Game On (Hometown Players Book 6)

by Victoria Denault

  “I’ll explain it to him afterward,” I tell Selena and then glance at the rest of the group. “My name is Brie Bennett and I’m the director of Daphne’s House.”

  I smile brightly at all of them and make sure to let it dim a little as my eyes connect with Alex Larue again. But he smiles back, bright but lopsided. “Of course you are,” he mumbles and his dark blue eyes lift to the ceiling. I know he’s cursing God or the universe, or both. I’d do the same if I didn’t think it was unprofessional.

  Instead I turn back to the group. “Come this way into our classroom and Selena will explain more about the classes we offer the kids, all of which are taught by professionals who are donating their time and sometimes supplies, like charcoals and paper for our art class.”

  The group filters by me into the large room. Selena smiles at me as she passes and makes her way to the front as she continues talking. Alex hangs back, closer to me than I would like. I get a whiff of his cologne, which is dark and warm and earthy. Not unpleasant even though it kind of makes me think of a lumberjack.

  Those dark blue eyes keep stealing furtive glances in my direction, which makes all the glaring I’m doing worth it. It would be wasted energy if he didn’t see it. I can’t help but really take in his face, since I’m trying to melt it with my angry gaze. He’s got really dark, really thick five-o’clock shadow but it’s nicked in places by white scars like the two on his chin. There’s also one by his eye and through his eyebrow. He’s like an alley cat, all marked up and probably proud of it. Surprisingly for a hockey player, his nose is straight and smooth. His mouth is wide and his lips not overly full or thin but perfectly symmetrical. He’d be attractive if he wasn’t a sleazeball.

  I glance over at Selena as she starts to lead the volunteers out into the hall again. “Selena will finish up the tour by taking you up to the common areas the kids share on the second and third floors.” I pause and make sure I’m looking only at the Don Juan of hockey. “We want to work with people who are willing and able, but we understand if it’s not the right fit for you. So take your time, look around, ask any and all questions you have. We want it to be an exceptional experience for both you and the kids. And feel free to ask me anything as well. I’ll be here in the classroom.”

  I give the other three potential volunteers another warm smile as everyone, including Alex, follows Selena upstairs. I go back to cleaning up, but my brain is stuck on Alex. How in the hell is he here? What kind of absurd coincidence is this? I realize now, from the look on his face and the fact that I never gave him my last name when we met, that it has to be a coincidence. He certainly didn’t follow me here from Starbucks and without my last name he couldn’t have Googled me and figured out where I worked. But I have a hard time believing a guy like him would take it upon himself to volunteer here—or anywhere other than maybe a strip club on amateur lap dance night.

  I have to admit I loved the look on his face when I spoke to him in French in Starbucks and I was tempted to stick around and really enjoy the blush on his cheeks but I didn’t want to risk being late for a meeting with a perspective donor my mom had set up for me. Still, the encounter wasn’t easy to forget and as I headed back here a couple hours later I found myself reliving it and then punching his name into Google on my phone. BIG mistake.

  Judging by the stories, he’s a world-class flirt. Tons of women—sometimes in nothing more than skimpy bikinis or cocktail dresses—have posted photos with him on social media, and almost always with his lips on their cheek or ear or neck and vice versa. His own social media is filled with half-naked selfies. The guy appears to be about as deep as a puddle.

  There’s a knock and I put down the easel I’m carrying and turn around. “Parler du diable.”

  He grins at my “speak of the devil” comment. I have to admit it’s a good grin. “J’ai été appelé pire.”

  “Yeah, I’m not surprised you’ve been called worse,” I say, frowning. “Why are you here?”

  He steps into the room, the grin falling off his face, and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Orientation is over and I wanted to apologize for being late and let you know I really do want to volunteer.”

  I pick up an easel and carry it into the corner where the others are stacked. “Is this a court-ordered thing or something?”

  “Excuse me?” he asks, completely baffled. I turn back to him and he’s moved to the last easel, picking it up much more easily than I do, and carrying it over to the stack where I’m standing.

