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

by G. K. Brady

  “Without a doubt. It’s a brilliant idea.” He flashed her his beautiful baby blues.

  Paige settled low in her seat, tucking her hands beneath her, staring at the gray landscape whizzing past her window as she basked in Beckett’s unwavering faith. The man was full of surprises.

  An hour later, he nudged the Escalade under an arched portico. A doorman opened Paige’s door while another one circled to Beckett.

  “Welcome to the Broadmoor.” The young man smiled. “I’m Cord. If you and your wife will follow James, he’ll escort you to the concierge and your accommodations.”

  She shot Beckett a look, but he didn’t seem fazed by Cord’s assumption. Instead, he casually flipped Cord the car keys and a few bills and took Paige’s arm. As they trailed James, people turned and looked at them—well, they looked at Beckett. He seemed totally relaxed, as though in a familiar milieu, but she was dizzy, barely able to keep her head from swiveling to take in the lavish surroundings. He looked down at her and winked.

  Paige was so dazzled she didn’t notice James had stopped at a single door until he opened it. Before she could register a protest, he announced, “Your suite, Mr. Miller,” and ushered them into a marble entryway that opened onto an elegant cream and dark-wood sitting room, accented with prismed crystal chandeliers. To one side, behind two columns, was a dining table surrounded by damask chairs.

  James deposited their bags and opened floor-to-ceiling curtains, revealing an expansive frozen terrace and mountain view beyond. Then he pointed out two bedrooms, one on either side of the sitting area. When Paige poked her head in, she was greeted by a canopied king bed and sumptuous décor. Her eyes fairly bugged out, and when she turned them to Beckett, he stood by the windows, hands on his hips.

  “Will this be adequate, Mr. Miller?”

  “This will do nicely, thank you.”

  More bills changed hands. James gave a slight bow and backed out of the room, closing the door softly as he went.

  “Oh my God, Beck, this place is bigger than my house! The bedroom is bigger than my house! Can you afford this?”

  Beckett faced her with an arched eyebrow. “I can afford this. Is it just me, or did he look like a young Peter Lorre? And the other guy—what was his name? It makes me think of wood.”

  She laughed. “James does look like Peter Lorre. And the other guy is Cord.”

  “Right. Cordwood.”

  “This is beautiful,” she gushed. “I was a little nervous when I saw just the one door, but this is … this is perfect! Thank you, Beck. A girl could get used to this. But you’re used to traveling this way, aren’t you?”

  “What way? With my own personal roofer, you mean?” Beckett ambled to a sideboard and began examining liquor bottles.

  “You know what I mean. This type of luxury.” She continued battling the urge to gawk.

  “I was used to it once. Not so much now. Do you want a drink?” He grabbed a tulip-shaped glass and poured himself a healthy splash of something tawny, then flicked a drop of water in it.

  “What’s that?”

  He sipped and looked at his glass as though reading it. “Lagavulin, sixteen-year-old. Really good Scotch.” He jerked his chin at her. “Come check this out. I’m sure we can find you something.”

  Excitement percolating, she nearly ran to his side like a schoolgirl eager to show off her new colored markers.

  Beckett chuckled.

  “What?” she demurred, scanning the labels.

  “I’m getting a kick out of watching you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re like a googly-eyed kid. It’s a different side of you. It’s cute. You’re cute.” He offered her his glass. “Want to try?”

  Cute. A pixie. Pixies aren’t hot or sexy or exotic. Why does it matter? She took a small sip, raised her eyebrows, and took another.

  “Want your own pour?” He reached for another glass.

  “I’ll do it. You’ll give me too much.” She dribbled the velvety brown liquid into the glass. When she was done, he flicked a drop of water in her glass too.

  “Opens it up.” He raised his glass and clinked it against hers in a resonating crystal ring. “Here’s to our first New Year’s Eve together.”

  A pain lanced Paige’s heart.

  He looked at her quizzically. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. The divorce is final soon, and it’s … it feels a little strange.” She gave herself a mental shake.

  “A new year, a new beginning.”

  A new normal. “You’re right.” She sighed and sipped her drink.

