Playing To Win (The York Bombers Book 2)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  “Oh. Um, yeah. No. I mean—” She cleared her throat and wondered if her face was turning red. Probably. “It’s okay. It’s just a work shirt.”

  He raised his brows then lowered his gaze, those dark eyes taking in everything from her face all the way down to her bright pink Chucks. His gaze traveled back up, hesitating for the slightest second on the scoop neck front of the gray tank she was wearing underneath the flannel shirt. His eyes met hers once more and he smiled again.

  “It would be criminal if it wasn’t.”

  Megan frowned, his words confusing her. What was that supposed to mean? Was he actually flirting with her? No, he couldn’t be. And he wasn’t gawking or anything weird or creepy like that, even if he had been staring, for just the briefest second. It was more like he was just studying her or trying to figure something out.

  Or something.

  Or maybe she just needed to call it a night and go home because her mind had obviously stopped working.

  She decided it was better not to say anything—because her mind really had stopped working and she had no idea what to say. She just reached for the case of beer he was still holding, muttering thanks when he passed it to her.

  Megan lifted the case to her shoulder then pushed through the swinging gate.

  “Hey, wait.” She turned around, surprised to see him bending over. He straightened then held one large hand out to her. “You dropped this.”

  “Megan, I need that beer!”

  “Okay!” She glanced over her shoulder and held up a finger in Tyler’s direction, silently asking him to wait a minute. The minute stretched longer, turning into several as she quickly opened the case and put the bottles into the smaller cooler.

  Tyler was still standing by the swinging gate, waiting while she finished. His head was bent over his hand, studying whatever it was she had dropped. He looked up when she approached, another lopsided grin on his face.

  “I think this is yours.” He held his hand out again and she looked down, frowning at the silver disc secured to a black leather cord. Her gaze moved to her left wrist, her right hand automatically covering it, like she couldn’t quite believe her eyes and had to feel it in order to double-check.

  Her fingers searched the collection of smooth leather and braided twine wrapped around her wrist, immediately noticing that something felt different. Of course something was different—one of the leather bracelets she usually wore was held in the palm of Tyler’s large hand.

  It was nothing more than an engraved medallion that looked more like a simple washer, round and smooth, the thin leather cord wrapped around each side of it. The engraving was nothing more than simple block letters forming two words. No, it wasn’t expensive, and no, it wouldn’t mean anything to anyone but her. That didn’t mean she wanted to lose it.

  She reached for it, frowned when he motioned for her to hold her hand out. Then she stood there in shocked silence when he placed it on her wrist, checking to make sure the clasp was secure before grinning at her.

  “Nice bracelet. It probably came off when the case slipped.”

  No, it probably came off because the clasp was loose and she hadn’t gotten around to changing it out yet. As for it being nice—well, she thought so. But it wasn’t exactly to everyone’s tastes and she couldn’t figure out why Tyler Bowie was still standing there, grinning at her.

  “Love Fierce. I like that. Is that like your motto or something?”

  She glanced down at her wrist, watched as the lights from the bar reflected off the small disc, the words barely visible. Love Fierce. Haley had given her the bracelet right after a somewhat devastating break-up two years ago. At least, it had been devastating to her at the time. It was a reminder that love was supposed to be strong and fierce, given to someone who was worthy of it—which hadn’t been the case with the guy in question at that time.

  But a motto? Not really. At least, she didn’t think of it that way, not intentionally. Maybe it was, though.

  “I guess you could call it something like that.”

  Tyler nodded, still smiling. “Good one.” Then he gave her a quick wink and walked away, leaving her standing there in shocked silence and wondering what that whole encounter had been about.

  She was still standing there, trying to figure it out, when Haley came up to her a few minutes later. “Who was that?”

  “Tyler Bowie. The goalie for the Bombers.”

  “He’s cute. Cuter than your hockey god with the freaky eyes.”

  “He’s not my hockey god. And his eyes aren’t freaky.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I say so.” Megan turned around, ready to get back to work washing and straightening and fetching. Haley grabbed her arm and tugged, pulling her through the swinging door.

  “We’re taking a break.”

  “But I can’t—”

  “Sure you can. Just a quick one.”

  “But—”

  “We need to talk.” There was a glint in Haley’s eyes that said whatever she wanted to talk about was important. Megan glanced over her shoulder then sighed and let Haley drag her to the back, away from the noise and crowd. Haley was walking so fast that Megan almost tripped trying to keep up with her. But she didn’t slow down, not until they were back in the dimly-lit storage room, safely away from any prying eyes and curious ears.

  “What is going on? Why did you drag me all the way back here?”

  Haley faced her, a wide smile on her flushed face. “Tuesday night.”

  “What’s Tuesday night?”

  “Your date with destiny.”

  “My date—” Megan shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “I overheard your guys talking and they’re all going out Tuesday night.”

  “My guys?” Megan didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. When Haley said ‘my guys’, she had to be talking about one guy in particular: Jason Emory. Megan ignored the jingle of excitement in her stomach and tried to play dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. This is your chance.”

  “My chance to do what?”

