“How does your dad do it?”
“I don’t know.” Andy shrugged and eyed her with a critical gaze. She had the distinct feeling she wasn’t meeting his expectations. Having her around when she was hanging out with Amelia, their former nanny, was very different from her being the one in charge.
“Where’s your recycle?”
Andy shrugged again.
“You don’t recycle?” Vi shook her head, not believing even Matt could be so environmentally irresponsible.
“Nah.”
She opened her mouth to deliver a lecture regarding reasons to recycle, but was interrupted by Joey. Matt’s youngest stomped into the room and stamped his feet on the floor. Tears streaked down his once-angelic face. Right now, he looked like demon spawn.
“I wanna go to the game!” he howled, hands on hips, jaw thrust out belligerently, and his face a deep red.
“We don’t have tickets.” Hopefully a five-year-old could see the logic in her argument.
“Yes, we do,” Andy said helpfully, disregarding her death glare. He walked to a desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out an envelope full of tickets. “Three seats cuz Grams needed a seat, too.”
Joey stopped crying and rubbed his eyes with his fists. He sniffled and hiccupped. Snot ran from his nose and down his face. Vi stifled a shudder, pulled a Kleenex from the box and handed it to him.
“Wipe your nose.”
He took the tissue and did a shitty job wiping his nose, forcing her to do it for him. How the hell did parents do this stuff day in and out? She couldn’t stomach the gross things they put up with.
“Can we go?” Joey asked hopefully. Gone was the brat of earlier, to be replaced by a dark-haired cherub. Those puppy-dog brown eyes sucked her in, and she couldn’t say no. Besides, she wanted to go. The tickets were right there going to waste, and Vi had become a bit of a hockey fan, reveling in the physicality and sheer grace of the game. The entire spectacle was a chaotic yet orchestrated brutal dance on ice. As a pacifist, she should’ve been repulsed by the brutality of it, but hockey brought out her inner cavewoman, and she couldn’t deny her troglodyte impulses.
She took the tickets from Andy. They weren’t for the skyboxes but for seats on the glass. Even better. She wasn’t a skybox kind of girl. All that socializing and posturing when she just wanted to watch the game tired her, though the free food and alcohol were a definite plus.
“Well then,” she said as she glanced at her cell phone. “Get changed and let’s head out. We want to be there in time to get food and be in our seats by the puck drop.”
“I want a hot dog,” Joey chirped.
“Dad doesn’t like us to eat hot dogs or fried food,” Andy pointed out.
Vi wasn’t a fan of hot dogs herself, leaning more toward healthier foods. “I’m sure we can find something at the stadium that’ll satisfy His Highness.”
The boys giggled, and Vi had to smile. This parenting thing wasn’t so hard. She could do this.
At the speed of light, the little munchkins returned wearing Sockeyes jerseys with their dad’s name and number.
“Well then, boys. Ready?”
They jumped up and down, screaming and cheering. She laughed. Kids were easy after all. Why hadn’t she seen this before? They weren’t complicated or screwed up. Unlike most adults, life hadn’t beaten them down and made cynics of them. She could relate to that. Life would never defeat her or make her older before her time, and the way she saw it, that made her and the kids kindred spirits.
Vi grabbed the car keys, shoved the cash Matt had given her into her pocket, and headed for the garage door. Andy and Joey were hot on her heels. They hopped in the car. Playing the dutiful babysitter, she strapped them into their claustrophobic car seats.
“Dad’s going to be mad,” Joey declared as they pulled onto the street.
Vi shrugged. “He’s always mad at me. No biggie.”
“Dad is a poop sometimes,” Andy said.
“Yeah, he is a poop,” Vi heartily agreed. Matt would be furious, but she didn’t care. It was a Friday night in the middle of January, and she’d taken a night off work for this. What the hell else was she supposed to do with these kids? Play board games all night or watch some torturous children’s program on TV? She’d rather gouge her eyes out with a fireplace poker.
Now she could lust after Matt in peace and fantasize about enticing him into bed for one night of debauchery and no-holds-barred sex. Just the way she liked it. Matt wouldn’t be sorry. Vi suspected it’d been a long time since he’d gotten off to something more than some porn and his own hand. She may not like the man, but she’d love to be his one-night stand.
