chair across from him. “I left the designer I was working with and I’m starting my own line.”

  His brows rose. “Big move for you.”

  “Yes. But I felt if I didn’t make the move now, while I had all this inspiration, I might never do it.”

  His gaze never wavered from hers. “Yeah? So tell me what’s inspiring you, Lina.”

  His nickname for her never failed to make butterflies dance in her stomach. Or infuriate her, reminding her the way that nickname sailed from his lips that one night they’d spent together. That one and only night, before he’d walked out of her life as if she’d never existed. As if what they’d shared had never meant anything.

  Because it hadn’t. Not to Drew, anyway.

  But that was a long time ago, and she was a lot smarter now. She gave him a cursory overview, telling him much the same thing she’d told Gray and Evelyn.

  “So . . . clothes. Sounds fun. And you want me to model some of those for you?”

  “Yes. Sort of. But you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I’m sure you’re busy with hockey season gearing up. I can find someone else.”

  His lips curved into a smile that made her pulse dance. “Trying to get rid of me before we even get started?”

  “No. I’m just giving you an out if you want one. Not a lot of sports figures enjoy modeling clothes. And this would require print ads, as well as runway.”

  He took a long swallow of beer, then shrugged. “I’m game. I figure I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing, Drew.”

  “Then I’ll do it for the fun. And hey, if your fashion stuff is successful, it’ll draw attention to me and to the team, and that’s good for hockey, right?”

  “That’s the way I’m looking at it, too,” Gray said.

  “Speaking of exposure,” Evelyn said, standing, “The vice president has a meeting I need to be present for. We need to get going.”

  Carolina laughed. “Give Dad a hug for me and tell him I’ll see him soon.”

  She walked Gray and Evelyn to the door. “Thanks for stopping by. I’m sorry we couldn’t spend more time together.”

  “We’ll see you at Christmas, for sure,” Gray said, giving her a pointed look that told her he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Right?”

  “Definitely. I should have a lot more work done by then, and I’ll need to take a breather. I promise not to miss Christmas.”

  After hugging them both, she shut the door and headed back into the living room.

  “Well, thanks for agreeing to help me out.” She hoped he saw that as a sign that their meeting was over.

  Drew stood. “Have you eaten yet?”

  “No. I’ve had a busy day.”

  “Then let me take you out to eat.”

  “I have an even busier night ahead of me. There’s a lot to do to get this line ready, and not nearly enough hours in the day.”

  “Then we’ll order pizza. Or chinese. I’m hungry.”

  Obviously, he wasn’t grabbing a clue that she was trying to get rid of him. “Fine. We’ll have something to eat. Then you need to leave.”

  “Sure.”

  And she’d count every second until Drew was out the door, because having him in her apartment was disconcerting.

  She had no idea why she’d allowed this, when he was the one man she didn’t want to see or spend any time with. Instead, he was sprawled on her living room sofa, his long, lean body looking incongruous on her short, white designer sofa.

  Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her phone.

  “Chinese or pizza?”

  “Either one is fine with me. I’m just hungry.”

  She punched in the number of her favorite take-out chinese place and called in an order. They delivered faster than the pizza place, so she’d get Drew out of her apartment that much sooner.

  She went back into the living room to find him outside on her balcony. She poured a refill on her wine and wandered out there. It was cool outside, but not unbearable. He was looking out over Central Park.

  “Nice place, Lina.”

  Cringing at his use of the nickname, she stepped up beside him. “I love it here.”

  “I can see why.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I’ve got a place over on the Upper West Side.”

  She turned to face him. “I didn’t know you lived here.”

  He gave her a smile. “I do play here, remember?”

  He did. She just tried her best to forget that. “Of course.”

  “I only live here during the season. During the off-season I take off and head back home to Oklahoma.”

  “That’s nice. Do your parents still live there?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like I live with them. I’m a big boy now, babe.”

  Again with an endearment. “I’m not your babe. I never was.”

  He laid his beer on the table and turned around. “Still mad at me about that night, Lina?”

  “It’s Carolina. And no, I’m not angry at all. I’ve never given it another thought.”

  “I’m sure you haven’t. Because that would mean what happened between us mattered. And we both know it didn’t. Right?”

  He’d taken a step forward, getting into her personal space.

  “Or did it matter?” he asked, his voice going low and soft as he swept one of her curls behind her ear.

  She shuddered, as always, lost in the stormy gray depth of his eyes.

  He’d always been able to do this to her, to make her forget her resolve and turn her into the inept college girl she’d been all those years ago.

  The doorbell rang, and Drew took a step back. Carolina pivoted and went inside to answer the door. Drew was right behind her, surprising her.

  “I’ll take care of this,” he said, his wallet already open as he paid for the food and tipped the delivery guy.

  “I could have done that,” she said, following behind him after she shut the door.

  “I know you could have, but since I’m the one who insisted on dinner, I figured I should be the one to pay.”

  “Fine. Let’s eat.” She was starting the countdown. Fifteen minutes for food and conversation, another fifteen for after-dinner talk, then he was gone.