  “Have you been seeing anyone?” Beckett’s icy-blue eyes locked on hers over the rim of his glass.

  She gaped at him. “You’re kidding, right? I’m still technically married. It would be so … so wrong.”

  He looked at her as if she’d just climbed off a spaceship.

  “I know I don’t owe Adrian loyalty, but this isn’t about him. It’s about me. Getting involved with someone before it’s officially over would make me feel dirty. I’d be as big a sleazeball as he is, and I couldn’t live with the guilt. It wouldn’t be worth it. I can wait a few weeks—not that I’m planning on jumping into a relationship anytime soon.”

  Beckett raised his glass to no one in particular. “Fair enough.”

  Perched on a padded armchair by the marble fireplace, Paige drew in a quick breath and finished her drink. Liquid fortification. “Why didn’t you correct Cordwood when he referred to me as your wife?”

  “I didn’t want to confuse him, and frankly, I’m confused myself. How do you describe us?”

  She shrugged. “Friends.”

  “Does Adrian know you’re here with me?” Beckett began pouring himself another glass, and he pointed at hers.

  She considered for a moment. “I’d prefer Maker’s if there’s any. Then we’ll drink to my divorce.” Her words were like bitter ash in her mouth.

  Beckett dropped ice cubes in a glass. Clink, clink, clink. “Did you tell him?” He splashed Maker’s over the ice. Handing her the fresh drink, he tapped the bottom of his to hers.

  “No. Does it matter? He traded me in.” She bit her thumb. Hard.

  Beckett grunted, “His loss,” and threw back the contents of his glass.

  “Interesting coming from you, Mr. Not-Wired-For-Long-Term Miller.”

  “Yeah, well, if you hadn’t avoided me in college, I might just be Mr. Married Miller now, chasing some little Millers around the house.”

  Blindsided, she erupted in an uncensored, liquor-loosened laugh. The image wasn’t just funny to her—it was preposterous. Beckett shot her a glance; this was not as amusing to him as it was to her.

  “Beck, you and I would’ve been an utter disaster. I doubt we’d have lasted a week.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re into glamorous, and I’m vanilla. Because you’re a commitment-phobe. Because I’m not open-minded; I wouldn’t be able to share you with dozens of other women. Heck, Adrian’s one just about crushed me.” She offered him a sad smile.

  He blinked. “Commitment-phobe might have been true in college … Okay, okay. Stop with the stink-eye. Let me rephrase. It might have been true until recently, but people can change, right? And you’re so positive I’d be chasing other women, but you’re wrong. Not if—never mind.”

  Suddenly uncomfortable, Paige set her glass down and stood. “I think I’ll unpack. Do you care which room I take?” Beckett shook his head. She sensed his eyes on her back as she picked up her bag and headed in one direction.

  His voice rumbled behind her. “I’m hungry. Want some lunch?”

  She turned and took in his tight smile. “Sure. Let me unpack and freshen up first.”

  “You look fantastic the way you are.”

  “That hungry, Beck?”

  “You can’t take a compliment,” he groused and turned to the windows.

  As Paige unpacked, she pushed aside Beckett’s grumpiness and focused
on her radiant-butterfly-emerging-from-its-chrysalis night. She would be Cinderella turning a few Prince Charmings’ heads. It would be an opportunity to dust off her flirting and eye-batting skills, her hanging-on-his-every-word skills. She’d prepare to re-enter the single world.

  Her gut twisted in a tight spiral at the thought. She’d hadn’t chosen singlehood—not willingly. But she’d picked a man who’d decided for them both. How could she have been so wrong about Adrian? He’d been like catnip, irresistible and dazing. She’d let him scramble her brain, blinding her and rendering her utterly incompetent in her ability to recognize his flaws. Shouldn’t the absence of a father have equipped her with an innate perception, a warning system regarding men? Insight had failed her. Did she even have any?

  Maybe she was more like her mother than she’d ever realized.

