by Piper Rayne
Countdown to a Kiss
Piper Rayne
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2021 by Piper Rayne
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover Design: By Hang Le
1st Line Editor: Joy Editing
2nd Line Editor: My Brother’s Editor
Proofreader: My Brother’s Editor
Contents
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Meet the Roster
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About Piper Rayne
About the Author
Also by Piper Rayne
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* * *
Hockey Hotties (Florida Fury)
My Lucky #13
Aiden Drake
Center
Saige Fowler
Social Media Consultant
* * *
The Trouble with #9
Maksim Petrov
Defender
Paisley Pierce
Psychologist
* * *
Faking it with #41
Ford Jacobs
Right Wing
Lena Boyd
Jacobs Family PR Rep
Chapter One
Aiden
The limo drives through the gates to my boss’s house. As if owning the Florida Fury National Hockey team isn’t enough, he has his hands in more cookie jars than any other businessman in Florida. He’s practically leaking hundred-dollar bills out of his pockets on a daily basis.
Usually, I wouldn’t be up for spending my New Year’s Eve at a party where I have to wear a monkey suit. I’m more the “party with my friends, find some girl to kiss at midnight and pass out” kinda guy.
But since I’m in a slump and haven’t scored a goal in our last eight games—and God, it hurts to even think that—an appearance here is a must if I don’t want to be traded next year. At least that’s what my agent, Joran Peters, says. And I tend to listen to that man because he made me very rich playing the sport I love. He’s like an older, wiser brother and when he tells me to get my ass to my boss’s party? I ask what time.
“I say we make our presence known and get the hell out of here before ten,” my teammate, Ford says. “I’ve got us a connection at a club in Miami. I’ll call in the family helicopter to take us down.”
I roll my eyes. If my boss, Mr. Gerhardt, is a one-percenter, Ford’s dad is right below him. The difference is that Ford is New York City rich—suits, fancy penthouses, and an air of arrogance. He’s cool and he’s an awesome right wing, deserving of where he’s gotten in the league, but he doesn’t think much about money.
“I’m here for the night.” The limo coasts up the palm tree lined drive. Rumor has it there’s an orange orchard on his property.
“You gotta relax. Your game is gonna come back.” Ford slaps my knee.
All my teammates have been telling me that since the first game I missed five shots on goal.
I don’t want to admit that I’m scared shitless my earned nickname, Shamrock, is failing me. That the luck that’s gotten me here has run out and I’ll be packing my bags and heading back to Wisconsin to live the rest of my days running my family’s bar.
Thankfully, I don’t have to entertain Ford and my other buddy Maksim because the limo stops at the circular drive in front of a mansion that looks like ones I’ve only ever seen in movies.
The door opens and all three of us file out of the limo. Ford walks up the concrete steps, not seeming to think much of our surroundings, while I’m staring up at all the windows lit from within. There must be forty alone on the front of the house. I shake my head at how out of my league I am.
“Let’s go,” Maksim says in his Russian accent, slapping me on the back.
We follow Ford who’s already at the doors telling the guy outside all three of our names. Our names are checked against a list on the clipboard he’s holding, and we’re allowed to enter. The minute we step inside, there are some lingering eyes roaming our way. But no one is surprised to see players from the Florida Fury at the party, though they might be surprised to see me since I usually do anything to dodge these kinds of events.
“I need some vodka,” Maksim says and ventures to my right in search of a bar.
“I think those girls over there have a question for me.” Ford points at a crowd of women who might be in their early twenties and stalks off with a chuckle.
Which leaves me by myself. I crack my knuckles and take in the crowd, looking around to see if I recognize anyone. Since I don’t want to be the creepy guy who just stands in the foyer all night, I head in the direction Maksim went in search of the bar, but he’s not there when I step up and ask for a beer. The bartender pours it into a glass without asking. I’d prefer it in a bottle but it’s not that kind of party. I tip the guy and look around the room filled with sequins and fancy gowns, black suits and tuxedos.
A few women smile at me, and I smile back. I have no idea who these people are, but my mom always said you can’t turn around a bad first impression.
“Hey.” A woman comes over to my side. When I say woman, I’m being generous because I’m fairly sure she’s fresh out of braces. I’m so sure, I move two steps to the side. “Are you Aiden Drake?” She giggles and her gaze falls to our right where there’s another girl sipping on what I think might be a Shirley Temple. Or at least I hope it is.
Nodding, I answer, “I am.”
“I thought so. My friend over there thinks you’re cute.” She sucks a cherry off the stick, pointing the stem at her friend who giggles and turns away.
“I’m not in the mood to get arrested tonight, but tell her thanks.” I sip my beer, ready to ditch this conversation and the entire evening.
“She’s eighteen.”
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Uh-huh,” she says, nodding.
