Playing It Cool: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 8)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Pamela sighed. How many more times would she need to apologize? At least a dozen, and that on top of the numerous apologies she'd already made this week. "I know. I'm sorry."

  "Sorry? Are you kidding?" A wide smile spread across the other woman's face. "This is great. I seriously owe you one for this."

  "You do?"

  "Are you kidding me? Look around!" Anita flung her arm out to the side, taking in the sprawling gourmet kitchen. Gleaming stainless-steel appliances and pristine white granite surrounded them, all carefully cleaned and sparkling under the bright lights overhead. "I could live in this kitchen. I mean that seriously. All I need is a small bed and I'd be ready to go."

  "You're serious?"

  "Yes, I'm serious. This was a great idea. And have you seen Gary? He's in heaven, rubbing elbows with a bunch of professional athletes."

  "I don't think—"

  "Never mind that he doesn't have a clue who any of them are. Not really. But he doesn't care. I haven't seen him this excited since..." Anita's voice trailed off as a dreamy expression crossed her face. "Well, this morning, I guess. When we—"

  Pamela cut her off with a wave of her hand. "I don't want to hear it!"

  "Spoil sport. And speaking of sport, have you two, you know, finally gotten around to playing?"

  "Anita!" Pamela hissed her name then quickly looked around, hoping nobody was close enough to hear. But they were alone in the big room, with no danger of being overheard. She still kept her voice lowered, just in case. "No. Not that it's any of your business."

  "Well why not? I thought for sure you would have gotten to that point already. I mean, you're here. In his house. Acting as his hostess of sorts."

  "I'm not the hostess. Of anything. As for the other thing, we just—it hasn't gotten to that point yet." Not that she hadn't thought about it. She had—more than she cared to admit. And not that things hadn't progressed beyond kissing because they certainly had.

  Just not to that point. Not yet.

  She wondered again if there was something wrong. Was she reading into things? No, she didn't think so. The attraction was definitely there, on both sides. It wasn't her imagination, not when Bryan's physical reaction was so evident. They'd come close a few times these last two weeks but that was it: close. At first she thought maybe he was taking things slow. That he was being a gentleman. And she'd been grateful for that, for feeling like she wasn't being rushed into anything. That he wanted more than just sex from her—a refreshing change from the last few dates she'd been on in too long ago to really count.

  But now she was starting to wonder if there was something else going on that she didn't know about. Maybe he really wasn't interested, not in that way. Or maybe there was something about her—

  No. She wasn't going down that road. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her and she was old enough and self-assured enough not to buy into that dribble that plagued so many women, young and old. No, she wasn't one to usually take the first steps in any kind of relationship—not unless it was business—but that was just who she was. It certainly didn't mean something was wrong with her.

  Did that mean something was wrong with Bryan? She shook that possibility off. Of course not. They just weren't on the same page yet, that was all. And instead of complaining, she should just relax and enjoy whatever it was they were doing, one day at a time. They were having fun. Enjoying each other's company. Getting to know one another.

  There wasn't a damn thing wrong with that.

  "Earth to Pam. Come in Pam."

  Pamela jerked away from the hand waving in her face and frowned. "What?"

  "You looked lost for a second. In deep thought. That's never a good thing."

  "I wasn't lost. And since when is thinking a bad thing?"

  "It's not. At least, not usually. It depends on what you were thinking." Anita opened the refrigerator and reached in for the last tray of meats and cheeses. "So. What were you thinking?"

  "Nice try. And no, I'm not telling." Pamela moved beside her and took the tray from her hands. "And I told you I could do this. You should be out there, mingling with Gary."

  "So should you."

  Pamela shook her head. "I don't think so."

  "Why not? Bryan didn't invite you to act as server, you know. You should be out there with him. You know: as his date."

  "I know. It's just..."

  "Just what?"

  "I'm not used to being the subject of so many stares. It's a little disconcerting." Which is why she offered to grab the deli tray from the kitchen before Bryan could. It provided a break from the curious stares she'd been receiving since the party started several hours ago.

