Making His Play: Sister's Best Friend Hockey Romance

by Mari Carr

  They walked through her apartment as she pointed out the living room, kitchen, and dining room.

  He stopped to study the framed pictures of her book covers that decorated the walls of her office.

  “So that’s Tomboy Tess. She looks like you.”

  Charley had begged the publisher not to do that when the original artwork appeared.

  Apparently, the artist thought it would be cute to mimic her look, even going so far as to give Tess short red hair and green eyes. Which didn’t help her try to perpetuate the lie that Tess was only loosely based on her as a girl.

  That was actually one of the reasons she’d conceded on which sport Tess played. It gave her at least one argument whenever friends and neighbors pointed out how sweet it was that she’d included Alex and Bella and other characters they decided were representative of a local person…like her third-grade teacher, the town pediatrician, and her 8U hockey coach.

  She really needed to move away.

  “A little,” she said, walking away from the display in hopes that he’d follow her and stop looking at her childhood exhibited on book covers.

  They walked down the hallway and she pointed out the closet that contained the washer and dryer and the bathroom, then her bedroom.

  She hurried ahead of him, trying to pick up the dirty clothes strewn around the floor and hanging over a chair. “Sorry for the mess. I’m not a very efficient packer.”

  Of course, it hadn’t helped that at the time, she was anticipating spending a very long, horrible evening with her ex and the woman he cheated on her with.

  Which meant she’d spent way too long agonizing over which outfits she looked amazing in so that no one would make comparisons between her and Beverly and think “no wonder he left Charley for her.”

  “It’s a really nice place, Charley. Homey.”

  She’d felt the same way.

  Until a few nights ago.

  Now…it was hard to be here without remembering the three years of her life she’d just wasted.

  They took a few minutes to unpack their stuff. She cleared out a drawer for him in the dresser, tossing Ben’s T-shirts into a pile in the corner of the room. Then they put his toiletries in the bathroom.

  She stripped off her jeans, shrugging on her comfy yoga pants, and Alex followed suit, trading his jeans for a loose pair of cargo shorts.

  It was early evening, and they’d both slept through the food service on the flight.

  “Want to order a pizza with everything?” she asked. “I’ve got PBR in the fridge. We could watch a movie or…” She paused, stopping herself just in time.

  Or so she thought.

  “You want to watch the game?”

  Charley grinned. “No. I mean…only if you do? We can root against Isaacson and make fun of what a shitty player he is.”

  Isaacson was the captain of the team that had defeated Baltimore in game seven and a huge prick as far as Charley could tell. Tonight was the first game of the Stanley Cup finals.

  Alex nodded. “I could go for that. But if they start winning, we turn it off and go down on each other instead.”

  “Or,” she drawled. “We could just skip ahead to that. It occurs to me that hockey is seriously overrated.”

  Alex wrapped his arm around her neck, playfully messing up her hair as she tried to bat his hands away. “Is that right? You do realize I make ten million a year playing that overrated game.”

  “Which means pizza is on you,” she said, holding out her hand. “Give me your credit card.”

  Charley was surprised when he pulled his wallet out and handed it to her, especially after the alimony comment she’d made earlier. She could only imagine how many women were interested in him simply because of the number of zeros after that ten on his contract.

  “Come on,” she said, grabbing her cell off the kitchen counter where she’d tossed it earlier. “Why don’t you grab us both a beer. I’ll order the—”

  Alex glanced over her shoulder to see why she stopped talking. “Damn.”

  He pulled his cell out of his back pocket and flashed the screen at Charley. “She’s relentless.”

  They both had nearly twenty texts each from Bella, who obviously wasn’t going to give up.

  “Rock, paper, scissors?” she suggested.

  He nodded. “One, two, three. Fuck.” He grimaced when her paper covered his rock. “Two out of three?”

  “Nope. You call your sister. I’ll call for pizza.” She waved his credit card in the air. “I’m the big winner tonight.”

  “I hate losing.”

  Charley kissed him on the cheek. “I know. But if you’re going to stay here, you’ll have to get used to it.”

  He snickered and pinched her ass.

  Charley quickly called to order the pizza, trying to answer the questions about toppings and give her address and the card number, while listening to Alex’s explanation to Bella at the same time.

  Once dinner was ordered, she hung up, leaning against the kitchen counter, not bothering to hide the fact she was eavesdropping.

  Alex had remained true to his word, not telling his sister about their drunken elopement.

  Charley could only imagine Bella was giving him quite an earful when he went quiet after telling his sister that he was staying at her place this week.

  “Can you tell Mom and Dad that I’m beat, and I’ll stop by tomorrow to take them out for lunch?” He sighed in response to something his sister said. “Fine. You can come too. But I’m warning you right now, I’m going to bail if you and Mom start ganging up on me about Charley. Actually, scratch that.”

  He looked at Charley. “What you doing tomorrow?”

  Charley shook her head vehemently, waving her fingers in front of her throat in a “cut” way.

  “Good news,” he said to his sister. “Charley’s going to join us.”

  Charley threw her head back and groaned.

