by Mari Carr
Making His Play
Mari Carr
Copyright © 2021 by Mari Carr
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
“That’s some pretty impressive stick handling there, hotshot.”
Alex Stone glanced at the blonde sitting next to him, perfectly aware her comment was a pickup line. One he’d heard at least a million times before.
She lifted her head toward the TV, pointing out the highlights from last night’s playoff game, the one they’d lost in a double overtime, the one that kept them out of the Stanley Cup finals.
He didn’t bother to look at the screen.
Why pour salt in that wound?
He was there. He’d been on fire, bringing the heat, leaving it all on the ice.
Playing like he always did.
King of the Ice.
Lord of the Rink.
He’d played the best game of his life.
Then…there was that fucking penalty.
He ran his hand over his smooth face, missing the beard he’d shaved off at one a.m. this morning, after the eternally painful interviews and the “we’ll get ’em next year” speech from his coach. If Coach had been trying to boost Alex’s spirit, he’d fallen way short.
The season was over for him. Shaving the beard forced him to acknowledge that. Coming to the bar tonight was supposed to get him out of his very empty, very quiet house and help him forget.
Of course, picking Pat’s Pub might have been a bit shortsighted of him. He’d found the local Baltimore establishment the first year he’d moved to the city after being recruited by the team. The members of the Collins family were huge sports fans, true to the home team and they never failed to make him feel welcome…special.
He’d actually become really good friends with the bartender, Padraig, and his twin brother, Colm.
Paddy had given him an understanding smile when he’d first walked in with a few of his teammates—even setting them up with a round on the house—but neither the Guinness nor the empathy was helping.
“Think you’d be interested in a private exhibition tonight?” she asked.
The blonde had been shooting him smoldering, fuck-me-now looks ever since he’d walked into the bar an hour earlier, anxious to drown his sorrows with a few of his teammates. She smiled as she offered the invitation, leaning closer, giving him an eyeful of her very generous cleavage. “I’d be very interested in showing you my stick handling,” she purred.
He studied her.
She looked like every other plastic rink bunny he’d ever met, which was actually his primary reason for coming out tonight. He needed to fuck away this shitty feeling.
She was panting.
Hot.
Ready.
His ego had taken the mother of all hits last night, and this woman looked like she was more than ready to build it back up.
“Your place close?” he asked.
Drinking wasn’t cheering him up.
Time to see if fucking did the trick.
“Unfortunately my roommate is home. Why don’t we go to your place instead?”
He shrugged noncommittally, even though there was no way in hell he was taking this woman back to his house. He’d learned a long time ago, never let your opponent into your fortress.
And while Blondie was smoking hot, there was pure barracuda in her eyes. He’d met too many of her type in the past, women willing to do anything to score an engagement ring from a successful professional athlete. His ten-million-a-year contract made him a hot commodity with women like her.
He might be down in the dumps, but he hadn’t lost his fucking mind.
He didn’t do relationships.
Period.
It was his one hard-and-fast rule for a successful, unencumbered life.
Then he glanced up just in time to see the replay of him skating toward the penalty box.
Fuck.
Padraig caught him looking and changed the channel on the big screen. Not quick enough, but he appreciated the effort.
Alex was a big fan of the one-night hookup—the only kind of hookup he indulged in—but he was struggling to work up enthusiasm for anything at the moment. Booze and sex—his go-tos—were both failing him.
Barracuda ran her hand over his upper thigh. “What do you say?”
He glanced down at her perfectly manicured fingernails. Ordinarily he’d already have a chick like this in the cab, the two of them groping the whole way back to her place.
Tonight, his cock didn’t even twitch.
Maybe he needed something a little wilder. “Is your roommate as hot as you? The more the merrier in my book.”
The seductive smile she sent his way told him he hadn’t offended her. In fact, if he was a betting man, he’d say she and the roommate had double-teamed a time or two before.
Even so, that didn’t seem to be her plan tonight.
“Trust me. I’m more than woman enough to handle you on my own. I can make you so hot, you forget your own name.” She shifted her hand to his shoulder, letting it run along his chest, continuing downward far enough that she was creeping into over-the-pants-hand-job area. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing if they weren’t sitting in the middle of a crowded bar and his head was in the game.
He placed his hand over hers, halting her progress. “Bad girl.”
“Punish me,” she whispered.
Jesus.
The woman was saying everything right, everything that typically would guarantee her a ride she wouldn’t forget.
But tonight…
His heart—and dick—weren’t into it.
“So…” she said, running her hand over his jaw, reminding him of the lack of beard. “Shall we head back to your place?”
“Listen—”
Before he could give her the brush-off, his cell buzzed. He glanced at the number and smiled.
