Kane (Face-Off Series Book 2)

by Jillian Quinn

  “You have to report for practice at the Flyers Skate Zone in Voorhees, New Jersey at the end of the week. I rented you an apartment, about thirty minutes away in Philly, from an agent who owns a few properties on the waterfront. I’ll text you the address. After we hang up, my office will give you a call to work out the details, and I’ll make sure someone is at the apartment to meet you with the keys. Since you already live like a drifter, I doubt you have much to pack, but I arranged for a moving company to help you with your transition. The movers will be at your apartment at nine a.m. tomorrow. Make sure you’re awake. No more bullshit, Alex. You’re twenty-seven years old. It’s time to grow up and act like an adult.”

  The girl next to me removes her hand from her face, and I slide off the bed, holding on to the table next to me for support.

  “Thanks, Mick,” I say, somewhat panicked. “I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

  “Hi,” the girl says in a playful tone.

  She looks about as old as she sounds, which isn’t very comforting, though I can see why I took her to bed. She has legs for days and perky tits.

  “What’s the rush, Alex?” She pushes her blonde strands behind her ear and bites down on her bottom lip.

  I’m standing naked in front of this girl, contemplating whether I want to make use of those nice full lips, until she says, “We have time. My roommate won’t be home until later.”

  That’s when I look at the other side of the room and see the same twin-size bed with a computer desk and chest of drawers, confirming I am in a dorm room.

  Fuck!

  I start to look for my clothes as I say to the girl, “How old are you?” I hold my breath, hoping that she’s not jailbait. The last thing I need is another scandal.

  “I’ll be nineteen in a few weeks, remember? You told me last night that you would come to my birthday party and bring some of your teammates.”

  I have to stop drinking.

  I shake my head, relieved that she’s legal. “Sorry, but that’s not going to happen. I won’t be here in a few weeks. This was a mistake. Forget that I was ever here.”

  I find my fitted gray shirt on the floor in front of her computer desk along with my boxer briefs, jeans, and sneakers. After dressing faster than I thought possible, I fix my shaggy brown hair, looking in the mirror next to her closet, and reach for the entrance door, about to escape this disaster, when something soft hits me on the back of the head. A pillow falls on the floor next to my shoe. When I look over my shoulder, the naked girl is holding up both of her middle fingers.

  “Go to hell, Alex! Get the fuck out of my room!”

  “Don’t need to tell me twice,” I mumble as I open the door with a wave in her direction before closing it behind me.

  I feel a bit of relief until it hits me that I’m on a college campus, and I’m standing in a crowded hallway full of young girls. Based on their surprised looks, some of them know who I am. This is an all-time low.

  Disgusted with myself, I keep my eyes pointed toward the floor until I get outside, avoiding the stares from those around me. I sift through the throng, all while dodging young girls who want me and boys who are whispering my name. Some of them have their cell phones aimed in my direction.

  This is just my luck.

  “Is that Alex Parker?” a boy says, his finger pointing at me as I walk past.

  “Can’t be,” says another boy.

  “I heard he fucked Jason’s girlfriend.”

  “I heard he fucked this chick in my Bio class.”

  Bad news travels fast.

  At twenty-seven years old, I never thought I’d be doing the walk of shame out of a college dormitory. I also never thought I would destroy my career with a one-night stand in an elevator.

  Once I make it through the herd, I glance up at the six-story building, my hand pressing to my forehead to shield my eyes from the sunlight.

  Where am I?

  The amount of students flowing in and out of the place, some of them staring at me with curiosity, makes me want to bolt off this fucking campus. But my head and body are throbbing in unison, and whatever strength I might’ve had today was probably spent on the girl I just ditched.

  I take a seat on a ledge to my right, blocking the sun from my face, as I pull my phone from my pocket. Using the GPS on my phone, I zoom in to get a better look at the streets and realize I am at Georgetown University. At least I know where I am. The who and the why are the parts of last night I am missing.

  I can’t believe this is happening.

  I tap my location and details into the Uber app and wait, praying they will be on time.