  While she had no problem tossing him into the lion’s den, aka his family, she wasn’t a brave enough person to join him there.

  “See you tomorrow, sis.” He hung up and placed his cell on the counter.

  “You’re a dick,” she muttered.

  “Nope. Just a sore loser.” He turned to open the fridge, grabbing both of them a beer. “Come on. Game’s probably already started.”

  She flipped on the game, the two of them sprawled out on opposite ends of her couch.

  Neither of them were passive hockey viewers.

  Mercifully, Isaacson was having the worst game of his career, which only ensured they had a blast.

  One beer turned to three. The pizza arrived, the two of them devouring the whole thing before the third period even started.

  Alex reached for her bare feet, absentmindedly rubbing them, while cursing the ref for a shitty call.

  Watching hockey with Alex probably only came in second to having sex with him. He knew all sorts of behind-the-scenes secrets and scandals about the players and the owners.

  He pointed to the TV when two players started brawling. “Shit, man. Johannsen’s gonna be sorry he threw off those gloves. Marconi has a left hook that’ll clean your clock.”

  “You’re ruining me for hockey,” she admitted.

  “What?”

  “How the hell am I supposed to watch it after sitting here with you? You know everything. I mean, dammit, I love the game, but you take it next level.”

  Alex snorted. “You know what’s funny? I was just sitting here thinking the same thing about you. I mean, my family enjoys the sport, but they don’t live and breathe it the way we do.”

  Charley nodded. Understanding completely. “I totally get that. Ben and I used to watch it together. And while I’m sure he was into it, he didn’t love it, didn’t get swept away by it like I did. I think it’s because we grew up playing hockey. We know what it feels like to be on that ice, racing along the smooth surface, dodging the other guys, and when you take that swing, when you know it’s going in the se
cond the puck connects with your stick—”

  “It’s magic,” he finished.

  “Yeah.”

  “When was the last time you were on the ice?”

  “I try to hit the rink every day—skating is the only exercise routine I can commit to—but I haven’t played hockey since…God, I can’t remember when.”

  “You still got your gear?” he asked.

  Charley gave him a look that screamed seriously? “Who the fuck gets rid of their gear?”

  “Quitters, that’s who.” He grinned. “I’m gonna call Max tomorrow. See if I can reserve the rink for an hour or two. You up for a little one-on-one?”

  “Yeah. But be warned, I’m checking you if you get in my way.”

  “Is there any other way to play?”

  “You’re on.”

  Her feet were still in Alex’s lap, something he used to his advantage as he pulled her toward him until she was flat on her back on the couch. He tugged at her yoga pants, drawing them all the way off and tossing them on the floor.

  “Did we finally get to the ‘going down’ phase of the night?” she asked.

  “You’re a sex maniac,” he teased, twisting between her legs, running his tongue along her slit.

  “Is that a complaint?” she asked, her voice suddenly breathless.

  Alex licked her again before lifting his head. “Are you nuts? Wish I’d noticed this side to you in high school.”

  Charley snorted, the sound cut short when he nipped her clit with his teeth. “Oh my God.”

  He pressed his tongue inside her once, twice, three times. Then he replaced his mouth with his fingers, driving two deep. “I should have taken you to homecoming.”

  “Yeah, right. No way I would have gone with you with that fat lip. You looked like hell.”

  He bit her clit again and she struggled to speak, her heart racing.

  Then she recalled graduation. “Besides, back then, you always had your hand up Missy’s skirt or Rhonda’s or...”

  “Point taken,” he murmured, his breath hot on her pussy.

  “I wasn’t a blip on your radar.”

  “I was an idiot.” He backed that assertion up by adding a third finger to the first two, his thumb rubbing her clit.

  Her back arched, pleasure coursing through her. Charley still couldn’t believe how quickly he managed to push her to the edge.

  “Don’t feel too bad,” she joked. “There was no way I was adding my name to your list of conquests back then. It was one thing to hear your locker room talk. It would have been something completely different if it had been m—fuck me.”

  He curled his fingers inside, found that spot that drove her absolutely insane.

  “You were saying?” he asked, his smug grin proving he knew what he was doing to her.

  She couldn’t remember her own name, let alone whatever it was they were talking about.

  “Oh, Alex.” Her pussy clenched and she came, loudly. “Holy shit.”

  Alex stood up as she lay on the couch, boneless.

  While she didn’t have two functioning brain cells to rub together, Alex wasn’t quite ready to end their chat.

  “I wasn’t that bad, Charley.” He stripped off his pants and boxers, pulling his T-shirt off by reaching behind his neck with one hand and pulling it over his head in one smooth motion.

  The man was the definition of built.

  She stared at him.

  “Tell me I wasn’t that bad back in school,” he taunted, stroking his thick, hard dick in his big hand.

  Her wits were returning.

  So was her competitiveness.

  She raised one disbelieving eyebrow. “Not that bad?” she asked, her tone pure “you must be kidding.”

  “Jesus. Eight years later and you still don’t let me get away with anything.”

  “My eyes are wide open when it comes to you, Alex Stone,” she teased.

