The Winning Score: A best-friend's-sister, enemies-to-lovers sports romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romance Book 4)

by G. K. Brady

  “Yeah, I feel you. But shit, I couldn’t have given them the virus.” Could I? Cold needles of ice spiked along Quinn’s shoulders and neck.

  “Doesn’t matter right now. Everybody’s on edge. Like I said, I wanted to let you know so you don’t get blindsided.”

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate you.”

  “Oh. And another piece of advice? Don’t be putting moves on my sister unless you want me beating your ass.”

  Like Quinn needed the reminder. “Ha! Farthest thing from my mind, dude. Your sister’s safe with me.” Can’t imagine being that desperate. Besides, that little wildcat would scratch my eyes out just for trying to read her latest ridiculous T-shirt.

  When they hung up, Quinn sat in the dark, turning over Nelson’s words. When he’d touched the mics, he’d done it … Why? Just another jaunt into Quinn World. Impulsive. And senseless. Wouldn’t be the first time. No, he never did anything halfway. But damn, he’d never intended for anyone to get sick. Hell, how could anyone have gotten sick from him when he wasn’t sick?

  His second phone was tucked beside him on the couch, signaling he had a voicemail. Without bothering to listen, he stuffed the phone back in his pocket. The other phone, his regular phone, he carried in his hand as he padded back into the kitchen. The soft giggling of women, all high and musical, reached his ears. He rounded the corner and stopped. The kitchen was completely buffed, as if a tornado had scoured and polished every surface, and on the family room couch sat his mom and Sarah Sunshine. His mom was stroking Archer’s head, which was planted on her thigh, and Sunshine’s head was down, as though she was looking at something in her lap. What was obviously a chick flick played on the TV screen—he knew because a trio of hot girls were laughing at some clueless guy.

  His mom’s head turned toward him. “Quinnie! Come join us.” He squinted to get a closer look. She was smiling, and she looked about ten years younger than she had the other night. Maybe Sarah had colored her hair already? No, he hadn’t been gone that long. Besides, it looked the same. But her cheeks were rosier, her face less lined.

  A little gust of air left his body, unwinding a few coiled muscles. “Uh, I’m good, thanks.” Life might be going to shit, but there sat his mom, actually enjoying herself, and for a moment he didn’t feel guilty. So hey, a silver lining in a black thundercloud. Miss Sunshine didn’t look up, and he found himself wanting to make her acknowledge him.

  “Got everything you need?” he directed at both of them. His mom nodded, but Sarah stayed focused on whatever the hell was in her lap. “How about you, Sunshine?”

  She didn’t raise her head. “I’m good, Sparky.”

  Sparky. Great.

  He couldn’t help himself. “Whatcha got there?”

  “The latest issue of Civil Engineering.”

  “Can I read it sometime? Sounds interesting.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She still hadn’t looked up.

  It occurred to him that her magazine was way more interesting than he was. With a puff of his cheeks, he spun and retreated to his room, where he shut the double doors behind him. He scrolled through his regular phone, relieved to find nothing on his outburst in the press conference—yet—and laid it on top of the nightstand. Sliding the second phone out of his pocket, he stared at it a beat before powering it off and stowing it in his nightstand drawer. He threw himself on his bed, locking his hands under his head. Stared at the ceiling as if he could find the answer to what the universe had in store for him written on its surface. Whatever the future held, he was pretty damn sure it involved adulting.

  Quinn slept in late the next morning. His bedroom was isolated in a separate part of the house, and usually his mom texted him when she needed his help. He bolted upright and snatched his phone off the nightstand. No messages. He pulled on gym shorts and a T-shirt and jogged down to the kitchen. Everything was quiet except the unaccustomed sound of a tail slapping carpet.

  “Hey, Arch. Where’s your mom?” What the hell am I doing talking to a dog? Archer hopped up and rushed over, greeting Quinn as if he were a long-lost bone that needed a good licking. Quinn hadn’t spent time around dogs—any animals—and wasn’t sure about pet protocol.

  When Archer nudged his hand so it landed on top of his furry head, he gave him a stroke, surprised at the softness. Soon he was rubbing the dog’s silky ears. “So where is everyone this morning, buddy?”

