Gamed (Minnesota Caribou Book 4)

by Colleen Charles

  “Is it perfect?” I ask, stepping back to let the blue gaze that mirrors mine sweep my body.

  “You’ll do. Do you have a date for this shindig?” Meg rolls her eyes before I can even answer. “And I use the term date loosely. Please don’t tell me it’s that freakshow Bitsy from the Saratoga Club?”

  My eyes narrow into slits as I wonder how I slipped and told my sixteen-year-old sister about that crazy chick. She ended up stalking me and slicing up my vintage Nirvana t-shirt when I told her I was done with her after a couple of mediocre romps in the sheets. You know the soft and faded one that fits just right? Yeah, I still miss it as much as I miss Kurt Cobain. “How do you know about Bitsy?”

  She flicks her wrist as if it should be common knowledge. “Mom said something to Grandma about you not being able to keep it in your pants and how she’s afraid you’re going to knock up a gold digger with your demon jizz.”

  I pause, weighing each word. “If you ever say jizz in my presence again, I’ll wash your mouth out with soap myself. You shouldn’t even know that word.”

  “As if.” Another even more dramatic teenage girl eye-roll. “You brothers think you can control us just because we’re younger. Jeez, Max. I’m practically an adult. I know things.”

  And therein lies the problem. Thinking about what Meg might do let alone know about makes me want to bust out the 12-gauge I use for pheasant hunting and polish it to a sun-like shine. Because if any loser thinks he’s going to try to get in my sister’s pants, he’s going to be answering to me. And I have a sharp skate that would be perfect for kicking said loser in the butt.

  I serve her a healthy dose of side-eye. She’s gorgeous, and she knows that just as much as she knows things. I just want her to keep that bloom of innocence and youth as long as possible. “Just keep that shit to yourself.”

  She sinks back into the couch again, grabbing the remote. “So who is she?”

  My fingers give the tie one final tug. “Sue-Ann Johnson.”

  Meg’s pretty face twists into a grimace. “That chick from the boutique where you’re helping out? Isn’t she like… ancient?”

  I pick an invisible piece of lint off my lapel. “She’s seven years older than I am. Do you think that’s ancient? Choose your words carefully here, little sister. I think Mom would have a serious issue with you calling a thirty-two-year-old a relic.”

  She groans deep in her throat. “That’s different. She’s a mom of three, and this chick is trying to date my brother.”

  I shove my phone and my wallet into my pocket. “You’d like her. She’s almost as lippy as you are.”

  A pause. “If you like her, I guess that’s all that matters.”

  “How profound,” I say, swatting her on the leg. “I’m heading out. Don’t eat me out of house and home. No one with a dick is allowed over and remember to take Meatball out to potty even if you’re enthralled by your latest What’s App fest.”

  She gives me a jaunty little salute. “Aye, aye, jailbait. Have fun with your ancient chick.”

  I shake my head on my way out the door. Slipping inside the sleek Lincoln Town Car I rented, I give the driver Sue’s address. I didn’t want her to have to crawl into the high cab of a pickup in a cocktail dress and this also works if I have too much to drink. After what happened to Spencer years ago when he tangled with that grain truck, Coach pretty much told all of us if we got pulled over for an OWI, we’re toast. Drinking and driving do not mix.

  I palm my phone and fire off a text to Sue, letting her know I’m on the way and only about ten minutes from her place. We should be there just in time to mingle and partake in the cocktail hour before the sit-down dinner is served.

  Heart hammering in my chest, I inhale as the car pulls up to the curb outside Sue’s cute two-story house in downtown Duluth. I hop out to get her at the door like a gentleman, my eyes sweeping the fresh white paint, blue shutters, and loads of rose bushes lining the walk. I wonder when she has time to water them. Girl works too damn much. But the house is unique, charming and vintage, and it fits the woman who owns it to perfection.