  "Well of course they're going to stare. You're the coach's girlfriend. They're curious about you."

  "I'm not his girlfriend. Please, we're not in high school."

  "Then what would you call yourself?"

  "I don't know. His—"

  "Significant other? Partner?"

  "Of course not. That implies a long-term relationship."

  "His woman?"

  "Oh, please. I am not 'his woman'. I'm nobody's woman—"

  "Yes, I know. I know." Anita nudged her in the side with a roll of her eyes. "I just wanted to get a reaction out of you. And I succeeded, didn't I?"

  "I'm not even answering that."

  "Whatever. My point is—if you're not his girlfriend, what are you?"

  "I don't know. His date, I guess."

  "Date implies a first or second time out. Something with no connection. You're way past that point."

  "Why do we have to call it anything?"

  "We don't. My point is, you're here. With their coach. In his house. It's obvious you two have some kind of relationship. Of course they're going to be curious and wonder about you. It's just natural."

  "Doesn't make it any less weird."

  "And since when does anything like that even bother you?"

  "Since I've never liked being the center of attention. You know that."

  "And you've also never been one to run and hide so go, get out there. Take your own advice and mingle." Anita once again took possession of the deli tray before gently nudging her in the direction of the door—and straight into Bryan. Pamela took a startled step back, would have stumbled if Bryan hadn't closed his hands around her arms.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't see—"

  "I was just looking for you—"

  "You guys. You're just so darned cute." Anita pushed past both of them with a smile—and another nudge that forced Pamela closer to Bryan. "I'm just going back out to the crowd. Don't mind me."

  Bryan stared after her with a slight frown on his face before turning back to Pamela. "Did I miss something?"

  "No. That's just Anita being herself." Pamela stepped back and smoothed a self-conscious hand along the hem of her sweater. "You, uh, you said you were looking for me?"

  "Yeah. I thought you disappeared."

  "I just came in here to grab the other platter, that was all."

  "And I told you I would have done that. I didn't invite you here to work, I invited you for you to enjoy yourself."

  "I am."

  "Are you sure about that?" Bryan stepped closer, ran one hand down her arm until his fingers clasped hers. "You looked a little overwhelmed earlier."

  "Not overwhelmed, just..." She tilted her head to the side, searching for the right word. "Let's just say I think I know how a goldfish feels now."

  Bryan laughed, the rich sound washing over her with a tingling warmth. "That bad, huh?"

  "Not bad, just not expected."

  "They're harmless, I swear. And if it makes you feel any better, I've been getting some curious stares myself. I think some of them have finally realized I'm a real person and they're not sure how to react."

  "Oh, the horror."

  "I know, right?" He laughed again then pressed a quick kiss against her mouth. "I wanted to thank you, by the way."

  "For what?"

  "This whole idea.
The party. I haven't seen the guys this relaxed in a while."

  "If you're going to thank someone, it should be Anita. I just stole one of her ideas."

  Bryan rolled his eyes to the ceiling to stare for a few seconds then shook his head and looked back at her. "Something tells me Gary wouldn't appreciate me thanking his wife like this."

  Before Pamela could ask him what he meant, he dipped his head and caught her mouth with his. Slow. Deep. Taking his time, like he wanted nothing more than to savor every little taste of her.

  Pamela sighed and leaned into him, pressing herself even closer as he deepened the kiss. Desire blossomed inside her, filling her with the heat of need. With the heat of hunger. Bryan stepped forward, easing her back until the wall pressed against her shoulders. Then he deepened the kiss even more, his tongue sweeping in to tangle with hers. Seeking. Searching. Demanding.

  He curled one hand along the side of her face, his touch searing her cheek as he dragged his other hand along her shoulder. Her collarbone. Lower, until he cupped the weight of one breast in his palm and gently kneaded. Excitement raced through her, a thousand pinpricks of need tingling her nerve endings. She clung to him, rocked her hips against his, sighed again at the feel of his erection, thick and heavy, pressing against her.

