The Bad Boy Hockey Collection: A Collection Of Single Daddy Romances

by Cass Kincaid

  “It’s okay, only a few people really do.”

  I can hear the heartbreak in his voice. He cared for Ella a lot. “Aunt Nancy?”

  “She’s a good listener,” he says with a sad smile. “Yeah, Nancy knows.”

  “And she never said anything.” I’m speaking mostly to myself when I say it, but Craig’s hand suddenly encircles my wrist, stopping me in my tracks and bringing me out of my own thoughts.

  “Nancy’s a good listener,” he repeats. “She’s also a good secret keeper. She knows me, and she knows I don’t tell people about my personal life unless I want them to know. Your aunt is a good person, Megan, so don’t be too hard on her for not telling you, okay?”

  There’s something different in the way Craig speaks to me, in the way his fingers are holding me in place with only the slightest pressure. All I can do is nod, too struck by the way he’s staring into my eyes to form sentences.

  “Okay, let’s get you out of the rain.” He releases my wrist and places his hand on the small of my back only long enough to get me walking again. Hands shoved in his pockets, he tries to change the subject. “What’s your story, Megan? From city girl to small town journalist. That’s quite the switch.”

  It feels like a punch in the gut to hear it said that way, so nonchalantly, but it’s also refreshing. Seeing as my parents have been walking on eggshells around me for almost a week, too afraid and uncertain about how I’ll react if they mention it to say anything even remotely reassuring. “Honestly? Things in Dallas were good—great, in fact—until they weren’t. I had a really good job. A dream job for any new journalist. I was damn lucky to get the position straight out of university.”

  “So, what happened?” Craig is stealing glances at me, shifting his gaze from the sidewalk in front of us to me sporadically.

  I shiver, and it has nothing to do with the rain that is still splattering all around me. “It turns out my boss was more interested in what I could do for him than what I could do for the newspaper,” I admit bitterly. “When he put the moves on me, I turned him down.”

  “Wait.” Craig stops walking, staring at me intently. “He fired you for not wanting to sleep with him?”

  “I was still on a six-month probationary period,” I shrug. “On paper, I was let go because I wasn’t the right fit for the job. But yes, that’s the real reason I lost my job and ended up here. No savings and no desire to move back in with my parents will do that to a person. So, Cardon Springs it is.” I try to muster up a grin, but Craig doesn’t seem to see the humor in anything I’m saying.

  “Probably a good thing I don’t know who he is or have the time to make an impromptu trip to Dallas,” he mutters.

  “Easy, caveman,” I chuckle. “Let’s get back on some solid ground here, shall we? Umm, hockey.” I snap my fingers, the idea coming to me. “Aunt Nancy said you play hockey. That must be fun...and a safe subject to discuss.” I nudge him playfully, finally eliciting a faint smile from him.

  “I still play when I can,” Craig says, nodding. “But not nearly as much as I used to. I thought I was going to be a big NHL star. I had the scholarship and the rumors about draft picks and everything. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a damn good mechanic, but I was one hell of a hockey player.”

  “Wow, no modesty there at all.”

  He chuckles quietly. “I know what I’m good at, Megan.”

  I blush for the umpteenth time that day. Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it and the way he looked at me when he said it. Like he was staring into me, not at me. “So, why are you fixing my crappy car when you should be shooting pucks and winning hockey games and making all the women swoon like crazy?”

  Craig reaches out and wipes away a droplet of rain that I can feel streaking down the side of my face, his footsteps never faltering. “Because things change, and we don’t always know what’s going to happen next, do we?”

  I feel my proverbial foot wedge back into my mouth again, realizing too late that Craig Connelly gave up his dream of being a hockey player in order to be a single dad and give his son everything he needs. “That’s true,” I reply uneasily, letting an uncomfortable silence fall between us again. Jesus, I think. Can I make things any more awkward? “So, you’re obviously one of those guys that makes skating look really easy, huh?”