  CHAPTER 17

  Danger Zone

  They hurried along icy sidewalks, glancing in store windows decked out with holiday decorations. Beckett had been looking forward to this trip since he’d asked Andie to join him, and he’d been on pins and needles from the moment his eyelids had snapped open that morning. Unable to eat, he’d swallowed toast to soak up some of the acid churning in his gut. But now he was borderline hangry, his stomach roaring, and the smell of grilling onions from a local joint was too enticing to resist, so he pulled her in.

  “Can I ask you something?” Beckett said after they’d placed their orders.

  “Of course.”

  “When we were talking before, back at the suite, you laid out some unsettling differences between us.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “That’s not it. I just … sometimes I think to myself, ‘Andie is a special person, and she likes you’—I think—‘so you must be likeable on some level.’ So tell me why someone like you invests time in someone like me.”

  “Because I’m nuts?” she quipped. He didn’t smile.

  “You probably are nuts, Andie. I know why I like spending time with you—and it’s not only because you’re beautiful, smart, successful, funny. I’m comfortable talking to you; I can be myself. I can be goofy.” He paused to wink. “You don’t like me just because I’m a hockey player. Hell, it’s the rare time that’s worked against me. I don’t have shit—the money, the cars, they’re all gone—and you’ve seen my warts and then some. So why do you stick around? For which I’m very grateful, by the way.”

  As she leaned across the table and grasped his hand, her eyes filled with—what? Patience? “First of all, I was only kidding about being nuts. You are likeable, Beck. On many levels. I enjoy being with you too. It’s comfortable, like you said. I love how you just say what’s on your mind. You’re intense, but you’re always smiling, and you make me laugh. You’re not above poking fun at yourself.”

  “I only do that with you, you know.” He squeezed her fingers.

  “You’re intelligent, easy to talk to, and you’re so random that you’re never boring. Your mind is either zigging or zagging. All. The. Time.” She paused a beat. “I’m amazed by what you’ve achieved in only thirty-some years, Beck. It’s admirable.”

  “Not all admirable,” he chuffed. Even to his own ears, he sounded like a petulant child.

  She rolled her eyes. “Fishing for more compliments? Okay. My grandma, who was a very wise woman, once said, ‘You don’t see a person’s true character when life is sunny; it only shows up when the storms roll in.’ You messed up, Beck. Big time. But you owned it. That takes courage. You’re trying to fix it, and I admire that. You have heart. Besides, you’re a gentleman, you’re supportive, and you’re stupid-dumb loyal. I love that. Your biggest flaw is you’re a terminal playboy.” She patted his hand and released it.

  His attention caught on “I love that.”

  She lowered an eyebrow at him. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Of course I’m listening. I always listen to you. But I gotta admit being labeled an irredeemable womanizer sucks.’”

  “You think it’s an unfair label? How does a typical relationship go for you?”

  He stared at a water stain on the ceiling as he marshaled his thoughts. “Before you, my relationships always followed the same pattern. I’m in it for a good time, and I’m up front about that. No strings, no commitments; I’m not settling down.” Pump and dump. “But sometimes the message is forgotten, and she thinks we’re in it till death do us part. A good time morphs into a supernova that leads to a sucking sound—a black hole where the relationship ends up.”

  “Sounds like a player to me. I mean, where else would these relationships go but into a graveyard? Ever slip up and fall in love?”

  “Hell no! And I don’t lie and tell them I love them either.”

  She scrunched her face. “And this makes your behavior praiseworthy? Basically you’re a user, a predator on the hunt for the next lay, with no intention of a long-term bond. That’s sad, Beck.”

  “First of all, I get approached most of the time, before I have a chance to set my sights on anyone. Secondly, we’re consenting adults, and they know the score. How am I predatory?” His tone was level, curious even. She was the only woman—the only person—he could talk to this way.

  “So maybe you’re not predatory, but doesn’t taking advantage and keeping an emotional distance make you a user?”

  “I concede your point, but those women are users too. Hell, they use and manipulate. Am I worse because I’m a man?”

  “Since you put it that way, I guess not,” she sighed. “Your playground is so different from anything I know. Don’t you ever get tired of it, Beck? A new girl every night? What if one of them is someone special and you don’t stick around long enough to find out?”

  “No one’s hit that note, and yeah, I have gotten tired of it.”

