One More Shot (Hometown Players #1)

by Victoria Denault

  Mrs. Howlett nodded swiftly like she didn’t really care what this Jessie kid preferred and told her to take a seat next to me because that seat had been vacant since my best friend, Luc Richard, had moved to Quebec with his mom. I did not want a girl sitting next to me. At that point in life I believed girls were annoying. She didn’t even look at me—or anyone—when she took her seat, and I found that weird. Most girls stared at everyone and talked to everyone. All the time.

  Mrs. Howlett told us to take out our history books and, realizing she didn’t have a book yet, I slid mine over so it was over the crack where both our desks met. She finally looked up and I was shocked by her eyes. They’re green. I’d never seen eyes quite that color before. A pretty light green color. And I was a little weirded out that I just thought anything about a girl was pretty. But they were also sad. She looked like Devin did last summer when he came back from hockey camp in Massachusetts and Dad told him his hamster, Thor, had died. It was that sad look that actually made me talk to her. Not tease, but talk.

  “Do you watch hockey?” I whispered, asking her about the NHL because I had no idea what else to say.

  It was the first time I’d ever asked a girl about hockey. I fully expected her to stare blankly. When she did, then I wouldn’t feel so bad about ignoring her and her sad eyes.

  “I used to watch the Sacramento Storm when I lived in California. My dad played for them once.”

  I blinked. “That is so cool!”

  She smiled at my reaction but turned her sad eyes back to the textbook. I decided right then and there I’d be friends with a girl.

  I’d woken with a start, and my brain had automatically continued down memory lane—without my permission. I thought about how my mother had reacted when I told her about the new girl in school—the tears in her eyes when she realized it was Jennifer Caplan’s daughter. She told me Jessie’s mom had been her best friend when she was in high school. I remember all the times that first year my mom invited the girls over and how weird it was at first to have girls in the house. My mom had actually pulled out her old dolls and Barbies from when she was a kid and kept them in the corner of the den for the girls to play with—next to our Hot Wheels and Legos. I had sort of dreaded having them over—especially when Dad insisted we share the backyard skating rink with them. Callie and Rose hadn’t wanted to skate but Jessie did, and she volunteered to be goalie so my brothers and I could practice shooting. That’s when I started to invite her over instead of waiting for my mom to do it.

  When I fell asleep again, around three in the morning, I dreamed of her as a teenager. Of the way her hair got wavier and her hips curvier and her breasts fuller. Of the kind, patient way she would walk me through our English homework when I just wasn’t getting it. I never saw the deeper, profound meaning in the books we were forced to read, but Jessie always did. She was a straight-A student, and the only reason I barely pulled off Bs was because of her unofficial tutoring. When I woke up at six from a dream where I relived the way it felt to finally touch her—really touch her, be inside her with no barrier for the first time in my life—I gave up on sleep altogether.

  Now, already at the arena because I couldn’t stand to be alone with my thoughts anymore, I finish lacing my skates and pull a practice jersey on. My cell phone starts buzzing beside me on the bench and I stare down at it menacingly.

  Cole.

  That’s the second brother to call this morning. Devin had called earlier. And just like Devin’s call, Cole’s would go unanswered. I pick it up, hit the ignore button and carry it, along with my gloves, from the dressing room to the rink. Coach wants me to avoid deep conditioning until they know how the ankle will respond, but, with the frustrating night I’ve had, I need to feel useful. Skating full force across the ice a few hundred times and getting that puck to the net will accomplish that. I have to do it.

  I grab a couple pucks and toss them out on the ice, then I grab my stick and glide away from the boards.

  “Don’t even think about it, Forty-four.” Her voice echoes through the empty arena.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, and chop my stick against the ice. “You’re not supposed to be here for another hour.”

  She’s smiling triumphantly. “And if I didn’t know you so well I wouldn’t be.”

  “Jessie, it’s just a couple pucks in the net,” I start to rationalize.

  “I know,” she says with genuine sympathy. “But I have my orders and I have to follow them.”

