In It to Win It

by Kelly Jamieson

  “Can’t wait to be inside you,” he mutters. “You make me crazy.”

  “Oh God, me too.” Here we are up in his room again, going at each other like animals in heat. “Do it. Fuck me.”

  “Oh yeah.” He lets out a long groan as he penetrates me, filling me with exquisite pressure. “Oh fuck yeah.”

  We move together, my hands roaming over him. This is so dirty and decadent, fucking like this with our clothes still on, and I love it. I just need a bit more to come…just need to touch myself…I find my clit and circle wet fingertips over it as he drives into me again and again, so deep I can hardly breathe. Tension twists up inside me, higher, tighter, and it keeps building and building to the point of near pain before I come, shuddering hard, clenching around him, gripping his shoulders.

  “Oh yeah, that’s beautiful…I can feel you squeezing me…damn…” He pumps faster, harder, then roars as he goes very still, pulsating inside me, his face buried in the side of my neck. “Damn.”

  I wrap my arms around him and tighten my thighs on his hips. My heart hammers so hard I can hear it in my ears, my breath coming in short pants. “Wow. Again.”

  Chapter 4

  Taylor

  “I’d like to stay here in bed and fuck you all night long.”

  I smile lazily, my body wilted. “Me too.”

  “But I have to go back to the wedding—we have this, uh, thing planned.”

  “I guess I have to go back too.”

  “Let’s go.” He plants a kiss on my lips. “We’ll be back here as soon as we can.”

  I have to smile. His eagerness to get me back into bed is a total turn-on. Not to mention his big, skilled hands, his strength, and his filthy mouth. God. Now I’m melting all over again.

  He moves off me and adjusts his clothes—tucking his shirt in, zipping his fly. He runs his hands through his hair, and I tug my bra and the bodice of my dress back up over my breasts.

  JP bends to pick up my panties and I reach out my hand, expecting him to give them to me. But with a wicked smirk, he tucks them in his jacket pocket.

  “Hey!”

  He eases my dress down over my hips, down to my knees, and kisses me. “No one will know you’re bare under there. No one but me.”

  “Oh God. JP…” But I kiss him back before zipping into the bathroom to clean up a bit, using his hairbrush to attempt to restore my hair. It’s not going to look like it did earlier when the hairdresser did the loose, wavy updo. Actually, though, it doesn’t look bad. I turn my head one way, then the other. The stylist used so much hairspray, it’s still okay, just a little…looser. There are also some pink marks on my throat and shoulders that weren’t there earlier. I didn’t bring my clutch purse, so I don’t have even a lipstick.

  Luckily my dress doesn’t look too bad.

  JP of course looks amazing, but he grumbles as he adjusts his tie, frowning in the mirror next to me in the big bathroom. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  He grabs the key card off the desk.

  We walk into the ballroom to the sounds of “I Gotta Feeling” by Black Eyed Peas, people still rocking out on the dance floor. JP curls his hand around mine to stop me, leans in, and says, “I’ll find you later.”

  “Okay.”

  I watch him disappear into the crowd, apparently on a mission. I take this chance to find my purse at the head table and make a beeline for the ladies’ room to touch up my makeup as much as I can. But on my way out of the ballroom, I come face to face with Manny.

  “Hi, Manny.” I smile.

  His gaze moves over me, taking in my messy hair, the whisker burns on my skin, my swollen lips. He doesn’t know I’m commando under my dress…but I do. I’m acutely aware of how bare I am.

  His face tightens. “Hi.”

  “So nice to see you again. Glad you could make it—I’m sure it means a lot to Lacey and Théo.” I show some teeth. “Excuse me, I’m on my way to the ladies’ room.”

  I dart around him, making my escape. In front of the big mirror, I inspect my appearance, seeing what Manny just saw. It’s pretty obvious.

  I don’t even care.

  Maybe I thought I wanted to show him I’m over him, but once JP started kissing me, the last thing I was thinking about was Manny. And that makes me realize…I am over him.

