Game On (Hometown Players Book 6)

by Victoria Denault

  I hesitate as we reach the front hall. “You can stay. It’s got to happen eventually so why not tonight?”

  He shakes his head. “No, baby, not tonight.”

  I feel a wave of disappointment, but I’m too tired to convince him with words so I just tilt my head up and kiss him. I think I meant for it to be a gentle, quick gesture but as soon as my lips press to his, he takes control and his intentions aren’t subtle. His tongue finds mine and with that one hand wrapped around my waist, he lifts me off the ground and walks us back toward my bedroom, his mouth never leaving mine.

  Chapter 21

  Alex

  Tonight was everything I swore I could never handle. I got too close to a street kid and she almost ripped my heart out. And worse than the worry and the pain I was in thinking about Mac being on the street again was the worry and pain I saw in Brie’s face. I realized as I walked the streets looking for Mac, that if Brie’s heart was broken over this, it was my fault. I brought Mac into her life.

  I couldn’t stand the thought that I’d caused Brie pain…because I was falling in love with her. Another thing that I swore I would never do because I wouldn’t be any good at it. But Brie, right now, as the emotional dust of this day settles around us, is looking at me with tenderness and relief, like having me here is making her life better and not worse. She needs me and I am not failing her, not because I learned how to be a boyfriend but because I somehow just instinctually know how to be what she needs. It feels natural and right.

  And as soon as our lips connect my whole body relaxes. Muscles I didn’t even know I had start loosen. I hold her hips and pull her closer but when our lips touch, I let her control the kiss. She starts slow, easy, gentle and then her tongue finds mine and she teases, touching and retreating and then touching again. For the first time in my life I understand all those lyrics from love songs, the ones about falling in love and the ones about getting your heart broken. Because this woman…she is the only person that’s ever made me feel this good, which I know means she can make me feel worse than I’ve ever felt too. I push that fact away as she walks back toward her bedroom, still holding on to me, her lips still on mine. She lets go and quietly closes the door, leaning against it as she looks up at me. “We have to be quiet.”

  I smile. “I know. But I don’t intend to make that easy for you.”

  She grins. “Do your best.” And pulls her shirt over her head.

  I reach behind my back and pull my shirt over my head too. Her hands are on me before it even hits the floor, sliding up my abdomen leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. I take her head in my hands and kiss her—hard and deep.

  The sex is different and not just because it’s slow and gentle. It’s different for me because I’m letting myself feel more than just her body. Not that her body isn’t enough. She’s wet and warm and tight in all the right places and it would be great sex no matter what. But for the first time I’m feeling more than just the physical act. I’m feeling the unspoken words in our kisses and the promises in our touch. I have no idea how to make love to someone but I hope she knows that’s what I’m trying to do.

  When I come, I bury my face against her neck to muffle the groan I can’t contain and to hide the look on my face because I know it’s pure need. I’ve never needed anyone, my whole life, and now I need her.

  I clean up, throwing the condom in her trash and lie back down in bed beside her. I pull her into my chest and she rests her head on my chest. “You think she heard us?”

  “No,” she whispers back. “She’s got to be passed out cold with exhaustion. I know I’m about to.”

  She tilts her head so she’s looking up at me, but her eyelids are heavy and start to flutter closed immediately. Watching her makes me realize how tried I am. I look around the room. It’s got a decent-sized window, but heavy curtains that are drawn shut. And Brie has a canopy bed frame with gauzy, sheer white curtains. They’re drawn back in each corner right now but the idea of sleeping here still makes me feel a little claustrophobic, which means I’ll most likely have nightmares. Between that and the fact that I’ve come to realize they’re triggered by change or uncertainty—like getting traded or moving or other big life events—I’m almost guaranteed to have one tonight.

  “I won’t be here in the morning,” I tell her. “I can’t spend the night here.”

  “Oh.” She looks confused and even a little hurt. Fuck. I’m already ruining things.

