Gamed (Minnesota Caribou Book 4)

by Colleen Charles

  “Umm…” I’m backed into a corner with my back firmly up against the wall. No matter what I say, a man I like is walking out of here annoyed or worse. I hate disappointing people. My customers. Myself. Dammit, I don’t know what to do. But when Max Monroe’s hypnotic blue eyes meet mine, I can’t look away. And I find I don’t want to. “I think Max is right, Mark. What would it look like to the chamber if competing businesses coupled up to run the race? I don’t think it would look good, you know?”

  Since I tossed Mark a way to save face, he grabs it with both hands. “I guess when you put it that way. But don’t expect me to go easy on you. Either of you.”

  Max looks like a cross between a Roman gladiator and an MMA fighter. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Mark turns to leave, calling over his shoulder, “Let’s grab a drink sometime, Sue-Ann. Catch up on old times.”

  Once Mark leaves, I whirl on Max. “What was that all about?”

  His narrowed gaze still watches Mark until he hits the sidewalk, but he deflates a bit. “You are not going out with that douche.”

  My heart stutters. “Excuse me?”

  “Isn’t he the genius who almost imploded Spencer’s career with that doping scandal? Not to mention sleeping with Spencer’s fiancée. That’s some twisted shit. I don’t want you to go out with a man like that. I’d say the same thing to my sister.”

  My stomach twists into a knot that grows and stays planted, refusing to ease. So that’s how he sees me? As his older sister and he’s just acting all pissy because he wants to protect me just like he would any other female in his family. God, what was I thinking during girls’ night with Jules when I spilled my guts about how much I liked him?

  God, you’re such an idiot, Sue-Ann.

  Seems the sizzling chemistry is only being felt on my side. He doesn’t find me attractive. He probably thinks of me like some old hag wearing granny panties and slathering herself with Bengay every night for her aching joints.

  Except ever since I met him, it’s been more like my Rabbit for my aching lady bits.

  His eyes darken as I drink him in with my own, unable to stop myself. “Thanks for looking out for me, but I can handle Mark Spencer or anyone else who comes along. Besides I dated him back in high school and he broke my heart when he cheated. I don’t ever make the same mistake twice.”

  Max leans forward, a twinkle in his eyes, a challenging set to his chiseled jaw. “Doesn’t surprise me about Spencer. Now I know why the guy rubs me the wrong way. And I know you can handle yourself. It’s one of the many things I like about you. But you independent chicks could learn a thing or two about sitting down and letting a man protect you once in a while. We’re good for more things than just taking out the trash. Helping makes us feel useful.”

  My breath stalls in my lungs as my brain focuses on that single word and a question pops out before I can swallow it. “Many things?”

  I can’t focus on worrying about receiving more out of left field compliments. Every brain cell twirling around in my head floats, struggling to land. My gaze is riveted to Max, his long fingers gently tapping the counter. I’m at risk of melting down unless I get the hell out of here before I go and do something we both regret.

  Like lean in.

  Dart my tongue out.

  Taste the sexy seam of his full lips.

  This is so crazy—this deep, all-encompassing want I have for this man I can’t have. I wonder if the ache is only because he’s off-limits or if it’s something more than that. The breath stalls in my lungs as my unanswered question hangs suspended in the electrically charged air.

  “You’re smart. Independent. Successful,” he says, the grit in his voice rasping like coarse sandpaper against a board. “Like all the things.”

  “All the…”

  Before I can say another word, he whips around to my side of the quartz countertop, snaking a hand around my waist. Sometime between the stockroom and this moment, he lost his Caribou cap. His normally perfect hair explodes around his head, and I lift my hand to touch it, amazed at its softness.

  Max moans and pulls me even closer. I lean into his embrace, and when my hand flutters back to my side, his lips find mine. Even as my heart flips over, my brain engages. It doesn’t feel wrong at all.

  It feels so damn right.