  I sigh and toss the stick over the boards. She walks to the bench and calmly picks it up, propping it against the boards.

  “So what am I supposed to do? Skate in circles like a five-year-old?” I know I sound like a spoiled child on the verge of a tantrum.

  “Yes. Do you want me to get you a chair to push around for balance?” I glare at her and she stares right back, a bemused smile on her full, perfect lips.

  As I do my painfully slow laps, I watch her. She’s wearing yoga pants and a black long-sleeved running shirt. I can’t help but ogle her body. I’d spent the last few years searching for a body shaped as perfectly as hers and hadn’t been able to find it. I told myself it was because I’d been a horny, oversexed teenager and her body really hadn’t been as uniquely amazing as I’d remembered.

  But now I realize I was right all along. Her breasts are not large but work with her tiny frame, forming the perfect arc under her form-fitting top. She has just the right amount of curve to her hip and the roundest, tightest ass I have ever seen—even now after I have seen a lot of asses.

  I feel my dick twitch. Traitor.

  She pulls herself up and sits on the boards, her legs dangling over the ice.

  “Jordan! I want you to pick up some speed and come around the corner. I wanna know if there’s any discomfort.”

  I do what she asks.

  “I feel nothing,” I call out.

  She nods, pleased. “All the way to the other side of the ice. Go to the net full force and hit the brakes.”

  I follow instructions. Snow flies off my blades. I remember the copious amounts of snow jobs I used to give her when my brothers and I conned her into playing goalie for us on our backyard rink. I smile at the memory.

  “You’re smiling so I guess that means it feels good,” she calls out.

  I skate by her at mock speed. “Yeah…it feels good.”

  “Relax there, superstar,” she calls after me cautiously. “Lack of pain isn’t the only factor here.”

  I fly by the net at the other end and then stop as quick and hard as I can, then turn and start back toward her quickly again. She glances over her shoulder as I blur by and shouts, “Your phone is ringing!”

  I glide to a stop at center ice and watch her jump off the boards to pick up my iPhone. She smiles at the call display.

  “Let me guess, it’s Luc,” I call out.

  “Yeah!” She smiles. It’s the first good, old-fashioned Jessie smile I’ve seen, and I’m amazed at how it still squeezes my heart.

  “I’m not talking to him,” I announced, skating closer and gliding to a stop in front of her as she steps onto the ice.

  “What? Why not?”

  I look down at her as she stares up at me. My skates make me feel like a giant next to her. She seems ridiculously far away. I forgot that they did that. She tries to hand me the phone, but I shake my head and skate backward. She rolls her eyes and grabs the front of my jersey, stopping my escape.

  “Jordan.” She says my name pointedly like she used to when she was annoyed with me when we were kids. “Why aren’t you talking to Luc?”

  “Because of you,” I admit.

  Her green eyes blink and her hand lets go of my shirt. “Me?”

  I shrug, feeling a little self-conscious suddenly. “I know my brothers and Luc knew you were here, in Seattle, and they didn’t say a word.”

  Her pretty lips tighten into a line and she shakes her head. “Are you a six-year-old, or what?”

  “Admit it,” I urg
e harshly. “They knew, didn’t they?”

  “Yes. They knew.” Jessie says this quietly as she stares at my phone, which has finally stopped ringing.

  I let out an angry puff of air and fold my arms across my chest. “Yeah. Well, if they can’t be bothered to tell me important shit like that, then I can’t be bothered to waste my time talking to them.”

  She steps forward and glares at me. “I hate to break this to you, buddy, but they didn’t tell you because I explicitly said I didn’t want you to know.”

  “But I should’ve been told,” I argue. “And they’re my relatives.”

  “Why? It’s not like you missed me,” she snaps. As I open my mouth to speak, she raises her hand and cuts me off. “And don’t say you regret sleeping with me again. There is only so much my ego can take.”

  “I never said I regretted sleeping with you. God! I meant I regret hurting you afterward!” I bellow in frustration.

  I skate closer to her again. She turns her face away from me and stares at my phone still in her hands. When she looks back up, I see a hard look in her eyes.