  “Good,” he said, climbing over her on the couch, caging her beneath him as he took her cheeks in his hands. “Keep them open. I want you to remember exactly who it is you’re with.” He kissed her, a soft, glancing touch that wasn’t nearly enough. “Who you’re married to.”

  She laughed softly. “For now.”

  If she hadn’t followed his orders, hadn’t kept her eyes open, she would have missed the slight narrowing of his eyes, the flash of emotion that was there for an instant, then gone again as he slid inside her, slowly, deeply.

  And that was when she realized she was done for.

  Twenty-four hours in, and she was completely in love with Alex Stone.

  Shit.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alex finished lacing up his skates, grinning as Charley slid up and down the ice, dribbling the puck in front of her with ease.

  Maybe she hadn’t played lately, but it was clear she hadn’t forgotten a thing. Her love of the game radiated from every part of her.

  He didn’t realize how long he’d been standing there, leaning on the wall, watching her, until she skidded to a stop right in front of him.

  “Intimidated?” she taunted, her eyebrows lifted, an outright challenge.

  “You sure you don’t want to set some friendly rules? I mean, I don’t mind teaching you a lesson about biting off more than you can chew, but if you want to beg for mercy…now is a good time.”

  Alex had reserved the rink for two hours, requesting that they have the entire place to themselves.

  Because of several donations he’d made, Max, the owner, was only too happy to oblige. They’d stopped by Max’s place for the key and now they were alone in their own personal mecca.

  Charley took advantage of their privacy, reaching out and running her hand over his cock. Two firm strokes, and she had him at half-mast and rising fast.

  “I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever you’ve got.”

  She stroked him a few times more, then spun away from him on the ice, slapping the puck a good fifty feet and sinking it in the net.

  Charley laughed as she went to retrieve it, leaving him by the wall, fighting like the devil to will away his hard-on.

  “You’re a cheater.”

  Alex’s comment only made her laugh louder.

  Charley brought the puck to center ice, and the two of them squared off for one-on-one.

  For the next hour, the two of them battled up and down the ice, and while he’d seriously expected to kick her ass, Charley was as fierce an opponent as she’d been when they were kids.

  Though these days, she was employing some pretty devious means to ensure she stayed in contention.

  Alex had spent the entire time grimacing in pain as he tried to skate with an erection that wasn’t going anywhere.

  Every time he managed to get himself under control, Charley would stroke his dick or his ass or brush up against him with her tits.

  One time, in the middle of a fight for control of the puck behind the net, she pressed her ass against his crotch, wiggling it seductively, suggestively, distracting him enough that she managed to steal the puck and score.

  They’d matched each other goal for goal.

  They were sweaty, red-faced, breathing heavily.

  And tied.

  “Last one?” she asked as they faced off in the center of the ice.

  She’d played hard, played to win.

  And for the first time in his life, Alex didn’t care about coming out on top in the game.

  “What will you give me if I concede?”

  Charley straightened up, clearly shocked. “What?”

  Alex dropped his stick and reached for her. “What will you give me if I concede the game, Charley?”

  She frowned, struggling with his question. “You never concede.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. So make it worth my while.”

  Charley was bold, beautiful.

  Fearless.

  She let her stick fall to the ice next to his.

  Then she sank to her knees.

  Their hands brush
ed against each other’s as they worked together to free his cock from his pants. He’d been too hard for too long.

  Alex didn’t bother to hold back his groan of relief the second the constricting pressure from his pants was gone.

  Then he groaned again when Charley took the head of his dick in her mouth.

  This wasn’t going to last nearly long enough.

  “Charley. God. Sweetheart.” He gripped the sides of her head, pressing himself deeper. He prided himself on his control, his sustaining power.

  With her, he lost all control.

  Charley didn’t seem to mind. She shivered when his hands closed and he fisted her hair tightly. She had a similar grip on his hips, her fingers digging into his pants, seeking purchase.

  “Jesus. Yeah.” Alex shifted his hips faster, his blood on fire, his desires drowning out every instinct that might have warned him to slow down, take it easy.

  He took her mouth hard, some primal need roaring in his head, telling him he had to claim her, possess her, keep her.

  She was the steadying influence, more stable with her knees on the ice, while Alex slid back and forth on his skates.

  He’d played hockey for most of his life, learning to skate about three minutes after he learned to walk.

  Every important moment in his life had taken place on a rink.

  But nothing that had ever happened before held a candle to this.

  Between Charley, the ice, the game they’d just played…

  “Fuck,” he yelled out, coming in hard bursts that proved just how long he’d been riding the edge of this storm.

  Charley stilled and held him in her mouth until he managed to pull himself together.

  “Sweetheart,” he murmured, releasing her hair, stroking her face gently.

  She sat back on her ankles, and for a moment, he felt guilty.

  She had to be cold.

  The guilt faded when she looked up, her face pure victory.

  The Alex he’d been before this week would have hated that expression, would have taken it as a challenge to renew the game, to keep playing, keep fighting until the victory was his.

  But that Alex wasn’t here anymore.

  Instead, he reached down to help her stand, wrapping her in his arms, holding her close.

  “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” he teased.