Taking a Shot

by Taryn Leigh Taylor

  Chelsea smiled at Brett. “Awwww. That’s kind of cute,” she decided, imagining a young Brett at the pet store, painstakingly selecting the perfect fish.

  “He was nineteen,” his sister added drily.

  The tips of Brett’s ears reddened, and Chelsea’s giggle earned her a bump from his leg under the table.

  “What? It’s a good name!” he insisted, digging into the hand-pulled noodles with pork belly. He didn’t pull away, though, and the heat of his thigh against her knee made her feel the good kind of woozy.

  Brett was so different here. More laid-back, more himself.

  He’d obviously really missed his family, and they’d missed him, too.

  He made dumb jokes and his smile came easier. He was comfortable, she reminded herself, trying not to read too much into his casual touches—the way he’d nudge her shoulder and lean in to fill her in on the back story of the boisterous dinner conversation, the way his arm ended up along the back of her chair and his fingers alternated between tugging on the end of one of her curls and skating along the hem of her sleeve, raising goose bumps along her arm.

  Just because he dropped a kiss to her temple when he reached past her for the soy sauce, that didn’t mean anything was changing between them. Did it?

  …

  God, she had the best laugh.

  Brett liked having her here, close enough to touch. Watching her joke around with his family. Hold his niece. Today was a good day, he decided as they finished up dinner.

  “Brett? You want to help me with the dishes?”

  He frowned at his sister. Well, it had been a good day.

  “Not really.”

  Lainey’s death glare said that his feelings were irrelevant.

  “Duty calls.” He pressed a quick kiss to Chelsea’s cheek—he couldn’t stop touching her—before he got up from the table, grabbing her plate and his as he headed into the kitchen.

  Lainey flung a dishtowel at him as he joined her by the sink.

  “Why are you washing these by hand? You’ve got a dishwasher.”

  “Because I wanted to talk to you.”

  Brett accepted the wet plate she thrust in his direction. Exactly what he was worried about.

  “So…Chelsea seems nice.”

  Brett shoved the newly dried plate in the cupboard before accepting the next one.

  “She is.”

  “What’s her last name, again?”

  His hand stilled in the middle of drying, and dread skittered down his spine. Oh, here we go.

  “London, wasn’t it? As in Craig London?”

  Brett sighed. One of the downfalls of sharing DNA with a woman who’d made the Olympic hockey team and married a titan of the sport was that she knew shit, like the last names of team owners.

  Dishes forgotten, Lainey turned to face him. “The owner’s daughter? What are you thinking?”

  “He doesn’t know, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  He suspects. And he hates my guts. But he doesn’t know.

  It didn’t bother him if the team owner didn’t like him. He could change that by keeping his mouth shut and working hard out on the ice. Big hits. Penalty kills. A couple of goals.

  It did bother him that Chelsea’s dad didn’t like him. Because that wasn’t so easy to fix.

  “It’s not serious.”

  Lainey’s concerned frown deepened, and this time she abandoned the pretense of doing the dishes and crossed her arms. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

  Brett tossed the dish towel on the counter. “What? We’re hanging out, okay? Neither of us is looking for a relationship right now. And stop looking at me like that. Although props on the concerned frown of disappointment. Your mom face is on point.”

  He thought he’d done a pretty decent job of sounding off-hand about it all, but Lainey had always been good at cutting right through his bullshit.

  “And are you okay with that?”

  Brett scrubbed a hand down his face. “Why wouldn’t I be okay with that?” he asked a little desperately.

  “You brought her here from Montana to meet your family.” Lainey let the reality of that sink in. “From Montana,” she repeated.

  “So?” It was false bravado, though. He knew what she was getting at. He was worried about the same thing himself.

  “So, the only other woman you’ve ever brought over here was Janelle, and the only reason you did that was because you two were already married!”

  Brett glanced over his shoulder. “Keep your voice down, wouldja?”

  “I know you want to find someone special, and I know all this divorce bullshit Janelle dragged you through was really hard on you, especially since it lasted longer than your actual marriage. I don’t want you to get hurt again. You have a tendency to rush in without thinking things through sometimes. You’re like an adorable, overly enthusiastic puppy.”

  “Uh, I’m like a really strong, super suave, manly puppy, is what I think you meant to say.”

  “Either way, I don’t want you to get hit by a car, you know?”

  Brett leaned a hip against the counter. “This metaphor just got really dark.”

  His sister nodded. “It did. But I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

  “Elaine, I appreciate your concern, I really do, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not that stupid twenty-year-old kid anymore. And Chelsea isn’t Janelle. I know what I’m doing. I won’t get in too deep.”

  Liar. His heart kicked in his chest.

  “Just be careful, okay? I can tell you like this girl. But you know as well as I do that if the Wolfpack hadn’t picked you up…”

  Yeah. He did.

  “And you’re playing so well right now. I don’t want anything personal to jeopardize your career. Not when there are so many hockey-related things that could. Look what happened to Cooper.”