“I have to take this,” he told his companion.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Girlfriend?”
There was a note of possessiveness in her voice, enough to convince him that he was right to stop this flirtation here. He shook his head. “Coach,” he lied, as he stepped toward the back of the bar, out of earshot.
He answered the phone. “Hey, sis. Thought we’d said it all this morning.”
His sister, Bella, had called bright and early, before her flight to Vegas, to commiserate over last night’s loss. Bella was a great listener, always there with a sympathetic ear, followed by the perfect pep talk.
Of course, her cheering-up only lasted until he’d hung up the phone. Then he’d felt like shit again.
One fucking game away from the Stanley Cup finals. He’d been so close to hoisting that cup over his head, he could taste it.
“We did. This isn’t about the game.”
“I’m going to see you tomorrow in Vegas. This can’t wait?” Now that the season was over, he could go to the
wedding he’d previously sent his regrets to. His buddy from back home, Roger, was marrying one of his sister’s friends, Lindsey.
Roger had been his second call this morning after Bella’s—telling him that he was no longer getting a bye on his big day. He could tell his friend was trying to cheer him up about the loss and offering the wedding as a distraction.
In truth, it was a great idea.
Hanging out in Baltimore, commiserating with his teammates, and stewing over what could have been, was a one-way ticket to the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
He’d thanked Roger for the invite, and ten minutes later, he had managed to book a first-class airline seat to Vegas and a suite in the hotel where the wedding reception was being held.
He figured screwing a bridesmaid or three might be a better alternative to drinking alone in his house.
Of course, given his dick’s response to the barracuda just now, he was starting to worry last night’s loss had caused impotence.
No.
No fucking way.
He pushed that terrifying thought away.
“It can’t wait,” Bella continued. “I need to ask for a favor.”
“What sort of favor?”
He glanced back toward the barstool he’d just vacated and saw one of his teammates, Butch, claiming his seat and his beer. Butch had had his eye on the blonde since they’d walked in. Obviously, his friend didn’t like Alex talking to her, so he took the opportunity to sneak in.
“Where are you?” Bella asked. “It’s loud there.”
“I’m at Pat’s Pub with some of the guys. Trying to drink it off.” He grimaced when Butch placed his hand on the blonde’s waist and leaned in to kiss her neck. “Fucking cherry picker,” he muttered.
Bella laughed. “Forget to cover the five hole, Alex? Tsk tsk.” His sister knew him well, too well sometimes.
“Not really. Probably not the best company tonight. What’s the favor?”
“Now that you’re coming to Roger and Lindsey’s wedding, I thought I’d help you out…date-wise.”
“Nope. I don’t take dates to weddings, Bella. You know that.”
From her exasperated huff, he knew he was in for a fight. His sister was infamous for digging her heels in until she got what she wanted.
Personally, he blamed his parents for her demanding ways. She was the only girl…and the baby…in a family of five sons.
“Alex, please. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
He laughed.
Loud.
“Sell that shit to someone who’s buying. Importance has never figured into it when you want something. It’s all whims and impulse and two-year-old temper tantrums.”
“Not this time.” And then, because he’d insulted her, she added, “Asshole,” to kick back.
He chuckled. It was always like this between him and Bella. Constant pokes and jabs. But it was in good fun. There was precious little he wouldn’t do for his kid sister and she knew it.
Hence this damn phone call.
He looked up just in time to see Butch—the smug idiot—waving goodbye as he and the barracuda left together. Little did the guy know he’d done him a solid.
Alex waved back and smiled gleefully. Butch’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he was suddenly taking a second look at the blonde, trying to decide why Alex wasn’t pissed off.
Served him right.
“I’d love to help you out, sis, but I have no intention of breaking my hard-and-fast rule. I don’t go to all-you-can-eat buffets when I’m full. I go starving, take a look at the bar, and then gorge myself on the best bites. Weddings are prime hunting ground for single women, all panicking about dying alone in a house full of cats. I consider it a public service to reassure the hottest one there that she has nothing to fear…for one night.”
His proclamation was met with a silence that made him grin. He could picture the pure disgust on his sister’s face and it amused him.
Briefly.
Then his stomach clenched again as he caught a replay of the high-sticking call that cost them the game on one of the side TVs. Padraig hadn’t changed all the damn channels, just the big screen.
How many times was the local sports station going to fucking show the foul and analyze it?
Why not just say the words everyone was thinking?
Alex Stone, Baltimore’s beast on the ice, fucked up and cost his team and the city the Stanley Cup.
“Sometimes I wonder why you’re my favorite brother.”
