Playing His Part: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 7)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  "After all the shit you gave Banky about the girl he knocked up, you turn around and marry some fucking stranger because you're helping her out? Shit. Unreal."

  Ben leveled a cold glare in Nathan's direction. "She's not a stranger. And this is just temporary."

  "Temporary?" Kyle's soft voice was filled with disbelief. "Leach, marriage isn't temporary. It's supposed to be long-term. Like, a life sentence."

  "Yeah, well—not this one." No, neither one of them had discussed the details. They hadn't discussed any details, something Ben was already realizing had been a serious flaw in the game plan. But this wasn't a permanent thing. It couldn't be. And Natalie wouldn't expect it to be, either. No sane person would.

  Nathan grabbed his drink then leaned back in the chair. He held the glass in front of him, his gaze focused on Ben for a long minute. He finally shook his head, drained the glass, and slammed it on the table in front of him. "I think you've had your head bounced against the ice one too many times."

  "And I think maybe you just need to mind your own fucking business."

  Nathan waved his hand in front of him, like he was batting away an annoying insect. "Whatever. I still don't get why you're down here when it's your fucking wedding night."

  Because being down here was safer. Because being down here kept him from doing something even more asinine than getting married. Because being down here kept him away from temptation.

  Ben didn't say any of that out loud. He couldn't, not to the three men still watching him. Instead, he just shrugged, like he didn't have a care in the world. "I told you, it's not that kind of marriage."

  "No?" A wide grin spread across Nathan's face as he leaned forward once more. "Then why are you ignoring Tiff? She's been drooling after you ever since you walked in."

  "Tiff?" The name clicked as soon as he said it. Tiffany. Their waitress. The same one he'd taken back to his suite their first night here.

  Ben turned in the chair then sat back as the woman in question headed their way. Her dark eyes met his, excitement flashing in their depths as her mouth parted in a tempting smile. And it was tempting. All he had to do was smile back. Give her a slight nod. Invite her back—

  Except he couldn't. There was no place to invite her back to.

  Because he was married.

  And his wife was upstairs. In his suite.

  Ben turned back to the guys and shook his head. "I don't think—"

  "You gentlemen ready for another round?" Tiff's smoky voice wrapped around him as a small hand rested on his shoulder. Ben looked up, only a little surprised that she had made it over to their table so fast. Even less surprised that her delicate hand drifted from his shoulder up to his neck and started playing with the ends of his hair.

  Nathan sat back in the chair, a sly grin on his face. "I think he's ready for something but it's not a drink."

  "I don't—"

  "Is that so?" Tiff leaned closer, the creamy skin of her full breasts inches from his mouth. Ben swallowed and tried to move back but there was nowhere for him to go, especially when Tiff lowered her ass to his lap and wiggled against him. "Then I guess I have perfect timing because my shift just ended."

  Ben placed his hand against the swell of her hip, tried to ease her off his lap. "I don't think—"

  The woman leaned closer, her warm breath fanning his mouth. "Thinking is overrated anyway."

  Yes. Yes, it was. And what the hell was his problem? Three nights ago, he'd been all over the woman. Nothing had changed, there was no reason for him to keep trying to put more space between them and ease her from his lap.

  Except everything had changed. He was married. And maybe it wasn't a real fucking marriage but he still couldn't bring himself to take Tiff up on her offer. Not now. Maybe another time, after he had a chance to talk to Natalie, to work out the details and go over the expectations they each had for this stupid fucking arrangement. But until then—

  He turned his head to the side, just missing the kiss she'd been aiming at his mouth. "This really isn't—"

  "Hi. Um, sorry. I don't mean to interrupt." The soft voice washed over Ben with the power of ice-cold water. He lurched to the side, dislodging the woman from his lap and nearly falling from the chair himself.

  His gaze shot to the other woman standing two feet away. Thick blonde hair glinted red in the dim lights of the bar and he couldn't be sure, but he thought a faint blush tinged the cheeks of her oval face. The cream-colored dress he'd had delivered to her earlier today was gone, replaced by a loose off-the-shoulder sweater in a dusty rose that exposed the pale skin of her arm. Faded jeans clung to the curves of her hips, the tattered material fitting her long legs like a glove before ending just above her ankles. Brightly painted toenails peeked out from the sparkling sandals on her feet. Ben had just enough time to notice the sterling silver ring on the middle toe of her right foot before his gaze shot back up to her face.

  Green eyes the color of moss met his. And in their depths he saw—not anger. Not surprise. Disappointment? Maybe. He couldn't be sure because she blinked and whatever he thought he saw in their depths disappeared.

  Ben jumped to his feet, heat filling his face. "Natalie. I—"

  "I didn't mean to interrupt," she said again. Her gaze darted to the three men seated around the table then went back to his. "I locked myself out of the room. I was wondering if I could use your key."

  "I—" Ben's mouth snapped shut. Opened. Snapped shut again. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the key card. "Yeah. I'll go up with you."

  Natalie reached out with one slender hand and deftly pulled the card from his numb fingers. Her clear gaze shot to the waitress who was still standing next to him, her hand wrapped possessively around his arm. She turned back to Ben and offered him a bright smile.