  “I’m here for work,” she tells me firmly. “This isn’t the time or the place for this.”

  “So, have dinner with me tonight.”

  She looks at me like I have lost my mind. “No.”

  “Okay, have a drink with me.”

  “No.”

  “Coffee?”

  “No.”

  “So, how are we going to talk about this?” I ask, feeling desperate.

  “We’re not, Jordan,” she says quietly, but there’s conviction in her voice. “I’m glad you regret it. It means there is still a little bit of that guy who was my best friend left in there somewhere. But the fact is…it’s been years, Jordy. Years. And…”

  “And that’s why I’m so mad at everyone,” I interrupt, taking the phone from her hand. My fingers purposefully graze her wrist and palm. “Because if they had just told me you were right here…”

  “It wouldn’t have made a difference,” she states, all businesslike and closed off. “Let’s get the skate off and see how your ankle is doing.”

  I want to say something. I want to keep talking, but she turns and marches that perky butt off the ice and through the tunnel to the Winterhawks’ empty locker room.

  I follow her and when we reach the locker room, I walk over to my designated space and pull off my jersey because it’s a little damp with sweat. I’m not shirtless, I’m still wearing the spandex Under Armour shirt, but Jessie turns a little pink as she looks at me. It makes me want to smile. I sit on the bench under my nameplate and bend forward to unlace my skate.

  After I pull my foot free and yank off my sock, Jessie crouches in front of me. Her reddish brown hair creates a curtain around her face, so I can’t see what she’s doing. I lean back, close my eyes and concentrate on the feel of her tiny but strong fingers as they probe my muscles and explore the mobility in my joints.

  “You know, what’s really got them freaked out is how angry this incision still looks,” Jessie says softly.

  My eyes flutter open and I see her gazing up at me. She pulls a jar out of her bag and opens it. Inside is a weird-looking greenish paste. I raise my eyebrows skeptically.

  “It’s a mixture of cucumber, tea tree oil, lemon juice and Indian gooseberry,” she tells me as she scoops a little onto her finger and rubs it onto my scar. “It’ll calm the skin and tissue around the scar and help it heal.”

  I say nothing, just concentrate on her hand sliding across my leg, wishing it would move upward. Jessie always had the best hands. She used to rub my shoulders and neck after practices if I was stiff and do this weird hand massage thing that would feel so fucking good. At seventeen she liked to practice methods from a reflexology book Callie had gotten her for her birthday and I was her willing guinea pig.

  “I miss your massages,” I can’t help but mumble.

  I see her smiling when I glance down. “I can still give you one, but now you have to pay for it. I’m a professional and everything.”

  I laugh.

  Jessie finishes applying the cream and hands me the jar. “Put this on after every shower and before bed. By the time your team gets back, it should look much better, and maybe they won’t be so nervous about playing you.”

  She stands up. “I have to head back to Sea-Tac. I have another patient in half an hour. After your shower I want you to go to the training room and do the stretches I gave you. Nothing else. No cardio. Just the stretches. Okay?”

  I nod and watch her go, then start pulling off the rest of my clothes. I’m in nothing but my boxer briefs when Jessie comes charging back in. She sees me standing there half naked and covers her face with her hands.

  “Sorry! Oh my God! Sorry!” She turns to face the door. “I forgot my bag!”

  I grab her knapsack and walk up to her, putting my hand on her shoulder to turn her around. She’s still got her face buried in her hands. This makes me laugh.

  “Jessie, I’ve been interviewed wearing less,” I assure her, and then pause, biting my lower lip for a second, trying not to let my smile grow. “And Lord knows you’ve seen me in less.”

  Her fingers part and I see her pretty green eyes peeking through. Her hands slowly drop and she reaches for the knapsack. She’s less than half a foot away and I feel this need to reach out and pull her closer, pull her body against mine and press my lips to hers…

  My phone buzzes from the bench behind me, making us both jump a little.

  Before I can react or realize what the hell she’s doing, she charges around me and grabs the phone off the bench. She smiles at the call display and punches a button.