  I pump a fist into the air just as two women walk in and give me puzzled looks. I smile back.

  I return to the ballroom just in time to see JP up on the dais with the microphone in his hand.

  “Hey, everybody! Some of Théo’s friends have a special surprise for you tonight.”

  My eyes widen. I look around and see Jimmy, another groomsman, setting a chair at the edge of the dance floor, to which he then leads Lacey. Curious, smiling, I make my way to the head table to sit and watch what’s going on.

  The opening notes of “Beat It” by Michael Jackson fill the ballroom.

  Everyone starts clapping and laughing as four men carry Théo in on a chair raised above their shoulders. They cross the dance floor and set him down next to Lacey. He’s laughing too, apparently not expecting this.

  The four men carrying him—his uncles Asher, Noah, and Harrison, and his cousin Jackson—move onto the dance floor, joined by JP and Leo, the third groomsman. All six of these guys are hockey players, dressed in suits over their muscular bodies.

  As “Beat It” launches into its familiar, catchy rhythm, all six guys strike a Michael Jackson pose, then start dancing.

  I can’t take my eyes off JP, who’s holding his crotch, thrusting his pelvis, and not even looking like an idiot doing it. I laugh along with everyone else as they dance. That song changes to Bruno Mars’s “24K Magic.” The men whip off their tux jackets and the women in the crowd all scream.

  I can’t stop laughing, watching JP mostly. He catches my eye briefly across the room and flashes a grin. This is so crazy. The guests are clapping along, many standing to watch the show.

  The music now changes to “Gangnam Style” and the guys rotate their arms in the air and do the dance, bringing more gales of laughter. Finally, they end with “Time of My Life.”

  JP and Jimmy pull Théo out of his chair and then, along with Jackson and Harrison, lift him over their heads in the lift move from Dirty Dancing.

  The room explodes with cheering and clapping as the show ends.

  I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts.

  JP makes his way toward me, still without his suit jacket, his face flushed and eyes twinkling. Damn. This all just makes him even more attractive.

  I could fall for this guy.

  No, no, no. This is a fling. This is me letting go and forgetting about romance and happily-ever-after and just having fun for one night. Or two.

  He holds out a hand to me, the DJ having resumed control of the music, playing “All of Me” by John Legend. We walk onto the dance floor to the piano chords and start to move to the music. Instead of taking my hand, he clasps my waist with both hands, and I drape my arms around his neck.

  “That was hilarious,” I say, smiling.

  He grins. “It turned out pretty good. We practiced for weeks.”

  I shake my head, amused and touched by the effort he and the others went to for Théo. He can’t be that bad of a bad boy…can he?

  He bends his head close to mine and whispers, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  And then he’s gone. Stunned, I see him lying on the dance floor, Manny on top of him, having tackled him right out of my arms.

  I let out a little screech.

  Everyone else starts screaming, people scattering out of the way of the two men wrestling on the floor.

  I watch in horror, shocked into inaction. “Oh my God! Manny, what are you doing?”

  Théo charges up
to them and grabs the back of Manny’s suit jacket, trying to drag him off JP. “What the fuck, man?” he yells at Manny.

  “You fucking asshole!” Manny shouts at JP.

  Jackson and Théo’s uncle Mark join in, trying to help Théo get Manny off JP, but then two more guys rush up…Wyatt, who lives in the same building as Théo, and another man, and they grab Théo to get him to release Manny.

  “Hey!” Lacey shouts, marching up.

  Attempting to defend Théo, JP throws a punch. More screams sound as Wyatt staggers back, holding his face. Then they’re all shoving and wrestling with each other.

  I throw a wild glance at Lacey, not sure what to do. Théo’s mom, Aline, has her, holding Lacey back from charging into the fray. Then Théo’s dad storms in and somehow breaks things up. The men are all shooting each other angry glares, shaking out bruised knuckles, and adjusting their clothes. JP touches his bleeding lip.