  “Were you ordered by the courts to do some kind of community service?” I repeat. I’m honestly not trying to offend him I just can’t for the life of me picture him willingly giving up time to be with kids when he could be hitting on women or taking half-naked selfies for his one million Instagram followers.

  “Are you serious?” He sighs. “No. I like helping kids. Is that so hard to believe?”

  I shrug. “You don’t come across as someone who cares about much more than hockey and hitting on women.”

  “You have spent five minutes with me.” He looks at me with an annoyed expression.

  “It could have been seven minutes if you had showed up on time for the volunteer program you say you are so interested in,” I snap back.

  He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his ample chest. “Well here’s a little bit more about me. I prefer sunrises to sunsets. I like cats more than dogs. I will always offer a homeless person food, which is what made me late today, and I also like to donate to fund-raisers that help kids so I was going to offer hockey tickets as one of the prizes for yours.”

  I absorb every word he says with a weird inner satisfaction, like I was hungry for the information and I didn’t know it. While the superficial information is interesting it’s the last two statements that shock me. He was late because he was buying food for a homeless person, which makes me an ass for thinking he was just being inconsiderate of our schedule, and he wants to donate to the fund-raiser. My fund-raiser? “Who told you about the fund-raiser?”

  “Selena. She mentioned it to everyone at the end of the tour.”

  “Why would she do that?” I question, annoyed.

  “Why wouldn’t she? Is it a secret?” That big, bold obnoxious grin takes over his smug face again. “Just a little advice. Secret fund-raisers don’t raise as much money as the ones you tell people about.”

  “You’re hilarious,” I remark dryly and uncross my arms because they’re starting to ache I’ve had them crossed so tightly for so long. He must take that as a sign of concession, like I’ve waved a white flag.

  “I told Selena I would come by for my first volunteer shift on Friday. Meet all the kids and figure out what their fitness goals are,” he tells me and then he hesitates before he asks, “Okay?”

  I’ve asked professional athletes to come and just give a talk but no one has taken me up on it. Now this guy is here offering to help and even give me tickets, which would be a big draw for the fund-raiser. I may not trust him as far as I can throw him—and trust me with all that towering height and sculpted muscle I can’t throw him—but I can’t say no. “Okay but, again, I need my volunteers to take this seriously.”

  “I do and I will.” He gives me one more of those confident grins. “You’ll see.”

  Len pops into view behind him. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m going for an afternoon coffee run. Can I get you—”

  Alex has turned around and that has made Len stop talking for some reason. Her big blue eyes bug out of her head. “You’re Alex Larue.”

  “The one and only.” He smirks as he extends his hand. “And what is your name, beautiful?”

  Len’s eyes fly to my face as she extends her hand. “Did you know this is Alex Larue?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Len Levitt. I volunteer here teaching kids budget and money basics,” she explains. “Are you volunteering here?”

  “Yes,” he answers and I can’t see his expression but Len’s cheeks actually star
t to pink. “Although I had a hard time selling Ms. Bennett here on the idea.”

  Len’s eyes shift to me again. “She doesn’t watch sports. She has no idea you’re a fan favorite for every team you’ve ever played for. The kids will be so psyched to meet you. Oh my God! You should come to her fund-raiser! Brie, invite him to the fund-raiser!”

  She’s fangirling. Full-on. Alex glances over at me and winks. “Are you going to invite me to the fund-raiser?”

  I sigh loudly. “Anyone who donates a prize gets an automatic invite. So yes, you’re invited. But it’s in the Hamptons and you’re probably busy.”

  “As long as I’m not on a road trip I’ll be there,” he promises. “With bells on.”

  “It’s formal, so you should probably wear more than bells,” I snark but it just deepens that grin on his face. “You might even have to buy a suit.”

  “I’m a hockey player,” he reminds me. “We wear suits to every game. You know, I can get you some tickets if you ever want to check out a game yourself.”

  “Like Len said, I don’t watch sports.”