  The kiss grew hotter, consuming her. She wanted. Needed. More. So much more.

  She trailed her hands along his back, lower to cup the hard muscles of his ass and held him against her. She rocked her hips again, slower this time. Seeking. Heard his moan echo her own sharper one as she rocked her hips against him once more, harder this time.

  She dragged one hand from his ass and across his hip then reached between them, curled her hand against the thick erection pushing against soft denim. Bryan groaned, the sound lost between them as he pushed himself against her stroking hand.

  She reached down with her other hand, her trembling fingers searching for the snap and zipper that would free him. She wanted to curl her fingers around his hard flesh. Touch each inch of him. Study and learn and taste—

  "Hey Coach—oh shit. Sorry."

  Pamela jumped at the sound, her head briefly hitting the wall behind her as Bryan quickly stepped back. Heat filled her face and she started to look away but instead caught the sparkling gaze of the man standing in the doorway staring at them.

  And he kept standing there, staring, a smile on his flushed face. She knew she'd been introduced to him earlier but she couldn't think of his name, couldn't think of anything except the sudden desire to melt into the floor in a heap of embarrassment.

  Bryan edged closer to her and placed a protective hand on her waist. His thick voice held a hint of frustration—and amusement. "Hey, Middleton?"

  The man jerked as if he'd been slapped and slid his gaze to Bryan. "Yeah, Coach?"

  "Get out. Now."

  "Oh. Right. Yeah. Sorry about that." The younger man backed out of the kitchen, the door swinging closed behind him. Two seconds later he made an announcement in a clear voice that carried over the noise of conversation and music. "Hey guys! The coach is getting laid tonight!"

  Pamela's eyes widened a second before laughter escaped her and she pressed her lips together in an attempt to smother the sound. She would have been successful, too, if not for the expression on Bryan's face. It was a mixture of amusement, laughter, frustration and embarrassment that mirrored her own and only made her laugh a little harder.

  The corner of Bryan's mouth curled in a wry grin. He reached up and cupped the side of her face, ran the pad of his thumb along her lower lip then dipped his head and caught her mouth with his own for a quick kiss before pulling away and studying her with a gaze that sent heat racing through her.

  "The coach certainly hopes so."

  Chapter Twelve

  The words hung between them, an unseen presence in the air. Bryan inwardly cringed as they played once again in his mind.

  The coach certainly hopes so.

  Could he have been any more blatant than that? Hours later and he still wasn't sure what had possessed him to say what he'd said. He hadn't planned on saying anything, hadn't even thought—

  That was the problem. He hadn't thought. At all. He'd been wrapped up in the kiss, wrapped up in the feel of Pamela's body against his, in the feel of her hand slowly caressing him.

  Given the chance, he'd take the words back. No matter how much he'd meant them, he should have never said them, not out loud and certainly not to Pamela.

  The coach certainly hopes so.

  He wasn't a fool, he knew the words hung in the air like a huge neon sign that neither one of them could miss. The party had ended an hour ago and the only other person still here besides himself was Pamela. She had offered to stay and help him clean up, a task that had been finished fifteen minutes ago. There wasn't much to clean up, just some empty plastic cups and paper plates that had easily been tossed in the trash, and the few remaining slices of meats and cheese left on the last deli platter.

  Bryan cinched the large trash bag and pulled it from the can, his gaze sliding toward the counter where Pamela stood. She was wrapping the last of the leftovers, a job that would take no more than two minutes to complete. Once she was finished that, there was no reason for her to stay. She'd turn around, smile at him, make some polite comment about how she had fun, and that would be it. She'd grab her coat and purse and leave.

  All because he'd been an ass and made that comment.

  The coach certainly hopes so.

  And he did. He was fairly sure Pamela wanted the same thing—but there was a difference between thinking she wanted the same thing and blurting out his intentions to the entire team. No, he hadn't been the one to shout it—Kyle Hopkins had taken care of that—but there wasn't a single man on the team who hadn't been watching Pamela and him with speculation in their eyes. She had been flustered before that from the silent attention she'd attracted simply because she was here with him. The renewed attention after Hopkins's announcement had only succeeded in embarrassing her more.

