Making His Play: Sister's Best Friend Hockey Romance

by Mari Carr

  Bella raised the wine bottle in a silent cheers, then took a big chug. “Operation Perfect Guy has commenced.”

  Charley laughed as she took the wine bottle back, took her own long drink, and realized she actually felt better.

  “Now do me a favor and infuse some of that newly recovered confidence back into my big brother tomorrow.”

  “I seriously doubt Alex needs help in that area. He’s a smug son of a bitch even on down days.”

  Bella didn’t bother to disagree. “Good point. So let him teach you how to strut around like you’re God’s gift to the planet.”

  She snorted again, embracing the laugh.

  Then she actually considered asking Alex for those lessons. The man was cockiness personified.

  Something that was probably justified considering his talent on the ice.

  His off-the-chain sense of humor.

  His smoldering good looks.

  His…shit.

  That was the moment Charley realized two things.

  Her heart hadn’t been broken by Ben.

  And she wasn’t as immune to Alex Stone as she liked to pretend.

  Chapter Three

  Alex had regretted agreeing to take Charley to the wedding about three minutes after he had hung up the phone with his sister. So now he was trudging down the long hotel hallway like a man walking toward death row.

  He wasn’t holding out much hope for the evening. His mood over losing the game had grown progressively darker with each passing hour, and comforting a crying woman—and with Charley, he used the term woman loosely—over a broken heart wasn’t his idea of a good time.

  Shit.

  He was suffering from his own damn broken heart.

  And he didn’t see his so-called loving sister going out of her way to console him or make him feel better.

  This was crap.

  He was a grown-ass man, an all-star player in the NHL with a ten-million-a-year contract, for God’s sake, and here he was, catering to his kid sister.

  And this was no small favor.

  This was a date with Charley Matthews.

  Sure, she’d been cool to hang out with—as another one of the guys—when they were teenagers, and she’d kicked his ass at hockey more than a few times.

  But she wasn’t the type of woman he’d ever ask out. He liked his women soft and fluffy and, well, low-maintenance—light on conversation, heavy on sexuality.

  Charley was opinionated, rough around the edges, she left bruises when she punched him on the arm…and she was a feminist, for God’s sake.

  He didn’t have time for that shit.

  And even if hell had frozen over and he’d asked her out on his own, he didn’t doubt for one second, she’d turn him down flat. If there was one thing Charley and he had always tacitly agreed on, it was the simple fact that neither one of them was attracted to the other.

  She thought he was an arrogant, swaggering jerk, and she’d made it her life’s mission in high school to try to put him in his place.

  The last time he’d seen her was at her and Bella’s graduation party. They’d snuck in a bunch of beer and the three of them had gotten trashed in his parents’ basement after most of the family and friends had gone home.

  He was bragging about slipping his hand up Erin McMillan’s skirt and fingering her in the middle of the party, his actions shielded from everyone as they stood behind his dad’s backyard bar.

  Bella had merely rolled her eyes at his boast, but Charley had called him a cocky son of a bitch.

  Then she’d assured him that he was going to get his one day. Promised him that somewhere down the road, he was going to meet a woman he couldn’t charm into giving him his own way. One who would make him work for the privilege of dating her, of marrying her.

  Jesus.

  As if.

  The memory provoked a grin. The first one all day.

  No such woman had arrived—would ever arrive—and he was going to be sure to let Charley know she’d been wrong.

  1490.

  He’d reached her room.

  Great.

  He straightened his tie, sucked in a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

  Here’s goes nothing.

  The door swung open and his world tilted on its axis.

  “Charley?”

  He stood there for a full minute, staring at the woman looking back at him, before glancing at the number on the room again.

  She tilted her head, staring back. Her gaze slowly drifted from his face, shifting lower, much lower—Jesus, was she trying to check out his package?—before meeting his eyes again with a sexy grin.

  Granted, they hadn’t seen each other in eight years, but he couldn’t believe anyone could change as much as she had.

  Her auburn hair was a lot longer than it had been back in high school, wavy and shiny and the perfect length to wrap around his fist as he pulled her toward him to kiss.

  No.

  Scratch that.

  He was not kissing Charley. It would be like kissing a dude.

  Or would it?

  Her expressive green eyes were accentuated by long, thick lashes and smoky eyeliner that made them look big and beautiful. Her lip gloss was a shimmery pink that made him think of cotton candy and had his mouth watering for a taste, just to see if it was as sweet as it looked.

  Nope.

  No tasting, either.

  The silence lingered as he took in the rest of her.

  She was still tall, but there were no remnants of the skinny kid she’d been before. This woman was svelte, graceful.

  Her dark green dress fit her like a second skin, revealing the perfect amount of cleavage, the slit in the skirt giving him more than a peek of one of her toned, tanned long legs. Legs he wouldn’t mind having wrapped around his waist as he…

  Nope.

  No fucking.

  No. No. N—

  Mother of God.

  His gaze landed on her chest again and lingered.

  Charley Matthews had tits.

  Amazing tits.

  Suddenly, every miserable scenario he’d imagined for the night vanished, replaced instead with a fantasy.