  "No need. I see you're busy." Then she spun on her heel and walked away, her hips gently swaying back and forth.

  The silence that fell around them with her departure was suddenly broken by a low whistle. Nathan, he thought, but he couldn't be sure.

  "Who was that?"

  Ben finally shook himself free of the paralysis that had seized him the moment he heard Natalie's voice. He brushed Tiff's hand from his arm but otherwise didn't move. Didn't bother looking at his teammates.

  And he didn't chase after Natalie—no matter how much he wanted to.

  "That was my wife."

  Chapter Three

  "I'm not going with you." Natalie repeated the words for the tenth time, a little louder this time. If people heard her, fine, she didn't care anymore—not when the one person who should hear her wasn't even listening. It was like he had completely tuned her out, ignoring her objections every single time she voiced them. No, not ignoring. He heard her just fine—he just didn't care.

  And she had no idea why.

  They were in the lobby of the bustling airport, in between ticket counters. To her left, she could see the counter for the airline she was taking back to New York—where she lived. Off to her right was the counter for another airline, the one Ben was taking to Baltimore before driving back to wherever he lived in Pennsylvania.

  And for some unknown reason that made no sense to her, he was insisting she fly back with him.

  He readjusted his grip on the duffle bag then leaned closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear it. Was it a sign of his growing impatience, or merely an attempt to keep his teammates from overhearing him? Probably both.

  "Going back to your place defeats the purpose of this whole charade."

  Charade. He meant their marriage, of course. And the word shouldn't bother her—it was the truth, after all—but for some reason, it did. No, their marriage wasn't real, not even close—last night had driven that point home, when she'd found Ben in the bar with that woman draped across his lap. Natalie had no reason to be upset about that—but she was. And being upset about it only made her angry at herself. They were married in name only, with no expectations and no commitments to each other.
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  But it had been their wedding night. The least he could have done was pretend to spend it with her, instead of leaving her by herself while he went off to be with some other woman.

  Even if he did insist nothing happened.

  Maybe it did. Maybe it didn't. She shouldn't care. She was trying not to care. But oh God, this whole thing was turning out to be more complicated than she thought it would be.

  And Ben's insistence that she go back home—to his home, with him—was only making it worse.

  She glanced behind Ben, her gaze sweeping across the three men standing several feet away. All three of them were pretending not to pay attention—and failing miserably. Natalie swallowed back a groan of frustration and lowered her voice before facing her husband.

  "But I live in New York. My apartment is there." Such as it was, just a tiny studio apartment she could barely afford in the East Village. "All my things are there."

  "And don't you think that's the first place your ex is going to go to find you when he gets out of jail?"

  A chill swept over her at the reminder. Ben was probably right. Spending a few nights or even weeks as a guest of the Las Vegas police wouldn't do much to calm Brandon down. If anything, he'd probably be more furious. And yes, he'd probably come looking for her—especially since she was the reason he was currently sitting in jail. But she had a few days at least, probably more than that because even if Brandon was able to make bail, he'd have a hard time coming up with the money to make it back to New York—especially since she had made sure the money he did have was gone.

  That gave her plenty of time for her to find another crappy apartment.

  And another dead-end job.

  Somewhere.

  The temptation to take Ben up on his offer grew stronger but she ruthlessly pushed it away. Taking him up on his offer is what got them to this point in the first place—taking things even further would border on insanity.

  Right. Because impulsively marrying an almost-stranger wasn't insane enough.

  Natalie shook her head, more to convince herself than anything else, and motioned to her small suitcase. "All of my things are in New York."

  Ben opened his mouth. Closed it. Reached up and ran a hand along his stubbled jaw. She was standing so close, she could hear the rasp of whiskers against his callused palm and smell the faint scent of the soap he had used a few hours ago. Something with a woodsy-herbal scent. Clean. Masculine. She ground her back teeth together and told herself to stop being so foolish. She didn't care what he smelled like, didn't need to remember sitting on the plush sofa in his suite while listening to him take a shower and wondering what he looked like standing under the water, completely naked.

  "—stuff?"

  Natalie blinked, heat filling her face when she realized she had completely missed everything he just said. "What?"

  "I said, how much stuff?"

  "How much? You mean, back home?" She exhaled an impatient sigh and once again motioned to her suitcase. "Everything! My clothes. My furniture and books. My camera equipment. My...my—" Her voice drifted off when the reality of how little she actually had slammed into her. The few pieces of furniture she owned were second-hand, maybe even third-hand, and nothing she'd be desperate to take with her if not for the fact that she couldn't afford anything else. The books could fit into a suitcase. The clothes in another. But none of that made a difference. So what if she didn't have a lot? What she had was hers, she wasn't about to abandon it. Especially when she couldn't afford to replace it.

  Ben watched her for a long minute, those deep eyes betraying absolutely nothing. He pursed his lips, released a heavy sigh, then glanced back at his teammates for a quick second before turning back to her.

  "Fine. We'll go back to your place, pack up what we can, then train back tonight. I can make arrangements for a moving company to get everything else."

