Taming Beckett: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 1)

by G. K. Brady

  “Actually, that’s perfect. I’ll pick you up wherever you’re dropping it and give you a ride back after it’s ready.”

  Two people appeared at their table holding plates of food, giving her a moment to catch her breath. Only to lose it again.

  “Good evening, Miss Anderson,” one said. Startled, Paige looked up to see a smiling pudding-bodied man with a salt-and-pepper goatee. He arranged plates on the table. “Chef’s specials, as ordered.”

  “This is Marco, Andie. Best damn—darn cook in town.” Beckett jerked his chin in Marco’s direction.

  “I don’t remember ordering,” she spluttered.

  “You didn’t. Beckett did,” said Marco.

  “So that’s why you were gone so long,” she said to Beckett. He answered with a head dip.

  “These are specialties de la maison not on tonight’s menu. Enjoy, Miss Anderson,” Marco said with a little bow.

  Paulson. Mrs. Paulson.

  After he left, Beckett said, “I heard you say you like shrimp, so I took the liberty. I hope you don’t mind. Sh—crap. I should have asked if you had any food allergies.” He raised his dark eyebrows expectantly.

  “Everything looks wonderful! I don’t have any allergies. Are you trying not to swear?”

  He gave her a sheepish look. “Bad habits are hard to break.” Then he raised his glass and winked. “Here’s to replacing old bad habits with new bad habits.”

  .~ * * * ~.

  Sometime before dessert, he said, “So you built your business on your own? No help from Adrian?”

  “No help from Adrian.”

  “Well, now I’m even more impressed. I guess I pegged him for a benefactor. It’s probably the age thing—he looks a lot older than you.”

  “He’s twelve years older.”

  Beckett pulled in a breath and asked the question that had been dancing in his head all night. He fought to keep incredulity from his tone. “So how did he convince you to marry him?”

  She shrugged. “He knocked me over, swept me off my feet. I wasn’t very, um, experienced, and I guess I was flattered this sophisticated older man was attracted to a cow town hick like me.”

  “You’re no hick, and there’s nothing wrong with cow towns. What else?”

  “The usual. Roses, romantic dinners, lavish trips. He was exceedingly charming.”

  “And now?”

  She glanced up at a twinkly light and squirmed in her seat. “We’ve been married three years. It’s hard to keep going at that level.”

  He probably can’t get it up. Corralling the snarky remark on his tongue, he said instead, “Kids?”

  She dropped her gaze to his. “I beg your pardon?”

  He stared into her eyes for a beat before remembering himself. “Do you plan on having kids?”

  “I’d like to. At least the average, which is one-point-eight-four, I think. That second kid might look a little weird, though,” she laughed. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Ever been married or been close? Or had kids?”

  He cleared his throat and sat up straight. “No marriages, no kids. I was engaged to someone once. Sort of.”

  “How is one ‘sort of’ engaged?”

  “When one’s sometimes-girlfriend’s publicist cooks up a scheme to advance her client’s fledgling acting career by getting her in the tabloids. I’m not sure I was even in the same country, let alone the same room, when I’m supposed to have proposed.”

  “So you didn’t want to marry her?”

  “Hell no!” He faked a cough. “Uh, turns out we didn’t have much in common except what she could get out of me to further her objectives. I got tired of sucking up to the phonies she ran with.”

  What a fucking idiot he’d been to get tangled up with an exotic-dancer-actress-wannabe. One more bad move added to his ash heap of drug-and-alcohol-fueled dumbass choices. Like his other addictions, it was fun when he was high but hell to pay when he came down. Once the sex was stripped away, what remained was a never-ending melodrama with a fucking lunatic who hated most everything he liked.

  “Did you break it off, or did she?”

  “According to the tabloids, she did.”

  “Wrong place, doing the wrong thing with the wrong woman?”

  Beckett bit back his irritation. “Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet.”

  “What little I’ve read is pretty eye-popping. Have you ever had a normal relationship?”

  “Define normal.”