  I punch the doorbell and hear it echo through the house along with a faint, “Coming.” I’m not nearly prepared for the view that appears in the doorway. All the air escapes my lungs as if I was just knocked on my ass by the fiercest cross-check in the NHL.

  “Uh…” I stammer, taking it all in. Further words dangle in the back of my throat, mixed up with the fiercest lust I’ve ever felt.

  Even though my vocal cords can’t operate, my dick doesn’t have any trouble at all, straining against the fly of my tuxedo pants.

  The dress is red.

  Cherry red.

  It’s strapless and some kind of silky fabric. And if the color isn’t enough—inciting me to charge and devour her as if I’m the bull and she’s the matador—it’s slit up to mid-thigh and features a cut-out that goes from the gap all the way up to her perfect rack. That’s right, folks. Sue chose to flash me a good three inches of her creamy white skin from her thigh to her full tits. The gap is only held together by tiny and glittery straps spaced about three inches apart. If she moves the wrong way, her cleavage is going to be freed like Willy in that movie that Meg forced me to watch over and over when we were kids.

  Fuck me.

  Completely unaffected, she pops her silver clutch closed and smacks her red lips together. That silky hair that I want to yank is swept up in an intricate bun thingy with wisps framing her gorgeous face. The moment her eyes meet mine, an image overtakes my mind and won’t be eradicated no matter how many times I try to blink it away.

  Sue drops to her knees on this sidewalk right in front of me, takes my hardening dick out of my pants and paints it with that sexy as hell lipstick.

  I shake my head and stare.

  And stare.

  Because there’s no way for her to hide panties underneath that damn thing. Her tight pussy is bare, and it’s only a few tugs away from my itching fingers.

  Once she finally catches me staring, her lips tug upward. “I’m ready if you are.”

  “Totally.”

  Totally? That’s the word you pull out of your ass, Monroe?

  Choosing to forgo the compliment that just won’t come yet, I put my hand in the small of her back and guide her to the Town Car. The driver opens the door for Sue, and I trot around to the other side and slip into the leather seat wondering how I’m going to make it through this evening without molesting her.

  I try not to stare again as she snuggles that heart-shaped ass into the buttery leather, setting her purse between us.

  Her hand drifts to her thigh. “Are you all ready for your speech?”

  “I guess. I’ve never been one for public speaking, but it comes with the territory. Between reporters and newscasters and charities, I always seem to be saying a few words.”

  Except when I want to say a few words about how stunning you look, and I can’t seem to do it. And I wonder why. That damn dress. The woman in it. They’ve both fucked you in all the ways that matter, Monroe.

  Her gaze rakes over me, leaving a scorched trail in its wake. “I suppose that’s true. Do you get hounded a lot by the press?”

  Why does it feel like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me? Oh, that’s right. Sue-Ann sitting next to me like a total smokeshow. “Not as much as the guys who are better than me. Like your friend, Spencer.”

  “To hear him tell it, you’re pretty talented. Why would you say something like that?”

  A warm rush of heat floods my face. Because I want to tell Sue-Ann the truth, but if I do, I have to be ashamed of myself. And all of a sudden, I wonder why I ever took my NHL career for granted and pushed the long game aside for some short-term pleasure. “Uh… I haven’t been putting my best foot—or skate in this case—forward lately.”

  She looks at me as if she sees me and wants to peel away my many defensive layers to actually get to know the man who lurks beneath them. The soft feeling inside my chest surprises
me. I like having her by my side, chatting about things that go deeper than the weather and what I had for breakfast. “I figured you were in some kind of trouble since Milo forced you to help me at the store. I’ve been told I’m a good listener. I think it comes from so many years catering to customers. I know how much you love hockey. Why don’t you explain it to me?”

  She lays my soul bare with just a whisper of words, and I want to tell her my entire life story. How I lived in a rusty trailer until college. How my mom struggled to put food on the table and had to work three jobs. How I had to deal with bullies because I never had the right shoes or jeans. How I’d probably be behind bars in the Federal Prison Camp without Milo grabbing me by the back of my neck and shaking some sense into me all while putting me firmly on the ice with a goal for the future. He was the first person in my life who believed in me and told me dreams were worth having and striving toward.