Vi pulled into VIP parking, thanks to the placard hanging from the rearview mirror of Matt’s luxury SUV. He’d be furious when he saw her and the boys, and she got perverse pleasure out of pissing him off. No one else brought out the worst in her the way he did.
Vi let the boys talk her into hot dogs and fries for them, while she opted for a veggie burger, and they settled into their seats on the glass as the Sockeyes warmed up. Vi’s gaze sought Matt’s sure, strong body through the maze of weaving players. She marveled at how nimble he was on skates, poetry on ice, the dancer in her decided. Her eyes stalked him, watching how he changed direction as easily as she changed hair color. She sat back and enjoyed the view. God, the man was hotness on blades.
He had an average face, but a pleasant one to look at, tanned from hours spent outside fishing, with a slightly crooked nose, square jaw, and spiky dark hair. A few days’ worth of stubble darkened his face and framed a nice set of kissable lips. He might not be drop-dead gorgeous like Brick the goalie or ruggedly handsome like Cooper the captain, but he ticked all of Vi’s boxes when it came to physical attributes. Too bad his personality didn’t match his stellar body.
Matt hadn’t spotted them yet, but once he did, she’d be in deep doggy doo.
She fidgeted in her seat and took a bite out of her veggie burger. She couldn’t believe she was fretting about Matt. So what if he was pissed? She was doing him a favor watching the boys, and she wanted to go to the game. He could ground the boys tomorrow or mete out whatever kind of discipline he saw fit. Tonight, she was here, and she was going to enjoy the testosterone-laden ice arena.
Matt played opposite fellow defenseman Isaac “Ice” Wolfe. Talk about two intense guys, but Isaac won the surly award hands down. Too bad Ice was taken. Vi wouldn’t mind taking him for a spin on or off the ice. All that attitude would burn up the sheets. Distracting herself with thoughts of Ice didn’t work for more than a millisecond. Her gaze stuck to Matt like a magnet to iron.
She tried to keep a low profile and postpone the inevitable, but being inconspicuous was next to impossible considering her purple hair and the two whirling dervishes currently pounding on the glass next to her.
The team was still in warm-ups when Matt chased down an errant puck and came within feet of their seats. The boys pounded even harder on the glass and shouted for their dad. He shot a glance in their direction and did a double take.
The corners of his mouth lifted in a wry grin, and he skated over to them. Shaking his head, he placed a gloved palm on the glass. Both boys slapped the glass in some sort of pregame ritual between father and sons. Matt’s accusatory gaze swung to Vi, and his dark eyes were stormier than gale-force winds in the Strait of Juan De Fuca. She managed a fake, sweet smile, the epitome of innocence. One of his dark brows shot up. His expression seemed to say, “wait until I get done with you.”
Vi couldn’t wait.
She blew him a kiss and winked.
The corners of his sexy mouth dipped downward, and he grimaced. Not sparing another glance in her direction, he spun and skated off, digging the toes of his blades into the ice.
Vi tried to tamp down her excitement, but it was no use. She was a sexual being, and he’d just issued a challenge, whether he knew it or not. She rarely turned down a challenge, especially when it had to do with sex. Mat
t wanted her. Oh, yeah, he wanted her.
She’d spent a lot of time over the past month thinking about their one kiss. She wanted another and another and—well, call her greedy, but she wanted more. A lot more. Vi never stopped with just one kiss, not when said kiss sent her reeling and knocked her on her ass.
“Matt LaRue, I’m coming for you,” she whispered, and smiled at the man’s retreating.
* * * *
Matt was going to strangle one purple-haired, hot-bodied, infuriating woman with his bare hands. Even better, he’d put her over his knee and spank her bare ass.
He groaned at the thought.
Shit.
The visual was enough to keep him warm in his lonely bed all night.
And she did have a gorgeous ass, round and shapely, inviting as hell.
Damn.
He shook his head to clear it. He was in middle of a fucking game. He never thought about women when there was hockey to be played, not even as a randy teenager.