  His kiss starts off slow, gentle, in a way I never thought a man his age would. Kids don’t do anything slow. All the times I imagined this moment, he took possession of my mouth with fierce determination. But this… this is even better because he’s taking his time. His hand cups my jaw, and he tilts my head as his mouth moves tenderly over mine.

  His warm tongue teases the seam of my lips, tasting me, just like I’d fantasized about doing to him just a couple of minutes ago. The first wet touch sends tiny jolts of desire shooting through my body like Fourth of July sparklers.

  “Sue-Ann, damn, babe,” he says, his tone laced with a sexy grit. “You taste like sunshine.”

  Max leans me back, caging me in between the counter and his hard body, wedging a muscular thigh between my legs. I surrender to the sensations, reveling in the steely feel of his chest and inhaling his citrusy scent. A flood of warmth heads to my panties, my clit throbbing and yearning for his touch.

  Just as I snake my arms around his neck to pull him in even closer, my pebbled nipples searching for his rock-hard chest, a wail pierces my consciousness. I ignore it. But it comes back even louder than before. Irritated and demanding.

  Please go away, kiss stealer.

  From below us, Catrick sings his annoyed and hungry meow.

  Dammit, I forgot to feed him. It’s past closing time—past dinner time—and Catrick weaves back and forth between Max and me, those azure eyes gazing up at us. I’m not sure if he approves or not.

  After one more wail from Catrick, Max lets go of me and I wobble a bit before I right myself.

  Despite his trademark grin, his voice is full of need and everything remaining unresolved by our explosive kiss. I wonder if there will ever be another one.

  But damn, do I want there to be. Now that I’ve kissed him, I can’t over go back to not knowing how incredible it feels.

  His forehead creases, his gaze still dark with lust. “You should have named him Buzz Killington.”

  Chapter Eight

  Max

  Milo’s going to have your ass.

  Ah, but what a damn fine way to go. And if I had it to do all over again, I’d still kiss Sue-Ann. The thought of her full lips moving under mine, those sweet tits flush against my chest, her spicy perfume tickling my nostrils—it all fades back into my brain, focusing every thought on her and what I’d like to do to her.

  Like crawl my fingers underneath her shirt so I can finally find out the color and shape of her nipples since those nipples always seemed to be hard as ice picks in my presence. It’s probably good that Catrick stopped me before I went too far.

  Pussius interuptus.

  But it was the wrong damn pussy pressed against my leg.

  I stroke Meatball’s silky head as she pants and dances at my side, ignoring the tightening in my crotch. My girl’s obsessed with tennis balls. She can catch one five feet in the air, and she especially likes it when I toss them with this plastic launcher thing I snagged at Chuck & Don’s. I feel undercaffeinated, and I wonder where my brother is with my damn Starbucks double espresso with heavy cream. We meet at the dog park every Saturday afternoon when I’m in town, so in the off-season, that’s every single Saturday. If Meatball doesn’t see him for a few days in a row, she gets doggie depressed. I’m starting to wonder if she doesn’t love Matt more than she loves me.

  But then again. I’m the man holding the balls. And like most females, she’s a salivating slave to them.

  I throw a rocket into the beautiful morning air, and Meatball gives chase, her silky brown body arcing for the perfect catch. When she returns, the yellow felt splits her lab smile in half, and I snap a pic of the moment of pure bli
ss for my Insta. Chicks love dogs. Chicks love dudes with dogs. And I exploit it to my benefit. Some of the best nights of my life have started in my DMs with a simple, Meatball is sooooo cute!

  Her thick tail starts wagging so hard she could cut a board in half ala Chuck Norris and my Starbucks suddenly appears in front of me, attached to a tan and muscled arm.

  I grab it, and we click cups. “Morning, bro. Sup?”

  Matt pets Meatball as my dog presses herself so hard against my brother’s legs, I’m afraid he’s going to be wearing dirt soon instead of the UMD Bulldogs t-shirt that’s currently stretched across his shoulders.

  He grins and winks at me. “Never better. How are things at the boutique?”