  “What we talked about last week.”

  “Really? And how is that supposed to work if they’re here?”

  “That’s just it. They’re not going to be here. They’re going to that new place, Calypso’s.”

  Megan was shaking her head before Haley even finished speaking. Her plan was bad enough as it was and would never work—mostly because Megan had no intention of going through with it. Especially not at a place like Calypso’s, which was supposed to be the hottest place right now.

  Haley crossed her arms in front of her and frowned. “I thought you wanted to do this.”

  “No. You wanted me to do this. I was only joking around. I didn’t realize you were totally serious.”

  “Since when am I not serious? Especially about something like this!”

  “No.” Megan shook her head again to emphasize her answer. “It won’t work. Especially not someplace like there. I’d never fit in!”

  “Sure you would.”

  “Haley, look at me!” Megan waved one hand up and down, taking in her straight brown hair, loose shirt, baggy jeans, and pink shoes. “I’d never fit in. Just forget it, okay? It was fun to pretend but we both know better—”

  “So we just need to go clothes shopping. One or two new outfits, do something with your hair—”

  “What are you, my fairy godmother?”

  A wide smile lit Haley’s face. “All I have to do is wave my magic wand.”

  “No. We’re not doing this.” Megan tried to push past her but Haley grabbed her arm and held her in place.

  “What happened to all that talk the other day?”

  “It was just talk.”

  “Liar. You want to do this, I can see it in your eyes.”

  Which only proved Haley was seeing things because Megan did not want to do this. Okay, in her fantasy world, maybe. A really big maybe.
Who wouldn’t want to be someone else for one night? To reach out and grab what she wanted?

  In theory—in that make-believe world—it sounded perfect. But in real life? No way. Megan couldn’t do it. She needed to convince Haley of that.

  “It won’t work.”

  “It will if you let it.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  What was she afraid of? Megan didn’t have time to list everything. She was afraid of making a fool of herself. Afraid of being embarrassed. Afraid she’d stumble and fall.

  Afraid of being humiliated and rejected.

  But she couldn’t say any of that out loud, not without sounding pathetic.

  Haley watched her, those hazel eyes seeing too much. She reached out and squeezed Megan’s arm, her voice soft and understanding when she spoke. “You have to at least try.”

  Try.

  Since when had Megan given up even trying? Since never, that was when. Except this whole plan had disaster written all over it. There were so many ways this could backfire.

  And it probably wouldn’t work anyway.

  So if it didn’t work, what did Megan have to lose? An answer tried to form in the back of her mind, just a small wisp of something. It didn’t have a chance to completely form because Haley suddenly smiled and jumped up and down in excitement.

  “I knew it! I knew you’d go through with it.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “You didn’t have to. I saw it in your eyes.” Haley gave her a big hug then stepped back and clapped her hands. “Okay, we only have a few days, but I know just what to do.”

  “Haley—”

  “Leave everything to me. This will be perfect, just wait and see.”

  Perfect? Something told Megan that didn’t even come close to describing how this would turn out.

  Perfect?

  She doubted it.

  Chapter Four

  Megan stopped just inside the door, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light as she looked around. She had just enough time to take in how big the place was—and enough time to wonder again why she was doing this—when Haley nudged her forward. She glanced to the side, saw her friend’s lips move, but she had no idea what she was saying. The music was too loud, echoing off the cavernous ceiling high above them before bouncing back with an odd techno-beat.

  “You’re gawking.” Haley shouted the words next to her then grabbed her arm, leading her away from the door, away from the small line of people gathered behind them.

  Of course she was gawking. How could she not? The place was huge. Like, warehouse huge. Probably because that’s what it used to be. The ceiling loomed high above them, exposed beams painted a flat black with pinpricks of neon white set off by special black lights. It resembled the night sky, vast and never ending.

  The illusion was helped by the fact that everything else was black, too. The polished wood plank floor, the leather booths that ran along the length of two walls, the scattered high-top tables arranged around the dance floor. Even the large horseshoe-shaped bar off to their right was black, framed in mirrors and bright neon lights that made each bottle glow on the glass shelves.

  Well, at least she’d fit in, dressed as she was in pretty much all black. Black boots, body-hugging black pants, sleeveless crocheted black sweater that hung down to her knees.

  Megan looked down and immediately wished she hadn’t. Not everything she was wearing was black. The shirt she had on, a flowing peasant shirt with holes cut out near the shoulders, glowed white in the odd black light. Bright white, like a beacon sending out a signal that practically screamed: “Look at me!” When she first saw the shirt, she fell in love with it and thought that maybe this outfit wouldn’t be so bad after all. The boots were comfortable enough to walk in, despite the three-inch heels. The pants weren’t so tight that she couldn’t breathe. The sweater wasn’t something she’d normally wear, not with its open crochet weave and fringed edges, but it wasn’t too bad. So yeah, when Haley picked out the shirt, Megan had been feeling totally confident.

  Then she tried it on and immediately changed her mind. Loose and flowing? On the hanger, maybe, but not on her. She looked like a serving wench at a Renaissance Fair. The blouse clung to her ample curves and was cut low enough that anyone taller than her would get an eyeful of pale skin if they happened to look down.

