The Sport of Romance: A Multi-Author Box Set

by Cari Quinn

  Val glanced down and giggled. “Purple sprinkles?”

  “What? You don’t like?”

  “It’s wonderful.” She smiled warmly at him, warm fuzzies settling deep in her toes. “Thank you.”

  She hadn’t thought that Darren could get better, but somehow he had. So as she dug into her purple sprinkled sundae, she kept that in mind. He was gorgeous. He was athletic, and he came up with the best frozen yogurt sundaes.

  “No problem. We could both use a distraction today.”

  Wasn’t he supposed to be drunk? He wasn’t acting drunk. In fact, he seemed downright charming.

  “I heard about your job.” Her smile faded a little, but she was sure it hadn’t disappeared entirely.

  “How?”

  “I have my sources. You didn’t say anything.”

  She shrugged. “I’m okay.”

  “You don’t seem okay.”

  She studied him for a moment, but she didn’t see anything except genuine concern from him. Her world was up in the air and her favorite customer saw that.

  “You know, it’s okay if you aren’t cool with being laid off,” Darren said. “It sucks.”

  Val chuckled. “How would you know, Darren? Even if you stopped working tomorrow, you’d be set for life.”

  “I wasn’t always paid this well,” Darren said.

  “Well, you are now,” she said. “You know, all I’ve ever wanted is to have some measure of control over my life. I had a job I loved, even if it didn’t pay well. And because donations were down, because politics force out the funding, my job, my livelihood gets cut.” She erected an imaginary wall between her eyes and her tears, trying to keep from losing control. She couldn’t let that happen in front of Darren.

  When his hand covered hers, she stared into those chocolate eyes and felt like she could get lost in them. So clear, so genuine. Like she could have trusted him with the world.

  “Val, I know your job was important to you. I didn’t mean to bring you here so you could wallow in its loss.” He sighed as his fingers tightened around hers. “I just wanted to forget this day ever happened.”

  A small smile crept up on her face. “Do you miss her?”

  “Angela? Hell no.” He leaned away, and let go of her hand. “I’m more angry at her for lying than hurt. At least now she won’t be able to keep spending my retirement money.”

  Obviously bothered, he trailed off into quiet. They ate frozen yogurt in silence for a while, then he finally struck up more conversations about safer subjects. They talked about food for a while, her fascination with the color purple, and his early days as a Mighty Mites hockey player as a child.

  “So what about you? Any kids?”

  Valerie’s head snapped up from her nearly finished yogurt. Darren looked intently at her, waiting for her response. “Uh, no. No kids. I can barely take care of myself.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” he replied. “You seem to have everything under control.”

  “Control is a fickle thing.” She smiled tightly. “You can think you have everything in hand, but in one second, it’ll all be gone.” She met Darren’s clear eyes with a steady resolve. “This is why I won’t have kids. There’s no control where kids are concerned. Their very nature defies it. They’re chaotic.”

  “So, never any kids for you?” he asked, surprised. “I thought every woman wanted kids.”

  “I’m not saying ‘never.’ But they require planning, and I’m not at a stage in my life where kids are an option.” She paused. “Especially now. There’s no way I could afford a child on a cocktail waitress pay.” Valerie frowned as she tried to put how she felt into words. “I work with girls every day—I did work with them anyway—that made poor choices, and ended up with a baby they weren’t ready to have. I can’t be that girl. I won’t.”

  He smiled. “I didn’t realize how passionate you were about this.”

  “I probably come off as preachy.” She laughed nervously. “That’s what the girls tell me all the time.”

  “You like things the way you like them,” Darren replied. “I can understand that. I’m right there with you.”

  He leaned toward her, over the table, and their empty yogurt bowls. His aftershave tickled her nose, her heart thudded as he came closer. Their lips touched, gently, almost like he was afraid she’d push him away. God knew, she should have. She was losing herself here. With every magical touch of his lips, she was losing more of her resolve.