  “You know, getting to know each other, becoming friends, holding hands. Not sleeping with people at first sight.” Her eyes widened, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Ouch.”

  Andie offered an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry. That was totally inappropriate.”

  “You were being honest.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “So no serious relationships, then? Ever?”

  “Nope.”

  She sat back and placed her hands on the table, her expression bemused. “Why not?”

  “I’m not wired for it.” He gave her a wary look, bracing himself for the typical judgmental scowl while a waiter poured the last of the wine.

  The scowl never appeared. Instead, when the guy was out of earshot, she said, “Do you want kids someday?”

  He shrugged. “I like kids, but I’m not interested in being a single dad.”

  Andie cocked her head, a question mark between her brows.

  “I’d need to settle on one person,” he explained. “I’ve never found one to settle on.” Not that I’ve been looking.

  “Ah. And ‘faithful’ isn’t in your vocabulary?”

  Beckett tilted his head up at the same twinkly light, then shot his gaze straight back to hers. “Maybe ‘trust’ isn’t in my vocabulary. How do I know someone’s with me for me and not just so they can use me to get what they want? How do I know a woman’s not just looking for a baby daddy or for someone to take care of the kids she’s had with someone else? Although, as a rule, I don’t date women with children.”

  “Why not?”

  “Kids complicate things.” And there are so many willing ladies without children.

  She gave him an appraising look that unsettled him. A need to defend himself took hold. “It has nothing to do with fidelity. It’s not because I cheat.”

  “Are you talking about cards or hockey?” She smirked.

  “Funny girl. Neither, though I don’t cheat there either. Much.” He paused and shook his head. “When Yamila and I split after a few months, I figured I was a free agent. But that same publicist arranged a little drama, and Yamila, actress that she is, played it up big. She got fifteen minutes of fame and a few auditions out of the ‘scandal.’ For her part, I was a means to an end. Always was.

  “Then there’s my ex-restaurant manager, Jackie. We dated, then I broke it off. I felt bad about it, so when I needed a manager and she needed a job, I hired her. And she showed her thanks by lying to my face, screwing my employees, draining my bank account, and gifting me that IRS lien.”

  His heart rate climbed. “Is that a woman scorned kind of thing, or is she just plain evil? The cops think it’s hilarious, and they’re doing squat to catch her. And another thing I’ve learned is, believe it or not, women use men for arm candy—it goes both ways. You don’t read that on the Internet. I’m no saint, but I’m not as bad as they make me out either.”

  Andie nodded, her eyes locked on him.

  Beckett gulped in air. “You want a coffee?”

  “Decaf cap.”

  His blood fizzing, he finished his wine and called the waiter over. “Unleaded cappuccino for the lady, please. Regular for me.” The waiter dipped his head and trotted away.

  “Outside of the trust thing, I’ve never been inspired to commit long-term, so I’ve concluded I’m just not cut out for it.” He inhaled deeply, trying to even his breathing. “Did I answer your questions?”

  “You did, yes,�
� she said softly. “I’m sorry. I guess I never realized the size of the bull’s-eye on your back. It has to be so hard.”

  He stared at her.

  “Maybe you’re meeting the wrong people,” she offered.

  Her words were kind, and they caressed him, soothed him. His shoulders eased.

  He rested his chin in his palm, taking in her shimmering green eyes and lips that twitched on one side, hinting at her dimple.

  “Maybe,” he conceded.

  Their coffees arrived, and she swept her spoon into the foam and brought it to her lips. As she was licking it clean, an “a-weema-weh” sounded from under the table. She pulled out her phone, swiped at it, and dropped it back in her purse.

  “I love that song. Old stuff is the best.” He hummed the tune. “So what kind of music do you like?”

  With a tinkling laugh, she said, “Old stuff, obviously. As for the rest, what don’t I like?”

  .~ * * * ~.