  Although, from the look the bouncer had given them when he checked their id’s, maybe people didn’t have to look down to get an eyeful.

  Megan grabbed the edges of the sweater and pulled them closer together, trying to hide the glaring white of the shirt while covering the expanse of bare skin. Haley shot her an impatient look and pulled her hands away from the sweater.

  “Stop it. You look wonderful.”

  Yeah, easy for Haley to say. She wasn’t the one dressed in a brand-new outfit that was so totally different from what she normally wore.

  Although it wasn’t really the outfit—except for maybe the shirt—that made Megan feel self-conscious. It was everything else.

  She curled her hands into loose fists so she wouldn’t reach up to touch her hair. Again. Haley would just give her another impatient look—again. It had been two days and Megan still wasn’t use to it.

  Haley had taken her to a salon, where they promptly cut off four inches from her hair. And layered it. And styled it. And colored it. Instead of straight boring brown hair that hung in her face, Megan’s hair now reached to just below her shoulders, the color a burnt sienna shot through with gold and red and pale blonde highlights that shimmered in the light. It fell in loose waves that framed her face and swung when she moved.

  It looked different.

  It felt different.

  It made her feel different. And when Haley helped with her makeup, adding eyeshadow and liner that made her boring brown eyes pop and lipstick that accented her full lips, she even looked different.

  A lot different.

  But would it be enough?

  Not if she didn’t move from where she was, not if she chickened out and turned and ran. All the hours spent shopping and sitting and being poked and prodded would be completely wasted if she didn’t move.

  But her feet wouldn’t listen, staying firmly rooted in place where she was. And this was silly. Silly and stupid. Why was she bothering with this? Did she really think this stupid plan would work, that Jason Emory would notice her? And what if he did notice her? Then what?

  Did she really want to spend time with someone who didn’t see her for herself? Did she really want to become someone else just to get someone else’s attention?

  No, she didn’t. Except she wasn’t becoming someone different—she just looked different, which wasn’t the same thing at all. That still didn’t make her feel better.

  She was ready to just turn around and leave when Haley grabbed her arm and pointed. “Over there. Is that them?”

  Megan turned her head and leaned to the side, trying to see where Haley was pointing. Her heart slammed against her chest as her pulse kicked up. A small knot of people was standing around two high-tops that had been pushed together near the bar. Five guys and at least as many girls. Okay, maybe the group wasn’t small.

  “Uh, yeah.” Megan cleared her throat and raised her voice. “Yes. That’s them. Haley, I don’t think—”

  But Haley either didn’t hear the last part of what she was trying to say—or decided to ignore her. She tightened her grip and pulled Megan across the floor, weaving and dodging between people until they reached the bar. Haley chose a spot close enough that they were visible to the players, but not so close that they’d be obvious if Megan started staring.

  She slid onto the barstool next to Haley then glanced to the side. Haley had picked the perfect spot because if Megan wanted to talk to her, she had to face in the direction of the high-top where the players were gathered.

  Where Jason stood, kind of facing her. He leaned across the table and said something to Zach
, then tilted his head back and laughed. The girl on his left suddenly laughed too, sliding a little closer to Jason as she did.

  Was it Megan’s imagination, or did he give the girl an odd look and move away?

  No, it was probably nothing more than her imagination. Or wishful thinking.

  Haley nudged her, getting her attention. Megan looked up, realized the bartender was standing in front of them, waiting for their drink order. Megan opened her mouth then promptly shut it. She had no idea what she wanted, hadn’t even thought that far ahead. Nothing too strong, but something besides beer. What should she order? She had no idea, didn’t really drink that much—

  “We’ll have two margaritas, extra ice.” Haley ordered for them then turned to her once the bartender walked away. “Sit up straight. Don’t hang over the bar.”

  Megan frowned then moved her arms from the bar, realizing she had been draped over it. Already this was turning into a headache. She tugged the edges of the sweater in front of her then straightened on the stool. “Is this better?”

  Haley brushed her hands away from the sweater, letting the edges fall back to the side, then sat back and nodded. “That’s better. Stop playing with your sweater, it makes you look nervous.”

  “Gee, you think? Can’t imagine why.” The bartender returned with their drinks then took Haley’s credit card to hold for the tab. Megan reached for her glass, took a small sip, then tried not to wince at the strong taste of tequila.

  “So now what?”

  “Now we relax and enjoy ourselves. And every once in a while, you look over and see if you can make eye contact with Mr. Freaky-eyes.”

  “I wish you’d stop calling him that.”

  Haley waved a hand in dismissal then took her time looking around, taking everything in—except the table where the players were gathered.

  Megan wasn’t as careful as Haley, though, and couldn’t help but look over. At least she wasn’t being obvious about it…she didn’t think. It helped that she could pretend to look at Haley.

  She recognized all but one of the players. There were Zach and Tyler. Travis Bankard. And Jason, of course. She wasn’t sure who the fifth guy was, thought it might be Ben Leach. She leaned forward and looked closer, trying to place the face.