  A hot gush of anger rises in me. I glare at Manny. “What the hell was that?” I demand.

  He shakes his head, not meeting my eyes.

  I turn to JP, unaccountably pissed at him too, with his bleeding lip, rumpled shirt, and mussed hair. My chest tightens and tears threaten. I’m not even sure what all the roiling emotions inside me are. I was terrified he was going to get hurt, and angry that Lacey’s beautiful wedding was being ruined, and now I’m relieved and…and feeling guilty. This might have happened because of me. “Fucking cavemen,” I mutter, covering my guilt with fury. “Good God.” I stomp back to the head table to grab my purse.

  My bridesmaid duties are done. Lacey’s not throwing the bouquet, the cake has been cut and served, we’ve danced our duty dances.

  I stalk across the ballroom to an exit, my legs unsteady from the rush of adrenaline, my cheeks burning.

  “Hey, Taylor, wait.”

  I turn to see JP. I throw my hands in the air. “What the hell was that? You hockey players are all nuts! I’m out of here.”

  His mouth drops open as I whirl on a stiletto heel and march to the front of the hotel to wait for an Uber.

  Chapter 5

  JP

  I apologize a million times over to Lacey and Théo, even though I’ve done nothing wrong.

  Nothing.

  I met a fun, sexy woman, had a hotel quickie that I planned to turn into an all-nighter, danced with her a little, and…what the fuck? I get attacked on the dance floor!

  How was I supposed to know that Manny and Taylor had been dating? I barely know the dude. Other than playing against him a few times, all I know is that Théo—the GM of the Condors, where Manny was playing—traded him away a couple of months ago.

  I don’t know what’s going on between Manny and Taylor now, but I’m a little pissed that she was flirting with me and kissing me and, yeah, fucking me, if there’s still something between her and Manny. Jesus.

  This is bringing back some ugly memories, and not just for me, because everyone else has their panties in a twist now, thinking I was trying to steal some other dude’s girlfriend.

  Again.

  Shit.

  I want to chase after Taylor, but she’s salty as fuck, and also if I do, Lacey will probably hurt me. Not to mention Mom, Dad, Grandpa, and even Everly, who’s shooting me beady-eyed looks.

  “I told you she’s a nice girl,” she hisses at me at one point.

  As I suspected, she was warning me off Taylor.

  It’s not totally my fault. But even though I can be a dick, I’m not that much of an asshole that I’m going to try to get myself off the hook by telling the truth—that Taylor very willingly came up to my hotel room last night and stayed until this morning, and then again very willingly joined me up there for a flash fuck tonight. So as usual, I’m the whipping boy for whatever trouble goes down, and I keep my lips zipped.

  If only I’d kept my fly zipped.

  I sneak away from the wedding as soon as I can, taking a double shot of Crown Royal with me back to my room.

  I toss the key card down and gaze glumly around the messy room, including the rumpled bed. Not how I expected this night to go. I fully expected Taylor and me to be back rolling around in that bed and messing it up even more.

  I tip the glass to my lips and enjoy the warmth that fills my chest as I drink the whisky. The sting reminds me of my cut lip, so I head to the bathroom to survey the damage. It’s stopped bleeding by now, but my lip’s swollen. Hell, it’s not the first fight I’ve ever been in, and not the worst I’ve ever looked after. I wash my face with cold water, scrubbing fiercely.

  Back in the bedroom, I pile up the pillows on the bed and lounge against them, drinking the whisky and surfing through channels on the huge TV.

  Nothing holds my interest.

  I keep thinking about Taylor.

  Why? I tip my head back. The last few months, since I broke up with Emma, I’ve been with a lot of women. I’m always clear that it’s just sex. It’s not that I don’t want to get involved with anyone; I haven’t met anyone I want to get involved with. Until tonight.

  I finally meet someone who’s hot as hell, also smart, sweet, and—I thought—genuine, and turns out she’s dicking two guys around, just like Emma did.

