by S. E. Hall
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Read a Sample of Love Inevitable by Xana Jordan
About SE Hall
Books by SE Hall
Embody
Elusive
Emerge
*Embrace
*Entangled
*Entice
Sawyer Beckett's Baby Mama Drama Guide For Dummies
*Endure
Sawyer Beckett's Guide for Tools Looking to Date My Daughter
Entwined
A Crew Christmas
*Pretty Instinct
*Pretty Remedy
Laid Over
Quarterback Sack
*Stirred Up
*Packaged
*Handled
*Matched
One Naughty Night
Filthy Foreign Exchange
Filthy Foreign Exchange 2
Accidentally On Purpose
Conspire
©2018 S.E. Hall
Editing – Emma Mack, Ultra Editing and Kellie Montgomery
Proofreading – Virginia Carey
Formatting – Brenda Wright, Formatting Done Wright
Cover Design – Dana Leah, Designs by Dana
Thank you all!
All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.
This book is intended for mature audiences only.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Read a Sample of Love Inevitable by Xana Jordan
About SE Hall
Books by SE Hall
Hockey isn’t just a sport, a game, a career. To me, hockey is life.
When I’m on the ice, nothing else matters — I’m in my zone — always ten plays ahead of the opponent, and always in control.
Except for that night.
That game.
The first one she’d ever been to — Gracelyn Bolton.
And I found her.
Even while slammed against the wall, tangled up with the enemy’s ace goon — known only for his fighting, not his stats — I spotted her, only her, amongst a crowd of hundreds.
And when I finally track her down, the list of reasons why things won’t work is long… throwing me completely off my game.
When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew.
William Shakespeare
“Jesus, Nik, you said it’d be cold, not the damn Tundra!” I’m able to complain, despite my chattering teeth and numb lips.
My beloved best friend Nikki, who I’m gonna kill as soon as I can feel my extremities again, laughs. “You’ve really got that whole Southern belle thing down pat, don’t you? It’s not that cold, princess. And you’re wearing what, five layers? Quit whining and come on.” She grabs my gloved hand to drag me through the crowd, up a few steps, and down an aisle until we reach our seats, pointing to the one I assume is mine. “Park it.”
I glare at her while getting situated. “Oh,” pops out of my mouth in surprise, “we’re right in the thick of it, huh?”
“You think I’d have shitty seats?” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “You know better, G. I-, never mind, here we go!” She bounces in her chair and squeals just as ear-splitting music starts blaring in time with the sudden neon light show.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Get. On. Your. Feet. For. Your. Lakeeee Cityyyy Freeeezeee!” a deep-voiced announcer drawls, everyone jumping up as directed, while I slowly rise, trying to take it all in at once.
Everything around me — the raucous crowd, flashing lights, chill in the air — has a certain electricity to it, and I must admit, the excitement is contagious. Adrenaline the likes of which I’ve never felt riots through me like liquid fire, and my hands clap themselves to the thunderous beat of “Light ‘Em Up” as I watch, in absolute awe, the biggest bunch of men I’ve ever seen skate out onto the ice. Not big as in numerous, there are only twenty, give or take a few, of them. No, I mean big as in behemoths.
I sense Nikki’s stare and turn my head, meeting her dancing eyes with my, what have to be bulging, own. “Get it now?” she yells over the music.
“Yup.” I nod. Oh yeah, I’m so starting to understand her fascination with hockey.
Life and geography had separated us long ago, leaving me to attend college in the South while Nikki’s scholarship sent her north, and our visits to each other since then have been sorely lacking in frequency. She’s been begging me to come up, have some much-needed girl time and of course, attend one of her coveted hockey games for a while now, so, last week, I finally said fuck it… and here I am… freezing my ass off in all my fascinated glory. Although, I’m not quite as cold as before, because, it seems, thus far anyway… Hockey. Is. Hot.
“Well, woohoo, look at you! Getting some of your groove back there, cat lady?” Nikki whoops, nudging my shoulder.
She knows me too well, distance no match for the kindred bond we’ve shared since grade school. I still have to try and ‘one up’ her though, another of our long-standing traditions. “I can’t be a cat lady anymore, asshole. My cat died, remember?”
Take that — straight shot of guilt — no chaser.
“Nice try,” she scoffs, does the “Sign of the Cross” (she’s not even a little bit Catholic), and blows a kiss skyward. “Tink, if you can hear me, pray that your mommy gets some of those cobwebs cleaned out tonight!” she shouts in the same upward direction, to my poor, deceased cat… who I seriously doubt hears her… unlike the people, alive and sitting by us, who pick up on her meaning, and share in her amusement… at my expense.
Sadly, yet mercifully, my old-as-dirt tabby, Tink, had gone to kitty heaven last week, denouncing me as an official member of the “Cat Lady Club,” and eliminating the only excuse I had for sticking close to home. So, I’d shocked myself, and even more so my coworkers, with my drastic, daredevil move — of finally cashing in on a mere fraction of my saved-up vacation time — and flew my ass up here to Nikki’s neck of the woods.