  A large group—six boys and seven girls, all varying heights, skin tones, and builds—stops when one boy with spiked blond hair comes to a halt about twenty feet from me and points in my direction.

  He slaps the husky dark-haired guy next to him on the arm. “Holy shit, man, look.” His voice is so loud, it carries through the air.

  His friend’s eyes flicker with acknowledgment, a wide grin forming. They stroll toward me, the clear leaders of their group, judging by the way the rest of them follow behind.

  I could walk away, but what difference would that make? It’s not like I don’t have fans coming up to me for autographs all the time. And I’m not one of those asshole players who refuses to give them out. But I can’t let them know why I’m here.

  How the hell do I explain this? Uh, I was just boning some chick who lives here. Didn’t catch her name. The papers would love that.

  Flanked by his companions and looking like a complete douche, the blond fixes his collared pastel shirt and tilts his head up at me in some lame attempt to look cool. “You Alex Parker?”

  “Yep, that’s me.”

  “I thought so,” he says, pleased. “You’ve been all over the news today. Everyone on campus has been talking about you.”

  “Yeah, I got traded to Philly.”

  His interrogation annoys me. Just ask me to sign something already and move on.

  I stand when I see the car pulling up to the curb behind them. The blond opens his mouth wide enough to catch flies. He’s at least six inches shorter than me, and he must weigh about eighty pounds less, except I’m solid muscle and he’s nothing but a sack of bones. A few of the girls giggle and flash bright smiles, their lips parting as I wink at them.

  He laughs as he pushes his cell phone in front of me and then hits the play button. “Nah, that’s not what everyone is talking about.”

  I glance down at the screen, shocked by the video of me carrying two half-naked girls over my shoulders and into the dormitory. “Shit,” I mutter.

  In the video, it’s dark outside, but there’s enough light from the exterior of the building to see all our faces perfectly. Neither of them is the same girl I woke up next to. One has long auburn hair and killer curves, and the other is a smoking-hot chick with short dark hair and huge tits.

  What. The. Fuck?

  This must’ve been all the team owner needed to make his decision about the trade. He had already been adamant about getting rid of me after his granddaughter, who’d lied about her age, went blabbing her mouth, and this footage probably sent him over the edge.

  “You’re my hero, bro,” the husky boy says. “How many chicks did you bag last night? Seriously, teach me your ways. I’m a fast learner.”

  I don’t remember the girls or how I ended up here. Was I drugged?

  That’s doubtful but not completely off base. Some chicks will do anything to become a famous athlete’s baby mama. I must’ve blacked out. That happens a lot—more times than I care to admit.

  I smirk and ignore his question. “My ride is here. Gotta go.”

  Sidestepping around them, I inch my way through the crowd and hop into the car, thankful it showed up on time. A few more minutes with those guys, and I would’ve had to deal with the grand inquisition about last night. I give the driver my address, and he sets off toward the apartment I share with my former teammates—f
ormer being the operative word as of twenty minutes ago.

  My phone rings, the sound of a hockey goal horn filling the silent air in the car. The driver jumps at the intrusion and presses his hand to his chest. It’s an abrupt ringtone, but it does the job when I’m too shit-faced or in a drunken coma and need to be woken up. I already knew this call was coming, and when I see that it’s my publicist, Rebecca Stone, I have to answer.

  “Hey, sweetheart. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Pleasure?” she screams. “No, this is not a fucking pleasure, Alex! What is wrong with you?” A beat passes between us, and then she continues, “Have you seen YouTube yet? Better yet, have you seen the news? They’re calling this one Puck of Shame. You really dug yourself a grave this time. I’m done. I can’t help you anymore. You’re—”

  I interrupt, trying to keep my cool as she lays into me, “What do you mean, you’re done? You’re done when I say you’re done. You work for me.”