  The shrill tone of the standard ringer broke the magic spell he held over her. Both of them jumped apart in surprise. Darren met her eyes and she marveled at the fire inside them. The room was at least twenty degrees too warm, the air so thin suffocation was imminent.

  “Yeah?” He didn’t take his eyes off her as he answered his phone, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he listened. “Gavin, I don’t have my car right now. I can’t… What about a cab? …Alright, alright, calm down. Okay, just stay put.” He hit the button on the phone and looked at Val, an apology already in his eyes. “Val—”

  “You have to go?” she asked. “Is there a problem?”

  “It’s Misha and Gavin. Gavin’s car broke down and they don’t have a way back home. And there’s a bunch of media downtown covering the concert’s after party tonight. Misha’s trashed and Gavin doesn’t want him to be seen drunk again. The press had a field day with him last time.”

  “And you want me to—”

  “If it won’t—”

  “It’s cool. I’ll take you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “Tell your friends we’ll come get them.”

  Darren gave her the most grateful look he could muster and spoke into the phone. Within a few minutes, he had Misha’s location and hung up.

  “He’ll hang tight for a few extra minutes.” He frowned as he covered her hand with his. “I was hoping we’d have more time together.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, standing up, and pulling her hand away. His shoulders visibly slumped. “You should take care of your friends.”

  They walked back to her little red car and she immediately wondered how two more hockey players, who were probably the size of Darren would fit in her backseat. She pursed her lips together and sat down in the driver’s seat. This was going to be interesting.

  * * *

  They rode in silence, broken only by Darren’s directions. He led them downtown, through crowded streets. Main Street was home to dozens of bars, each trying to stand out in their own ways, with glittering lights, and neon signs.

  Close to the university, the bar scene catered to the younger crowds. He had a feeling the university was what had attracted Jenkins to the city. Fort Glasgow, like the rest of Texas, had not been a hockey town and still wasn’t, but catering to the college scene had filled the arena seats at the Fort Glasgow Convention Center.

  Darren popped his knuckles and leaned back in his seat. Disappointment coursed through his system. They’d been having a good time until Gavin called. Not that he ever minded going to get his teammates when they’d been drinking, but this time, he’d let himself get drunk too. He’d almost managed to forget that his divorce finalized today in the process. Almost. But not quite.

  “Thanks for doing this, Val,” Darren said. “I know I’ve been a pain tonight.”

  The buzz he’d had at the bar had lasted about halfway through the yogurt shop. Then the guilt at making Val do things when she could have just gone home set in, weighing his shoulders down. He was so going to kick Cody’s ass, as soon as he knew that Joey was okay.

  “It’s not a problem,” she assured him.

  Silence fell over them again, awkward quiet enveloping them in the small confines of Val’s car. His lips were still warm from the kiss they’d shared. Was she thinking about that kiss? She gave no outside impression that she was at all.

  He saw the bar Gavin had told him about. As promised, both he and Misha were outside. Gavin had a steady hand on Mish
a’s shoulder, like he was reassuring himself that Misha hadn’t gone anywhere.

  “There.” He pointed to them. “Can you pull up there?”

  She nodded and the car came to a stop by the pair. Darren glanced at Val. “I will make this up to you. I promise.”

  She smiled weakly, her attention on the two men outside her car. He wasn’t sure if it was annoyance or just that she was uncomfortable. He hadn’t thought about it, but she didn’t really know the rest of the team. Sure they came in to drink sometimes, but that bar was his domain mostly. Had he managed to put her in a situation she wasn’t comfortable with?

  He got out of the car when she didn’t answer and shut the door behind him. The street was much noisier outside the car, horns and screeching tires, the loud voices of the crowds around them.

  Misha stumbled as Gavin steered him toward the car. Darren caught his other arm. “Mish, man… What did I tell you about the drinking?”

  “To do more?” Misha’s chuckle even sounded slurred. “Kochu napitsya.”

  Darren sighed, heavy with exasperation. He looked at Gavin. “You didn’t stop him?”

