First to Fall

by Lane, Stacy

  “I’ll be sure to call and give him the good news. He’s been losing sleep over where he went wrong in the procreating process.”

  That causes Jo to laugh. A throaty chortle that snares my sight to the creamy skin on her long, lissome neck.

  Helping her stand, she shifts to rest against her car.

  “Tell him he can rest assured knowing there is nothing wrong with the appeal of his sons. I haven’t even met your other brother, but I would bet he’s equally as hot…” She trails off, her smile fading and words failing after realizing her admission.

  As if letting off the clutch without gas, her laughter stalls to a cough.

  Jo avoids my eyes at all cost. I move in beside her, laying a hand on the warm surface of her car right next to her hip.

  “You think I’m hot, but I’m not your type,” I probe, moving in closer.

  Attraction goes hand in hand whether you’re someone’s type or not. Jo’s the perfect example. Looking at her, I admitted right away she wasn’t my type either, but once the attraction touched the first layer of my interests, she became my type exactly.

  “We’re not only talking about you, Brooks,” she points out.

  “Let’s say we are. You find me attractive. How am I not your type?”

  She sighs, pursing her luscious lips. “Besides the fact that I know nothing about your profession, I can, without a doubt, say a hockey player would never be in the realm of potential dates.”

  “I’m not talking about dating,” I reply, dropping my voice.

  Her big green eyes blink, flutter, and then remain wide open as if she fears another bat of her lashes will be the moment I pounce in that millisecond.

  The thought of pouncing does indeed cross my mind. To show Jo real attraction and how I act on it. She’s reluctant because she’s never felt it before. Not this strong. Our types don’t matter when the emotion was immediate and so strong it’s practically feral.

  How can a person ignore a guaranteed good time?

  “Surely you don’t date every guy you’re attracted to, Jo,” I murmur, dipping my chin, moving in by just an inch.

  Her scent hits me like a new-age torture device. Sweet, subtle, and captivating enough to wipe out any good sense to do what’s proper.

  “Yes, I do.” She clears her voice from the rattler lodged inside. “Surely you sleep with anyone who puts it out there, but I’m not that kind of woman.”

  “That’s what Marc will expect if you continue to talk with him.”

  “Thought we were talking about you,” she tosses back, bringing that sour tone I’ve come to know so quickly.

  “That’s fair, but I don’t sleep with everyone. Only the ones worth my time.”

  “I don’t want your time.” Jo’s hand stops me from closing in on her any further. “Like I said before, you’re not my type, Brooks. Neither is Marc. My days are filled with solitude and no flare. Dating, or otherwise, anything with a hockey player would be all too public for my liking.”

  Now I’m the one left blinking.

  She’s really not interested?

  The first pass at Triplets I let go. Chelsea asked me to stay away, which I respected up until Jo moaned my name in her sleep. Then she blew me off again. And Chelsea put forth her warning again as well. By this point, I needed a firm reason to keep my distance, because let’s face it, I would have broken that agreement in a heartbeat if it meant I could hook up with Jo.

  So here we are. A firm, you’re really not my type, reason.

  Crazy hot attraction, but wants nothing to do with my spotlight, therefore, nothing to do with me.

  This is where I let it go. Tip my hat, and bow out gracefully.

  She pushes off the car, stepping around me to leave me standing there like the fool she aimed for me to be.

  Bullseye, little Angel.

  But I don’t bow, and the only time I’m graceful is when there are skates beneath my feet.

  Hot on her heels, I follow to catch up.

  “If you only ever date, when is the last time you’ve had sex?” I scoff with mirth, the words falling out without thinking.

  Jo stops abruptly, swirling to face me. My feet carried me a few steps past her before I realized she stopped moving.

  “I cannot believe you just asked me that.”

  “Sex is basically a casual conversation these days. What’s the big deal?” Humor still lines my demeanor, which only bothers her more.