  Rebecca laughs, and it’s a cackle that reminds me of the Wicked Witch. “I work for you because you pay me, you little prick. You need to find yourself a new publicist. I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” She groans and slams something down that makes a crashing sound. “I’m over here, breaking out in stress hives from you and this bullshit you pulled at that campus. Of all the schools, you had to pick one as prestigious as Georgetown? You’re lucky the dean wants this to go away as much as the rest of us. After this, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

  “Yes, there is. You can do your job, Becs.”

  “I want triple my normal fee. No one will touch you with a ten-foot pole. You’re a PR nightmare!”

  There’s no sense in denying the truth. I’ve been driving her crazy for the past year. On one occasion, I even tried to seduce Rebecca to keep her on my team, thinking that a cougar like her wouldn’t turn down a young hockey star. That plan backfired and was more embarrassing for me than it was for her.

  “Fine,” I agree. “Whatever you want.”

  “You need to get some help, Alex. I’m telling you this as a friend and not as your publicist. I know you haven’t taken your father’s death well, and I don’t blame you, but you need to clean up your act. Even with my connections, there’s only so much I can do for you. At some point, you’re going to have to help yourself.”

  “Thanks, Becs.” I pause and hold the phone away from my ear to check the caller ID, showing an incoming call from DMG—Donoghue Media Group, the company Mickey founded after college. What now? “Look, I gotta go. Mickey’s on the other line. I owe you one.”

  “You owe me more than one,” she says before ending the call.

  If there’s one thing she’s right about, it’s that I need to get back on track. A midseason trade to Philadelphia should be a wake-up call. Instead, it’s making me want a drink.

  PARKER is available now!

  Read PARKER for FREE with Kindle Unlimited.

  CITY OF SINNERS SERIES

  If you like professor-student romances, keep reading for a free excerpt of TEACH, the first book in the City of Sinners Series.

  TEACH is available now!

  Read TEACH for FREE with Kindle Unlimited.

  Mark Montgomery cares about two things—getting laid and getting paid. He's cocky, confident, sexy-as-sin, and counting down the last few months of college before he can begin his professional baseball career. But there are things Mark must do to survive until his big payday, questionable activities that could get him killed.

  He doesn't want to rope anyone into his mess, especially not Olivia Ford, the woman he takes home from the club, a sexy lawyer who turns out to be his Law and Ethics professor. Their new relationship changes everything. But Mark won’t take no for an answer. Olivia can fight him all she wants, but Mark is the one who will be teaching her a lesson. In her classroom. Bent over her office desk. On the hood of his car.

  Mark is more than a dirty talker who’s good in bed and can throw a ball, but what he does on the side is the one thing that could tear them apart and expose their forbidden relationship to the world.

  TEACH EXCERPT

  CHAPTER ONE

  OLIVIA

  “You can do this,” I mutter. I suck in a deep breath, trying to psych myself up so that I can make it through one more night of work. Except it’s not just one more night. I have repeated the same mantra to myself for months now, and this job never gets easier.

  Staring into the mirror, I hate the person I see—a woman with long fake lashes, too much makeup caked on her face, and a short black wig that itches her head, forcing her to scratch so hard that she looks like a dog who has fleas. None of it is mine; all of it is a facade to lure customers into the club. I hate that I have to work at Club Rave, offering my body to men, shaking my ass for a few dollars. But I’ve chosen this lifestyle as a temporary means to make money.

  The bass thumps through the club, and even in the dressing room, the music vibrates beneath my five-inch heels. Each girl has their own vanity that they use to get ready, but tonight, the boss called in a few extras to entertain a private party, and now, we’re forced to share. On nights like these, the claws come out, and the girls have been known to fight over something as stupid as using the last of the hair spray.

  “Liv,” Donna says from behind me, “we’re on in five. Hurry up. I need to put my face on. Courtney won’t move her ass until she’s slathered on another five layers of concealer, and I have bags under my eyes that make me look like a zombie from The Walking Dead.”

  I don’t see a thing. She is gorgeous and has the body of a goddess. But her looks are not her best feature. Men like her because of her spitfire personality that matches what they see on the outside.

