Game On (Hometown Players Book 6)

by Victoria Denault

  I want to chase him. I want to drag him back here and continue whatever the hell we just started. But I know he’s like a wild animal and if he’s chased he’ll just run faster—emotionally and physically. And besides, I can’t with Mackenzie in the house. I lean against the closed door and press a hand to my chest. My heart hammers against my palm. I don’t know what that was, but I want it to happen again.

  Chapter 14

  Alex

  I’m smiling as we finish the run, which actually turned into more of a walk than a run, albeit a brisk one. These kids haven’t been lucky enough to be on team sports or even been in PE classes since they haven’t been in school regularly, so I knew it wasn’t going to be much of a run. Still, they were troopers and they all were interested in technique and tips. I had a good time and I think they did too, which makes me really happy I didn’t bail like I contemplated after making out with Brie.

  I feel a wave of panic just thinking about it again. Colisse, I swear at myself, what the hell was I thinking? I mean honestly, just last week I thought she was the most irritating person on the planet. She started to grow on me when she came to my rescue, well Mac’s rescue, but then she got all nosy and pushy and I was back to being irritated. Then…I touched her. I’ve touched a lot of girls, with intent and without intent, and this candid moment of saving her from tripping, it was like I was hit with those defibrillator paddles at the hospital. Every single part of me, every nerve and every cell was jolted alive. With desire. I would have pulled her to the floor in her hall and done a hell of a lot more than kiss her if it wasn’t for two things—the sound of that toilet flushing reminding me Mac was just feet away and the fact that this woman isn’t one-night stand material, and that’s all I know how to do.

  Mac is staring up at me with a weird look on her face, which I’ve noticed even after just a week, is filling out. She looks healthier. I glance down at her. “What?”

  “Were you at Brie’s house after the game the other night?”

  “What? Why?”

  Oh shit, if Mac saw anything I will truly die.

  “I thought I heard your voice.”

  “I…Umm…Yeah…I was, I guess.”

  Her face twists into a mix of sarcasm and judgment in a way that only a teenager can accomplish. “You guess?”

  “I was. For a second.”

  “Why?”

  We’ve reached Daphne’s now and so I stop and say a personal good-bye to each of the kids who came on the run. They all head inside except Mac who is clearly not going to let this go. She’s still looking up at me with an expectant look on her face. “I wanted to clear up something with Brie.”

  “At like midnight?” That look is on her face again. God, this kid is too smart for her own good.

  “It wasn’t midnight,” I reply defensively. “And even if it was, I’m an adult. So is she, so we can have late-night conversation. It’s no big deal.”

  She smiles. Doesn’t speak, just smiles and somehow that feels even more judgy and sarcastic than the look she was giving me before. She turns and heads into the house. “I’m going to take Len’s budgeting class this afternoon.”

  “Cool. Have fun. Tell her hi,” I say casually as she climbs the stairs to the front door.

  “You can tell her yourself,” I hear Len’s voice behind me.

  As Mac disappears inside I turn and see Len walking up the sidewalk behind me. She’s smiling conspiratorially so I know she knows about the kiss before she even says a word. I must look as embarrassed as I feel because she lets out a soft, sympathetic chuckle and pats my arm as she stops in front of me. “It’s okay. I’m not going to chew you out for your late-night kiss stealing.”

  “I didn’t steal it,” I mumble, my eyes firmly glued to a crack in the sidewalk between our shoes. “She gave it to me.”

  Len laughs again. “When you take it and run, it’s stealing.”

  I finally pull my eyes off the pavement and look at her. “I left because I needed to stop it from going any further. Mac was there and…”

  I can’t seem to figure out how to finish that sentence so Len decides to help me. “And you didn’t want her to hear you two getting it on? But also you weren’t sure you should get it on right now?”

  I nod but feel heat creep over my face. “Brie is great but—”

  “She’s fantastic,” Len interrupts. “No buts about it.”

  I nod. “But I’m not boyfriend material and she’s not the casual type.”

  Len rolls her eyes so hard she looks like she’s having a seizure. “Oh come on. Don’t pretend that you’re some stereotypical hockey jock who wants nothing more than to get his hockey stick wet. You’re not. I already know that. Those types don’t volunteer with orphaned kids and they don’t save girls like Mackenzie from the street.”

  “You’re right. I’m not like that,” I argue back. “But I’m not the type of guy Brie wants either.”

  She frowns. “Shouldn’t you be talking to her about what she wants?”

  “I will,” I say. “I’m on my way there now.”

  Len looks disappointed. “Alex, I have to say if you truly feel that way then you’re right. Brie has been through enough in her life. I don’t want her to deal with a player. She’s better than that.”

  I nod, not in the least offended. “She is.”

  “It’s just, the way you are with the kids and with Mackenzie especially, makes me think you’d understand her past and you’d get Brie on levels that Victor never did,” Len says quietly. “On levels even I don’t get her on.”

  She adjusts the bag on her shoulder and turns and starts up the stairs. I should walk away, head over to Brie’s and forget this conversation, but I can’t. I stare at her and as she digs out her key fob to open the front door I call out, “What’s her past?”