I scour the area looking for one of the guys I can send an SOS look to but find a blonde-haired woman at the bar instead and it gives me an idea.
Teenage fangirls are a gentle breed. They’re like newborn fawns on ice who haven’t found their footing yet. They think they’re ready for the world, but they still rely on their mommas. I don’t want to crush this girl.
“Tell her thank you, but I have a girlfriend.”
The girl’s eyes bulge out. “But we just read… I mean heard that you were single.”
I chuckle lightly, mostly to myself. Again, not to crush them into the ground.
“It’s new.” I glance at the blonde again since she’s the closest to me. She takes her glass of wine and is about to walk away. “Babe,” I say. She doesn’t turn around because, why would she?
“That’s your girlfriend?” the girl next to me asks.
“Yeah. Give me a sec.” I walk forward four steps and clasp lightly onto the woman’s elbow.
She stops, but the death stare she shoots me back surprises me because that scowl isn’t turning into intrigue and elation that it was me who wants to talk to her. And that’s not an ego thing, it’s just a fact. I’m a good-looking guy and I play professional sports, so the normal re
action I get is the polar opposite of what this woman is giving me.
“Excuse you.” She slides her arm out of my hold.
“This is her? She doesn’t look like she’s your girlfriend,” the young girl says.
“She is. Aren’t you, baby?” I ask the blonde and widen my eyes, hoping she’ll catch on.
Her gaze shoots from me to the young girl and back to me again. Hopefully, she’s telepathic and sees I’m desperate for a way out that doesn’t bruise this young girl’s ego.
“And you are?” she asks the girl.
“I’m Jenna, but it’s my friend, Katie. She likes Aiden.”
The girl who’s supposed to be my girlfriend looks to me then slides her arm through mine and cozies up close. “Sorry, he’s mine.” She frowns at the young girl. “But it’s new, so you never know how long it will last.”
She moves to get away, but I clutch her hand in mine, not allowing her to escape. “Come on now, let’s not pretend it wasn’t an instant connection between us.” I look to the young girl. “Sometimes you feel it right away.”
Her attention catches something off to the right and her jaw drops. “Did you bring Maksim Petrov with you?”
I laugh. “I sure did. Go say you know me.” She’s already moving in his direction until she flippantly waves me off and heads toward him.
“Thanks,” I say to the blonde after both girls are out of earshot.
“Hey, I was young once and crushed on my brother’s friends. Their hearts are fragile. It’s a nice thing of you to let them off kindly.”
“Can I get you a drink?”
She laughs and glances down to the full drink in her hand. “No, I have to get back to my date.”
“Is this you letting me down easy?”
She shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out. Stay clear of those teenagers. Jail could be dangerous for a pretty thing like you.” She smiles and disappears into the crowd.
Pretty?
Maybe this party isn’t so bad after all. If I can get that woman into bed with me tonight, maybe my luck will finally turn back around. At the very least, it wouldn’t be a wasted effort.
Chapter Two
Maksim
I leave Shamrock in the foyer because the guy oozes anxiety lately. Being his teammate, I should be at his side tonight, boosting his ego, but I’m hoping being at our boss’s party where he’ll have the pick of any hot woman he wants will soothe him. He’s overthinking the fact he’s in a slump. He’ll come out of it, I know it. He has to, otherwise he’ll get traded and that would suck.
“Big man.” Mr. Gerhardt spots me when I enter the room, calling me over to him and a few other men who look like they never played hockey in their lives.
“Mr. Gerhardt.” I shake his hand and he pats me on the back like he’s my dad about to introduce me to his friends.
“These are some of our investors,” he says, pointing to each one, giving me names I’ll probably never remember. I shake hands, politely smile and think of any excuse to get out of this circle.
“Hell of a game the other night,” one of them says.
“I’d hate to go against you,” another one chimes in.
They’re all drinking the amber liquid with one solid round ice cube in their glass.
“Thank you,” I say and bow my head in respect. Although none of them probably know much about hockey, they are the reason my salary is being paid.
“You don’t have a drink. You need a drink.” Mr. Gerhardt saves me whether he meant to or not. With another pat on the back, I say my goodbye. “Did Aiden come with you?” he asks before I can get far enough away.
I turn back around and just the look on the investors’ faces makes my stomach plummet. Makes me understand Shamrock’s anxiety. Trading deadlines aren’t as far away as we think they are and if he gets traded while he’s already in the slump of all slumps he might tailspin right out of hockey. I love the man too much to allow that to happen. “Yeah, he’s here somewhere.”
“Good, I need to talk to him before he leaves. I have someone I want him to meet.” Mr. Gerhardt raises his glass. “Now, go enjoy yourself, get something to drink.”
All the rest of the guys raise their glasses and then take a sip.
