Breakaway: A Hockey Romance

by Christiana Watson

  Breakaway

  Christiana Watson

  737 Brass Books

  For C, it was always your book more than it was mine.

  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

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  — C —

  A loud cheer rose in the bar around me, and I glanced up from where I was swirling my beer around in its glass. I rolled my eyes at the crowd of rambunctious men halfway across the bar and turned my attention back to the beer. I hated beer. I was a champagne or wine girl through and through, but Lindsey insisted on beer every time we went out. I didn’t think twice about ordering it when I approached the bar earlier in the night.

  I stared at the beer with a glare, upset with myself for ordering the nasty drink even when I knew she would most likely be late. I could’ve drank at least two glasses of cheap wine in the time that I was at the bar alone. I’ll meet you at 10 o’clock, my ass.

  I loved her, truly, but she was habitually late and a master of peer pressure. I didn’t even want to go to the bar that night, yet there I was, sitting awkwardly in the corner with a beer I wouldn’t actually drink. I glanced down at my watch and rolled my eyes. I pulled my phone from my bag and began tapping out a message to my absentee best friend.

  Today 10:37 PM

  Listen dumbass, I’ve been at

  this bar by myself for an hour.

  If you’re not here in the next

  15, I’m leaving.

  You can’t leave! I need you to

  meet the new guy that Emily

  had over the other night. He’s

  the sexiest thing to strut into

  my life since nakey Ryan

  Kesler!

  I. Do. Not. Care. About. Guys.

  You. Want. To. Bang. This

  place is crawling with girls in

  miniskirts and tank tops, Linds.

  Did these skeezy bitches miss

  the memo that it’s FUCKING

  WINTER OUTSIDE?

  Who said anything about

  banging? He’s sexy as sin, and

  we deserve the right to

  stare at guys like him. And

  bitch, you know I don’t

  hook up with the trials.

  What about Jonathon Segal?

  Okay, so I’ve hooked up with

  ONE of the trials.

  Alexander Chominsky?

  International Bingo! He didn’t

  count!

  Travis Walters?

  Get off my dick, dude; I get

  your point! I *promise* I’m not

  trying to hook up with this

  trial.

  And why’s that?

  He’s staying with Em and Joe

  until a decision is made. That

  would be really super duper

  uncomfortable.

  David Rothschild?

  FUCK OFF, CHARLIE.

  I just want to understand

  why you’re not trying to

  hook up with the new guy.

  Fresh meat and all that.

  Tremblay.

  Lindsey first texted me that afternoon, begging me to accompany her to the “Billiards with the Boys” event hosted by the booster club. Initially, I refused. Going to bars with the stacked redhead never proved particularly enjoyable for me.

  It’d been six months since she last managed to drag my ass to a bar. At the time, she was fresh out of a bad relationship with a douchey finance major and was just looking for a good time. Two shots and twenty minutes passed before a stupidly good-looking man approached me to inquire about Lindsey. I rolled my eyes at the cretin and told him that she was fresh out of a relationship and wasn’t out looking for a man. He called me a dyke and told me not to get my hopes up because Lindsey was far too hot for me.

  When I reminded her of our last outing, she called me a pussy and told me to get over it. (She’s sensitive, that one.) We argued back and forth for most of the morning before she reminded me that I owed her for getting me out of Nate’s bar opening the month before. I agreed to meet her at Big Game at ten, but ten came and went in a haze of loud music, craft beer, and people watching.

  Today 10:58 PM

  Seriously, where the fuck are

  you? I’m heading out in five

  minutes.

  Dude, chill! I’m getting ready

  to leave my apartment. I

  should be there in 30. 45 if

  there’s traffic.

  Lindsey! We agreed to meet

  at ten!

  No, we agreed to meet

  *around* ten. I remembered

  an assignment that’s due at

  midnight while I was on my

  way out the first time. I had to

  do it.

  You’re the absolute worst. I

  hope you get a really terrible

  grade on it.

  Way to be supportive,

  asshole. Anyway, like I said, I

  only need 30-45 to get there. I

  know you well enough to

  know that you’re tucked into a

  dark corner somewhere in the

  back of the bar.

  No, I’m not.

  Sure. I also know you well

  enough to know you’ve got

  that sweet Kindle Fire that Em

  bought you for Christmas in

  your purse. Tuck into a book,

  you fucking nerd. Your soon-to-

  be drunk princess in shining

  armor will be there shortly to

  rescue you from the darkness

  of a terrible evening.