  Len shoots me a weird look and then steps closer to Alex. “It’s nothing personal. She barely watches anything. I’m surprised she even owns a TV. Or a house for that matter since she practically lives here. This place is her baby,” she rambles on. “In fact it’s more her baby than an actual baby would be. If she had kids they’d have to get a room here to see her, she’s here that much. Not that she would be a bad parent. She’s great. She’d be a great parent if she had a kid but she doesn’t have any and doesn’t want any—ever—so you know…anyway she’s got these kids and that’s why this place is her baby.”

  “You should grab that coffee now, Len,” I blurt out before she can dig a deeper hole. Dear God, is this how most woman act around him? “And you should make it a decaf.”

  “Right. Okay. Yes. Nice meeting you, Alex Larue.”

  He chuckles. “You can just call me Alex. And why don’t I walk you out since I’m leaving anyway?”

  “Actually, Len, I need you for a moment so stick around,” I interrupt because the absolute last thing I want in the universe right now is for Len and Alex to spend more time together while she’s become this unhinged crazy lady.

  Len nods. “See you Friday. And good luck on your road trip tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.” He glances back at me and nods, with the slightest trace of a smile dusting his lips. It’s a smile that says See, this is how a proper woman reacts to me. I return it with an eye roll.

  I wait until I hear the front door close and see the top of his head pass by the window and then I unleash on Len. “Are you insane? Why are you insane? Why did you just verbally upchuck all over him? About me!”

  Len shrugs sheepishly. “I don’t know you were just being so cold to him. And he’s a freaking celebrity, Brie. He’s the type of person you’ve been trying to get to volunteer here! He’s a guy who can bring us more attention and you were acting like he smelled like dog poop!”

  She probably has a point but I’m still a little mortified. “‘The place is her baby. She would be a good mom but she doesn’t want babies—ever.’ What the hell was that?”

  Len turns bright red and laughs nervously. “I’m sorry. I guess that was TMI, but he’s just…Did you look at him? He’s stunning. All rugged edges and rock-hard body. I mean come on…”

  I can’t help but smile at her despite her insanity. “Is he good-looking? I can’t see his features. His ego is blocking my view.”

  “Oh come on, he’s a millionaire athlete who has won a damn Stanley Cup. Your ego would be massive too. It’s part of his charm and that French accent is…” She fans herself. Actually fans herself.

  “I don’t need him for a French accent,” I say in my heaviest French Canadian speak dropping Hs and rolling Rs. Len laughs. Then I tell her about the encounter with him and his teammate earlier at Starbucks. “Isn’t the way he seems to think he’s hot shit and that he can say whatever he wants annoying?”

  “Nope. Not a bit. Because clearly he’s a good guy if he’s here, right?” Len replies. “You should ask him if we can use his name and his prize in the advertising. So many more people will buy tickets if we can say he’ll be there.”

  “You think?” I sound as skeptical as I feel.

  She nods so emphatically that her ringlets are flying every which way. “Ask Vic, he’ll tell you. Every hockey fan with money will be there. Alex is a darling of the league. He’s a media favorite even though he’s not a grade-A player. They love his witty banter in interviews and apparently he’s a locker room leader.”

  “What the hell is that and how do you know any of this?” I ask and stare at her like she’s not my best friend. Because my best friend has never brought up hockey before in any conversation we’ve ever had.

  Len is looking back at me like I’m the insane one. “You’re the only child, not me. My brothers have both been hockey fanatics since they were kids. My grandpa got them into it. And remember my college obsession?”

  “Stuart?” I question. Len fell instantly and madly in love with a guy named Stuart who she went on and on about for all four years but never actually dated him or even said more than two words to him that I know of. “He was a massive hockey fan. Huge. Loved it. I started following it a little bit in school so I could have something to talk to him about. Not that I ever did, but it was there in my back pocket if I needed it.”

  “You are a strange bird.” I shake my head.

  She grins. “Yep. And you’re an even stranger bird for not thinking that boy is hot.”