Next to him on the bench, Jared “Hot Rod” Roderick stared at him strangely. Matt stared back.
“What’s your problem?” Matt said.
“You’re muttering to yourself. I thought only I did that.”
Matt shrugged and focused his attention back on the game, even as he felt his ears heat up. He was thankful the helmet hid them.
He prided himself on being the consummate professional, Mr. Dependable, the rock-steady guy his team could always count on no matter what kind of turmoil he faced in his personal life. He was a role model for the younger guys. And Rod could use a role model. Rod’s former puck bunny, now-wife tied him into a knot tighter than a hangman’s noose. Everyone on the team agreed she was a gold-digging bitch always looking for the next best thing. If Rod had been thinking with his head instead of his dick, he’d have never married a woman half the team had already slept with. Rumor had it she’d moved on to other conquests since marrying the dumb sap, but at first Rod seemed oblivious. Now he was just fucking miserable.
Matt could relate. The dumbest thing he’d ever done was get hooked up with Brianna, but she’d given him the two most precious things in his life—his boys. He wouldn’t change that for the world, despite the hell she continued to put them through.
Matt was damn glad that chapter of his life was over, but poor Rod’s torture was just beginning. The honeymoon was over, even if he didn’t recognize it. Sooner or later Rod would catch her in the act, and denial would no longer be an option. Not Matt’s problem, though, even if he did feel for the clueless sucker. The kid would get his heart broken in the process, but he’d learn and pick more wisely next time, or not pick at all, like Matt.
Shaking his head, Matt turned his attention to the action on the ice and leaned forward, poised to leap over the boards and start his next shift. A few seconds later, he was on the ice and skating hard. The Jets were a young team and thrashing the legs off older teams. Matt refused to be beaten to the puck by punk kids, and he refused to believe he might be a hair slower than he once was. He dug his blades into the ice and drove toward the puck, instinctively knowing after years of hockey where it was being passed next. He intercepted and smacked the puck to Cedric “Smooth” Pedersen, who’d been lying in wait like a stalker. Smooth glided toward the goal in that deceptively smooth way of his. The guy could turn on a dime, his passes were laser-accurate, and he was faster than hell.
Matt grinned when Ced skated one way and sent the puck in another, right into the waiting stick of Coop in front of the net. While Smooth moved with grace and finesse, Coop was all agile power and brute muscle. He bullied his way past one defender and fired a bullet past the goalie. A few microseconds later the lamp lit, and the Sockeyes scored again, now leading two goals to one.
Matt skated over to butt helmets with a smirking Coop. Their other teammates gathered around while the gang on the bench pounded the boards with their sticks. Matt grinned. God, he loved this game, almost as much as he loved life itself and not quite as much as he loved his boys.
The score held, and Matt managed to keep his thoughts focused solely on hockey until the last seconds of the third period ticked down on the clock. He was on the ice. He and Isaac were playing keep-away with the puck. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Vi and his boys on their feet, pounding the glass. Vi’s incredible breasts bounced against the clear barrier, and he swallowed hard. At the same time, Isaac shot the puck back in his direction, and he missed it. Thank God, the final buzzer sounded, ending the game.
As his teammates streamed onto the ice to celebrate, Isaac skated up to him and glared. “What the fuck were you looking at?” His gaze traveled in the direction Matt’s had gone. “Ah, crap. Seriously? A woman?”
Matt snapped his gaze to the scoreboard, feigning interest in the stats shown there, and ignored his teammate. Isaac matched him stride for stride, not fooled one damn bit.
“And here I thought you were a monk.” Ice snorted and slapped him on the back.
“I am a monk.”
Isaac’s smug smirk indicated he didn’t buy that story. “She’s hot in a biker chick kind of way. Never guessed that’d be your type. Who is she?”
“No one. Just a friend of Brick’s fiancée.”
Isaac hooted with laughter, winked at him, then skated off. Matt had no choice but to skate after him, taking him past Vi and the boys. His gaze locked with hers. Not one iota of uncertainty shone in her blue eyes, which irked him. She should be worried about his reaction. He’d made it clear she wasn’t to bring the boys to the game. She’d ignored his wishes, and she didn’t appear to give a shit.