  I run a hand over the back of her head, my fingers slipping through her hair. “I’m a restless sleeper on a good night. And my claustrophobia issues, which you’ve witnessed, sometimes kick in when I try to sleep in small rooms.”

  I watch her big brown eyes dart around the room. “This is a decent-sized room for New York,” she defends, but the hurt is gone from her gaze. “I mean it’s not a twelve-hundred-foot loft but it’s decent.”

  I smile. “Even that loft feels claustrophobic sometimes.”

  She places a palm on my chest just over my heart and rests her chin on top of it as she looks at me and softly asks, “What happened to you to make you claustrophobic?”

  I shrug. She’s not buying it and I didn’t expect she would but it’s instinct to deny, evade, lie. But she’s not going to let it go. “Alex, I won’t judge you.”

  “You should,” I reply and kiss her forehead before gently nudging her off me and standing up. She reaches out for my hand, stopping me. I look down at her, all messy sex hair and swollen lips and flushed cheeks. She’s stunning.

  “I think you might have PTSD,” she says quietly.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but that’s what it seems like, Alex.”

  I frown and shake my head. “Soldiers get that.”

  “Lots of people get that,” she counters calmly. “Especially children who have been through a traumatic event. Did someone hurt you when you were a kid?”

  I hesitate, then nod. “And I’m not ready to talk to you about it.” I walk over and cup her face in my hands. “I want this, but I have to…you have to give me time. I don’t talk about this—ever with anyone.”

  “What about seeing a therapist?” she asks. “A clinical psychologist could help you.”

  “Like you?” I feel instantly uneasy. She can’t be my shrink.

  “No. I can’t. I’m not practicing and if I was, I’m not supposed to get orgasms from people I treat,” she says, smiling softly. “But I can recommend someone.”

  I take a deep breath. “I’ll think about it.” She nods and I bend down and kiss her softly on that pretty mouth of hers. I glance at the clock behind her on the night table. “I should go.”

  She nods again. I finish getting dressed and she follows me out to the front door.

  “Would you like to go on a date?” I ask her before I open her front door. “A real date, just the two of us. Like a couple.”

  She looks shocked but happy. “Yes. When?”

  “I have a game tomorrow night so how about the night after?”

  “I’d love to.” She rocks up on her tiptoes to kiss me good night.

  I head out into the New York streets filled with emotions I’d never thought I’d feel—happiness and hope.

  Chapter 22

  Brie

  I kiss him, but he doesn’t really kiss me back. It’s adorable. I look over my shoulder to ensure we’re alone and then I give him a playful smile. “My dad doesn’t own a shotgun. And even if he did, you’ve been a delight tonight. He’s not going to shoot you.”

  Alex smiles at that. “I did good, eh?”

  I grin and cup his cheek. “Très bien. Ils t’aiment.”

  They do love him. And I loved watching them love him. He was so adorable helping my mom with the dishes and trying so hard to be polite and complimentary to my dad. Mackenzie loved having him here too. I think it made her less uncomfortable. She told me she never did Thanksgiving with her mother. Her mother didn’t do any holidays so she wasn’t sure what to
expect. Having Alex here, who also clearly isn’t one to celebrate holidays, gave her an ally. They both did great and I think they enjoyed themselves.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to wait and walk you two home?” Alex asks.

  “Mac and I are going to spend the night here,” I explain. “But I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  He nods. “I’ll pick you up at noon. The flight is at two.”

  I nod and try not to look as excited as I am. Not just because it’s Rose and Luc’s wedding, which I’m sure will be lovely, but because Alex and I are going to have a sleepover. A bona fide, full-fledged, out-of-town sleepover.

  It’s been two weeks since Mac ran away and everything has been amazing, with her and with Alex and me . Three one-on-one dates as well as two outings with Mackenzie for ice cream one day and to see a movie the other. And he dropped by after his last home game for a what was supposed to be a beer and some conversation but what turned into quickie and then he left.