  His brother-in-law had suffered a couple of concussions, and ended up retiring two years ago, because he’d had to, not because he’d wanted to. And Brett didn’t miss the way his sister’s eyes dropped to the scar on her right wrist, a remnant of three-hours’ worth of surgery on the break that had ended her own hockey dreams. It was the reality of professional sports. Your career could end in an instant, without so much as a warning shot.

  Craig London’s threat rang in his head.

  And I hate to think what your prospects of getting picked up next season would be if the Wolfpack decided not to renew your contract.

  “Are we finishing these dishes or what?”

  Lainey surveyed the stack of plates in the sink. “No. They can wait. That’s why I have a dishwasher.”

  Brett laughed despite the tension in the kitchen.

  With a sigh, his sister pulled him close, and he wrapped his arms around her.

  “Thanks for looking out for me.”

  “Always,” she vowed, her words muffled by his shoulder. “I’m really glad you came to meet Olivia. Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

  He nodded against her hair. “She’s incredible. You done good, sis.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  By the time they’d said their goodbyes and Brett had the Lamborghini pointed home, Chelsea was tired, and a little antsy.

  She fiddled with the fancy radio dial for a bit before she settled on a song, leaning back against the black leather bucket seat and staring out the window at the city lights. Portland really was a beautiful city.

  “What is this?”

  She tipped her head to face Brett, and there was enough illumination spilling into the car courtesy of the streetlights that she could see the disgusted curl of his lip.

  “Country music.”

  “It’s like a car accident for my ears.”

  “They’re not going to let you back in Montana if you keep talking like that,” she warned, turning it up a little, partly to annoy him, but mostly to drown out her own thoughts.

  Something weird was happeni
ng. She was starting to want things. More family dinners with Brett. His and hers betta fish in matching bowls. A rocking chair. A reason to need a rocking chair.

  And that was no good at all.

  He was a professional athlete in his prime. Women threw themselves at him. He had this whole other life in Portland. An awesome family who obviously loved him. For the first time, she realized that he probably wasn’t even planning to spend the off-season in Billings.

  “You okay?” he asked, glancing over as they stopped at a red light. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  She smiled through her gray thoughts. “I’m good. I had fun tonight. Your family is really amazing.”

  “Yeah, I like them. Most of the time. I’m glad you got to meet them.”

  “So am I.” It had been humbling, the way he seemed to want to show her off to the people who meant so much to him. It was something she couldn’t reciprocate, because her dad was his boss. Because her dad was her boss.

  She hated that things were so complicated back in Billings.

  Or maybe she just made them that way.

  Brett stepped on the gas when the light changed.

  “I think I hate my job.” The words came out of nowhere and earned her a glance from the man in the driver’s seat. “That makes me a horrible person, doesn’t it? You’re judging me, aren’t you? I can feel you judging me.”

  “Why would not liking your job make you a horrible person?”

  “Because I do charity work, Brett.”

  “Okay, so break down the play,” he counselled. The radio went quiet, courtesy of some secret button on his steering wheel, Chelsea assumed, since he hadn’t moved. “You could do anything in the world. Why do you do this?”

  Brett flipped on the signal light and hung a right-hand turn onto a more residential street.

  “Because I like helping people.”

  “Nope. No bullshit PR answers. Respect the sanctity of the Lambo. This is a truth zone.”

  Chelsea dropped her head back against the seat. “It’s too embarrassing.”

  “Chels, you’re talking to a guy who dropped five grand on a day-old baby because…”

  She sat up straight and stared at him. “Because…”

  “Shit. You’re gonna make me say it aren’t you?”

  “Truth zone,” she reminded him. “You gotta respect the Lambo.”

  Brett scrunched up his face, and she couldn’t help but be charmed by his sheepishness. “I bought all that stuff because I’m afraid that Coop and Lainey aren’t going to have time for me now that they’ve got a kid. I’m trying to bribe Olivia into loving me so that I’ll still have a place to come home to. And saying that aloud is twenty times more embarrassing than I thought it would be, so now you have to tell me yours.”

  Tenderness swamped her. “She’s going to love you, with or without the gifts. You were pretty incredible with her tonight.” Chelsea reached over and squeezed Brett’s thigh, and his big hand covered hers, holding it there.

  The gesture gave her strength to make a hard confession of her own.

  “I started doing charity work because my mom left us. And no matter how much I try to forgive her, I still blame her every day for being selfish. I guess I always felt like I had to be selfless to make up for it. That doing things for other people made me her opposite.”

  Chelsea’s eyes stung, and Brett’s grip on her hand tightened. “And now that I’m so lost at work, now that I’m bored… What if she felt like this, too? What if she was tired of giving everything to her family? And what if I’m just like her?” She shrugged helplessly. “I used to love my job. I used to feel like I was making a difference. And then my brother got that promotion over me and now it’s just…”

  “Okay, I’m going to say something super controversial right now, but even if it makes you mad, please remember that I’m operating the vehicle you’re riding in and killing me would not be in your best interest.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Maybe your brother got the promotion because he’s better at the job than you are.”