  Much later and much more restless, Beckett wished he’d opted for a decaf too. He and Andie had talked for hours and could have talked longer. Time had slipped away, and Marco had finally stood at their table tapping his watch. Past midnight, and they had been the only ones left. Beckett hadn’t wanted it to end, but she declined a nightcap. After making sure she was safely in her car and able to drive from the park ’n’ ride where she’d insisted they meet, he headed to a retro club downtown. Deflecting a barrage of confusing emotions, taut as a steel coil hauling up a fishing net, he didn’t know what else to do with himself, so he sought escape in the familiar.

  The bouncer recognized him and waved him in amid grumbling from the long line of waiting patrons. Inside, disco balls rotated and sparkled, blue and purple lights flashed, images swirled on dark walls, and music pounded. Several dance floors were filled with people gyrating to “He’s the Greatest Dancer.” The place was loud, overpowering the turmoil in his head. Just what he needed.

  “Hey, handsome, they’re playing your song,” the bartender shouted as he slid onto an open stool. “Your usual?” She was already reaching for the Breckenridge bottle.

  “House pour,” he barked.

  She raised a dark eyebrow and reached for the Jim Beam.

  He ransacked his brain for her name. She looked like a young Iman, but her name was something altogether different. He’d partied with her. You’d think he could remember.

  “Lexa?” another bartender called. Lexa. Thank you. He glanced at a young woman beside him whose gaze traveled from his eyes to his shoes and back up again. A slow, seductive smile spread over her face. Beyond her were two more women who smiled the same way. Were any of them old enough to be here? He pushed aside the thought that he was too old.

  He raised two fingers in a peace sign. His phone buzzed, and he glanced down, relieved to see the text he’d been waiting for. Got home ok. He texted Andie back and stuffed his phone in his pocket.

  Lexa delivered his drink and took the women’s orders. The first one leaned her back against the bar, sticking her tits out, tossing her dark hair. She was dressed like a high-class hooker. Maybe not that high-class.

  “I’m Jade.”

  “Beckett Miller.” He raised his glass in a toast.

  She pushed off from the bar. “The ex-hockey player?”

  Ouch. That stings. “Yeah, I play hockey. Can I buy you and your friends a drink?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe later. Thanks anyway.”

  Lexa placed three pink drinks on the bar and nodded somewhere across the room—to whoever was buying this round, no doubt. The girls grabbed their cocktails and left without a backward glance at Beckett.

  Lexa shrugged. “They’re hunting big game tonight.”

  “Jesus, you sure know how to make a guy feel like shit.”

  She grinned. “So you’ll buy more liquor from me.”

  “I’d buy more liquor if I had three women hanging on me, and I’d also tip you better than I’m going to.” He pivoted on the stool to see what “big game” looked like, and his eyes snapped to a petite redhead. His pulse shot into overdrive. Her back was to him, and as he was checking her out, a man handed her a drink and put his arm around her. She turned and smiled at her companion. Not Andie.

  Of course not.

  For some unfathomable reason, Beckett scanned the club for small women with auburn hair. The few he spotted weren’t Andie either. Even if she weren’t married, he wouldn’t find her at a place like this.

  Beckett ordered another drink and watched the gamesmanship around the dance floor, at the tables, the bar. This was usually a scene he was part of, not one he spectated, and it didn’t take much to understand every desperate move, every glance from one lonely human trying to connect to another. This view rattled him.

  Lexa interrupted his thoughts. “I’m off in an hour. We could pose as a couple and hit the Velvet Lounge.”

  Beckett swiveled his head slowly, taking in Lexa’s sly smile. The Velvet Lounge was not the club’s real name. Beckett wasn’t sure it had a real name, but it was what people familiar with its brand of entertainment called the hookup club. Single men weren’t welcome. At all. What Lexa offered was a chance to get in by posing as the male half of a couple—the acceptable type of man. Once inside, he’d be free to take advantage of what was offered. Like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  “You into swinging?” he said.

  “Girls only, baby. And I like to watch.”

  He sipped his drink slowly, sordid bits of his past streaking through his mind like the lights on the dance floor.

  “Thanks, Lexa, but not tonight. Cash me out, okay?”

  Beckett climbed into his truck and looked at his phone. Almost two. Way too late. He shouldn’t call anyway, even if he could invent a good reason. Andie would think he was a loon. He probably was.