  Another scoff. “It’s one of those things I’m good at, yeah. You can’t skate?”

  “I’ve only tried a few times, but I swear, I’m like one of those four-year-olds on the ice holding on to the back of a chair, ready to do the splits like Bambi at any moment.”

  He laughs loudly, I’m presuming at the mental image, a sound that dissipates the tension between us. “Well, I guess that settles that, then.”

  “Settles what?”

  “We’re going skating on Wednesday night,” he advises me. “I’ll teach you.”

  “You’re going to teach me how to skate.” It’s not a question. “Why?” I ask, coming up to the front door of the Chronicle office. “Maybe I already have plans,” I add with a smirk.

  “You do,” he grins. “With me. Not only because it’ll be fun to have a reason to don a pair of skates again, but because I’m not going to lie, I’m interested to find out if you’re really flexible enough to do the splits like Bambi. Could be a fun night.”

  The man has the audacity to wink at me.

  I blush, again. Damn him! I open my mouth to retaliate with some kind of witty retort, but he just laughs. “Have a good rest of your afternoon, Megan,” he calls over his shoulder as he makes his way down the sidewalk, heading back toward his repair shop.

  Chapter Six

  Craig

  The repair shop has been a fucking madhouse today. Six appointments, which wouldn’t have been bad if three of them hadn’t turned out to be much more involved than originally planned. It took me all damn day to diagnose the issues, fix what I could, order parts for what I couldn’t, and try desperately to keep every customer happy.

  I’m completely exhausted after today, and not only am I realizing that I might have to suck it up and try to hire some help in the shop, but I’m very much aware that I am beginning to feel much older than my early twenties.

  No matter how tired I am, though, I still manage to smile with the anticipation of taking Megan out to the community arena in Belltown, about fifteen minutes away, to go skating. The notion of getting to lace up my hockey skates is exciting enough, but getting to spend some one-on-one time with Cardon Spring’s newest addition only makes it better.

  Megan is fun, there’s no other way to say it. Obviously, she’s carrying her own baggage, but who isn’t? She’s heard the short version of my sordid story, and she admitted what brought her to this sleepy town, so I feel as though we’ve maybe crossed a line somewhere and actually delved into the realm of being friends.

  Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

  One thing is for sure, however. When I asked my mom if she’d be able to stay with Ellis for a few hours tonight, finally admitting that I was taking Nancy’s niece out to the arena, it’s safe to say my own mother is hoping Megan and I are becoming friends, too. She told me to stay out as long as I wanted, and to have fun. Then, she winked. My own mother winked at me, like she was giving me silent permission to go out and make a move on this girl.

  It was all a bit humiliating.

  But I’ve just pulled up in front of Nancy’s house, and I can see the warm glow of lights on inside. I’ve done my best to clean myself up and not look so much like the mechanic with stained hands and motor oil for cologne that I have been all day. It looks like I’m going to take Mom’s advice and try to have some fun.

  I’m debating whether or not to go inside when the front door opens and Megan steps out onto the front porch. I’m thankful because I know damn well that Nancy’s mind is reeling in the same romantic directions that my mom’s is. Hell, the two older women are probably going to have a gab fest on the phone all fucking evening while we’re gone
, planning our futures and naming our future children.

  “You look pretty.” The words fall from my lips without thinking when Megan climbs into the passenger side of my truck. And she does. In her baby blue, fitted cashmere sweater and light-colored jeans with a matching blue toque that allows her straightened locks to peek out from underneath it, she looks absolutely adorable. “You look like a puck bunny,” I smirk.

  Her initial smile falters slightly, and I see her eyes narrow in the glow of the dashboard lights. “I’d say thanks, but I’m not sure what that means.”

  “You don’t know what a puck bunny is?” I ask, incredulous.

  “Well, what are you then, a puck daddy?” she sneers, drawing out the last word.