  Hmm… how much to divulge? Not that Matt would ever tattle on me to Milo; he’s a great brother who always has my back. More like he’d ride me himself until I begged for mercy. But in this case, I kinda want his advice. Something tells me getting into Sue-Ann’s pants would be worth Milo’s wrath. But I also really like the girl and if tumbling her into my bed for a quickie would hurt her, I don’t want to do that either.

  She’s older though, and that usually means more in touch with her own body and mind. She won’t do something that she doesn’t want to do, and she might like a little fling as much as me. And if we can keep it loose and casual, that might just benefit us both.

  I grip the ball launcher tightly in my hand, and I can’t hold back the little smile that pops out when I think about her. “Sue-Ann’s a taskmaster. She’s really yanking my chain.”

  My brother scoffs and pets Meatball on her head, causing a line of happy drool to almost hit his sneakered toe. “More like yanking your dick.”

  My eyes narrow into slits, asking the question I probably already know the answer to. “How did you know I’m a little wrapped up in her?”

  He stabs a toe in the dirt as he regards me. “Your shoulders are tight, and your lips are pressed into a thin line even though you’re at your happy place with your best girl. You’ve got that sexually frustrated look all over you. Like you need to get laid. That means the cougar’s pussy has remained closed for business even as her store remains open.”

  I take a swig of my espresso, welcoming the hot liquid across my tongue. It cooled down just enough on the ride over to the dog park to be perfect. Cougar, hah. Sue-Ann only has me by a few years, which means she’s really only a cougar cub. Just because I’ve never gone there before with an older woman doesn’t mean I can’t go there now.

  And love every damn minute of it. I can make a woman of any age squeal my name when I put my head between her legs whether she’s twenty-two or fifty-two. With my name and God’s rolling off their tongues, multiple women have told me I have a mouth like the Shark Rotator Professional. I shake my head. The thought of tonguing Sue-Ann tumbles around my brain and coils my body into a spring ready to snap. If I had to place a bet, I’d put my bankroll on her tasting like a mixture of heaven and sin. My obvious distress only makes Matt’s lips tug upward into a superior smirk. I ignore how well my brother knows me.

  “Is it that obvious?” I ask, deflecting.

  I feel like I want to avoid the truth—something I don’t normally do with Matt. But what’s budding between Sue-Ann and I seems like the daintiest bloom in spring—fragile—and I don’t want my young, shoot-straight brother to trample it before it can open underneath the strength of a vibrant sun.

  Meatball finally comes back to me for another toss of her tennis ball. I launch it as far as possible and watch as my girl takes flight and snatches it in her powerful jaw before trotting back and dropping it at my feet.

  “Good girl. You’re so talented,” I croon, rubbing her behind her silky brown ears, just the way she likes it.

  “So, what are you going to do about it?” Matt asks, taking a sip of his mocha choca sissy frou-frou drink that he orders whenever he knows he won’t get shit for drinking it. Extra whip. “If you go there, Milo’s going to go ballistic.”

  “Milo ran my life all through high school. And don’t get me wrong—I needed someone to ride my ass to get me to the NHL, but I’m an adult now. He doesn’t get a vote on who I’m fucking.”

  “But according to him and your present position on the last line with the least amount of on-ice minutes for all the Caribou forwards, maybe you do need him to keep you flying right. Seriously, dude, you don’t want to end up back in the minors. The quality of chicks to ride your dick goes straight in the shitter. The hot ones want a professional, if you know what I mean?”

  I snort a laugh. “How the hell would you know? You’re still getting down with cheerleaders and dancing girls.”

  His chuckle rings out, low and deep. “Don’t knock those dancing girls ‘til you try ‘em. They can do the splits, you know. But then again, I guess you already went there when you were back at UMD. And don’t ruin my chances to make the bigs with your inferior work ethic. Coaches and scouts who don’t know better are going to think I’m as lazy as you are. Anyway, if you like this girl, you should give it a shot. I haven’t heard you talk about a girl like a human being instead of just a fuck for a long time. Not since…”

  I wave a hand between us. “Shut your mouth. Her name will never be mentioned again. She no longer exists.”