  “He broke up with that one chick.”

  “That one chick” was the girlfriend of the month, a photographer Misha had met during his last endorsement deal.

  “Jesus, Gav. Where’s Cody?”

  “He had to take Joey to the hospital again. That’s when I called you. I told him I would find a ride back.”

  Darren shook his head as he opened the door and unceremoniously shoved Misha into the back seat. Heat rose to his head, the pressure building between his eyes. He was going to kill Cody. The rookie flopped across the seat. Gavin got in after him and shut the door.

  Getting in the front, he turned his torso toward the center of the car. “Guys, this is Valerie. Val, the drunken mess there is the rookie Misha Kozlov. The Italian sonovabitch is Gavin Ferrara.”

  “Heelllooooo,” Misha crooned, sloppily sitting up. “Ti vyerish v lyubov s pyervovo vzglyada?”

  “Just sit back and shut up before you hurt yourself, Misha,” Gavin sighed and pushed Misha back to the seat. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  Val blinked, like she didn’t know what to say. Then a weak “Hi” left her lips as she turned back to face the wheel. “Where am I taking them?”

  “Do you know where the Coventry is?” Darren asked her.

  She nodded. “That’s off I-75, yes?”

  “Yup, that’s it.” Gavin said. “We appreciate the ride. I’ll get you back, anytime.”

  “That’s okay. It’s better than you guys driving under the influence or something.” Val seemed to relax a little as she pulled out on to the highway. Misha started rambling about blondes that didn’t know what they wanted, or at least that’s what she thought it was. He kept slipping between English and Russian. It didn’t last long. In a few minutes, he was passed out, his lax head swaying with the movement of the car.

  Gavin looked out the window, content not to say anything as they drove. Darren knew something was bothering him, but Gavin didn’t talk unless he wanted to, and it probably wasn’t something he wanted to talk about in front of female company anyway.

  He reached over to Val, almost tentatively, and touched the back of her hand. Her back straightened visibly but she didn’t look at him, so he left his hand covering hers. That kiss still tingled across his lips.

  * * *

  Darren skated to the bench as Coach Rogers called his name, abruptly turning his skates so he sprayed the boards with ice and stopped in front of his coach.

  “Looking good, Moran,” Rogers said, looking down at his clipboard. He tapped his pen on the clipboard and glanced up. “You feeling good?”

  “Better than I was a few days ago,” Darren replied honestly. A few days ago, he was focusing on getting drunk and trying to fight in the bars.

  “That’s good. You know I need you this year, Moran. The team needs you… focused and in top form.”

  “Yeah,” Darren nodded. He resisted the urge to look away. “I know.”

  He hadn’t played well last season. It was a product of his impending divorce. Hell, the night he’d caught his wife with the landscaper, he’d gotten a one game suspension for game misconduct. He still said the guy deserved the hit.

  “Vince wants to see you upstairs.”

  “Now?” Darren was surprised. Vince Jenkins rarely pulled anyone out of practice and the idea turned his stomach on its ends.

  “Yeah,” Rogers said. “Look, Moran, I know your temper, so lemme tell you this.” He paused, waited to make sure he had Darren’s full attention. “This is a seasoned team. Which means that Jenkins is looking for players to move.”

  Darren blinked. “I’m getting traded?” Panic rose bile into his throat. First his wife and now his team? He didn’t want to leave Fort Glasgow. What team would he end up on?

  “No,” Rogers said. “Not yet, anyway. But if you don’t keep old man Jenkins happy, I’d expect not to see you too much longer here. Something to keep in mind, okay? Now go suit out and head up to the offices.”

  Darren nodded automatically but there was a void in his stomach as he skated over to the gate and left the ice. Traded. Or possibly traded. None of this could be good.

  “Moran!” Darren turned back where Rogers stood. Rogers pointed his pen at him. “Eleanor’s in town. That’s probably your saving grace.”