“Holy… something real holy. Who. Is. That?” I lean in to ask, not only to ensure that I’m heard, but also hoping I’m only heard by her. “Number thirty-eight, Nik, who is he?”
“That’s my girl; you’ve always had a good eye.” She beams with pride. “You, hot pants, have masterfully spotted one of, if not the, best of the bunch. That’s Brewer Hayes. Captain, and star center; a lean, mean, scoring machine. He leads the league in the power-play points and assists, but not goals, even though he easily could,” she finishes with a dreamy sigh.
Dutiful best friend that I am, I give her exactly what she’s waiting for — prompt to actually finish her SportsCenter audition. “If he could lead that too, why doesn’t he?”
“Because he’s a real captain, leading by example; a true team player. Thus his record in assists. He sacrifices for his teammates, wants them to be great too. So inspiring.” She proves the impossible by sighing even more dreamily this time.
“He sounds great; no wonder he’s your favorite.” I suppress disappointment and smile. Rule numero uno of being a best friend — do not spend all night ogling the man she saw first. In fact, don�
��t even, ever, look in his general direction again. He no longer exists.
“I didn’t say he was my favorite,” she drawls with a knowing tease in her tone, her lips curling in nostalgic surety, reminded of why we get along so well — we never zero in on the same guy, avoiding any girl-on-girl crime and punishment — our tastes in boys/men have always been cohesively different.
I must let out a sigh of relief or something, because Nikki snickers and throws an arm around my shoulders. “Yeah, you’re good; he’s all yours; eye-fuck away.”
“If you insist,” I play along, back to my great mood now that I’m free to openly admire my choice. “You just give me a minute though, then watch… I’ll figure out your favorite.”
And I will. Bet on it.
“Holy shit!” I shriek, jolting a good two inches off my seat, treating Nikki to another laugh. I’ve kept her entertained all night, our front row seats seeming a little too close when mythically-sized men body-slam each other against the what I fear may be flimsy glass not nearly far enough away from me.
The game of hockey is barbaric. Chaotic. Mesmerizing. Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s the overwhelming amount of testosterone in the air that’s calling to my long-neglected core on some weird, biological level, or if I just find the sport sexy as all hell.
Or an intoxicating blend of both.
Methinks it may be the last.
I’ve always found athletes the most attractive of men; the male form in precise motion a beautiful thing, but hockey? Totally different game. These men are huge — hulks of raw, potent power, primal force oozing off them as they clash like titans — and my thighs clench harder with every collision. But the particular mash-up, currently in my front and center, has more than just my thighs quivering; my whole body’s tingling, heart racing, and breathing labored… because one of the warriors in battle is him. Number thirty-eight.
“You’re welcome,” Nik taunts me as I gawk, gape-jawed and enthralled, at my close-up of the man who’s kept my rapt attention since warm-ups.
‘And he’s gorgeous,’ I think, I only think, finally getting a good look at him, struck stupid by his sheer beauty. Dark eyes, yet vibrant with virility, a strong, unfortunate nose (obviously broken more than once, but looks perfect on him), and a light dusting of scruff, the same shade as his eyes, failing to hide a chiseled jawline.
I see it, feel it — the second he decides he’s had enough of the bullshit and decides to win the war, show the other guy just what the fuck is up — so locked in, it’s as though I share the shift in him… and only now let out what I know is, by far my loudest gasp of the night. I can’t stop it, not the strange sense of connection, as I drink, gulp, in his every nuance. Every movement. And even more extraordinary there’s no possible way he could’ve heard my sharp inhale, and yet, it’s at the exact same time I take it that he forgets his fight and looks me dead in the eyes… as if he heard me loud and clear.
And he winks at me. Winks.
Lord, help me, for I am all about a sexy wink.
Panties officially disintegrated… gone up in flames.
I can’t even begin to guess at the responding expression on my face, but whatever it is earns me his smirk.
Yep. A smirk. Cocky. Confident. Smug. Hot as all of Hell.
Winks, smirks… oh but he’s not done. No, he has to take the Whole. Damn. Cake. Blowing my mind with the sexiest move I’ve never imagined. He holds up his left hand and wiggles it, motioning with his head for me to do the same. My stomach flips over itself as the most no fucking way, I feel like I’m in a movie moment in my life unfolds. ‘No, not married,’ my mind screams like a banshee as I rip off my glove and answer his unspoken question by wiggling my own, bare left hand at him, throwing in a flirty smile.
And then it’s over; shortest damn movie in… ever! He skates away, and I… I fight for a deep breath, praying the once-in-a-lifetime memory never fades.
“What the hell do you mean, you couldn’t find her?” I roar, hurling my helmet at my locker. “Where the fuck’d you look? Or not look?”
The usher, Duncan, Dumbass… whatever the hell his name is, backs away slowly, hands up and out in apologetic surrender. “Seat’s empty. She must’ve left early to beat the crowd. Sorry, man.”
“Dude, chill the fuck out; we’ve got a club at home and tomorrow off. Let’s go out, drink to the win, and I promise, if you’re a good boy, I’ll find you another redhead,” Lance laughs, punching me in the arm.