  Of Charley, naked and under him, those shapely legs resting on his shoulders as he slid inside her, her perfect breasts in his hands.

  “Hi, Alex,” Charley said with a sexy smile, finding her voice before he did. “Long time no see.”

  Holy.

  Shit.

  Alex stood there. In a suit. Looking like some chiseled-in-marble Greek Adonis.

  He’d shaved. That was the first thing Charley noticed.

  And as much as she’d liked the beard he’d been sporting during the playoffs, this fresh-from-the-pages-of-GQ look was just as hot as the rugged mountain man she’d seen being interviewed on ESPN a few nights earlier.

  “Charley?”

  She’d had the benefit of watching Alex on television pretty much constantly since he left Wisconsin. The second he was drafted, his team became her team, and she took diehard fan to new limits.

  So while she’d seen the breathtakingly gorgeous adult he’d become, it was clear he’d expected to see her as…

  Oh.

  Crap.

  Yeah.

  Now she got it.

  She hadn’t recognized the woman looking back at her in the mirror a few minutes ago, either.

  In fact, she felt like a grade-A asshole.

  Bella had been determined that Charley was not only going to the wedding, but she was going to look like a million bucks and make Ben rue the day he ever picked Beverly Bryant over her.

  So Bella had curled her hair in some sexy style she’d seen in a magazine and spent well over an hour fussing with Charley’s makeup.

  Charley felt a little bit like a clown. Her daily look didn’t include more than a few swipes of mascara and tinted Chapstick.

  “Come in,” she said, wishing he’d say something more than her name.

  He stepped over the threshold
and she caught a whiff of his cologne. It was the same scent he’d worn back in school. She used to give him shit for it, claiming he smelled like he had just walked out of Hollister.

  Funny how it was having a much different effect on her now.

  She shut the door, trying to feign a coolness she didn’t feel. She knew Alex was hot, but after too many years of seeing him only on the TV screen, it occurred to her—belatedly—that he had started to feel like a fictional character.

  Seeing him up close and in person was doing things to her that—if she was being honest—she had anticipated…just not quite to this extent.

  Her nipples were hard, her panties wet, and she was struggling to breathe.

  This was not good.

  “You look beautiful, Charley, I mean…Charlotte.”

  She shook her head. “No, please. Call me Charley.”

  “Phew,” he said, with an easy smile. “There was no way I was going to manage to call you Charlotte all night. I know it’s your name, but it doesn’t fit you. Never has.”

  It had been eight years since they’d seen each other, and yet, Alex seemed to know her better than the man she’d just spent the last three years of her life with. “Bella struggled with the change too. Everyone did. The only two who were successful were my mom, who’s always called me Charlotte and…” she forced herself to say the asshole’s name, “Ben.”

  Alex nodded, acknowledging that he knew about her breakup. Mercifully, he let the comment go. “I like your hair like this. I didn’t realize how red it was back in school. You always kept it so short.”

  She laughed. “I stopped cutting it myself in college, after an intervention from some girls in my dorm. Of course, because I preferred to spend my money on Starbucks and cheese fries, there was never any left for haircuts, so I just let it grow out.”

  Alex surprised her by reaching out to take a strand of it in his fingers.

  He had big hands. She knew that was a weird thing to notice, but all she could think about was how much she wanted those big hands on her.

  Everywhere.

  “It’s pretty. Suits you.”

  She shrugged, trying to ignore the way his compliment made her stomach flutter. “I learned how to French braid by watching a video on YouTube, so that’s my go-to hairstyle these days. Except for tonight, of course. Bella came armed with a curling iron. It was pretty terrifying.”

  Yeah. Like Alex Stone gave two shits about how she wore her hair.

  She was rambling like an idiot. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop her from talking.

  “I’m sorry about the game the other night.”

  Alex smiled, but it looked forced.

  Wow.

  She was batting a thousand here.

  First, she made stupid small talk about her hair, then, she reminded him of what had to be the most brutal loss of his career.

  “I’ve had better nights,” he said.

  “It was a hell of a game. You should be proud of yourself. You were on fire, scoring those two goals, killing three power plays.”

  “High-sticking Carlyle with two minutes left to play which set them up to score the tying goal and toss us into double overtime. We lost. In game seven of the Conference Final.”

  They had. And she’d been absolutely devastated. But he didn’t need to hear that. “You’re focusing on the wrong thing,” she said, without a clue of what the right thing was.

  Alex laughed. “I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

  He wasn’t, but she also wasn’t sure how to comfort him.

  Alex was typically the king of swagger, oozing with cocky confidence. She hated seeing him down on himself.

  “I’m not looking forward to tonight’s conversations,” he admitted.

  She got that. She was as competitive as Alex. She fucking hated to lose. “Yeah. I guess there’s no way to put a ban on hockey talk. Hey, I know. We’ll make a game of it. Every time someone says, ‘There’s always next season,’ we’ll drink a shot of tequila.”

  Alex honestly seemed to consider that suggestion, then shook his head. “We’ll be wasted in twenty minutes.”