He glared at her and mouthed the words, “You’re in deep.”
She pointed at her boots, laughed, and blew him a kiss.
Matt sped past, while his mind filled with different revenge scenarios, almost all of them minus clothes.
Merde. Shit. Fuck.
He stepped off the ice through the open half door onto the rubber mat and down the hallway toward the locker room and tripped.
“Hey, old man. You need help getting to the locker room?” Jasper chortled. “I could get you a wheelchair.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Matt growled, which brought a chorus of laughter from the guys behind him.
“He’s sensitive tonight,” Cedric said in a falsetto voice.
“Ah, maybe he’s having his period.” Jason “Wildman” Wilder thought he was way too funny.
“Don’t quit your day job to be a comedian,” Matt said, bringing about another chorus of laughter from the cheap seats.
Matt sighed. Usually he didn’t mind the ribbing. But tonight, he was already irritated thanks to Vi. That damn woman. He’d known better than to leave the boys with her. That’d be the last time, no matter how desperate he might be.
He might be ready for a woman in his life, but Vi was not that woman.
Chapter 2—Faceoff
Vi was getting damn tired of Matt LaRue and his inflexible ways. The two of them had incredible sexual chemistry. Vi saw no reason to hold back, not when the sex between them promised to be epic. But Mr. Tight-Ass behaved as if he were auditioning to be a priest. So what if they didn’t like each other? Liking a person had nothing to do with great sex. Sometimes the sex was even better when the person was a thorn in her side. Matt was definitely a prickly thorn and more.
After the game, she hustled the boys home and put them to bed. They fell asleep instantly without complaint, leaving her to contemplate the corruption of their father. Purely as a way to funnel his inevitable anger into something more pleasurable. Yeah, and Vi rode a unicorn to work every day. Let’s be honest, she told herself, you want his bod, angry or not.
And she would have him. Vi had moves Superman couldn’t resist, and she’d use every one of them on Matt if that’s what it took to get him naked.
She briefly pondered why his ex left him. Vi didn’t know the gritty details, but she’d heard bits and pieces from her bestie Amelia and her fiancé, Brick, the Sockeyes g
oalie. Matt hadn’t had a female love interest in three years, as far she could figure out.
He needed a good long romp between the sheets with a woman who could fulfill his most decadent fantasies, and she wanted to be that woman. Nothing permanent, because Vi didn’t do permanent. That kind of commitment was for women who had simple, normal lives, not women who’d been where Vi had and seen the things she’d seen. She would never trust her heart to a man, not the way Amelia had, not that she wasn’t happy for Amelia. She was ecstatic for her friend. Amelia and Brick’s love was rare, but even they’d had some tough times of it.
Vi plopped onto the couch and waited for Matt. He’d be pissed, but she could channel his anger into some intense, mind-blowing sex, if he’d let her.
She wished she’d worn something sexier than a long-sleeved T-shirt, at least something she could unbutton a few buttons on, but she hadn’t. Cleavage did wonders for a man’s erection.
She heard the door from the garage open and close. A short while later, Matt appeared in the living room doorway. His tanned face was rigid with anger and his brown eyes were stormy. He propped his hands on his hips and did his best badass biker imitation.
“Hey, Monsieur LaLaRue.” She laughed as his expression turned downright murderous. He hated her pet name for him.
“What do I owe you?” he asked through gritted teeth. He was making an impressive attempt to control his emotions. She’d take care of that. She knew what buttons to push, and the man had more buttons than the cockpit of a commercial airliner.
“Your body.” She straightened to her full five-foot-four height and made her way toward him in a slow, sultry amble. He stood his ground, even when she was within a foot of his body.
“Merde,” he muttered, his more-pronounced-than-usual French accent threatening to disintegrate her panties. She glanced downward, half expecting to see smoke rising from the waistband of her jeans.
“You and I are not happening.” He ground his teeth together. God, he was fucking hot when he was angry.
Penalty Play (Seattle Sockeyes Hockey) Page 2