  But just when I made all my dreams come true that age-old self-sabotage wormed its way inside me, prodding me toward my own downfall. Because deep down, I’ve never felt good enough. I’m an imposter in my own motherfucking life.

  I can’t escape the ripple in my stomach. “I guess I just never felt like I deserved any of it.”

  Those elegant fingers reach out and twine with mine even before she says anything. Our heartbeats mingle and mirror each other along with our breath.

  In. Out.

  In. Out.

  “You’re the happiest person I’ve ever met in my life. I can’t believe that you feel darkness underneath it.”

  The pad of my thumb finds her pulse. Thump. Thump. Thump.

  “I’m only human. We all fall into the darkness sometimes.”

  Her glistening eyes meet mine. “How can I support you?”

  Those words wash over me in a circle of brilliant bright light. No judgment? No shame? No telling me what she thinks I should do? No, not my Sue-Ann. All she wants to do is serve as my slender, sexy, naked shoulder to lay my head on and just be myself.

  So that’s just what I do all the way to the venue.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sue-Ann

  I guess I just never felt like I deserved any of it.

  Max’s words haunt me even as his twinkling eyes ignite a fire deep inside. Who would have ever known that behind that cocky grin lurked something else? Something deeper and darker? My heart breaks for the little boy he must have been—so unsure and worried—a state that kids should never have to be in as adult issues get dumped in their laps.

  I was so lucky to be raised by loving parents in a stable family in one of the greatest and most down to earth cities in the USA.

  Prior to tonight, I thought I had nothing to offer to Max, that I was somehow washed up and beneath him and his NHL superstardom and mega wealth. But maybe I do have gifts to offer. As we share with each other, something shifts between us. He’s opened himself up to me, sharing things I doubt he shares with many others. And paired with his pursuit of me, I’m falling fast and hard as he makes me feel things I just didn’t expect.

  “Uh oh,” Jules says, sidling up behind me. “Whenever you bite your lower lip, something serious is going on. Don’t tell me it’s your date—because that man is hotter than hell. Just don’t tell Adam I said so.”

  I lean in for a hug. “All your secrets are safe with me ever since we pinky swore in the third grade.”

  “You look spectacular, by the way. That dress. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to wear anything besides black now that I’m a mom. My body spread and shifted in ways I never even imagined it could. Now I even look at a carb and my ass expands.”

  My gaze sweeps my friend from her curve-hugging black bandage dress to her matching stilettos with silver buckles and scoff. She’s a total bombshell, and she knows it. I catch Adam’s eye and wink because the man’s gaze rarely leaves Jules for too many seconds even though he’s talking to some of the Caribou’s box owners. I’ve never seen a man love a woman as much, not even my own parents. And now that she’s the mother of his perfect son, that love has grown so much it shines so brightly it reflects on everything around them.

  I grip the stem of my champagne flute. “As if. You could totally wear this dress. In fact, you can borrow it any time you want.”

  “You’re avoiding the question. Why so concerned when the champagne is flowing freely? As far as chamber functions go, this one is one of the better ones.”

  My bubble of laughter matches the rising circles in the cut crystal. “Do you remember what you said to me during our last girl’s night? About Max?”

  “Of course. Did you hit it yet?” Jules lets out a giggle that takes me right back to high school when we used to polish our nails and eat popcorn to marathons of Gossip Girl.

  “That’s just it. I don’t want to hit it and quit it. We’ve been getting closer and having conversations that dive a little deeper. I don’t think it would be right to have a fling with him right now when he’s struggling to find himself on the ice and off. I feel like he deserves more from me, you know?”

  She takes a sip of her bubbly as she regards me. “Sue-Ann, that’s admirable. Are you thinking of teaching him a few life lessons? Lord knows, Milo has tried to get through to him a hundred times, but he keeps acting like a lunkhead. The team is afraid he’s going to get traded or released outright. He had so much talent and was drafted so high, but so far, he’s turned out to be a dud.”