  I toss back more Crown Royal.

  * * *

  —

  Training camp starts the Thursday after the wedding, which is good for taking my mind off the wedding disaster. I’ve been skating with some of the guys for a few weeks now, at informal get-togethers at the Golden Eagles’ practice facility in the mornings. I also worked out hard all summer. The whole family lives here in California now, so I didn’t have to travel back to Québec to see them like I have other years, but I went there anyway because I love Montréal. I still have a condo there, so I spent a couple of months working out with some other guys at a performance facility during the day, checking out the nightlife in the evenings.

  Preseason games start the Tuesday after training camp. I’ve been away from hockey too long and I can’t wait to play.

  The top is down on my Jaguar convertible as I cruise along West Ocean Boulevard from my place to the arena in Long Beach. The wind flows through my hair, my sunglasses shielding my eyes from the bright early September sun.

  This year I have something to prove to my team. And my fans.

  On top of making some bad decisions in my personal life, I’ve made a few mistakes in my career as well. I’ve always been hotheaded, which last year resulted in a four-game suspension. Nobody was happy about that.

  I also got a game misconduct penalty for yelling at a ref, and two years ago a one-game suspension for a hit. When I was playing in the minors, I got benched because I showed up late for a team meeting. I came to the NHL with a bit of a reputation already, fairly earned or not, and people are starting to wonder if I’m more of a liability to the team than an asset. I need to shut that down.

  Not even my dad now owning the team and my uncle being the new coach will save me if I don’t clean up my act. I know that. Blood may be thicker than water, but it’s not thicker than hockey. Okay, that doesn’t make sense, but when it comes to hockey, Uncle Mark and Dad are ruthless.

  Which I think is partly why Dad bought the team…to show Grandpa he can’t dick him around. Then he hired Uncle Mark away from Grandpa’s team. That message was unmistakable. They’re out for blood.

  The rivalry between the Condors and the Golden Eagles in California is legendary. The teams share a market. They both play a heavy, hard-hitting game. Every meet-up between them is billed as a “Beach Barn Battle.” But only one team from the Western Conference goes on to the Stanley Cup final.

  Years ago, the two teams met in the conference final. The series went seven brutal games and the Condors lost, while the Eagles went on to win the Stanley Cup. That left a lot of bruises and scars�
�and not just physical ones. Unfortunately, the Condors tanked the season after that, and pretty much every season since.

  But now…the rivalry is personal too, Dad and Uncle Mark against Grandpa.

  I pull into the parking lot, jump out of my car, and stride into the arena, preparing to die.

  Today is the medical and fitness testing.

  We’ll be tortured with all kinds of cardiovascular, strength, and stretching exercises to see how physically prepared we are for the grueling hockey season. The regular season is eighty-two physically demanding games, not to mention practices and travel.

  I get on the assault bike and start pedaling. I have to do one mile as fast as I can. Then I get a three-minute break. Repeat several times. Our time has to be less than six minutes, twenty seconds to pass this test. I climb off the bike sweating with a time of five minutes, fifty seconds.

  “That’s impressive,” says Mick, our strength and conditioning coach.

  “I did spin classes when I was in Montréal,” I tell him. “Part of my workouts.”

  I don’t tell him I can barely walk now, my legs like noodles.

  But I immediately have to be tested to measure my power wattage output while fatigued. It’s a crazy test that determines how much energy an athlete produces, measured in watts per kilogram of body weight.

  Everyone’s doing well at the tests, meaning nobody spent the summer golfing and drinking beer. Well, I did do that a few times, but I’m grateful for all the sweat and agony in the gym I endured to put up a good showing now as I do vertical jump tests, timed sprints, push-ups, and pull-ups.

  Then we get on the ice for more testing, with different sprints and a sixteen-lap endurance test that nearly makes me puke. After that, we have “recovery time” in the training room with ice baths, massages, and brutal foam rollers. Because tomorrow we’re going to work even harder.