  I picture Alex Larue in my head. I have to admit when I first turned around to look at him in that coffee line, I was surprised. Tall, broad, sculpted, with that unkempt brown hair and those nicks and scars on his face. He looked like a model who decided to become a MMA fighter—and lost a few rounds. If he hadn’t been vulgarly giving a review of my ass, I might have found all those features attractive. But thanks to the demeaning way he was talking about me, I didn’t have that reaction. What I did react to, because I couldn’t control it, were those stormy blue eyes. When I looked into them, I had trouble looking away. Something about him commands my attention, even if I don’t think much of him, I’m oddly transfixed by him.

  “Brie? Hello!”

  “What? Sorry. What?”

  “Where did you go?” Len questions. “I asked if you wanted coffee. I’m still going.”

  “Umm…yeah. Thanks. Today let’s go for a half pump hazelnut iced latte with coconut milk.”

  “Got it.” Len leaves and I walk out of the art room and head to my office.

  Isaac, one of the sixteen-year-olds who has been living at Daphne’s House for almost year, walks in the back door. I smile at him. “Welcome home. Have a good day at school?”

  “It was school,” he says with a shrug but gives me a small smile. “I’m going to try and get my homework done before the budget class so I can play video games tonight.”

  I laugh. “Okay you do that.”

  He heads straight for the stairs up to the living area. I pause and turn back to him. “Isaac! Have you ever heard of Alex Larue?”

  He stops walking and scrunches up his nose as he thinks about it. “The hockey player?”

  I nod. He smiles. “Yeah. That guy is cool. I saw an interview he did online with ESPN and he was funny. Why?”

  “He’s going to be volunteering here starting Friday,” I explain.

  Isaac’s smile gets bigger. “Sweet!”

  He heads up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Okay…so I’m the only one who doesn’t like this guy.

  Chapter 3

  Alex

  The first few road trips of the season are always a bitch for most of the players. They’re used to staying in one time zone all summer long. Since I don’t have a hometown with family to go back to when the season is over, I usually spend the summer jumping around the globe visiting teammates and friends everywhere from Canada
to Sweden and all over America so travel is not exhausting to me. When you never stop traveling, you don’t get jet lag.

  Because of that, I’m annoying the fuck out of Devin by being in his room right now when I know he’d rather be napping. But I hate sitting around my hotel room by myself and Jordan didn’t answer his cell when I called to see if he wanted to do something so I decided to latch on to Devin when I saw him in the hall. Being the great guy that he is, he isn’t kicking me out. Probably because I’m new to the team and as captain he feels like he needs to get to know me better and help me settle in.

  “Find a place yet?” he asks me, his voice heavy as he lies on his bed with an arm over his face as if to block out the sun coming in through the open curtains.

  “Yeah, actually,” I say and think back to that loft in Tribeca that the broker showed me. “Snagged a place in Tribeca.”

  “You sure you don’t want Park Slope?” Devin questions.

  “Nah, man. I need the city,” I reply and add cheekily, “I’m not an old married dad like you.”

  Devin has a son from his first marriage, which sadly blew up a few years ago and he and his wife divorced. Callie happened to move to New York for work at the exact same time Devin’s life imploded and she helped him get through everything and, from what Jordan says, accidentally fell madly in love with him. Luckily he’d already fallen in love with her.

  Devin chuckles at my insult. “I’m barely older than you, Rue, you shit. And if a girl like Callie ever gave you the time of day you’d be off the market in a hot second.”

  I just shrug as he peeks at me from under the crook of his elbow. “Speaking of the missus, how’s she doing?”

  “Conner brought home the flu a while ago and it’s been clinging to Callie. But I think she’s on the mend, finally. Oh, which reminds me, she wanted me to invite you over for dinner. Friday night?” Devin says. “She’s an incredible cook and she loves welcoming new teammates. She’s says it’s her duty as the captain’s wife, but honestly she just likes hosting dinner parties. You won’t regret giving up a Friday night of debauchery with the guys to eat her food. I promise. Even if it does mean you have to do it sitting next to my kid.”