  Archer swung his head toward the basement stairs.

  “Seriously, dog? You psychic or something?” Quinn gave him one last pat, trod down the stairs, and shuffled along the hallway past the racquetball court. He froze in his tracks when he picked up Sarah Sunshine’s voice.

  “Look at you, Ms. Awesome. You are owning this!”

  A sort of muffled giggle came next. “I think you’re feeding me a line of you-know-what, Sarah.”

  “No, I’m not. Raise your head for a sec and look at your posture compared to mine in the mirror. See? Your butt’s as high as mine.”

  This had all of Quinn’s attention, and he let his curiosity pull him toward the gym. When he peered around the corner, two asses in stretchy black fabric mooned him.

  “What’s this called again?” one ass said.

  “Downward dog,” the other ass—a really nice one—answered. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall to enjoy the view.

  “Hold that pose a little longer, Liz. You’re doing great.” Lean legs walked toward fingertips braced on the floor, then Sarah’s upper body slowly rose, vertebrae by vertebrae. She glanced at him over her shoulder, turned, and in two quick strides stood in front of him. A smirk twitched her lips. “See something you want, Sparky?”

  Quinn’s tongue wouldn’t work. Before he could spit out the clever comeback that hadn’t come to him yet, Sarah winked and walked away with a chuckle. Shit! What if she thinks I want her? Which I absolutely do not.

  Now her arms were on his mom’s waist, and she was giving her instructions on how to bring her body upright. “You good?” Sarah asked when Mom was fully standing.

  Even from here, he could see the smile that lit his mother’s face. “Better than good. I can’t believe I didn’t do yoga before.”

  “Didn’t your doctor ever say anything about it?”

  “Just in a vague ‘get more exercise’ kind of way.”

  “Well, I’ve been doing a little research, and if you’re game, I’ve got some other things I’d like to try with you. But not today. I think we’ve done plenty. Unless you want to get in the hot tub and soak for a bit?” Sarah’s gaze lifted to his.

  His mother turned, and her eyes widened. “How long have you been standing there, Quinnster?”

  Quinnster? Another term of endearment he hadn’t heard in a long while. “Long enough, Momster. Looks like Sarah Sunshine’s got you working out.” After only twenty-four hours!

  His mother looked between him and Sarah and beamed. “Sarah Sunshine? Sparky? You two have the cutest names for each other.” A little twinkle in his mother’s eyes had him thinking he needed to set her straight. ASAP. Not gonna happen, Mom.

  “Okay, clear out.” He used a pushing motion with his hands. “There’s too much estrogen in here. It’s man time.”

  Sarah looked around dramatically. “Don’t see one anywhere.”

  Annoyed again, though not completely sure why, he barked, “Out!”

  “Oh, Sarah. I think he’s serious,” his mom said in a conspiratorial tone.

  Sarah seemed unconcerned and took her time picking up their scattered belongings. “Well, then, let’s leave ol’ Grumpy Gus alone while we check out the hot tub. Maybe later we can do hair.”

  As he watched them walk up the stairs, he scratched his stubbly chin. How the hell had his mom gotten so comfortable with Sarah Sunshine so damn fast? With a headshake, he picked up the remote and turned on and muted ESPN. He plugged in his earbuds and went through his stretches. As he climbed onto the rowing machine, he flicked his gaze to the TV. And stopped breathin
g. On the screen, he recognized himself holding the prick reporter’s phone before shoving it back at him. WTF? This couldn’t be good. He whipped the earbuds out and snatched the remote, jabbing the volume button. Prickface had turned toward the camera, waving his phone. “Did you catch what Quinn Hadley did? Did you get that on tape?” Next, Quinn’s team photo flashed across the screen with his name in big letters. It looked like a mug shot.

  Even if he’d tried, he couldn’t have done a better job fucking up his PR or the team’s.

  He switched off the TV, shoved his earbuds back in, and attacked the rowing machine at a furious pace. Too bad none of it tamped down the embarrassment and self-recrimination twisting inside him.

  Chapter 11

  Checkout Time is at Eleven

  Quinn bolted up the stairs so fast Sarah nearly dropped the mug of steeping tea. “Wow, I can see a contrail coming off of you, Sparky.”