  Darren nodded and walked to the locker room. Dread crept into his blood. Was he going to be traded? True, he’d been with the Highlanders for nearly ten years now, since his second year in the national league. Jenkins’s daughter, Eleanor, had been thirteen when he’d come to the team.

  His contract was up for renewal too. He didn’t like the idea of being a free agent. He and Angela bought into a house, looked at school systems and property taxes. Even though Angela was gone, he wasn’t ready to chuck it all and start over with a different team. He liked being a Highlander. He liked the fans here. He liked the whole package. He liked Val.

  Wait, what? Liked Val? Where did that come from? He shook his head, hoping the thought would fly out, but it was still there, warming his heart.

  Oh, hell. He did like her.

  Darren took a quick shower and cleaned up. He shrugged on his shirt and buttoned it up, wondering exactly what Jenkins would say. He liked Jenkins as a person. He was a damn shark when it came to his team but right in that moment, he was a little afraid that he’d have to think about life after the Highlanders.

  Chapter Three

  Darren finished getting dressed and headed up to the office spaces on the second floor. His boots thumped across the tiled hallway as he approached the owner’s office.

  His receptionist, Marilyn Jane, looked up as he came up. She pasted a professional smile on her face and set her pen down. “Mr. Moran. How are you today?”

  “I’m good, Miss Jane.” He leaned over the desk and propped his head on his palms. “How’s you?”

  “Tired. Mr. Jenkins is keeping me busy today, especially with the progeny here.” She flipped her head back toward the closed oak doors.

  “Ellie’s here?” He glanced at the doors and smiled. This wouldn’t be all bad. Ellie Jenkins and he were old buddies. “I hear I have an appointment.”

  Marilyn laughed. “Oh, you’re the player he’s been yelling about in there? He’s expecting you. Hang on.” She pressed the red intercom button next to her and waited.

  “Yeah?” The voice bellowed through the small speaker, gruff and growly.

  “Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Moran is here.”

  “Tell him to get in here.” The audible click almost sounded like a phone hanging up, even if Darren knew it was just a press of the button.

  He winked at Marilyn and went into Jenkins’s office, fear tagging along like a shadow.

  Jenkins was one of those guys that liked to show he was rich. His office proved it, a decisive switch from the reception area. Hardwood floors underneath Persian rugs. Heavy English oak fur
niture, all matching. Shelves of hockey paraphernalia, including pictures of Jenkins with various hockey stars, from players, to announcers, to commissioners in the league. Jenkins had been around a long time.

  There were two people in Jenkins’ office when he walked in. He recognized Eleanor Jenkins immediately. Her chin-length chestnut hair fell forward as she leaned over the desk. Unlike the normal jeans and tee she usually wore to visit her dad, she was wearing a slim-fitting black pinstripe suit today. A pale lavender blouse peeked from under the jacket.

  She straightened as he came near, a soft familiar smile on her face.

  Her father was a different story. He had permanent frown lines stretched across his brow, his forehead, and around his mouth. Salt-speckled brown hair that probably matched his daughter’s at one time had receded about an inch from his hairline. The baby blue eyes his daughter had were an echo of his.

  Jenkins glanced up from the papers in front of him as Darren stopped in front of the desk.

  “Moran. You remember my daughter?”

  “Eleanor, it’s nice to see you again.” Darren said.

  “It’s Ellie, Darren. You’ve known me since I was thirteen.” She smiled brightly.

  “Have a sit, Darren.” Jenkins shuffled papers out of the way and folded his arms on the desk. “Seat, I mean.”

  Suddenly, Darren felt like he was twelve years old and in the principal’s office after setting off a stink bomb in the boy’s bathroom. Ellie’s face was unreadable, a professional smile plastered on her face. When had she grown up anyway? The last time he’d seen her had been a couple years ago when she’d left for college. She’d had braces. He was getting old.

  “Your last season kinda sucked, Darren.” Jenkins began, his gruff voice pulling Darren from his thoughts. His voice didn’t sound angry. He sounded tired.

  “I got a divorce, Vince.” Darren ground out.