He turned his back on the TV and tried to focus on his conversation with Bella. “You know exactly why.”
Bella and Alex were the late babies, their four brothers all in their teens before their parents decided they’d stopped too soon. Alex and Bella were only ten months apart in age, while their older siblings felt more like indulgent uncles than brothers. Two of them had been married with kids of their own before he and Bella got out of elementary school.
“Remind me,” she said.
“Because I’m rich and famous, Baltimore’s favorite son on the ice,” until last night, he thought. Then he continued his list. “Wickedly handsome, witty, fun, the eternal bachelor with a heart of go—”
“Enough. I just ate dinner and I’d like to keep it down. Listen. I’m serious about this favor. It’s really important.”
Time to cut to the chase.
Tonight was a wash. His best bet was to settle his tab with Padraig, head home to pack for the wedding, and call it an early night.
But for some reason, home didn’t sound any more appealing than the bar.
It felt too…quiet.
“Who do you want me to take to the wedding, Bella?”
She paused, which told him he wasn’t going to like her answer. “Charlotte.”
He frowned, trying to remember which of her friends was named Charlotte. Try as he may, he couldn’t put a face to the name. “Is this a new friend? One I haven’t met?”
“Well…no. You know her pretty well. I mean she’s only been my best friend since kindergarten.”
“Charley’s been your best friend since kin—” And that was when the light went on.
Charley’s given name was Charlotte. Not that anyone used it.
He hadn’t seen Charley Matthews—the girl next door, literally—in nearly eight years, not since she and Bella graduated high school.
Then life took them in different directions. Charley had gone to an out-of-state school, while he’d played Division 1 at the University of Wisconsin.
He was drafted to the NHL out of college. He’d moved to Baltimore with the team, and he’d only made it back to Wisconsin once or twice a year since then. And though Charley’s parents and his were neighbors, his path hadn’t crossed Charley’s once during any of those trips.
Regardless, not even that amount of time had been long enough to make him agree to this. “No. Fuuuuuuck no.”
Bella scoffed. “What do you mean no? You like Charley. Actually, you love Charley. Half the time we were growing up, I wondered if she was my best friend or yours.”
“Charley is awesome.”
Or at least, she had been when they were kids. He had no idea what the adult Charley was like, but he couldn’t imagine she’d changed that much. “So are the guys on my team, but I’m not taking any of them to this wedding as my date. I’d like to get laid and I ain’t screwing Charley. It would be like fucking a dude.”
Charley Matthews gave new meaning to the word tomboy. She’d played in the same hockey league as him in middle and high school—the only girl on the team—and there was part of him that was pretty sure she’d be in the NHL right now if not for the fact she was born female.
She’d been tall, skinny, and scrappy as hell, always sporting bruises or black eyes from checking the fuck out of him and the other guys on the team. She cussed like a sailor and trash-talked with the best of them.
There hadn’t been a feminine bone in Charley’s body.
She al
ways wore her hair short—he was pretty sure she cut it herself because no hairdresser would butcher hair like that—and she never wore a drop of makeup or anything besides hockey jerseys, tatty jeans, and Converse tennis shoes.
Most of their friends in high school thought she was a lesbian, though Bella vehemently swore that wasn’t true.
“Come on, Alex. You haven’t seen Charle—Charlotte in nearly a decade.”
“No one can change that much. Why do you keep calling her Charlotte?”
Bella sighed. “I don’t know. She asked everyone to stop calling her Charley a couple years ago. I only manage to remember to say Charlotte about a quarter of the time.”
Alex wracked his brain, trying to recall what he knew about Charley—Charlotte—from Bella’s phone calls over the years. “Is she still writing kids’ books?”
“She is. Her series is doing great. Tomboy Tess ranks right up there with Judy Moody and Junie B. Jones these days.”
“I have no idea what any of those are, so I’ll take your word for it.” Then he recalled something else. “I thought she was dating someone.”
“Yeah. She was. Until somewhere around nine o’clock last night.”
That was about the same time he’d committed the foul, and his dreams of winning the Stanley Cup had gone up in flames.
He rubbed his forehead wearily.
Ordinarily, he was better at shaking things off, but last night’s loss stung.
Bad.
“The only thing that got me through this shitty day, Bells, was knowing that by this time tomorrow I’d be surrounded by old friends, drinking, laughing, fucking a hot bridesmaid, and working overtime to earn the hangover of a lifetime. I need this wedding. Please don’t make me babysit a brokenhearted Charley.”
Bella was quiet for a moment, and he actually thought that maybe…for once…he’d won.
He should have known better.
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Her ex—the fucking asshole—is invited to the wedding too. He’s bringing his new girlfriend.”