  He exhaled noisily and stared through his windshield, tapping his thumb on his steering wheel. Then he looked at the phone again, pulled up a map app and entered an address. Within fifteen minutes, he was cruising a dark street in Denver’s Mayfair neighborhood, searching house numbers. When he found what he was looking for, he drove by, turned around, parked on the opposite side, and killed his engine and lights.

  Mayfair was an older area popular with the city’s trendy folk. Lots of homes here were way higher on the fancy-o-meter than the one he studied right now: a modest, mid-century, single-story brick house set back from the road. A curving path led to a light blue front door tucked under a porch cover. A single light blazed beside it, but otherwise the house was dark. It looked like Andie, like someplace she’d live. Easygoing, inviting. Normal.

  He began muttering to himself. “How safe is this place? Too many bushes by the windows where some crazy stalker could hide. Doesn’t Adrian Asswipe give a shit? Leaving his wife unprotected like that? She needs a big, mean dog. Or a gun. I could teach her to shoot.”

  Moments later, it occurred to him that he was acting like a crazy stalker, so he went home and poured himself copious amounts of cheap bourbon. Maybe then he could get a certain married redhead off his mind.

  CHAPTER 10

  Where Did Our Love Go

  Paige stood over Claudia’s trash bin, pulling silky filaments from corn cobs. Claudia caught her eye and smiled. “I’m so glad you’re here, Paige.”

  Paige let out a laugh. “Beckett said you wouldn’t let him in otherwise.”

  Claudia slid a peach pie from the oven, inspected it, and slid it back in again. It smelled heavenly.

  “Ten more minutes,” she declared. “He and Marty go way back, so he’ll probably always be in our lives in one form or another. Deep down, Beckett’s a good guy. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for a friend. I think he’s guilty of believing his own press sometimes, and he gets in his own way, like a puppy whose feet are too big. I’m glad to see you two spending time together.”

  Alarmed, Paige nearly dropped the ear into the trash, feeling like a naughty kid who’d been caught being … well, naughty. “O
h, it’s not like that! We’re just friends—business acquaintances.”

  Claudia folded her arms over her chest. “Maybe that’s why he acts differently with you.”

  Paige chuckled. “With his pick of beauty queens revolving around him like planets around the sun, maybe he needed a break.”

  “Don’t be fooled. Most of these boys want the girl next door, though sometimes they get caught up with the glitzy ones and get dazzled stupid into high-speed lifestyles. Beckett’s lived it more than most, but in the end, they all want the same thing. Someone like Mom.”

  “Mom crossed with a lingerie model,” Paige chortled. “Ew. That just sounds wrong.”

  They both laughed. Whether because of the beer or because she was so relaxed around Claudia, Paige told her about meeting Beckett in Marty’s office. They both howled so hard Paige’s side stitched.

  “Oh my God, oh my God! He didn’t! And you said that?” Claudia gasped, flapping her hand in front of her face. “Marty told me a little, but he skipped the details!”

  When Beckett appeared in the doorway, a puzzled smile on his face, they laughed even harder. “I think I’ll just leave now,” he muttered.

  Catching her breath before she could process restraint, Paige stepped up to him. “Really, Claudia, he is just a big puppy.”

  He pulled her to his side, anchoring her against hard muscle. Fitting under his shoulder perfectly, for an instant she reveled in the feel of him, solid and strong. Safe.

  He grinned. “Claudia, I don’t know what you’re feeding her, but keep it up. Please.”

  Paige’s entire body flushed, and she quickly pulled away and straightened her skirt. Her attention bounced to the man who’d materialized behind Beckett.

  “Out of the way, Miller. I smell one of Claudia’s pies calling me.”

  Beckett glanced over his shoulder and bobbed his head toward Paige. “Hey, T.J. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He moved aside, and a dark-haired man about Beckett’s size came into view. “Andie, this is T.J. Shanstrom. He’s a former teammate. T.J., Paige Anderson, my real estate agent.”