  Okay, yeah. That made her a little mad. And it felt so much better than being sad, and lost, so she clung to it with both hands. “What are you talking about? He barely pays attention to the particulars, he’s always schmoozing with donors and working the room instead of focusing on the details and…”

  Chelsea trailed off. Well, damn. Maybe Andrew wasn’t such a screw-up after all.

  “I met your brother at the silent auction. He smiles and bullshits with the best of them. Knows how to charm big dollars out of donors. He’s the game. You’re the one behind the scenes, doing all the heavy lifting, running drills. You’re the training.”

  “I’m the boring part?” Chelsea leaned her head back against the leather seat as Brett turned into the driveway.

  “You’re the part that matters. You’re the part that separates the great players from the not-so-great players. Look, as someone who’s done a lot of charity gigs during my time, I’m going to tell you a secret. Stuff like that silent auction? That’s the boring stuff, and you know why?”

  Chelsea couldn’t even muster any outrage at the summation of her work as she watched the garage door lift out of their way. “Why?”

  “Because that’s eating dinner with rich people. And don’t get me wrong, it raises buckets of money for great causes. You should be really proud of that. But the best days aren’t the ones where I have to put on a suit and smile. The best days are hanging out with the kids at the children’s hospital. Or when we get to visit schools or run hockey camps or help build houses.”

  Brett guided the Lamborghini to a stop inside the garage and cut the engine.

  “So maybe you don’t hate your job at all. Maybe you’re just sick of eating dinner with rich people, you know?”

  Chelsea caught her breath at the way her insides lit up at the idea of adding more grassroots events to the foundation’s schedule, of not just raising money for worthy causes, but getting out into the community and making a difference. Such a small shift in focus, and yet…

  She leaned across the console and pressed a kiss to Brett’s lips.

  “What was that for?”

  “To say thank you. You’re pretty wise for a dumb jock.”

  “Or I just really hate wearing a suit and going to fancy parties,” he said with a wink.

  They got out of the car and headed inside the house. “You want a tour?” he asked, flicking on some lights.

  Chelsea nodded, and let him show off his fancy kitchen and the spacious living room, but then something caught her peripheral vision, and she turned toward the eerie blue light flickering against the edge of the wall.

  “What’s over there?”

  Brett smiled and tugged her toward the short, unexpected hallway at the far end of the living room.

  “I was going to save this for last, but…”

  Brett pushed open the sliding glass door and they stepped into the most magical room.

  Oh wow.

  The lights in the basin of the pool were on, casting dancing blue reflections on three of the walls, not feeling nearly as ominous now that she knew their source. The fourth wall was entirely made of glass, which Chelsea was sure afforded an amazing view when it wasn’t so dark outside.

  The room had high ceilings with immense skylights and the deck was a masterpiece of gray tiles laid out in a chevron pattern around the gorgeous blue glow of the water.

  Two lounge chairs sat facing the pool, each with its own little table. Chelsea let the humid air and the familiar scent of chlorine wash over her as she took in the magnificent room.

  “Do you like it?” Brett asked, stepping close behind her. The proximity of him, the realization that they were finally alone, was working its predictable magic on her body. As always, her skin prickled to life, begging for his touch.

  “For the record, it’s pretty much the whole reason I bought the house,” he confessed, “so you should probably say yes.”

/>   She laughed as she turned to face him, and it banished any lingering shadows plaguing her. “It’s incredible,” she assured him. You’re incredible, she wanted to say, but instead she decided it would be safer just to show him, and she reached up and wound her arms around his neck.

  Sex. This was about sex, she tried to remind herself. About escaping her everyday life for however long this exciting foray into bad girldom lasted. But it didn’t feel that way…

  He groaned as he pulled her close. “God, I’ve been dying to touch you since we landed.” His kiss was soft, but insistent. It wasn’t the kiss she’d been expecting, but there was something intriguing, exciting, about the restrained seduction he was waging against her mouth, teasing her, coaxing her into opening for him even as his hands ran over her body, taking more liberties than the chasteness of their kiss would suggest he was allowed.

  It was…exciting, the combination of being seduced and being manhandled, and she pressed closer, reveling in the strength of his body, the hardness of him.

  “Hey, Brett?”

  “Hmmm?” He dragged his mouth across her cheek to her jaw.

  “We seem to be the only two people in the room.”

  His breath caught in his throat at her reference to his words in the stairwell the other day. But even as his eyes darkened at the promise of head, she could see him searching her face, checking for motive.

  It was so damn sexy that he was concerned about her, even with a blowjob hanging in the balance, that Chelsea’s confidence rose.

  “I want to do it right this time.”

  Brett gave a rough laugh as she pushed him back against the wall.

  “Blowjobs are like pizza. There’s pretty much no chance of you doing it wrong, because they’re all good.”

  “A low bar. I’ll remember that when I’m down there.”

  “Well, I mean, I won’t stop you from trying for the filet mignon of blowjobs or anything. Feel free to prove me wrong.”

  How could she be laughing and so turned on at the same time?

  “This was supposed to be a sexy moment. And now you’ve ruined it,” she chided, her cheeks sore from smiling.