“Whatever,” I grumble and finish getting dressed. Usually, I’d be more than down to hit the clubs with my wingman, or I his, after a victory at home with an off-day bonus… but when Duncan said he’d lost her, my mood went straight to shit. And while I have no doubt Lance meant well, I don’t want another redhead. I want her.
She was… different. I’m not quite sure how, or why, yet, but I’m positive she was — standing out amongst hundreds, like the brightest star in the sky — smacking me in the face with an instant, magnetic attraction. Not only was she absolutely gorgeous, with her long, auburn hair, button nose, fuck me lips, and the biggest brown eyes, filled with curious energy, but she had… something about her. Something special. I’d bet my life on it.
And she got away.
The only woman to ever steal all my attention, let alone by not vying for my attention… fucking figures.
“You ready?” Lance interrupts my thoughts.
“As I’ll ever be, I guess.”
“Jesus, Titsack, you gonna make it okay? Quit your fucking crying! Come on, and I’ll find you two redheads. If not, I’ll buy you a blow-up doll. Or a pocket pussy. Your choice.”
“Let me ask you something… your dick long enough to reach your asshole?”
“And then some,” he cocks off, grabbing his crotch.
“Good; then go fuck yourself.”
“How about her?”
“No,” I grunt, then down the rest of my beer. “And quit pointing, jackass; I’m not looking to draw a lot of attention our way. I just want to relax, have a couple of beers, and go home.”
“Well, I’m not looking to go home alone, so stop with you Mopey Dick shit. Seriously man, what’s up with you tonight? There are hot chicks in the stands every game. Hell, there are hot chicks swarming this place right now; some of whom you might actually like, if you’d pick up your head long enough to take a look around, that is. Why’re you so bent over one honey you got what, a five-second look at, while roughing up Jenkins anyway? She probably had like twelve moles you just didn’t see.”
She didn’t have any moles, but still… good fucking question. Why am I still thinking about her?
Maybe Jenkins slammed my head against the glass harder than I thought, and despite my helmet, I’ve got a concussion. Which would mean, Lance may have a point… also a first. I did only get a brief look at her, and was, in fact, a bit distracted by my opponent trying to pummel me to death, but… nope, there’s no way I imagined our interaction, or chance of convincing me otherwise. And I damn sure didn’t just dream up the part where she wiggled her dainty little hand at me, knowing exactly what I was asking, and smiling beautifully as she answered — no ring. Not married or engaged. I’ve never wondered about it with any other woman, in the crowd or otherwise, and I’ve certainly never struck up a silent conversation to ask them.
I’m not concussed or imagining things, dammit! She and I had a… a something; whatever you’d call it. And that something lasted long enough that I did get a good look, a really good look, at her. Because even now, I can picture her heart-shaped face, pink cheeks, brown eyes, and slightly parted, full lips. She was stunning.
“Yo, lover boy,” Lance goads, snapping his fingers right in front of my face. “Incoming. Don’t fuck it up for me. Unless, of course, I signal.”
I simply shake my head at the poor schmuck and wave the waitress over; I’m gonna need another beer for this. “Since you’ve never used it, I need you to remind me what this signal of yours is.”
“Scratching my nose. Damn, you suck at being a wingman. Now shut up, here they come.”
Then again, maybe I do have one of those slight, “walking concussions,” because a random thought hits me from out of nowhere — how cool would it be if I looked up, and by some fated, straight-out-of-a-movie-type-miracle, it just so happened to be my mystery woman standing there at our table?
Very. Fucking. Cool.
But… that’s, of course, not what happens.
Unfortunately, this is real life, unlike the tits on either of the over-smiling, underdressed women standing way too close, ready, I fear, to climb in our laps when I concede and take a half-hearted glance at them.
“Ladies,” Lance greets them and stands, pulling out a chair for each, subtly nodding toward the blonde to let me know she’s the one he wants. That signal I know well, and is totally unnecessary — he can have them both. “Let me get you beauties some refills. What’re you drinking?”
I don’t hear, or care as to, their answers, but do have mind enough to thank the waitress when she sets my new beer in front of me. Sipping on it slowly, since two’s my self-imposed limit, I’ve almost managed to completely tune out the trio’s babble when the brunette leans over and rakes her talons down my bicep, forcing me to pay her some attention.
“You played great tonight, Brewer, as always.” She thinks it’s a sexy coo, but I hear a manufactured whine, filled with motive. She leans in closer, her tits now resting on my forearm. “But you don’t always wink at me. Tonight though, you finally noticed me. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for that!”
I manage not to groan aloud in frustration and move my arm out from under the hard, no pliancy whatsoever, weight of her fake melons — even more annoying after being reminded of my wasted wink. This chick, that I swear I’ve never seen before, thinks it was for her, and the one it was for… yeah, getting good and mad all over again. I shoot Lance a telling glare, while practically scratching the skin right off my damn nose, but the bastard’s too wrapped up in blondie to notice. Fuck this whole night, I’m done. I toss back the last of my beer, and start to stand, seconds from leaving, when whiny, concrete-tits chick says something I actually want to hear. And do hear — the small patch of space where I wasn’t purposely trying to tune her out a blessing in disguise.