  “That’s for her to tell you, not me,” Len replies firmly and now the smile she’s giving me is less friendly, less warm. “And she won’t. If you won’t let her in, she won’t let you in.”

  She disappears into Daphne’s House. I pull out my phone to call a Lyft to head to Brie’s. What in the world could have happened in Brie’s past that Len thinks only someone as broken and fucked up as me would “get” her? Then again, Len might not know my past. She probably just sees me as a rich athlete. Let’s face it, most kids who play hockey grow up in comfortable families because hockey is not a cheap hobby and it costs even more if you’re trying to get your kid into the NHL with off-season training sessions and what not. I doubt my history has anything in common with a girl who spent her summers in that mansion in the Hamptons.

  My phone starts ringing as I wait for my ride and I see Rose’s name on the call display. As soon as I answer there’s a trio of voices blurting things out.

  “It’s Rose, Callie and Jessie! We’ve got you on speaker,” Rose says.

  “We’re calling about that dinner we invited you and Brie to,” Callie pipes up.

  “We’ve decided it’s going to be a small party instead,” Jessie adds. “At your house.”

  “What?”

  “Your new apartment,” Callie clarifies. “A housewarming.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rose adds before I can say no. “We’ll do everything from invitations to food. You just have to text me your address.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Housewarmings are imperative or else it’s not a house. It’s just four walls and a roof,” Callie insists. “So if you don’t give us your address, I’ll make Devin do it.”

  “It’s happening Alex,” Jessie assures me. “Friday after you guys come home from your game in Chicago. So try not to get punched for once. I want the steak to be for the guests, not a black eye.”

  “Address?” Rose demands in a happy singsong voice but it’s still a demand.

  I sigh as loud as I can so they know I am not pleased, even though I don’t think it matters to them in the slightest. I give them my address and I can actually hear them high-fiving each other i
n victory. Jesus, these girls are forces of nature, like tornados or hurricanes or tsunamis.

  “Thanks, Rue,” Callie says happily. “You won’t regret it!”

  “I already do!” I reply, but they’ve hung up.

  I sigh. What fresh hell is this?

  Chapter 15

  Brie

  When I hear the knock on the door all the butterflies I’ve been trying to quell inside me take flight. I haven’t seen him since that kiss. They had a game last night but he texted me before it, after his date with Lizzie, to tell me it went smoothly and asked if he could swing by today after his running clinic. Of course I said yes. I wanted to see him and figure out exactly what the hell is going on between us.

  I glance at my reflection in the mirror in the hall. I spent two hours getting ready this morning. I curled my hair but then messed it up so it looked natural and applied all the natural-colored makeup I could find so I didn’t look like I was actually wearing any and I even tried three lipsticks before settling on one that was only a shade darker than my natural lips. My clothing selection took almost an hour even though I ended up in just a pair of soft gray patterned leggings and an oversized, off-the-shoulder sweater. I’ve never tried so hard to look casual and effortless in all my life. But when I swing open the door and his eyes sweep over me and he smiles, it was worth every second.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he says and I smile.

  “Come in.” I open the door wider and he steps into the hall. I motion for him to head to the living room and he does after slipping off his shoes. But he just stands in the middle of my room and stares at my furniture like he’s unsure of where to sit. Although it somehow feels like a bold move, I reach out and take him by the wrist and tug him toward the long velvet couch. I drop down on one end, my back against the arm and he sits more in the middle. And then slides to the other end. Not a great start.

  “Congrats on the win last night,” I say to break the ice.

  He smiles. “You watched?”

  “Mac insisted, and I didn’t mind,” I confess. His eyes light up a little bit at that and he smiles. Then he reaches into his pocket and hands me a folded piece of paper.

  “The check from Lizzie,” he explains as I unfold it. “She got her lunch and her tickets. And absolutely nothing else, much to her dismay.”

  My eyes lift from the check and lock with his. He looks calm and almost amused. I’m still horrified that a woman thinks she can buy sex at a charity auction. “Was she a bitch about it?”

  He nods. “Oh yeah. She told me that she was going to tell everyone the rumors weren’t true and that I couldn’t possibly be great in bed and I was probably impotent or something.”

  I am one hundred percent horrified and I’m clearly not hiding it because he starts to chuckle. “I can’t even…I mean who does that?”

  “Lots of women come up to me expecting nothing but a good time,” he replies. “Because I have no problem giving them one as long as they know it’s just once and it’s just for fun.”

  I swallow but my mouth is dry. “You must have had a girlfriend at some point.”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. Never.”

  “Never?” I repeat in disbelief. “Not even before hockey? Like when you were in high school or something?”

  His expression grows dark before he bows his head. “Not a lot of girls want to date a homeless guy. Although there was one girl who used to sneak me into her basement and let me sleep there if I fooled around with her. She wouldn’t admit we were messing around in school because she was embarrassed, but I guess she was as close as I got to a girlfriend because it was a regular thing for a while.”

  My heart aches for him, but I try not to let him see it. I know he might construe it as pity and I don’t want to upset him. “Can we talk about that? Your childhood?”