  Her long, dark strands, also as fake as mine, sit above her large breasts that are practically falling out of a sexy referee costume. Most of the girls wear wigs to protect their identities. Donna just so happens to be the daughter of a successful banker in town who would go ballistic if he knew what she did for a living. Unlike me, Donna dances because she likes it. She loves when men throw themselves at her; she even gets off on it.

  We became friends after only one night at the club. I was nervous about dancing in spandex and a crop top in front of strange men, and Donna did everything in her power to make me comfortable.

  I look at her reflection in the mirror and laugh, shaking my head at her ridiculousness. “You look great, as always. Stop fishing for compliments.”

  “But it’s true. I’ve been dragging ass this whole week. I’ll be lucky if I don’t break a heel and face-plant on the bar.”

  I remove a tube of red lipstick from the makeup case on the vanity in front of me. “That’s because you choose to run out for your late-night booty calls with Tony whenever he beckons you.”

  “If you saw the size of him, you’d run right over, too. Trust me.” She places her hands on my shoulders, winks at me, and squeezes down hard enough to cause me to slump in my chair. “You need to get laid, babe. When was the last time you had a good dicking?”

  I burst into laughter. “Dicking? Where do you come up with this shit?”

  She proceeds to make an O with her left thumb and index finger and then sticks her right index finger through the middle, sliding it back and forth at a fast pace, her eyes wide open with a goofy smile splayed on her face. “This is what you need to do before your vagina dries up like the Sahara.” Donna moves to the side of my chair, leans against the vanity, and bends down, as if looking under my skirt.

  I roll my eyes. “What are you doing, weirdo?”

  “Checking for cobwebs.” A smile reaches up to her deep brown eyes, but she holds back her laughter, her face giving away nothing.

  I swat at her arm, but she moves in just enough time, causing me to smack my hand on the edge of the counter. “Damn you. Shut up, and go get ready. We don’t have time to discuss my love life, or lack thereof.”

  “I’m only trying to help. As your breast friend, it is my duty to mak
e sure you stop moping around and find some action. A one-night stand would do you some good.”

  She has a point, but I don’t bother to acknowledge her comment. It has been far too long since my last boyfriend. I’ve finally gotten to the point where I dated so many losers in a row that I gave up on the idea of finding anyone normal in this city. My last boyfriend stole my car and wrecked it, and the one before had a drinking problem.

  Propping her leg up on my chair, she laces up the black leather boots that cover her pale legs and stop mid thigh, accentuating her killer curves. “Is that what you’re wearing out there?” She sets her foot on the floor and moves closer, her eyes traveling down my body in disapproval. “You have to take that off.”

  I slide the red lipstick along my lips and blot with a tissue from the box next to my makeup case. “Why? What’s wrong with what I have on? I wear this every Thursday.”

  “Not this week. Bruno said you had to wear the gray skirt and top tonight. Ya know, the sexy-teacher outfit.” She points at the opposite end of the room, her finger landing on Kerry, who is wearing the same schoolgirl outfit as me.

  Guess I missed the memo.

  Bruno will kill me if I go onstage in the same costume as another dancer.

  I glance in the mirror, checking my makeup one more time, and run a glossy shimmer along my bottom lip before smacking them together. “Whatever Bruno wants.” I stand with my hand held out, motioning toward my chair. “Go ahead. You should finish up here. I’ll get changed, and then I’ll see you in the VIP room.”

  “Perfect.” She plops down on the leather chair. “I’m right behind you. Break a leg.”

  After I change, I walk down the creepy back hallway. In the dimly lit space, the lumpy red wallpaper reminds me of coagulated blood. The lack of ventilation along with the mold and whatever is festering inside the walls and drop ceiling make it hard to breathe.

  At the end of the hall, opposite our dressing room, I open the door to the VIP room and suck in a deep breath, taking in the dense air and the stench of sweaty bodies. Purple lights illuminate the mirrored walls and ceiling, casting shadows of the men who are sitting on couches scattered throughout the large, open room and standing around the bar that runs along the right side.