  “Hi, Devin! It’s Jessie. How are you?”

  I groan and roll my eyes, collapsing in defeat onto the bench.

  “Well, it’s a funny story. I’m treating him. Yeah. I know. Right? How’s the baby? Ashleigh? That’s great. Yeah, he’s right here, but he’s acting like a giant infant. I know. Some things never change. Okay. Sure. Yeah. Hold on.”

  She covers the phone with her palm and knocks my shoulder. I look up at her.

  “Talk to your brother.”

  “Nope.” I sigh loudly but take the phone from her hand.

  She smiles triumphantly and grabs her knapsack. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Hey,” I mutter into the phone as I watch that perfect ass disappear out the door again.

  “She’s your physical therapist now?” Devin asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Are you getting rubdowns from her?”

  “Did you know she was in Seattle and not tell me?” I change the subject, my tone the polar opposite of his.

  The laughter gone from his voice, Devin says, “I just found out like a month ago, I swear. And Luc said she didn’t want you to know.”

  “But I wanted to know!”

  “Really, Jordy?” Devin says. To my surprise, there is surprise in his voice.

  “What does that mean?” I demand.

  “You haven’t exactly been…lonely,” he reminds me in his calm, factual way. “And you haven’t mentioned her. You knew she was in Arizona. Did you ever try to contact her?”

  “Yeah. Once.”

  “Once? So what about all the other women?” Once it’s clear that I’m not going to answer him, Devin continues speaking. “Okay, whatever. It seems like you guys found each other again, despite everything. That’s what’s important.”

  “It’s not that simple,” I admit gruffly.

  “It never is,” he replies, then sighs audibly. “Listen, bro, don’t get bitchy with us, okay? We are on your side. I promise.”

  “Fine. Whatever.”

  I hang up. So that’s why my family hadn’t bothered to tell me Jessie and I were living in the same city? Because I slept around? Is that what her problem is too? Was I supposed to be a fucking monk after she rejected me? Is this worth it? All this bullshit…is she worth it? I take a deep calming breath. Yeah. She is.

  Chap
ter 13

  Jessie

  I hang up my office phone just as my text message notification dings on my cell.

  “Okay, so who hasn’t called you today?” Tori asks with a smile.

  “My family is having a meltdown,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I apologize.”

  What I don’t tell her is that not only have Callie and Rose called and texted me, but Devin, Luc and Donna have as well. All this because I answered Jordan’s phone the other day.

  “I hope everything is okay.”

  “Yeah. Everything is peachy. My family’s just crazy.”

  Tori glances at her watch and groans. “T-minus ten minutes until the manwhore.”

  I smile tightly and nod. Tori pulls out her purse and starts digging for the makeup bag she now carries constantly and applies at work. I don’t know why she does it, but I still don’t wear makeup at work so it kind of makes me feel like the ugly stepsister.

  “So, I went to the Warren,” she blurts out as she finishes applying lip gloss.

  “The what?”

  “Warren. It’s a message board where puck bunnies send stories and pictures of hookups with NHL players,” Tori clarifies, and stands up, holding her makeup bag and a brush.

  “Because bunnies live in warrens. Clever,” I remark wryly.

  “Oh, puck sluts are nothing if not clever…and gossipy, hence the site.” She pauses. “Did you know there are more stories posted about Jordan than any other player in the league?”

  “No, I didn’t know.” I feel kind of nauseous about this information. “I’ve never been to the website.”

  “You have to be a member to see anything. And they don’t let just everyone sign up,” she says, leaning back in her chair and putting her feet up on her desk.

  I raise an eyebrow at her. “But they let you sign up, I take it?”

  She nods sheepishly and then smiles. “What can I say? I was curious. And they post information about what bars players like to hang out in and what hotels teams use on road trips. When I signed up it was because I wanted to meet a player…or two…or ten.”

  I give her a rueful head shake, but I’m smiling despite myself. Tori’s expression changes and the sheepishness is replaced by something gloomier. “But then I met one and realized the puck bunny wasn’t for me.”