  I burst out laughing. “I am most definitely not,” I assure her. “Though that’s quite the term you’ve coined. A puck bunny is a woman with more interest in the hockey players than the game itself, Megan. They dress cute to get the players’ attentions.”

  “So, definitely not a compliment. Thanks for that,” she says with pursed lips.

  “I said you look cute!” I laugh. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t believe you didn’t know what a puck bunny was.”

  “Well, do you know what a half-soy nonfat decaf iced vanilla frappaccino is, smart guy?”

  “Yeah, too much damn effort.” I smile widely, winking at her, which earns me a roll of her eyes and something between a scoff and a chuckle.

  “You’re missing the point.”

  “Nah, I get it.” I put the truck in drive, pulling away from the curb. “We’re both from different worlds and know different things because of it. But I’ve got news for you, Megan.”

  “And what’s that?” she asks, jokingly exasperated.

  I steal a quick glance in her direction. “I’m taking you to an arena. You’re about to come crashing into my world. Get ready.”

  ***

  “I’ve got to admit, when you said you couldn’t skate, I figured teaching you was going to be like teaching a young kid, Megan.” I hold both of her hands, skating backwards while she skates forwards, one foot then the other. “But you’re a natural born skater. Look at you go.”

  “Hardly,” she chuckles, her eyes focused on her feet as she concentrates on keeping her balance and moving them smoothly across the ice. “I’m still resembling that baby deer I mentioned earlier, ready to do the splits at any given moment.”

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

  The truth is, I could have let go of her hands a long time ago. Megan has been around this rink a hundred times; she’s got the hang of how to move and what to do to get herself propelled forward and even skating backward.

  But I like holding her hands. Feeling the softness of her skin under my fingertips, relishing in the way she pretends to need me and my guidance in order to do this. Because we both know she doesn’t. But I think she likes holding my hands, too.

  “Everyone’s leaving,” Megan says, her eyes flitting beyond me toward the exit. I turn and see that she’s right. The other skaters that we’d shared the ice with for the last hour and a half are gliding toward the rink exit, heading toward the locker rooms to unlace their skates and head home.

  “Shit, how the hell is it nine o’clock already?” I laugh, leading her across the ice toward the exit as well. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

  Her mouth curls up at the corners. “This has been fun,” she grins. “You’ve obviously been enjoying yourself, too.”

  “Is it that obvious?” I arch a brow.

  “You’ve had a smile plastered on your face since you laced up your skates in the locker room,” she laughs, squeezing my hands tightly. “If you’ve missed being on the ice so much, why haven’t you gotten back into hockey before now?”

  “No time,” I reply honestly. “I can’t be vying for a professional hockey career when Ellis needs me.” The thought has my stomach tightening with the urgency to explain how badly I need to be the best father I can be to him, especially since he doesn’t have a mother to balance the love and affection from both sides.

  “He does,” she agrees, reaching out for the boards with one hand and gripping my hand tightly in the other as she raises one foot to step off the ice and onto the rubber mats that line the floor. “But you need to be happy, too. Maybe you could hire a nanny, or—”

  “I won’t have someone else raise my son for me,” I advise her, my voice tainted with an assertiveness I hadn’t meant to convey. I sigh, letting go of her hand only after she’s up onto the floor with both feet, then run my hands through my hair. “Shit, I’m sorry, Meg. I just...that little boy is my everything. He’s already lost so much. All I can do is put him first no matter what, with hopes he’ll know I tried my best to make up for it.”

  A crooked grin pulls at one side of her mouth. “You’re a good dad,” she says.

  “Is that why you’re smiling like a fool?” I narrow my eyes curiously.

  “No, that’s because you just called me Meg.”

  It hits me like a ton of bricks. “Huh. I guess I did, didn’t I?”

  “You did once before, too, I just didn’t mention it. Careful,” she smirks, giving me a playful nudge. “I’m starting to think you might actually like me and not just be being nice to me for Aunt Nancy’s sake.”

