Play to Win

by Kelly Jamieson

  I prop my chin on my hand, elbow on the table. “So what was it like growing up with him? He must have been older when you were born.”

  “He was forty-eight. And in his fifties by the time Noah was born. But it didn’t seem weird to me. He was a good dad, if somewhat embarrassing at times.”

  “Aren’t all dads?” Taylor asks.

  “I wish I knew.” I sigh. “I never had a dad.”

  “Aw. I’m sorry.”

  “I would have taken an embarrassing dad who made dad jokes. Like, why do crabs never give to charity?”

  I get blank looks.

  “Because they’re shellfish.”

  They sputter with laughter.

  I smile wryly. “See? Embarrassing. Théo will make a good dad someday. His jokes are terrible.” Shit. I don’t want to think about Théo being a dad with someone else. I look back at Everly. “Théo said they think your mom married your dad for his money.”

  “I know they think that.” Everly’s voice hardens. “But it’s not true. They love each other.” Her eyes shadow though, with something that looks like…worry.

  “I got that impression,” I agree. I lift my hands. “Not that I know anything.”

  She smiles. “Sometimes the people outside the family see more than we do. I’m glad you think so.”

  Later, as Taylor drives me home, I decide to confide in her. “Do you have time to come in for a glass of wine or a margarita? I, um, need to talk about something.”

  “Sure.” She shoots me a curious look. “I’ll drop the car off at home and be right back.”

  Théo’s at his office, so we have the place to ourselves. I mix up margaritas and we take them out onto the patio. The beach is busy, with groups of people beneath colorful umbrellas, stretched out in the sun, walking on the sand.

  “So what did you want to talk about?” Taylor sips her drink.

  “It’s sort of a long story, and you have to pledge to never tell anyone, especially Everly or any of the Wynns. Or Manny, or any of the players.”

  “Okay, so nobody. I get it.” She slaps her hand to her heart. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  I take a breath. “Okay. Théo and I aren’t really married.”

  Chapter 21

  Lacey

  Taylor gives me a blank look. “That’s the big story? Jeez, Lace, lots of people shack up these days.” Her forehead crinkles. “Is his family super old-fashioned or something?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “We’re married. We did the quick Vegas thing, like I said. But it wasn’t for real. We didn’t even know each other. I needed to get out of Vegas because my brother’s bookies were after me for, uh, the money he owed them.” I tell her more about that night.

  “Oh my God.” Her eyes bug out.

  “Yeah. And…Théo had his reasons for wanting to bring a girl home to meet the family. You heard why earlier…Emma cheating on him with JP. So we’re faking the marriage for a while.”

  “For how long?” She’s still gaping at me.

  “We don’t know.” I twist a piece of hair. “I told Chris I’m not coming back until he gets his shit together. That might never happen.” My voice quivers, because, damn, it’s still hard to think of him throwing his life away because of a goddamn addiction. “But Théo could meet someone that he f-falls in love with and wants to really be m-married to.” My throat squeezes.

  Taylor’s eyes soften. “You wouldn’t like that.”

  I inhale a wobbly breath. “No.” I meet her eyes. “I’m afraid I’m actually falling for him.”

  “Would that be so bad?” She tilts her head. “You two seem great together. You’re…uh, you’re sleeping together, right?”

  “Yes.” I close my eyes as a small heat wave washes over me. “And it’s amazing.”

  “So, he likes you too.”

  “We get along great. Mostly. He’s kind of a neat freak and a bit OCD about where his things are.” I make a face. “He also works way too much. But we’re learning about each other. I probably make him nuts because I hate doing dishes and leave my shit all over his bathroom. I mean, not literal shit.” My eyes pop open in horror.

  A laugh spills from her lips. “I knew what you meant. And that sounds like a normal marriage.”