  And that’s just it. I can’t understand why he’s not playing full out and ripping up the NHL. He’s worked so hard for me he’s quickly become the most indispensable employee I’ve ever had. I open my mouth to respond, but the lights flicker off and on, announcing that we have to sit for dinner.

  Once we’re seated at a round table for ten with Adam, Jules, and a few other players and their wives, along with Milo and Maisy, Max takes a sip of his water and leans in. His warm breath caresses the line of my shoulder and I suppress a little shiver.

  “Having fun?”

  I nod. “Yes, it’s a lovely evening.”

  Even though I stiffen, he casually drapes his sculpted arm over the back of my chair. Those magical fingers that I haven’t stopped fantasizing about since the race trace tiny circles around my upper arm until a rash of gooseflesh spreads in their wake. I take another sip of my champagne, grateful that Jules is caught up in a conversation with Reed Matheson and his wife, Harper.

  Milo Adamski, however, notices, and his lethal glare lands on Max. After a few seconds of recrimination, Max drops his hand into his lap.

  Until he doesn’t.

  Because those wicked fingers are now underneath the black linen tablecloth dangerously close to the slit in my dress. His palm shifts over my knee and his thumb strokes the skin of my inner thigh. I’ll admit, when I picked this designer dress, I wanted to knock the man’s socks off. I wanted him to want me and only me because I knew that this event would be filled with gold diggers and hangers-on just dying to claim they’d slept with an NHL player. I didn’t want to see any of them turn his head. And I’ll admit I felt a little unsure of myself and my sexual currency, especially for a man seven years younger than me.

  But now I’m kind of regretting it because there’s not a damn thing I can do to ease the ache that he’s building between my legs. And without panties, I could soil my dress and be in a world of humiliation when I have to stand up.

  “Stop it,” I hiss the moment I see Milo glance away.

  “What?” There’s that cocky grin again. And his hand doesn’t move away. In fact, it moves higher up until I swear he can feel the heat rolling off me in waves.

  I lean in and shift his hand away from me with the weight of my body. “Because this dress doesn’t allow for undergarments.”

  His lips clamp together but those blue eyes dance with merriment and deepen with desire. “Sue-Ann Johnson, you naughty girl. Are you telling me you don’t have any panties on?”

  “Not on purpose!”

  He leans in and whispers
low and deep, “Oh, I disagree. If you wanted to wear panties, you would have picked a different dress. But you didn’t. You picked that dress. Which means you wanted your date to have easy access to that pretty pussy. You want a repeat.”

  My eyes widen into saucers as I glance around the table. But no one hisses in outrage. In fact, no one pays us any attention at all. The server hovers around my shoulder until she places an arugula salad in front of me.

  I pick up my fork and make a stabbing motion toward him. “Behave.”

  Those eyebrows waggle even as his blue eyes dance. “If I behave now, does that mean I can be naughty later?”

  I’d literally promise him my first-born child and my first million in sales to get him to shut his smart mouth or fill it with the peppery lettuce instead. “Maybe I’ll let you cop a charity appropriate feel during the dancing portion of this evening. How’s that for a compromise?”

  He winks at me, and something flutters inside my stomach. “I’ll take what I can get. Good thing you have a pussy named Catrick Swayze then because there’s going to be some dirty dancing later.”

  I lift my fork toward my mouth but then stop. “I thought you’d never seen it?”

  He lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. “When you said it was one of your favorites, I checked it out. Not bad at all considering. But then I checked him out again in Roadhouse and that one was a little more my style.”

  Just knowing that melts a little more of the ice I have packed around my heart. This man is full of surprises, and he allows them out of the box when I least expect it, almost as if holding them in might protect him from all the things he fears. But I appreciate when he lets me in and reveals the good parts, even a little bit.

  “Glad to hear you’ve polished up on the cinematic classics.”