  “You’ve said that before. Maybe you just keep attracting a certain type because subconsciously you know it won’t go anywhere and you keep yourself from plunging in, from exposing your heart. Why not build a friendship first, make it the foundation, so you don’t go from supernova to the black hole? The excitement, all that adrenaline is intoxicating, but it wears off. Why not make it the icing so when you’ve licked it all off, you still have the cake?”

  His stomach tightened, and other parts followed. “I love your analogies.”

  More eye-rolling, accompanied by head-shaking.

  He grabbed her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “So something just like this, taken to the next level?”

  Her eyes sparked, and her hand twitched, but she left it in his and laughed nervously. “I didn’t mean us.”

  “Why not?”

  “And destroy a beautiful friendship? You’re not used to women saying ‘no,’ and you, Mr. Tenacious, enjoy a challenge. If I ever said yes, you’d stick around long enough to peep under my hood, and then you’d be gone in a flash.” She snapped her fingers.

  Their waitress arrived in a flurry of plates, and while she deposited them on the table, Andie reclaimed her hand. Beckett drummed his fingers and cast her a regretful glance. Funny, he wasn’t quite as hungry anymore.

  .~ * * * ~.

  Jazz floated from Andie’s bedroom. She’d been in there over an hour. What the hell was she doing? Had she been Yamila or Asha or any of the other women he’d brought to events like this, he would have expected it; an hour would be nothing for them. They’d have taken the whole fucking day, and then there would be absolutely no touching. Couldn’t muss a hair or, God forbid, lean in for a kiss. Might dislodge a fake eyelash. Fake hair. Fake boobs. Fake smile.

  Seated in an overstuffed armchair in front of the fireplace, glasses on, he was staring at a magazine when Andie’s door finally clicked open. He glanced up, then stood and whipped off the glasses.

  Holy shit!

  She twirled out of the bedroom in a daring, devastating, dark blue lace cocktail dress cut low. Too low. Nothing fake about this girl. The lacy hem stopped at her knees, and his eyes traveled down her gorgeous legs
to her perfect blood-red toenails peeking from come-fuck-me heels. Her hair was swept up, and a few waving wisps framed her heart-shaped face.

  “Will this do?” She gave him a shy smile.

  He wolf-whistled and nodded slowly, praying drool wasn’t leaking from his mouth. “I thought I’d lost you in there, but the time spent was … Not that you’re not beautiful all the time. Because you are … beautiful all the time. But this—wow.”

  The skin from her hairline to the gap between her breasts flushed. “Thank you, Mr. Miller. You’re looking rather fetching yourself.”

  “Andie, you’re stunning.”

  She laughed and blushed a deeper shade of pink. “Different than a cute pixie?”

  He couldn’t keep the smile from tugging one side of his mouth. “Pixie is definitely not what comes to mind.” More like fucking hot. “Not that there’s anything wrong with pixies. I think I’d better shut up now.”

  A grin spread over her face. “Well, I do believe I’ve gotten the effect I was going for. Thank you for that, Beck. You’re doing my ego a world of good. Shall we go?”

  “Don’t you have something to cover up with?”

  “Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me.” She scurried into her bedroom and came out with a sheer, glittery gold wrap she threw over her shoulders.

  He just stared at her. “No, I meant … don’t you have a coat? I can see your skin through the lace.”

  “That’s not my skin. It’s flesh-colored lining.”

  “Still, aren’t you sort of … ah … exposed? Maybe you should put that thing across, you know, like this?” He demonstrated a draping motion across his chest.

  She giggled. “No, silly. That would hide the lace detail of the neckline.”

  He blew a breath through his nose, and it whistled. She giggled again. He rolled his eyes, utterly exasperated. “Do you have something else to wear? I’ll wait.”

  Her brows crashed together. “I thought you liked it.”

  “I do like it. It’s beautiful on you, but men are bastards, and they’ll look at you and get all kinds of ideas. Shit, I’m not saying this right. Do you want men hitting on you? Because that’s what’ll happen.” He parked his fists on his waist. “I’ll have to fight them off all night.”