  “I don’t know what to do.” I drop my gaze to the ice cubes floating in my pale green beverage. “I know how it feels when you rely on someone to be there, and then…they’re not. My mom. I mean, she couldn’t help it. But after she was gone and it was just Chris and me, I thought we were there for each other. Only it turned out…he wasn’t. He let me down over and over again, and then in the worst way. I can’t risk feeling like that about Théo. Like I need him. I have to look out for myself, because nobody else will.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Taylor’s bottom lip pushes out in sympathy. “You have people who’ll look out for you. Me.”

  “Aw, thank you. I’m just trying to be strong and independent.”

  “You are strong and independent. That doesn’t mean you can’t fall in love.”

  “But it’s going to end. He told me outright he’s not looking for a long-term relationship. He’s focused on his career and trying to turn the team around. He has no time for love. Not to mention…he’s been burnt too, so I don’t blame him.” I blink back tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get all emotional. I just wanted to tell someone…and I can’t tell Everly. Théo’s family all think our marriage is for real. Not that it matters…he’s over Emma.”

  “Well, there you go.”

  “What?” I scrunch up my nose.

  “He doesn’t need you anymore. But he still wants you here.”

  I cock my head. “He’s just being nice.”

  “Uh-huh. Okay. I’ll admit, he’s a decent guy. Byron likes him. Especially when Théo throws sticks into the ocean for him.”

  I smile.

  “Do you want advice? Or did you just want to share?”

  I laugh. “Thank you for asking. Unwanted advice is so annoying.”

  “Right?”

  “Hit me with it.”

  “I think you should just go with it. I think you and Théo have a good thing. See what happens.”

  “Well, I don’t want to go back to Vegas. Yet.” Or ever? “So I guess I’m either stuck here with Théo—”

  “Such a hardship.” Her lips quirk.

  “Or I move somewhere else. Hey, you and I could get an apartment together.”

  She stares at me, then shakes her head. “While I do love that idea, I think you should stay here.”

  “Okay. But keep it in mind.”

  She finishes her margarita and heads home, and Théo arrives a few minutes later. He’s taking me out on a date tonight, for dinner and dancing at a hot club, which I’m pretty excited about.

  But when he walks in, I take one look at him and my heart squeezes. He looks beat. Like, literally beaten up. His face is drawn, his shoulders are slumped, his shirt is wrinkled.

  “What’s wrong?” I rush over to him and set my hands on his shoulders.

  “Nothing.” He talks as if his teeth are permanently gritted.

  “You look terrible.” I stroke his face, then his hair, studying him. “Did you have a bad day?”

  “It was…rough.” He sighs and sets his hands on my hips. “I’ve been talking to a bunch of agents about contracts. Some we’re making progress on, others not so much. Fuck, that Jack Burnside is an asshole.” He shakes his head.

  “Yeah.” I have no idea who he’s talking about but I assume he’s an agent.

  “Tough negotiator. We can’t pay what his client wants. And dammit, we want to keep him.”

  “Oh no.” Sympathy floods through me, along with a helpless feeling because I can’t do anything t
o help with this. I hate seeing him so stressed. His body is tense; his jaw is tight. I can feel the rigidity of his shoulder muscles.

  This isn’t the first time he’s come home stressed, but this seems the worst. The pressure on him is building as the off-season progresses.

  “Yesterday I met with our scouting team,” he says. “It’s cool looking at the prospects that are coming up, but those are impactful decisions as well. The draft is happening in two weeks.”

  I know nothing about the draft. “Tell me about it over dinner. No…wait.” I pause. “Let’s not go out after all.”

  “But we planned it.” His forehead creases. “You love dancing.”

  “I do, but we can go dancing another time. You need to decompress, and I know just the way.”

  His eyes darken and his eyebrows raise.

  I laugh softly. “Okay, yes, sex is good stress relief. All those hormones. But let’s order in dinner, have a glass of wine, and go in the hot tub. Then I’ll give you a massage.”

  He gazes back at me. “Seriously?”