  Yeah, there was definitely a difference between quietly voicing your intentions and having those intentions broadcast to everyone within a five-mile radius.

  The real kicker was that he was starting to think he wanted even more—and that was a trail of thought he didn't want to go down.

  "I think that takes care of the leftover food." Pamela's voice broke through his thoughts and he looked over, surprised to see her standing in front of the refrigerator. His gaze met hers then quickly darted away before she could catch even the smallest glimpse of the thoughts whirling though his mind.

  "Thanks, but I could have done that."

  "I know but there really wasn't much left so it's not like it was any trouble." She offered him a small smile then nodded toward the kitchen door. "I checked the living room, too, just in case there were any hidden plates or cups. Everything looked fine. Just some minor straightening up and you won't even be able to tell you had a party here."

  "The cleaning service can deal with that when they come tomorrow." He placed the trash bag near the door so he wouldn't forget to take it out then jammed both hands in his front pockets. "Pamela, about what I said earlier..."

  His voice trailed off as he tried to figure out what the hell was trying to say. Pamela tilted her head to the side, a faint smile curling one corner of her mouth. "Yes?"

  "I—I was out of line. I don't want to give you the wrong impression or make you think that I was only interested in one thing."

  "Oh. So—you didn't mean it when you said you hoped so."

  "No. I mean, yes. I mean...shit." He pulled one hand free and ran it along the back of his neck. Why the hell was he having such a hard time expressing himself? He'd never had an issue with this kind of thing in the past.

  He dropped his hand to the side, sucked in a deep breath, and met Pamela's direct gaze with his own. "Yes, I meant it. But no, I didn't mean to put you on the spot or give you the wrong impression."

  "And what i
mpression would that be?"

  He opened his mouth then just as quickly snapped it shut. To his surprise, Pamela laughed, the sound husky and warm and inviting. She closed the distance between them, finally stopping when she was a foot away.

  "Bryan, you didn't give me the wrong impression about anything. And for what it's worth, I was hoping, too."

  "Yeah?"

  Her smile widened as she nodded. "Yeah."

  Bryan reached for her, curled one hand around her arm and gently tugged. Her eyes widened for a brief second, flaring with heat and interest and need, then she was in his arms—exactly where he wanted her to be.

  He dipped his head and caught her mouth with his. The kiss was deep. Slow. Heady and feverish. He cupped the soft roundness of her ass and pulled her closer, swallowed back a groan of need when she slowly rocked against his erection.

  He wanted her—all of her—with a need that surprised him. Every romantic intention he'd had swiftly evaporated in the heat of this sudden need. He wanted to lift her in his arms. Wanted to carry her upstairs. Wanted to slowly undress her and savor each glimpse of smooth skin and soft curve. Wanted to taste and touch and learn every inch of her body.

  But most of all, he simply wanted. Here. Now.

  He caught her hips with both hands and lifted her. Swallowed her gasp of surprise and deepened the kiss even more as he carried her toward the island. She gasped again when he sat her on the granite-topped island, the breathy sound unleashing something inside him.

  Bryan broke the kiss, caught her gaze with his and felt himself harden even more at the look of pure need in her eyes. He grabbed the hem of her sweater and gently tugged, his knuckles grazing soft skin as he pulled it over her head and tossed it to the side. She moved her arms, trying to cover herself, but he caught her wrists in his hands and held them in place by her side as he studied her.

  "You're beautiful."

  "I'm not—"

  "You are." He caught her gaze and held it, let her see the truth of his words in his eyes. He skimmed his fingers up her arm, traced the column of her neck to her ear then back down, along the flare of her collarbone. Her eyes closed and her head tilted back as he traced the lacy edge of her bra. He skimmed the material with the back of his hand, felt the point of her nipple harden under his touch. His own body tightened in response, surprising him with the sense of urgency.