  She grabbed plates and laid out the cartons of food on her table. Drew had gone out to the balcony to grab his beer.

  “Can I fix you something to drink?” he asked, obviously comfortable enough to open her cabinets and grab himself a glass.

  “I’ll just have a glass of water.”

  He ended up taking down two glasses. “I’ll take care of that for you.”

  She didn’t want him to be nice. She wanted to think about him as he’d been in the past, like that night in college when he’d slept with her and dumped her the next day, effectively ruining her girlish fantasies about him.

  But that was in the past. She was a grown-up and a lot of time had passed.

  She was over it. Over him.

  Right?

  Except he was even more gorgeous now than he’d been in college. He’d filled out in places, slimmed down in others. He still wore his hair a little long and shaggy, which she found irresistibly appealing. His cheeks were more chiseled now, his jaw more angular, making her focus on those spectacularly sexy eyes of his that had always drawn her to him. Eyes that right now were zeroed in on her like a hawk zeroed in on its prey.

  Yeah. Not gonna happen.


  So instead, she scooped some chicken teriyaki and sesame noodles onto her plate, concentrating on the food instead of Drew.

  “So what made you decide to launch your own line?” he asked as he lifted a forkful of rice up to his mouth.

  Which of course made her raise her head just as he closed his mouth over the fork, which made her focus on his lips. Drew had very full lips, and despite all the years that had passed since—since they’d been intimate, she could still remember what it felt like when his mouth had pressed against the side of her neck, and what he had tasted like, and how gentle he’d been with her, since it had been her first time.

  She’d lost herself in that night, that only night with him. And it had taken a goddamned eternity to get over him.

  “Carolina.”

  She jerked her head up. “What?”

  He smiled at her. “What made you decide to launch your own line now?”

  “Oh.” That’s right. He’d asked her that question and she’d zoned out, slipping into the past so easily, like she always did whenever he was near. “I couldn’t handle working for David Faber any longer.”

  “What didn’t you like about working for him?”

  After swallowing, she took a sip of water and laid her fork down. “Where to start? He’s demanding, which I can handle. Designers often are. The difference with David is that he’s high-strung all the time, which creates such a nerve-racking work place. And he’s such a jealous bitch, treating his designers like slaves, refusing to let them provide any input. It was stifling working for him, which was why I accelerated my move to designing my own line. If he’d once taken any of my suggestions rather than treating me like nothing more than a seamstress, I might have stayed with him, because the man is truly brilliant. But he’s so neurotic and so afraid someone’s going to steal his designs, he’s impossible to work with.”

  Drew studied her. “Hard to work in an environment where your contributions aren’t appreciated.”

  And just like that, he’d nailed it, when she’d thought for sure he’d just nod and say “uh-huh” or something like that. “Yes, it was. Not that I expected to take over or anything, but I had good ideas, dammit. Ideas that would have helped his line. Not myself, but him.”

  “I understand. And it’s his loss, isn’t it? Because you’re going to create your own line now and kick his ass.”

  Admittedly, she was shocked by the compliment. “I don’t know about that. But taking that step was freeing in a way I never thought it would be. At least initially.”

  “And now you’re nervous because you’re on your own now and you don’t know if you’ll succeed.”

  He was also annoyingly keen at identifying her biggest worry. “Maybe.”

  “Don’t be worried. You’ll be great.”

  She pushed her half-empty plate to the side. “How can you be so confident, when you know nothing about me?”

  “Easy,” he said, standing and moving into the living room, where she’d shoved her sketches onto one of the side tables. He picked them up. “This. And this. They’re good, Lina.”

  She took a deep breath as his gaze caught and held hers. “You’re hardly knowledgeable about fashion, Drew.”

  “Maybe not. But I know what looks good on a woman. You’ve always dressed well. I think you have a keen eye for what makes a woman feel great about herself. And I’d bet you could do the same for a man. You’ve never lacked for confidence.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Hell, you even threw yourself at me back in college.”

  Ugh. She couldn’t believe he’d brought that up. “Don’t remind me.”

  He came back into the kitchen. “Do you know how much courage that took? It was a huge turn on, and it showed me how ballsy you were. You were just a girl back then. You’re a woman now. I don’t think anything can stop you from having whatever you want.” He brushed his knuckles against her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze again.

  She lifted her eyes to his and, with him so close, the heat that always seemed to emanate from him surrounded her, enveloping her in a haze of not-so-forgotten lust and longing.

  “That’s a nice thing to say.” He’d always said nice things to her—when he wanted something. Which made her wonder exactly what it was that he wanted now.

  She studied him, the woman she was now not nearly as naïve as the young girl she’d been back then.

  “Exactly what are you after here, Drew? A repeat performance from college?” She pushed her chair back and stood, creating distance between the two of them. “Because if you are, I can assure you it’s not going to happen.”

  She made sure to keep eye contact with him, so he understood clearly her meaning. “Never again. Ever.”