  I nod. “I know you don’t like last minute changes of plans, but I think this is a better way to spend the evening.” I really want to do whatever I can to make him feel better.

  His throat works and he still stares at me. The he nods briefly. “Okay.”

  “You go change. I’ll order dinner.”

  He trudges upstairs and I grab my phone. He said the prime rib we had the other night at Del Rey was the best he’d ever had. I open up my Grubhub app and place the order. Then I uncork a bottle of Zinfandel and tip two generous pours into glasses. When Théo comes down, he’s dressed in athletic shorts and one of his goofy T-shirts. This one reads, DON’T BE MEAN, BE ABOVE AVERAGE with a little line graph image. He already looks less tense.

  I hand him his wine. “Dinner will be an hour. Do you want to go in the hot tub now, or after?”

  “After.” His lips quirk. “I might fall asleep before dinner if we do.”

  “Okay then, let’s go out on the patio and watch the sunset and you can tell me all about your day, and I’ll just listen because I have no clue. But I’m a good listener.”

  He moves toward me, cups my cheek with one hand, and kisses my forehead. “Yeah. You are.”

  My heart tilts in my chest, emotion flooding me. I so want to be here for this man.

  We settle onto the loveseat out on the patio, our feet up on the wicker table, facing the ocean. As always, the faint, rhythmic rush of waves onto the shore, the soft breeze, the scent of salt and sand, and the endless stretch of water and sky soothes and calms. I know Théo feels it too.

  “Tell me about the draft.”

  “Well, it sort of starts next weekend. I’m going to Buffalo for the combine to meet with players.”

  I hold up a hand, as if asking a question of the teacher. “Combine?”

  He grins. “Yeah. All the eligible players who want to play in the NHL are there. They go through a bunch of fitness tests, and we get to sit down with them and talk to them, see who would be a good fit, physically and mentally.”

  “You meet with all of them?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Our scouts have been watching these guys and reporting back to us. They know what the kids’ families are like, what their characters are, and we’ve narrowed down a list of guys we’re interested in. We have lots of homework done before this, so this isn’t the be all and end all. The fitness testing is valuable in terms of what skills and strengths the guys have. Also, I can talk to other GMs there. A lot of trade talks start at the combine.”

  “Huh.”

  “But it’s like analytics. That can’t be the only tool you use. Same with the combine. There’s value in it, though. Then at the end of the month I go to Vancouver for the actual draft. Every team takes turns picking. We’re in a good position this year because of our shitty record.”

  I huff out a laugh. “I guess that’s good.”

  “Yeah. We have two first round picks, and the field is rich this year with talented kids.”

  “Is it your decision who to pick?”

  “Yeah, but I do it in conjunction with the team, of course.”

  “Even the coach? Does he get a say?”

  “Nah.”

  I laugh.

  “No really, I don’t want his input as much. He hasn’t been watching these players for years like the scouts have.”

  “Years?” I’m boggled.

  “Yeah, sure. They start watching kids in major junior hockey, maybe even sooner. They know these guys and have watched them grow and mature. The coach has no idea, other than maybe he saw them play in one game. So, Dave tells me what he thinks we need on the team, and we’ll look to try to fill that, but he doesn’t get a say in who that is.”

  “You have so much responsibility.” I lay my hand on his thigh and squeeze.

  “Fuck, tell me about it.”

  “But you wanted this.”

  “I did. I do.”

  “So, you have new guys to pick, but you also have these current players you need to sign.”

  “Yep.” He leans his head back. “There are a few guys we’d really like to keep, but they’re asking for ridiculous money, probably because they know we can’t afford it and they really want out.”

  “They don’t want to play for you anymore?” Outrage raises my voice.

  He smiles. “Believe it or not, most players want to play for winning teams.”

  One corner of my mouth lifts. “Okay, yeah, I get that.”

  “I have to convince them that we can win. We will win, with the changes we’re making.”

  No wonder he’s so stressed.