  Heat rushed up my neck and toward my cheeks. I wanted to be angry with my best friend and her casual treatment of my discomfort at being left alone in the dimly lit bar. The unspoken accusation was clear. Charlie’s a brick in the mud—she can’t cut loose and have fun. As much as I wanted it to hurt my feelings, she wasn’t actually wrong. I didn’t want to interact with anyone, so I found the dimmest lit table in the bar and hid my face in my phone and tablet.

  Grumbling, I dropped my phone in my purse and pulled the tablet out again. I’d preloaded several books that afternoon, knowing at least in my gut that Lindsey wouldn’t show up on time. My finger paused over a book cover showcasing a swarthy, lounging man with a gleaming six pack and a sexy smirk. The earlier blush crept over my cheeks as I glanced up to study the people jammed into the bar around me. No one would be able to tell that I was reading a downright filthy romance novel if I kept the screen angled toward my body and didn’t sigh too loudly during the super hot parts, right?

  — D —

  “Do you always bring tablets to bars with you?”

  Hazel eyes shot up from behind the tablet and locked onto me from behind a pair of sexy-as-hell horn-rimmed glasses. Her eyebrows drew together as she stared at me with barely hidden curiosity. The eyes that were hidden in her phone and tablet all night traveled up and down my body in one sweeping glance, and I couldn’t stop the smirk that spread slowly across my lips.

  Her head cocked slightly to the side, and I cleared my th
roat. “Do you mind if I sit?” I asked, indicating to the empty bar stool across from where she was perched.

  She’d caught my attention pretty easily when she breezed through the door a couple of hours before, heading straight to the bar for a beer before settling in a secluded corner with nothing but her technology to keep her company. She didn’t stop to chat with anyone along the way, and she seemed entirely disinterested in the scenes playing out around her.

  A sweep of light from the dance floor flashed through the dark corner, and the light caught in her blonde hair. The patch of skin that peeked out between her half-buttoned jacket and v-neck t-shirt gleamed tan, and I found myself momentarily distracted by thoughts of running my hands over the golden expanse. Goddamn.

  Her hazel eyes traveled the length of my body, and a far-off look clouded her eyes. I cleared my throat, and her hazel snapped upward. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips as her eyes swept over my body again. Something about the way she stared caused a slight stirring in my pants, and I couldn’t stop the smirk that dragged over my lips at the realization that she couldn’t keep her eyes off of me. I licked my lips, an imitation of her earlier actions, I didn’t miss the way her eyes gleamed behind the lenses of her glasses.

  “Do you mind if I sit with you?” I hated that she made me keep asking. And sure, maybe normally I wouldn’t be so persistent, but it wasn’t every day that a woman gave me a halfer without even saying a single damn word.

  “Sure,” she replied easily, and I slid into the stool opposite of her with a smile.

  Leaning over the lacquered top of the table, I again asked, “Do you always bring your tablet with you to bars?”

  Her eyebrows quirked, and I wondered how someone could go back and forth between ease and discomfort so quickly. I briefly considered getting up and just walking the hell away from her. The memory of her ass passing me in those tight jeans kept me seated, and I was glad I hadn’t left when she replied. Her voice was soft, not holding even a little bit of the twang I’d heard from most of the locals I’d met so far. Her voice washed over me like a warm bath, and I wasn’t surprised at the stirring of my dick in my pants. Settle down, killer.

  “It’s not a tablet. It’s a Kindle Fire.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t the Fire just another fancy tablet?”

  If she rolled her eyes any harder at me, she might’ve passed out. And while I wasn’t CPR certified, I wouldn’t have minded crushing my lips against her’s and trying to breathe some life into her. She pulled her full, pink bottom lip into her mouth and bit down slightly before releasing it with a slight groan.

  “It’s an e-reader, not a just some fancy tablet, you asshole.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Why do you bring your Kindle to bars with you?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no,” was her clipped reply. Her eyes darted over each of my shoulders in turn, and her brows furrowed while a frown pulled the corners of her full lips down. Even frowning, I thought she looked sexy as hell.

  “Waiting for someone?” I asked, and her attention flickered back toward me. Her eyes closed for a moment, and her shoulders rose and fell slowly with the sigh she heaved.

  I cocked an eyebrow. If she’d been stood up, I could understand her short attitude. I would be pretty salty too if a stranger approached me and tried to strike up a conversation while I was nursing a bruised ego. But it wasn’t like I’d approached her and immediately dropped a line at her feet. And why the hell would she let me sit if she was waiting on someone else anyway?

  I should’ve gotten up then and walked away. The way she was hunched over the table with her eyes darting back and forth to the door should’ve told me everything I needed to know about her—that she didn’t want to deal with me; that she chose to have her nose stuck in a “book” reading at a bar, that she’d rather be waiting for a man that was never going to show up. I should have left her alone.