  He came to an abrupt stop and stared at her like he had no idea who she was. Wet hair was plastered against his head, and sweat was beaded on his face, neck, and chest, as though he’d been drenched in a thunderstorm. “Just finished an intense workout,” he panted. His eyes drifted to the cup she held. “What’s that?”

  “Stress relief tea for your mom. Want some?”

  “Stress relief? Why? What’s got her stressed out?” His eyes brightened as though a switch had flipped on, then a look of panic overtook his features. “Shit. You’re stressing her out, and now she’s gonna fire your ass, and I’ll have to start all over again.”

  “Hang on just a hot minute. I am not stressing her out.”

  His head turned one way, then another. “Where is she?”

  “She’s relaxing in the hot tub, and I’m taking the tea out to her. Three bucks for the swear jar.”

  He did a double take, then pinned his eyes on her. “How so?”

  She counted off on her fingers. “Two bucks for ‘shit,’ and a buck for ‘ass.’ That’s what Liz told me.”

  “Wait. Did she give you a price sheet or something to torture me with? And ‘ass’ is not a swear word.”

  Sarah gave him an exasperated eye-roll. “No, she didn’t give me a price sheet, but she did make me put a few bucks in for ‘shit’ a little while ago. Oh, wipe that ridiculous smirk off your face.”

  His dark eyebrows quirked. “And she pegged you for ‘ass’ at the same time?”

  “No, just the one word, but she said lesser swear words are a buck.” She paused a beat. “Is ‘ass’ really not a swear word?”

  “Nope. Know why? I could say, ‘That woman has a very fine ass,’ and I wouldn’t be swearing, whereas ‘shit’ is ‘shit.’ It’s a pure swear word.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You could also say, ‘You look like shit,’ but you wouldn’t be swearing.”

  He pointed at her. “Two bucks.”

  “No! That was an example.”

  “Technicality.” He shrugged. “And speaking of money, do you use Zelle? I need to deposit your first paycheck.”

  Sarah couldn’t stop her mouth swinging open. “I just got here. You’re supposed to pay in arrears, not in advance.”

  He shook his arms and rolled his neck in a loosening-up motion. “Well, I’m paying in advance. And I have a feeling you’re going to need every penny for the swear jar, toots.”

  A phone rang—it was an old-fashioned kind of ring—and he slid a device from his pocket. Huh. Which of his two phones is that one, I wonder?

  “Aw, shit!” He shot her a warning glare. “Don’t say it.” He pressed a button and put the phone to his ear, barking, “Now what?”

  Sarah took it as her cue to clear out, and she carried the mug outside to Liz, who looked as though she were being blissfully boiled in steaming bubbles. “Here you go.”

  Liz flashed her a happy smile. “Aw, thanks, doll.”

  Sarah had grown up wary, thanks to her mother drumming daily messages into her head that most people—especially men—were only interested in what they could get from you. As a result, she didn’t usually bond with people quickly, and certainly not people of her mom’s generation. But this woman? Inwardly, Sarah admitted she’d already developed a big soft spot for her. She was drawn to Liz’s smarts and her lively spirit. As Sarah watched her take a careful sip, two things occurred to her. One, why couldn’t her mom be more like Liz? And two, how could someone like Liz raise a womanizing, conceited, pretty boy like Quinn?

  A pretty boy who wanted to pay Sarah early. Okay, so he wasn’t all bad. Then again, with what he got paid, he could afford to be generous. Oh shit! Is he getting paid? No play, no pay? She had no idea.

  “I’ll come back and help you when it’s time to get out, okay?” Sarah leaned down to pat Archer, who lay on the hot tub decking.

  “Take your time. I’m in no hurry.” Liz made a shooing motion with her hand.

  Sarah eyed the phone within Liz’s reach. “Just call or text if you need an early rescue from prune skin.”

  Back inside, Quinn was still on the phone. He was shaking his head, unknowingly flicking his wet strands, and his face was a study in frustration. “Yeah, I get it,” he huffed. “Right. I’ll make sure I’m ready.” A beat passed. “Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll be wearing the biggest fucking smile you’ve ever seen.” He grumbled a good-bye and hung up.