  Our food arrives and Théo’s delighted with his dinner, devouring the prime rib and garlic mashed potatoes, and then we get naked and go in the hot tub with another glass of wine. We sink into the bubbling, swirling waters, the heat relaxing us. I hope it’s relaxing Théo.

  “That was so good.” I let out a sigh and tip my head back to look up at the sky.

  “It was. Thank you. I’ll make it up to you by taking you dancing another time.”

  “Ah. Thank you. How long are you going to be away?”

  “I fly to Buffalo on Sunday. I’ll be gone a week.”

  “A whole week?” I push up out of the water.

  “Yeah.” He pauses. “Come with me.”

  “I…can’t. I have a job. And school.”

  “Right. Damn.”

  “You’ll be busy anyway.”

  “True.”

  Crap. I’m going to miss him “Feeling better?” I ask him.

  “Come here.”

  I smile and set my wineglass down beside the tub then float over to Théo in the corner. He pulls me onto his lap, tilts his head, and kisses me.

  I’m full. Full of love for him. I want this forever. I know I shouldn’t. I know I can’t have it. I just told Taylor earlier that I know Théo doesn’t want forever.

  But he wants right now. And so do I.

  So I kiss him back with all the love I have for him right now, this moment, my arms twined around his neck, my aching center pressed against his hard-on. His hands tighten on me, his tongue slides into my mouth and out, again and again, in lush, sensual kisses that go on and on.

  We move from the hot tub to the bedroom and even though we’re both buzzing with arousal, I make him lay on the bed, facedown, and I bring my bottle of two-in-one massage lube with us.

  Sitting astride his thighs, I squeeze lubricant into my palms and rub them together to warm it, then stroke them over his shoulders and down his back. I return to his shoulders because he’s still tense there, his muscles like granite. I knead and press my thumbs into the flesh, finding the knots and working the
m until they release.

  He groans. “That’s fantastic.”

  “I hope so.” I keep my voice hushed, my touches slow, working my way down his back, then back up to the shoulders again. I sweep my hands down his upper arms in a slow, firm motion, dig my thumbs into his upper back, and on the next move downward, I keep going all the way to his gorgeous ass.

  Gorgeous. A sigh leaks from my lips as I massage his firm cheeks, which first tighten at my touch, then relax again. I shift lower for better access, slipping my fingers along the crease where his butt meets thigh, then lower still to his legs. I stroke up and down his thighs, to the knee and back, up the inside of his legs, eliciting a shudder, and he parts them for me. Oh Jesus.

  I gaze at him, enthralled at the shadowy glimpse of his testicles between his muscled thighs. Slowly I slide my hands down those creases again, brushing over his perineum, fingertips caressing his balls. His body jerks and he sucks in a breath.

  “Can I use that toy on you?” I ask quietly. He brought home a sexy little butt plug a week or so ago and convinced me to let him use it on me. And I loved it.

  He tenses. “Is this a new form of stress relief?”

  “Hey, it could work.” I stroke him again.

  “Okay,” he chokes out.

  I move over and find the toy in the bottom drawer of the nightstand and lube it up. Teeth sunk into my bottom lip, my pussy squeezing with arousal, I use more lube around his back entrance, gently petting around it…then over it. Then so, so slowly I insert the toy.

  Another groan rumbles from him and he buries his face in the bed. Slowly, I press the toy deeper, then deeper still, holding it in place as his body accepts it.

  “Fuuuuck.”

  I release the plug, leaving it in place as I again use both hands to massage the grooves of ass and thigh, slipping my fingers down between his legs, up and down, using my thumbs to again press the base of the toy farther. He’s making more guttural noises, his hips lifting.

  I take a break, running my slick hands down over his thighs, the dark hair there flattened to his skin with the lube. He’s shiny everywhere, his skin smooth over muscles. I admire him, stroke him, tease him until he cries hoarsely, “Jesus, I need to come.”