  I’m not complaining about the quickie. I had watched the game on TV and the camera loved to focus on him—on the ice and the bench. He was getting lippy with the other team and it was fucking hot to watch him fearlessly taunting the other team, getting under their skin. I never thought I liked the troublemaker bad boy, but damn, it made me wet. So the quickie was as much my doing as his, but then he left.

  He still hasn’t spent the night, and as much as I wish it didn’t bug me, it does. I’ve tried to talk to him about it a little more—his past, why he won’t stay over—but he just says he’s not ready. I want to ask him about his foster homes, about those scars on his back and if he got them falling through a window. If one of the other kids in the home was a tiny, scared four-year-old with big brown eyes named Gabrielle. But any time I try to bring it up he gets upset. So I’ve just been trying to enjoy him—us—and be patient.

  He kisses me again, this time less PG and with a little tongue. “Á demain, ma belle.”

  “Yes, see you tomorrow.”

  He heads out into the stormy night, and I watch him go until he’s disappeared from sight. I close the door and walk back through the large Upper East Side penthouse I grew up in to the kitchen. Mackenzie is helping my mom load dishes into the dishwasher while my dad puts the extra food into Tupperware. My dad smiles at me as I stretch out on the bench seat in the little eating nook. “I like him. He’s much more interesting than Victor ever was.”

  I laugh. “You used to say Victor was a nice boy.”

  “He was. You know what else is nice?” my dad counters with a wink. “Vanilla ice cream. White toast. Plain milk. This guy has character and personality. Like sourdough toast or a milkshake or chocolate ice cream.”

  “More like Rocky Road,” I murmur but no one catches it.

  “I think it’s so magical that you found a boy with French roots just like you,” my mom interjects. “Are his parents still in Quebec?”

  “Alex doesn’t have parents,” Mackenzie replies before I can explain. “He grew up in foster care, like me. And he ran away like me. Only he didn’t have someone to take him in. But he has hockey, so there’s that.”

  Now both my mom and dad have stopped their tasks and are staring at me. I glance over at Mackenzie. “Why don’t you go pick out a movie for us to watch? It’s family tradition we watch a Tom Cruise movie after dinner every Thanksgiving. You’ll find a pile of them on Blu-Ray in the cabinet under the TV.”

  “Tom Cruise?” Mackenzie repeats and the look on her face says she’s completely baffled. “We’re not Scientologists, are we?”

  My heart swells at her use of the word “we.” She feels like she’s one of us now.

  “No. It’s strictly a respect for his work,” my dad tells her. She still doesn’t get it—judging by the way her eyebrows and nose are all scrunched up and her head is tilted—but she shrugs and walks out of the room. My dad turns his attention back to me. “Is Alex the reason you were asking me about your case files a couple weeks ago?”

  I nod and sit up, worried about the pain that’s creasing my mother’s porcelain skin. It’s like talking about what I went through physically hurts her. “Did you know him back them, Gabrielle?”

  “I don’t know. I was so little, but…I think I might have.”

  My mother seems to grow even paler, and she closes the dishwasher and walks over to me. I move over so she can sit beside me. “There were four other kids, three boys and a girl, in that first, horrible place you were in and then, the place they moved you before we took you had one other child, a girl.”

  “Do you remember their names?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “No, but I know they were all older than you. The first place had an eight-year-old, two ten-year-olds and a twelve-year-old. The second place had a fourteen-year-old.”

  “Alex is four years older than me, so he would have been eight when I was in the first home,” I tell them quietly and gently lay my hand over my mom’s, which are curled together on top of the table. “And he has scars on his back that he doesn’t tell the truth about. He says they’re from hockey, but they can’t be.”

  My dad frowns. “You think he’s the child who went through the window?”

  I look up at him. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Oh my God, Brie, honey, the odds of that are virtually impossible…” My mom’s voice trails off and she swallows as her eyes grow misty.

  “I know, but…what if?”