  “Look, I know we’ve only spoke a handful of times so you don’t really know me, but I don’t do anything casually. As a matter of fact, I hardly talk at all to most people.” She sounds as if this piece of information is shocking to her as well.

  I burst with a loud, short-lived laugh. “From the second I met you, you’ve done nothing but argue with me. A nice, friendly-hot kind of arguing.”

  “Well, you’re an anomaly.”

  “Is that your way of saying I’m special to you?” I grin.

  Her head starts shaking, steam blowing out every hole. Friendly-hot, as I said.

  Jo smashes her lips in agitation, green eyes glowing with so much power I wouldn’t be surprised if lasers shoot out.

  She shakes her head one final time and moves on. This time I notice a slight limp on her right side from the scraped up knee.

  “I can carry you if it hurts to walk,” I offer, trailing from behind.

  “Doesn’t hurt that bad,” she mutters.

  “No one will see if that’s what you’re worried about. The spotlight doesn’t follow my every step.”

  She stops again, whipping around so sudden I slam into her. My hands fall to her waist, fingers dipping in on the slim, toned stomach beneath. Her hands latch onto my arms.

  My eyes fall to the long fingers wrapping around my tattoos. Clean, even skin against dark swirls of ink. I want those unmarked hands running over every space of skin I’ve permanently marked, and the spots I haven’t so she can leave behind her own imprint.

  I raise my gaze to meet hers, only she’s watching the same spot I was mesmerized with too.

  I’ve concluded I agree with no spotlights. I don’t want all the eyes on her either. Only my eyes.

  She doesn’t care for attention, but to what extremity? I wish I could brush off her behavior as quirky and move on. Forget how stunning Jo is and slide her into the pass category. But it’s like the lever is jammed. I can’t get her out of my head no matter how hard I push to move her aside.

  “I have ways of being discreet, too.”

  “Just because I somehow keep winding up in your arms does not make this an open invitation, Brooks,” she snarls in her cute way.

  “So you don’t do hookups, and I don’t date. Where does that leave us?” I can turn anything into an invite. Even now as she’s scowling at me, I willingly look away from her stare and focus heavily on her mouth. It may be a frown, but it’s a damn pouty, beautiful frown.

  “This may be a stretch, assuming you don’t do this as well, but that could just make us friends.”

  I start, hissing through my teeth. “Big stretch. Like, groin pulling kind of stretch that none of us want.”

  “Unbelievable,” she exclaims, rolling her eyes and rolling out of my grasp.

  “Kidding, Jo,” I call after her, leaping in one move to catch up with her five steps ahead. “I can be your friend. But don’t expect the thought of you without clothes to not cross my mind.”

  “I’m not even going to acknowledge that,” she mutters, entering the house.

  EIGHT

  Brooks

  The following Wednesday Triplets was packed more than a typical game night. It’s Halloween and Cam wanted our bar to hold a themed event.

  Cam has been promoting the party for weeks. Including, a new menu of specialty drinks, bringing in an event organizer to spook out the place, and welcomed costumes of all kinds.

  An adult venue throwing a costume party invited people to turn every style of dress into a slutty something or other. Slutty n
urses, slutty cowboys, slutty bumblebees, whatever was typically traditional was transformed into indecent. The only men walking around who didn’t have to kink up their costumes were the Magic Mike wannabes.

  The lights were dimmed lower than normal, and some bulbs were changed out from the soft yellow glow to black lights. Faces and clothing lit up in the dark surroundings. Fake spiderwebs hung in every corner of the room. Skeletons, food bowls with jumping hands, eerie sound machines, every fucking Halloween decor the supply store had, Cam bought it and displayed it in our bar.

  Even a fog machine.

  “I can’t believe you spent my money on all this for one night,” I grumble, taking the beer he hands me from across the counter.

  “Our money. And it’s fun. It’s bringing in a lot of new business so it makes up for it,” says the guy who loves Halloween so much yet he’s not wearing a costume. “Why are you so pissy?”

  “Maybe because we lost tonight,” I snip.