  Sarah decided to hold on to the swear jar snark itching to leap from the tip of her tongue. “Troubles in Sparkyland?”

  A distant look haunted his eyes. He dragged a hand over his face, which was when she noticed his dark whiskers. Nice. No! Not nice. “I guess there’s no point keeping it quiet. You’ll find out, if Gage hasn’t already mentioned it.” He told her about slapping microphones at a press conference.

  A laugh like the crack of a whip escaped her. “What are you, five fucking years old?”

  His eyebrows knotted together in a fierce glower.

  “You gotta admit, even for you that was really dumb.”

  “What do you mean, ‘even for me’? Never mind. Management agrees because now I have to do this PR connect-with-the-fans virtual interview thing in a few days. And apologize to the stupid-as-fu—reporter.” His shoulders sagged, and he nodded his head solemnly. She almost felt sorry for him. “Hindsight’s twenty-twenty,” he groused.

  Says the man who seems to live by impulse.

  His head snapped to hers, and his eyes zeroed in on her. “Did you say something?”

  “Me? Nope. I was just wondering where your second phone was.”

  His head did a little jerky shake thing. “My what?”

  “Your other phone. The one you had on you last night. What’s it for?”

  “Jesus Christ, you’re nosy.”

  Yeah, none of her business, but she couldn’t resist needling him. “Does ‘Jesus Christ’ fit in the swear word category?”

  “No. And speaking of Mom, why’s her wheelchair in the family room and she’s outside in the hot tub?”

  “Well, she says her legs felt pretty good after the stretching, and she wanted to walk to the hot tub and back. I thought that was a good sign, so I encouraged her.”

  A look of alarm spread over his features. “You weren’t just planning on leaving her out there, were you?”

  “Of course not! What do you take me for?”

  His lips quirked. “Don’t even get me started.”

  Her mad-o-meter started to climb, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Why did this guy get to her anyway?

  He took a step backward. “Whoa! What’s with the stink-eye? Seriously, what did I ever do to you?”

  She smirked. “It’s not about what you did or didn’t do. It’s about what you want to do—well, not to me, per se, but to women in general—and what you want to do is completely controlled by that.” She pointed at his crotch but kept her gaze fixed on his.

  He gave her a cocky grin. “Well, at least you noticed I have one. Envious, toots?”

  “You’re such a tool.”

  He crossed his arms over
his chest. “The more I’m around you, the harder it is to believe you and Gage are related. For one thing, I think you swear more than your brother does, and that’s saying something considering he plays hockey for a living.”

  “Gage is the polite one.”

  “Yeah, I totally get that.”

  Arms still firmly crossed, he seemed to appraise her. His scrutiny made her insides squirm like tadpoles teeming in a pond. Well, that and the modicum of guilt building inside of her for disparaging her brother’s teammate.

  “So tell me something,” he drawled. “Did you acquire your sunny personality in engineering school, or do you come by it naturally?” His smirk deepened, making one dimple appear. She felt an overpowering urge to scrub it off his smug face.

  “No, I learned it in common sense school—someplace you obviously didn’t attend.”

  “Oh, ow. Burn, Sunshine.” He covered his heart and laughed, then spun and headed toward his wing. With a backward glance, he said, “This has been fan-fucking-tastic. Let’s do it again real soon. And yeah, I owe the swear jar five bucks for that. Totally worth it.”

  With that, he jogged down the hall. God, it was only her second day, and she wanted to throttle him even more than she had on day one. This wasn’t going to work out. Suddenly, Daisy’s bubble gum room was looking a hell of a lot better. Damn it, even Gage and Lily’s couch held more appeal than Sarah’s sumptuous suite if it meant not living under the same roof as Quinn “God’s-Gift” Hadley.

  Why not go back to Gage’s? She could take care of Liz during the day and let Quinn handle the nights since he was stuck here anyway. As her mind ran through various scenarios for setting that up, her phone rang. She hadn’t loaded in Liz’s number yet, but the Colorado area code was a dead giveaway Liz was calling, looking for hot tub rescue. Sarah answered it. “Ready to get out now?”

  “Well, well, well, she does answer her phone,” said a sinfully silky male voice.

  Sarah’s jaw clamped down like a pair of fully locked vise grips. Damn it!