  She turns and walks toward the locker room to take her skates off, looking back once over her shoulder with a glint in her eye that has me standing there motionless as other people walk around me on either side.

  Careful, I think to myself. I’m starting to think I like you, too.

  Chapter Seven

  Megan

  There’s something different about Craig Connelly when he’s away from Aunt Nancy’s prying eyes, away from his routine and his responsibilities.

  He’s shown me his cocky, playful side during the last few days, sure, but there’s more to it tonight. It’s like the skates on his feet and the rink that stretches out in front of him have released a new level of playfulness in him, a renewed energy that had been shut up inside him since he came back to Cardon Springs and put on his game face to be the responsible single daddy he’s supposed to be.

  But that’s not all there is to Craig, I can see that now. And I kind of like it. Kind of like him.

  And only minutes ago, I blurted out that I think he likes me, too, which has made things brutally awkward in the time that has followed. Craig has said little since he came into the locker room. I’ve been blushing like mad since I turned away from him, but I tried hard to act like I meant to say what I did, like it was only a joke. A flirtatious one, but a joke, nonetheless.

  He takes his place on the bench beside me and expertly unties his skates, pulling them off and shoving his feet into his shoes. Then, without asking him to, Craig kneels down in front of me and very gently pushes my hands away from my own laces. He begins to loosen the knot, untying the skate I was struggling with and pulling it from my foot. His eyes flit up to meet mine and he offers me a momentary ghost of a grin, then begins to tackle the other skate.

  Which is fine, because I’m still shocked by what I just saw in his dark chocolate eyes. There’s no mistaking it, no way I could misinterpret the blazing heat that smoldered in his gaze.

  Lust. Barely contained, but barely noticeable, too. Well concealed unless you know what you’re looking for.

  And I do, because a similar blaze of simmering warmth has been plaguing me all night, each time his hands touched mine or his fingertips grazed my ankle while he helped me with my skates.

  Being in the presence of Craig Connelly has just become a whole lot more dangerous.

  Thankfully, when his gaze returns to mine after he rises from his crouched position and reaches for his belongings, the blaze has been extinguished and I can look at him again without feeling the telltale crimson seeping into my cheeks.

  “Ready to get out of here?” Craig asks, plucking the pair of skates from the bench with his free hand.

  “Y
eah.”

  I let him lead the way back out to the truck. Craig opens the passenger door for me, and I climb into the cab while he puts the skates into the truck bed. He goes around the back of the truck and climbs into the driver’s seat, silent. I wait for him to say something, anything, while I hold the seatbelt in my hand. But I’m too focused on the way his hands are clutching the steering wheel, knuckles white with the pressure. He’s staring ahead, through the windshield. At what, I don’t know, but he’s fixated on it.

  If it weren’t for the look I’d seen in his eyes inside the arena, I’d be starting to think I’ve done something wrong. Then again, maybe I misinterpreted what I read in them. Maybe it was a flash of anger that had ignited. Maybe he’s downright livid I would assume such a thing and then jokingly toss it in his face. Maybe he’s—

  Craig moves so fast I don’t see him clearly. But I feel him—God, do I feel him—as he dives towards me and crashes his mouth against mine, silencing any chance I have at words as well as any thoughts that had been screaming loudly in my mind.

  Everything about his kiss is urgent. The way his tongue tangles with mine, the way his lips press against my own, dominating my mouth as though it’s his to own, his to protect and possess.

  To hell with my thoughts, my apprehension and reservations about Craig, or about men in general. They don’t matter. All that does is the taste of this man on my tongue and the seductive way he consumes me, as though he’s familiar with the shape and taste and feel of me, but has been starved for me since the beginning of time.

  I gasp, the sound lost somewhere between him and I. His fingers are slipped up under the hem of my sweater, exploring and caressing the soft, heated flesh just above the waistband of my jeans, and the electricity of his touch sends a raging storm of desire coursing through me. The sensation is too much and not enough all at once.