  “I don’t like to.”

  “I know. I don’t like to either.” That makes him look up and meet my eye again.

  “Len mentioned she thought I would understand you better than that asshole you were dating,” he tells me and I bite back a smile.

  “You might,” I admit and pull my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. “And there’s no need for name calling.”

  He balks at that. “I heard him at the fund-raiser talking about you like you were his property or his project. He’s an asshole. You might have a lot in common with him like the way you grew up or the schools you went to, but he is nothing like you and you deserve more than him.”

  Those butterflies are taking flight again. “I don’t have that much in common with him, actually. I mean I know it looks that way, but his idea of struggle is having to wait so long for a cab that he contemplates taking the subway, which he never has by the way.”

  Alex laughs at that and gives me a sheepish smirk. “I hate to say it, but that’s what I thought of you too.”

  “And you’re wrong, but I see why you made that assumption. My parents are rich and my dad’s family has been wealthy for generations too,” I explain and hug my knees tightly to my chest. “But technically I’m a Bennett by name, not by blood. My mom hates when I point that out because she says I’m her daughter because her heart chose me not her DNA. But what I’m trying to say is I was adopted.”

  “Is it a secret?”

  I shake my head. “No. But like I said my mom doesn’t like to make the distinction. Probably because of the way I was adopted.”

  “How were you adopted?”

  “Nope. Your turn,” I counter and give him a small smile. “How were you able to play hockey if you lived on the street? You said yourself it’s not a cheap sport.”

  I figure that’s an easy first question—not too invasive and shouldn’t upset him too much, I hope. He runs both his hands through his hair, leaving it mussed up in a deliciously sexy way that I purposefully try to ignore so I don’t get distracted, and then he leans back on the sofa, his back against the other arm so we’re facing each other. “I grew up in Quebec and like the rest of Canada, maybe even more so, they take hockey very seriously. They offer a lot of free programs and equipment when you’re really young. When I was nine I ended up in a group home for troubled boys and they put us in one of the free programs hoping it would help curb our aggression. I was addicted the minute I stepped onto the ice. A coach saw potential in me, and he made sure I had the necessary equipment. The next coach did the same thing and then passed my name on to a Juniors coach and they helped me to keep playing.”

  “And you ended up getting drafted?”

  He smiles at me. It’s boyish and sincere. “Oh, if only it was that simple. I entered the draft but wasn’t selected. I barely finished high school so playing in college wasn’t an option so I sweet talked an assistant coach on the Quebec Royales into letting me attend their development camp for undrafted players. I worked my ass off like my life depended on it because it honestly did and they signed me.”

  “That’s an amazing story.” I’m in awe. “You need to tell the kids about that. It shows that you can accomplish everything you want to, despite a rocky start.”

  His expression dims again. “Like I said, I don’t talk about it. My teammates don’t even know about my childhood.”

  I drop my knees and lean forward. His right knee is bent, lying up across the couch cushion and so I extend my own legs so my foot brushes his knee. He looks down at it, reaches out and lays a hand over my ankle. One of his fingers brushes against the small patch of bare skin between my sock and my leggings and it sends a gratifying shiver up my body. “Don’t be ashamed. You should be proud. You’ve overcome so much.”

  He won’t look at me. His eyes focused on his hand and my leg. “I’m not ashamed. I just don’t like talking about it. I’ve overcome my past, like you said, so why would I want to relive it by talking about it?”

  “But you relive it anyway, don’t you?” I can’t help but ask and he stops moving his thumb softly across my ankle. “The way you react to small spaces has to do wit
h your childhood doesn’t it?”

  He pulls his hand back and leans away from me. I want to kick myself. I feel like I’ve gone way too far and he might leave but he does something else, just as bad. He puts on one of his cocky, flirty grins, which I now know for sure are an act. He’s hiding himself from me again. “Take off your shrink hat. We’re two friends talking, remember? I’m not your patient.”

  “I’m a psychologist, not a psychiatrist,” I clarify and smile. “And I think we’re kind of past the friends stage, aren’t we?”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth I realize how wrong I am. The smile on his face disappears and the storm always swirling behind his eyes turns into a category five. I pull my leg back instinctively, but he reaches out and stops me. His hand wraps around my ankle and he grabs my other one too and he yanks me closer. Now I’m almost sitting in his lap. Letting go of my left ankle he cradles my head and leans in. The kiss is long and hard, his lips rough and his tongue forceful as it dominates mine. I feel that crazy, inexplicable instantaneous fire again and find myself crawling into his lap as his hand delves deeper into my hair. I wrap my arms around his neck pulling myself closer to him. His hands side down my back and cup my ass, pushing me higher, off his thighs and onto his lap, and I feel him rub, rock hard, against my center.

  Against every animal instinct I have, which seem to be my only instincts right now, I break the kiss and struggle to find my sanity. “We shouldn’t do this without finishing our conversation.”

  His eyes remain closed and he sighs softly. “I know. But I had to kiss you again and I know when we finish this conversation, you won’t want to let me do that again.”