  His words echo into the breeze. “You can’t erase the past, bro. By the way, I just didn’t see her a couple of weeks ago at Spurs.”

  My eyes shut, but despite my desire for darkness, her compelling green eyes, auburn hair that curls to her tiny waist, and bangin’ curves appear behind my Benedict Arnold eyelids. “I’m not going to ask you how she didn’t look.”

  He makes a grunting noise that rivals the Jack Russell trying to dig a hole to China a few yards away. “Don’t have to. You know how she looked. Like the bitch who fucked over my brother.”

  The visual presents a wicked blow to my equilibrium. “Is it wrong to wish she weighed five hundred pounds and was missing a few teeth?”

  Matt tips back the last of his mocha then throws the cup into the recycle bin. “Nah, it’s not wrong. That would mean she actually gave a shit about her betrayal and chose to drown herself in booze and Twinkies. She looks the same. And she wasn’t with someone, if that means anything.”

  The last time she was with someone, that someone was naked in my bed when I got home early from a road trip. That’s what happens when you give a gorgeous woman a seat in the WAG section of the arena along with a little piece of your heart. The worst part? She never once sat there to support me. I should have known right then and there. Instead, she ripped my heart out of my chest, killed it, then danced all over its grave. Despite my reputation, I was true to her from college until rookie season. Prior to the incident, I often wondered how I would handle it if Madison cheated on me. I imagined taking the guy and beating the living shit out of him. I imagined screaming and ranting like a lunatic.

  At no time did I imagine how numb I would feel and how I would just walk the fuck away like it didn’t matter to me.

  When it damn well mattered.

  Not that I’d ever admit it to anyone—even my own brother.

  When a woman constantly pelts you with a bunch of reasons why she can’t do something—like be faithful as your fucking girlfriend—she’s simply filling you in that she doesn’t want to do it because she just doesn’t value you or your relationship enough. Since Madison gutted me, I’m not sure I even believe in love anymore. Lord knows I didn’t have a role model growing up about what a real relationship looks like. Love is just a silken lie—alluring and addictive, but not necessary in the real world.

  Women can be used and tossed aside in a heartbeat.

  But Sue-Ann doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.

  I flick that thought away. “Nah, don’t care. There isn’t enough Lysol in the world to make me go back there.”

  He pinches his eyebrows together. “You’re a wise man. For every hot chick in the world, there’s a man who’s tired of fucking her.”


  I nod. “Word.”

  He picks the ball up for Meatball and gives it a toss. “So, what about this Sue-Ann chick? Is she hot like Madison?”

  I picture Sue-Ann’s eyes the color of a calm lake, her curvy body, her silky soft skin, her full lips, but mostly, I picture her personality… how she lights up when she laughs, which is often, her sexy confidence, how smart she is about business and how exceptional she is with her customers and their needs. She anticipates things before they even happen, a skill that must transfer to the bedroom. “Hotter.”

  “You should go for it then. Milo will understand. As long as you don’t make her a one-nighter, that is. Who knows? She might be the one to give you your mojo back. The mojo that Madison sucked out of you before she left.”

  “Don’t get it twisted. I left her. And as much as I might want to, I’m not going to be there helping Sue-Ann much longer. My sentence only lasts a few weeks. I doubt I’ll see her again after that. We’ve both been living in Duluth our entire lives and never crossed paths until now.”

  He regards me in a way only my flesh and blood could get away with. “You could if you wanted to. See her again, that is.”

  I give Meatball one more toss of the ball as I finish up my espresso. “I’ll be in training camp soon, so there won’t be time for a woman like her. I barely have enough time for Meatball, and women seem to want things.”

  Things I no longer have it in me to give.

  Chapter Nine

  Sue-Ann

  Unless Max treats this as a professional relationship between business owner and intern, these upcoming days are going to be pure torture. Especially because hearing his raspy voice call me babe stirred up something between my legs that I’ll never admit to. And that’s a road I can’t afford to go down because nothing is more important than my business and my reputation in the community of Duluth, especially when I have expansion on my mind.