  There was something in the way she stared with slightly hooded eyes at my lips and eyes that kept me in the barstool across from her.

  — C —

  I found myself getting caught up in his eyes again. The light brown color reminded me of whiskey, and I wondered just what exactly his lips might taste like. A shiver raced down my spine at the thought of losing myself to his special brand of inebriation, and my head felt heavy. The familiar heat of a blush seeped across my cheeks, and I gulped my lukewarm beer. The clink of my glass hitting the table snapped me from my indecent thoughts.

  He asked if I was waiting for someone before a look of pity flashed through his eyes. Did he that I’d been stood up for a date? Why would this stranger make that kind of assumption about someone they didn’t know?

  Well, loser, you are hiding in the darkest corner of the bar with a Kindle, and you haven’t exactly been friendly to him. If you saw a girl that looked and acted like you, wouldn’t you assume exactly the same thing about her?

  I bristled at my inner monologue before turning my attention back to the caramel-skinned man in front of me. He continued to smirk in a devil-may-care sort of way, and the faint beginnings of laugh lines appeared around his mouth. I tried to school my voice into a friendlier tone; there was absolutely no reason for me to be such a twat to him.

  “I’m waiting for a friend.”

  “Oh,” was his short reply as he rubbed a hand over a well-groomed beard.

  His close-cropped beard was paired with an undercut and a suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and well-toned muscles. All variables that would normally cause me to swoon. I mean, seriously, the man was hot enough to cause the devil to sweat. There was something about his monosyllabic response that set my teeth to grinding.

  “I haven’t been stood up.”

  “Okay.”

  “Seriously, you can stop looking at me with that look of pity in your eyes. I’m not sitting here pining over some asshole that didn’t bother to call or show up.”

  A thick eyebrow snaked toward his hairline and indigence laced his tone as he said, “I never said that you were.”

  “I know you were thinking it. Why else would I be sitting over here all pathetic and lonely with a tablet, right?” I spat, unreasonably angry with the man sitting across the table from me. A frown tugged at his lips, and I felt a sneer plaster itself firmly on my face. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it, but something about him really unsettled me.

  “Your words, not mine.”

  My mouth dropped open at his response. Assuming that the sexy stranger thought something so embarrassing about me and learning that he did actually think that were two completely different things. As blood rushed upward heating my chest, neck, and cheeks, I felt anger unlike any I had felt in my young adult life. My hands shook as I pushed myself away from the table forcefully enough to cause the barstool to topple as I half slid, half fell from it.

  My knuckles turned white as I gripped the table’s edge forcefully and leaned toward him. “Go fuck yourself,” I spat before rounding the table and launching myself toward the crowded dance floor.

  Being surrounded by sweaty, gyrating puck bunnies and hockey players was never at the top of my list of favorite things, but I’d rather be in the throng of people, pushing grappling hands away from my hips and ass, than at the table with that man one second longer.

  — D —

  I turned in my seat and watched as she fought her way across the crowded dance floor. A bizarre techno remix of some country song screamed through the speakers, and I gaped as she reached the edge of the dance floor at the same time that a man reached down to palm a healthy handful of her ass. My barstool skidded backwards as I stood, ready to rush into the crowd. Sexy Librarian was downright furious with me, but she would forgive me if I saved her from the unwanted advances, right?

  A well-placed elbow to the man’s gut stilled my forward momentum. Clearly, she could look after that beautiful ass herself.

  The next few seconds passed in a blur, speeding by as if on fast forward. O
ne moment she was pushing past the last of the dancers, and the next she was stumbling into the team’s assistant captain, Sean Tremblay. His glass tipped in his hand, and I cringed as a full pint of beer soaked into the woman’s hair and clothes.

  I watched as she reached up to push her sopping hair from her face. She flicked some of the moisture away, and angry arm waving punctuated words I couldn’t hear over the thump, thump, thump of the music. I watched in wonder as Tremblay slammed the glass onto the pool table behind him and began shouting back at her. The words “beer,” “junk,” and “librarian” (glad I’m not the only one that thinks that way) floated over the music, and I questioned how the woman could inspire frustration in every person she encountered. She threw a middle finger over her shoulder as she began to stalk away, and I chuckled. She really was feisty.

  My momentary amusement was replaced by horror as I watched the brunette that was chatting up Tremblay all night throw her foot out far enough to trip Sexy Librarian as she passed. Stumbling feet failed her as she tripped her way forward and fell face first into the nearest pool table.