  Keep reading for a preview of the first book in the Hope series from Jaci Burton

  HOPE FLAMES

  Available January 2014 from Berkley

  Emma Burnett could have never imagined that going hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt would be so exhilarating.

  She could barely contain her excitement as she looked over every aspect of her just-about-to-open new veterinary practice with a heavy dose of pride and more than a little trepidation.

  It was six-fifteen in the morning. Her staff would be arriving soon. She grinned at the thought. She had a staff now.

  “We’re here, Daisy. We made it.”

  Daisy, her yellow Labrador retriever, thumped her tail and looked up at her, dark eyes filled with adoration. You had to love a dog because no matter what happened, they’d always love you back. You could have an awful day, be grouchy and in the worst mood, and your dog would still sit at your feet and be there for you.

  Emma rubbed Daisy’s head and locked up her bag in her office, then closed the door, moving into the lobby. Daisy followed along, sniffing every square inch of gleaming tile Emma had spent the weekend polishing to perfection.

  Sure, she could have had a cleaning service do that, but this place was hers and she wanted to do it herself. Then, after she’d cleaned, she’d inventoried, going over every scalpel, pair of forceps, IV pole, and thermometer. She’d inventoried all the drugs—twice—from antibiotics to pain medications, making sure everything was in order.

  This place was hers. She still couldn’t quite believe it.

  She swept her hand over the pristine reception desk, tapped her finger on the desktop computer she hoped was filled with appointments for the day, then moved on through the double doors leading to the back room where the sparkling instruments awaited her first touch.

  Cages were ready, and so were the exam rooms. The OR was prepped. Everything was spotless and sterilized.

  She was in debt up to her eyeballs, but, come hell or rising water from the creek down the road, this place was all hers now. It had taken years and more than a few major detours, but Hope Small Animal Hospital was now owned and operated by Dr. Emma Burnett, DVM.

  She inhaled and exhaled, letting the dual feelings of satisfaction and utter terror wash over her. At least this time it was a healthy dose of terror. Not like before.

  It would never be like before again. She’d lost five years of her life on that mistake, and now, at thirty-two, she was making a late start. But after going back to school and working with a veterinary group in South Carolina, she was finally home and on her own with a practice that was all hers.

  A knock on the front door made her startle. She curled her fingers into her palms.

  “Calm, Emma. This is your big day.” She hurried to the door, grabbing her keys out of her lab-coat pocket.

  It was Rachel, her receptionist, along with Leanne, her tech. Her two assistants were the gas in the engine that drove this clinic. She smiled and unlocked the door. “Good morning.”

  “Mornin’, Dr. Emma,” Rachel said with a grin, her arms laden with donuts and coffee. “Thought you could use these.”

  “It’s so g
ood to be back here again,” Leanne said, her long blond hair braided into two pigtails, her purple scrubs decorated with tiny paw prints.

  Totally adorable.

  “You’re my lifesavers. Both of you. Thank you.”

  They sat in the tiny break room together and ate donuts, drank coffee, and went over the appointments for the day.

  “You have a full day, Dr. Emma,” Rachel said.

  “Really? That’s great.” She wanted to leap up and pump her fist in the air, but that would be so unprofessional.

  “Doc Weston always had a full waiting room.” Leanne licked donut icing off her fingers. “Everyone was disappointed when he had to close so suddenly. So were we.”

  “No kidding,” Rachel said. “Leanne and I were lucky to hook up with the Barkley clinic on the north side of town after Doc Weston closed, but Barkley sucks.”

  “Understatement,” Leanne said. “The doctors there are dicks.”

  Emma would not smile about that. Really, she wouldn’t.

  Leanne nodded. “I’ve been spreading the word about the reopening. It’s like Field of Dreams, Doc. People will come.”

  Emma let out a hopeful sigh. “That’s so good to hear.” She wanted to be busy. She needed to fill this place up with clients.

  Since Dr. Weston had retired six months ago, the clinic had been closed and Hope residents had to go to the other clinic for animal care. Bruce Weston had been a wonderful veterinarian. He’d taken care of Emma’s terrier, Soupy, and her collie, Max, when she’d been a kid, and she’d loved him. She’d always been eager to come here and look at all the pictures of animal breeds on the wall of the exam rooms, check out the charts and the models of the insides of dogs and cats. She’d been curious and he’d always been more than happy to answer all her questions. Besides her utter love of animals, Dr. Weston had been one of the primary reasons she wanted to become a veterinarian. He was kind and patient, and had taken just as much care of the owners as he had of the animals.

  She’d been sad to hear about his heart surgery and subsequent retirement, but happy for him now that he and his wife, Denise, were moving closer to their grandchildren in Colorado. She’d been ecstatic that he’d been amenable to her buying out his practice. It had taken a whirlwind trip from South Carolina back to Oklahoma so she could meet face-to-face with him to iron out the particulars once she’d learned his practice was for sale. He’d been generous in his price and had helped her work out the loan details so she could get it done.