I leave them happily to venture to the bar but by the time I get there, Aiden already has a drink and is chatting up some blonde woman and a teenager. Interesting.
I order my vodka on the rocks. At least Mr. Gerhardt doesn’t skimp on the good stuff.
Perusing the crowd, a brunette stands out in the corner talking to a couple. My eyes find her left hand to make sure she’s not wearing a ring because I’m not about to break up a marriage. I smile seeing the left ring finger bare.
I watch her from across the room, the cute dimple on her right cheek, the shade of pink on her lips. Mostly, I take in the black dress that I know is hiding a great body underneath. She’s a knock-out.
I step forward to get closer, to catch her attention, but just as I get situated in her direction, two men come up to me to tell me how much they love the Florida Fury. That they have season tickets and rarely miss a game. Finally, I get rid of them only to have two teenagers come up to me.
“Maksim Petrov?” the doe-eyed girl asks.
I sip my drink and nod. “Yeah.”
“Are you here with Aiden Drake?” the other girl asks and eyes him across the room.
“I am.”
“And Ford Jacobs?” the first girl asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“You guys are amazing. We watch you every week,” the first girl who I assume is the bolder of the two tells me.
My eyes scan the woman and she hugs and kisses cheeks with the couple. This is the time to make my move.
“Excuse me, girls,” I say and step in front of the woman.
I hear the scoffing, but come on, they’re like sixteen. Jail isn’t the place for me.
“Hey,” I say to the woman.
She stops short and rears back, her champagne almost spilling on her black dress. “Hello.” Her eyebrows raise.
“Maksim,” I introduce myself and put my hand in front of her.
She stares at my hand a moment. “I know who you are.”
“That’s not fair.”
She sips her champagne, crossing one arm around herself. “What isn’t?”
“The fact you know my name and I don’t know your name?” I smile.
She doesn’t seem impressed—at all.
“Isn’t that what comes with being a professional hockey player? People know you and you don’t know them?”
I shrug. “Yeah. Rarely am I interested in finding out their names. You’re lucky.”
She laughs. “Lucky? Should I bow or kiss your feet or just strip right here for you?”
“Stripping would be nice. You look mouth-watering gorgeous in that dress, but I bet if you take it off, I’d be drooling.”
She smiles and that dimple indents farther. The problem with her smile is I’m not thinking it means I’m making progress with her. Good thing I love the chase.
“Sorry, Maksim, I’m not available.”
I glance at her left hand again to make sure. “Boyfriend?”
She shakes her head.
“You’re not engaged or married since you don’t have a ring.”
“I don’t date guys from the Florida Fury,” she says, patting me on the shoulder and trying to step around me. “Sorry.”
I grab her hand and tug her back into me. Her one free hand lands on my chest and she looks up at me. “Tell me you’re not a Knights fan?” Wouldn’t that be the dagger to the heart if she cheered for the other team?
She shakes her head.
“Are you a hockey fan?”
She shakes her head again.
“How can you not be a hockey fan?” I release her because as much as my dick is saying “keep her exactly where she is, your charm will win her over,” I’m not sure I can be with someone who doesn’t like hockey.
&n
bsp; “I’ll be honest, the skating is impressive, but the fights, the pushing into walls. Kind of barbaric.” She finishes her champagne and sets the empty glass on a server’s tray as they pass by. “Don’t worry, I see two hockey fans over there for you.” She points to the teenage girls who are still staring at me.
“Not my type.”
She nods like she’s immune to my lines and charm. Who the hell is this woman?
“Just give me your name?” I ask.
“You’re used to always getting what you want, aren’t you?”
I shrug as my answer of yeah. She pats my shoulder. “Well, sorry, this time you’ll just have to wait to find out my name.”
“Are you suggesting I will find out?”
She steps back and her eyes fall over my body. “You’ll find out soon enough.” And then she spins around and disappears into the crowd.
My eyes are still on her when the two teenage girls step in front of my vision and I blink, rearing my head. “Yeah, nope. Sorry.” I walk between the two of them and head anywhere but there. Food will help my bruised ego, I’m sure.
Chapter Three
Ford
Mr. G’s mansion is awesome and I’m going to be the first to find that orange tree orchard tonight. Then again, Aiden’s in such a damn funk, he’ll probably spend his night out there with a bottle of Jack when his lips should be attached to Mr. G’s ass. I know his game will come back, he’s just gotta have faith.
Although Aiden and I come from two different worlds, we’re not differing from wanting our hockey careers to carry us through retirement. He doesn’t want to go back to Wisconsin and serve Milwaukee’s Best for the rest of his life, and I don’t want to run my father’s business. If my hockey career tanks, the pressure my dad’s already breathing down my neck will only intensify and I’m not a man made for nine-to-five suit wearing. Although I do look killer in a three-piece suit.