  Natalie heard the words but her mind was having trouble understanding them. She blinked. Blinked again. Finally got out the only word she could think of. "What?"

  "You heard me." He started to turn away but she grabbed his arm and held him in place.

  "Why?" It was an open-ended question that could mean a lot of things. Why was he so insistent? Why did he want her to go back with him? Why was he doing all of this?

  Why did he even care?

  That was what she didn't understand: why did he even care? She hadn't known him all those years ago, when she'd been friends with his sister for that one summer, but she remembered enough about him to recall his arrogance. The way he held himself apart from everyone else. His in-your-face attitude, like he was always one second away from flipping off the entire world. Natalie didn't think he'd changed that much, at least not with the attitude she remembered, which made this whole thing even more confusing.

  Why did he care?

  Instead of giving her a real answer, Ben just looked at her and shrugged. "We're married, right?"

  "Not really, no."

  Something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes a second before he leaned down, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath brush across her cheek.

  "Make no mistake, sweetheart. Those vows were the real thing. Just like that marriage license in my bag is the real thing."

  Anger swept through her, forcing the words from her mouth before she could think better of it. "Really? Is that why you spent our wedding night with another woman?"

  The heat that had flashed in his eyes seconds ago was gone, quickly replaced by a cold blankness that left her chilled. She wished she could take the words back because they made it sound like she cared—and she didn't. And she could only pray that he hadn't heard the quiver of pain that laced those words, pain she didn't understand and didn't want to acknowledge.

  Ben stepped back, his voice still low enough that only she could hear. "I told you: nothing happened."

  Did he believe him? Yes—but only because he'd come back to the suite fifteen minutes after she'd left the bar. If anything had happened, it would have been the world's fastest quickie—and she couldn't see Ben Leach trying to claim that record. Unless he was a totally selfish bastard in bed, which he very well might be.

  And she needed to stop thinking like that. Needed to stop thinking of him in that way. Maybe they were married on paper, but that was it. Nothing was going to happen.

  Nothing could happen.

  If he had any inkling of her internal struggles, he gave no sign of it—something Natalie was grateful for. He dropped his duffel bag next to her small suitcase then turned away. "Wait here."

  "Why?"

  He turned back with an impatient sigh. "Because I need to tell the guys what's going on, that's why. Now just...wait here."

  She watched him walk away. Actually thought about turning around and leaving. She might be able to make it to the security line before he noticed. No, she couldn't do that—he'd definitely catch up with her. Or maybe not. He didn't have a ticket for her flight, he'd have to stand in line at the counter to get one. Maybe the flight was full and he wouldn't even be able to get a ticket. Yes, that's what she needed to hope for.

  Because she still couldn't believe he was going to fly to New York with her. Still couldn't believe that he expected her to just pick up and move to Pennsylvania. The idea was ludicrous. Insane.

  Just as insane as the fact that he'd married her.

  She was still standing in the exact same spot when Ben returned. A muscle clenched in his jaw as he leaned down for his duffle and she felt the anger rolling off him. Anger at her? No, not her. Not this time, anyway.

  She glanced at the three men still standing a few yards away, noticed a similar expression of anger on one of their faces. No, not anger—more like total disbelief mixed with a little impatience. She tamped back her sudden concern and turned to Ben.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing." He tossed his duffle bag over his shoulder then curled his free hand around her other arm. "Come on, let's go."

  "But—"


  "I still need to get my ticket."

  "But—"

  "Coach is going to have your ass if you're late for practice in the morning." The warning came from one of the men behind them. Natalie turned to see who it was but the three men were already walking away—which meant they happened to miss Ben flipping them off behind his back.

  She bit back a smile at the gesture—it was exactly like something his younger self would have done—then lengthened her stride to keep up with his long legs. "What did he mean by that?"

  "Nothing."

  "It was obviously something. Are you going to get into trouble? Are you supposed to be somewhere else?"

  "Not until tomorrow morning."

  "What's tomorrow morning?"

  "Practice."

  "Oh." They finally reached the ticket line, which gave her a chance to catch her breath. "What time is practice?"

  "We have to be on the ice at nine."

  Natalie did some quick math in her head, making sure to adjust for the time difference. If the flight left on time, they wouldn't land until just after seven tonight. Then they'd have to catch a cab into the city, then the subway. Then pack—

  "Ben, this isn't a good idea. It's going to be too late." She moved forward with the line, pushing her suitcase ahead of her with the toe of her sandal. He tossed her a quiet look she didn't quite understand then stepped forward.

  "It'll be fine."

  "But it won't. You should just go with your teammates. I can go home—"

  "Where your ex will find you. Or where you'll disappear without a trace. Right?"

  Natalie started to deny it, closed her mouth on the words before they could fall from her lips. He was right. Maybe on both counts, definitely on the second. Getting married had been a mistake, no matter how well-intentioned he might have been. If he left with his teammates now, she could go home. Figure out how to get an annulment—it shouldn't be that hard to do—then she could pick herself up and start her life over again.

  She didn't tell him any of that—she didn't have to, not when he already knew. What she wanted to ask was why he cared. Why was he suddenly so worried about her? It shouldn't matter to him if she disappeared and he never saw him again.