  We’re almost a month into the new season, and though our record is not starting out great, my stats are looking up. We lost but it wasn’t without effort or heart. I had a big milestone approaching. Thirty years old and almost meeting a career goal of 1000 game points.

  I played physical, am great along the boards, stuck to my defenseman to get those important breakouts, but above all, I was a goal scorer. I didn’t do so well tonight for my team, no goals, only one assist. Only one point added to a major feat in my career. A career that has been my only ambition in life.

  “It’s Halloween!” Cam yells, bringing me back in the moment. “You used to love Halloween.”

  “Yeah, when we were ten, Cam.” To show how grown up we are, I throw my bottle cap at his face.

  “The half-naked women are way better than any of the candy I remember getting.” He lowers his voice, glancing around the bar with perverted eyes.

  I follow his sight, taking in all the beautifully dressed patrons. People really do go all out, and some are creative as shit. There’s a lady Beetlejuice across the room that’s been eyeing me for the last half hour. One of my favorite movies growing up, and I never thought I’d be attracted to Beetlejuice, but her outfit is sexy as hell.

  And as I’ve done the other three times she’s tried to lure me over, I turn away.

  “Thank God Alex is a better business partner than you. If it were just you and I, this place would have already closed up,” Cam says.

  “I’m not trying to be an ass. Sorry, bro.” Running a hand down my face, I suck in a gulp of air in hopes to start this conversation over. Cam works his ass off to run our bar.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you haven’t gotten laid in a while.”

  I huff. “Then you don’t know any better.”

  “What?” He grins, taking a step away from the bar like a drama king. Cam missed his calling. Bartending should have been his third career option. Right behind acting and hockey. The idiot didn’t put enough heart into the game or he would have excelled further than he did. “How long has it been?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Brooks in a dry spell. Never thought I’d see the day,” he preaches as if talking to more people up here other than me.

  Thankfully, none of the guys are sitting in our section of the bar like I am.

  “It’s not a dry spell,” I argue. “I get plenty of offers.”

  “So this is self-inflicted,” he starts to laugh, pulling out his cell phone.

  With fast reflexes, I reach across the counter, but he knows this game too well and steps back before I can get a hold of his phone.

  “Wait till Alex hears this.” Cam chuckles with evil intent.

  “I’m focusing on my game.” I attempt to cover. “We’re not starting off so hot if you haven’t noticed.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not your fault.” He pauses texting long enough to shoot me a glance. In that look I know he’s referring to poor management. I can read his mind, telling me, “One more year. Alex will come in next season and change things for the better.”

  We have a lot of confidence in our brother for good reason. Alex was an unrivaled player on the ice, but as a businessman, he’s even more savage.

  “That’s a key factor, but as a team, we’re not performing right either.”

  “Spent all that money on Vic, you’d think he’d be doing better than he has,” Cam mutters.

  “No comment,” I reply, twisting my neck to glance behind me where the defenseman sits with his wife.

  “If you can’t comment with me then who can you talk about it to,” he says.

  “I’m not talking about this here, Cam. Too many ears.”

  “True,” he nods. “Dad has plenty to say, so we’ll wait till the next family dinner.”

  I smile, shaking my head because that is exactly how things work in our family.

  I should be worried about favoritism complaints that will be aimed at me next year, but what most people don’t understand in depth as we do, we’re a hockey family. We can all talk shit, call each other out on our mess ups, steal the other brother’s spot on the first line, and at the end of the day be the big family we’ve always been and never let hockey come between us. The game has only ever brought us closer.

  “So what’s the real reason you haven’t gotten laid?” Cam asks. I hoped he’d forgotten. Should have known better.

  “There’s no reason. It just is.”

  “Nothing to do with a beautiful blonde nerd?”

  “Jo is not a nerd,” I retort.

  Cam grins, trapping me like a wild bear in a sharp, spiked clamp. “Make a move, Brooks. It’s not like you to pussyfoot around.”

  “I did,” I admit. Lowering my voice, I add with great reluctance, “She turned me down.”