  “Maybe so, but hey…open bar.”

  Alex had a killer smile. It was the kind that transformed his whole face, complete with dimples and delicate lines that drew her attention to his dark chocolate-colored eyes.

  “So, you saw the game?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Ben and I are big fans. We were watching together. You guys lost and then…” She blew out a long breath.

  “Bella told me about Ben Jerome,” he said so she wouldn’t have to. “Asshole dumped you right after the game?”

  “Dick move, right? Talk about adding insult to injury.”

  “We both got cross-checked this week.”

  “I’m not looking forward to this reception, either. Ben’s going to be there. With his date, whom I can only assume he was seeing while he was dating me as well. Apparently, Beverly is better suited to be an accountant’s wife.”

  “You’re focusing on the wrong thing,” he said, repeating her comment to him.

  It made her laugh, even as she said, “I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

  “What do you say we go to this wedding, make your ex jealous as fuck, and then get shit-faced on those free tequila shots?”

  “Best offer ever.”

  Alex was still very much like the guy she’d known all those years ago.

  And while it was comforting to know he hadn’t changed, that didn’t help her beat back this uncontrollable attraction.

  Commitment wasn’t in Alex’s repertoire. His relationship attention span lasted until the orgasm.

  Then—SQUIRREL—he was on to the next blonde…or supermodel or pop diva or...hmmmm…redhead?

  The lightbulb flashed on.

  She wasn’t looking to date anyone at the moment. And God knew, Alex wasn’t either.

  She wanted to try to revive her diminished confidence, to find the woman she’d been pre-Ben.

  The best part about Alex was he’d only ever known the original, genuine Charley. He hadn’t seen her at her worst this past year. Hadn’t seen her walking around in skin that didn’t fit.

  Just a few minutes with Alex and Charley was already feeling more like her old self.

  Tonight was an end and a beginning.

  The end of Charlotte and the beginning of Charley, a take-no-prisoners, single woman who didn’t need a man to tell her how to behave or who to be.

  Alex was the bridge.

  And the last hurrah.

  Because she wasn’t about to ignore the parts of her body that tingled, aching for his touch, his lips.

  She’d been with one man in her entire life and while her experience was limited, she also wasn’t stupid about sex.

  Ben had been okay in bed, managing to bring her to orgasm about fifty percent of the time. Landing fifty shots on goal out of a hundred in hockey would be considered stellar.

  But the horny woman in her was certain Alex would sink every single shot he took.

  She liked those odds.

  When Alex sat down on the edge of her bed and patted the spot next to him, she knew exactly how she wanted to kick off her new life.

  “Maybe we should come up with a game plan before we go downstairs,” he said.

  He looked good sitting on her bed, looking all James Bond-like in his expensive suit.

  Yeah.

  This was a no-brainer.

  Screw the streak.

  She was having a one-night stand.

  With Alex.

  Then tomorrow, Charley Matthews took her life back.

  Decision made, she sank down next to him, the sudden clenching in her pussy proving she’d made the right choice. “We need a game plan?”

  They did not need a game plan, but after seeing Charley again, he knew exactly how he wanted this night to end. While the blonde barracuda at the sports bar hadn’t managed to spark his desire, Charley was firing off all kinds of needs in him.

&
nbsp; Thank you, Jesus.

  He wasn’t impotent.

  But before he could act on his desires, he needed to know what he was up against. After all, Ben had just dumped her a couple nights ago. He had anticipated finding a blubbering, red-eyed mess of a woman, but instead, Charley was the same smiling, easygoing girl she’d always been.

  With one big exception.

  Back in school, she’d always felt like one of the guys, and he’d never felt this overwhelming urge to kiss her.

  Tonight…well, right now, it was taking everything he had not to pull her onto his lap and slip his hand under her dress to see if she was feeling it too.

  God, just imagining his fingers slipping into her wet pussy had his cock stiff as a pike.

  He tried to covertly adjust his pants.

  Charley’s gaze followed the action, a knowing smile crossing her full lips. Lips he wanted wrapped around his dick.

  Ten minutes ago, he’d been standing outside the room, dreading how long this night was going to be.

  He felt the same way now but for an entirely different reason. Sitting next to her at that reception, wanting her the whole time, would be fucking brutal.

  Time to ask the hard question.

  “Are you going with me tonight because you want to make Ben jealous and try to win him back?”

  Her instant look of disdain thrilled him. “Fuck no. The guy is dead to me. But I think I might need your help in regards to one thing with Ben.”

  His sudden happiness vanished. “What help?”

  “You’re good at defense. Do you mind playing it tonight? I don’t trust myself not to go over to the asshole and deck him. I don’t really want to get arrested for assault, so maybe you can hold me back if things go south. Or failing that…I’m counting on you to post bail. You’re a rich bastard, right?”

  He laughed.

  God.

  She might look like a lady, but under the skin, she was still the same Charley.

  And while those attributes had made her a fun friend when he was younger, right now, shit…right now, they made him want to strip off that sexy dress and fuck her. Something about her had him convinced Charley Matthews would be a wild, passionate lover.