  She lets out a shuddering sigh and leans in to hug me. “Well if it’s true then I’m just happy he seems to be doing well now. And he’s managed to keep his heart open.”

  Has he? As I hug her back my dad leans over us and ruffles our hair. “Come on. It’s movie time,” Dad says. “‘My name is Joel Goodson. I deal in human fulfillment. I grossed over eight thousand dollars in one night. Time of your life, huh, kid?’”

  I groan. “We are not watching Risky Business with Mackenzie, Dad. I’d rather watch Top Gun for the billionth time.”

  He chuckles as he leads the way into the living room.

  Later that night, I’m lying in my childhood bed in the middle of sending Len a text when my phone rings and it’s her. I pick it up smiling. “Hey are your ears burning? I was just texting you.”

  “Nope. And if you’re texting me that means you’re not in postcoital cuddle sesh, which means Alex didn’t spend the night,” Len replies. “Brie, this is weird.”

  “Mackenzie and I stayed at my parents’ tonight,” I reply. “Our first sleepover is not going to be in my parents’ house. And I told you, he’s got claustrophobia issues.”

  “Can’t he take a Xanax or something?” Len asks and I can’t help but laugh because she seems to be more frustrated by this than I am. “I’m living vicariously through you, remember. I can’t find my own happy ending so I’m stalking yours. And happy endings include sleepovers and cuddle sessions, Brie.”

  “Well thanks to my parents watching Mackenzie for the rest of the weekend and Rose and Luc’s wedding in Maine I’ll be able to get in the first sleepover,” I remind her. “Although I don’t know how much sleeping will happen.”

  She laughs. “Even an athlete built for sex needs a catnap.”

  “Probably,” I reply, although with Alex, I’m not convinced. “I’m glad Rose invited you too.”

  “So am I,” Len tells me. “I love her. She’s fantastic and a weekend away at a wedding full of hockey-playing guests, maybe I’ll find my own Alex, minus the claustrophobia issues.”

  “It’s really not that big a deal,” I tell her even though I know it will be if we don’t get through it.

  “See you tomorrow at the airport,” Len replies. “My first private plane experience. So exciting!”

  I say good night and then put my phone down, turn off the light and snuggle deeper under the covers. I’m excited about tomorrow too.

  I don’t sleep very well for some reason—it’s either nerves or excitement. In the morning I have breakfast with my family, leaving M
ackenzie there, and then head back to my place to get ready. Alex shows up an hour early and I’m in a towel, fresh out of the shower. When I swing open the front door I can see his eyes darken with lust. Twenty minutes later the towel is on the floor in the front hall, his pants are at his ankles and I’m bent over the couch falling into a blissful orgasm.

  He keeps trying to fool around as I pack and get ready, even after the mind-blowing living room sex, so we end up getting to the airport with barely any time to spare. I’ve never been wanted the way Alex wants me. It’s so visceral, like he’s just instinctually attracted to me. It’s not a choice, it’s a requirement, like air and water and food. I feel the same way about him, which is why it’s so scary. I don’t have control over it.

  Len and everyone else taking the private plane to Maine are already there. They all greet us with warm smiles. Jessie is looking pregnant now, with a little yet distinct bump. I hug her and tell her she looks fantastic. “We had to alter the bridesmaid dress last second. I just picked it up at the tailor on our way here and haven’t even had a chance to try it on. I hope it fits. I feel like this kid is growing by a foot every day.”

  “Meanwhile over here I just look like I ate too many burritos,” Callie says and pulls her shirt tight against her own stomach. She’s right. She kind of just looks bloated.

  Devin walks over and pats her belly while giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry baby, you’ll be so big you can’t see your feet soon enough.”

  She punches him on the arm and he winces but laughs. I catch Alex watching everything from the back of the plane where he’s sipping a bottle of water. I can’t help but think he does that a lot, watches his teammates interact with their loved ones, like it’s a movie he wants to see but can’t be a part of. I get that. I was there too.