  Cam crosses his arms, bringing one hand to his mouth and balling a fist. He’s doing a shitty job at hiding the grin behind it.

  “She’s into me, I know it.” I go on, defending myself, pride and ego, because Jo has only made me want her more by not wanting me. “But she doesn’t do hookups.”

  I share everything with my brothers, but this I’ve kept to myself. Some parts due to embarrassment, but mostly for the fact that I don’t know what all of these emotions are when it comes to Jo.

  Maybe Cam really has found his calling as a bartender. He’s got me spilling every inner thought.

  “So Jo’s the real deal then. Don’t let Alex get wind of that. He’ll have her swept away and marrying her in no time.” Cam knows as well as I do how much our other brother finds settling down appealing.

  The thought of Jo with Alex twists my stomach in a way I haven’t felt since he took my spot on the first line in high school. He was always the better hockey player, I’ll give him that, but I’ll be going back on my earlier word about our family holding true to each other if he makes a pass at Jo.

  “Real deal or not, she has nothing in common with our lifestyle, and no interest to be.”

  “That’s a bit harsh, Brooks,” Cam says, regarding me with scrutiny.

  “That’s not my opinion. She said that to me. Jo wants nothing to do with the spotlight.”

  “Why aren’t you relieved and moving on then?” He gives me a candid, baffled expression.

  There’s only so many excuses to come up with why Jo occupies all my damn thoughts. Cam sees her as another pursuit. He wouldn’t understand any of the reasons I tell myself.

  “I am not hung up on her,” I ground out.

  “You kinda are,” he smiles.

  Jaw ticking, I glare at my brother and say with intentional purpose, “Pick any girl here and I’ll prove I’m not hung up on Jo.”

  Cam’s grin turns conniving. Leaning against the shelves at his back, his body faces the entire room. Gray eyes, exact shade as my own, scans every person like the vulture he is. I’m almost worried when his mouth stretches to Big Bad Wolf proportions. “Wednesday Addams.”

  Spinning on my stool, I turn around to study the crowd.


  Obviously, I’m looking for a skimpier version of Wednesday. Scanning for short black dresses and high heels shouldn’t be too hard to find.

  A fraction of gothic shadows catches my eye. Dark hair and a dark dress with a crisp white collar, but it’s nowhere near as revealing as almost every other person present, so I keep patrolling.

  “There’s only one woman dressed as Wednesday Addams,” Cam says when my eyes move on.

  Dragging my gaze back to the left, the black costumes of her and her friends stand out. Her back is to me, standing on the other side of the room near the pool tables.

  “Send her a drink from me,” I tell Cam.

  “Nope. You gotta go out there yourself.”

  “Fucker,” I mumble. “Fine.”

  Beer in hand, I leave his shit-eating-grin behind to brave the wild. I set out across the room, blood pumping with the need to prove Cam wrong.

  As I close the space between me and Wednesday, her lower half that was hidden from view starts to appear like the rising of the sun on a new day. Time moves at a slow pace as I fight through the crowd, bobbing and weaving to catch another sliver of those extended, netted legs.

  Though shorter than I originally guessed, her dress is still conservative compared to others. Sleeves stopping at her elbows, the bottom hem flares out from toned thighs that are exposed only enough to tempt any man. My gaze trails down those long, thigh-high covered legs to find classic Dr. Martens, black with chunky heels instead of skinny pumps I assumed she’d be wearing.

  She’s talking with a couple dressed as the mom and dad from the Addams family. The woman standing in front of her, long, straight black wig and a revealing black dress, gets a good look at me before I can open my mouth to speak. When her eyes go wide I know she’s recognized me.

  Wednesday turns around to find out what’s caused her friend’s mouth to fall open.

  My feet falter as I come face to face with a set of emerald green eyes.

  “Brooks,” she says my name on a gasp.

  That asshole played me.

  Before answering, I glance back at the bar, shooting a berserk glare at Cam who has lost all control on humor.