Gauging the Player: A One-Night-Stand Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romance Book 3)

by G. K. Brady

  He’d called to her, only to be crushed by disappointment. All she’d left behind were the empty wine bottle and a note with his name scrawled on it.

  Dear Gage,

  Last night was magical. Thank you for making this girl feel special.

  Wishing you a wonderful life.

  xo

  Hoping he’d missed something—like a way, any way, to contact her—he’d reread the note several times. The message could have easily said, Hey, thanks for the use of your dick. In the end, that had been what it was about, hadn’t it? Only sex. Well, amazing sex, but nonetheless, he’d let himself get worked. Used. Notched into a bedpost.

  The incident had been a valuable reminder of why he didn’t date. Women viewed him in one of two ways: he was either a bottomless bank account or a rock-it-all-night-long fuck. And yeah, he could rock it all night long, but he preferred to share with the right woman. And the right woman—one interested in what was behind the pro hockey player façade—wasn’t among women he typically met.

  His attraction to Lily had dazzled him, hoodwinked him into believing they had a special connection. A connection worth exploring, that went beyond one night.

  But he’d been wrong.

  She cleared her throat. “Looks like he’s gone. So where to, Professor? Or is it Admiral?”

  Gage snapped back into the Highlander’s stifling atmosphere. “Blizzard Arena, please.”

  As she guided her car onto the street, silence shimmered between them, so thick he could almost touch it. Though he reined in the urge to steal glances at her, her rigid posture behind the wheel insisted on floating in his periphery.

  Finally, he side-eyed her. “Why did you sneak out that night?”

  Though she kept her eyes focused ahead, her expression softened. “Well, technically, it was morning.”

  He gave his forehead a dramatic slap. “Ah. Of course. That makes all the difference in the world.”

  “I left you a note.”

  Gage was in no mood for cute. He blew out a breath that sounded like a cross between a deflating balloon and a seal’s bark. “Maybe we should take this conversation elsewhere?”

  Her features morphed into panic-stricken.

  He raised his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not the least bit interested in a repeat of last time.”

  A confused look replaced her alarmed one. “Right. Because you’re hanging with strippers. Silly me,” she muttered.

  “You’ve got me all figured out, haven’t you?” he snapped. And immediately regretted it.

  She shot him a dagger or two.

  I guess I sounded a little harsh. In a softer tone, he said, “Sorry. Look, last summer you told me I was different. But now I’m lumped in with a faceless, nameless group of guys, even though you know little about me. That doesn’t seem fair.”

  A few more quiet beats went by, and an overwhelming, inexplicable need to defend himself reared up. He sighed. “For the record, strip clubs aren’t my thing. A guy way up on the food chain told me to babysit my teammates. Didn’t have much choice.”

  At a stop sign, she turned to him and offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry for the snark. I just assumed hanging out at strip clubs was what hockey players did in their spare time.”

  “You know what they say about assuming.” Though it was dark in the car, he caught her eye-roll. “By the way, how come you were in that parking lot so late? Was that guy a … date?”

  She flinched. “No. I run a weekly meeting in the office building,” she said softly. “It ran late, and Brett was concerned for my safety. I think.”

  He wiped his palm along his thigh. “Yeah, I can see that.” Suddenly, his mouth took off before his brain could catch up. “There’s an IHOP on our way. Why don’t you let me buy you a cup of coffee for giving me a ride?” What am I thinking? Is IHOP really the place to continue this discussion? Not only did he want to figure what had happened, but part of him itched to tell her off too.

  Gage had claimed his grandmother’s philosophy as his own: anyone entering his life’s orbit started out with a virtual stack of chips. Over time, a person’s behavior dictated whether chips were added or subtracted from their pile. His grandmother, for instance, had accumulated enough to fill dozens of warehouses to the brim. Likewise, his mother’s and sister’s stashes were in positive territory. Other people, though, not so much. Like Lily. He’d shortened her stack six months ago.

  Yet here he was, inviting her to coffee instead of clearing the air right here, right now. Go figure.

  “Does that coffee come with a carafe full of questions?” she chirped.

  He swiveled his head. “Why? Have something to hide?”

  She didn’t skip a beat. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  The vehicle lurched to a stop at a red light when she hit the brakes too hard.

  A thought that had been turning over in his mind since last July nudged him. “Are you … were you in a relationship when I met you?”

  “Of course not! What do you take me—Never mind!” she barked.

  Relief spiked in him while he simultaneously winced. “Sorry, but people aren’t always open.” His mind leapt to Hunter, whose girlfriend had dumped him after catching him bare-ass naked with someone else. “And not all relationships are monogamous either.”

  “Ha! And here you are getting on my case about lumping you into a category.” Was she mad? Or just throwing sarcasm his way? He couldn’t tell.

  The light turned green, and she surged the SUV forward. She was muttering under her breath, though he couldn’t make out any of the words. Mad. Got it. And now he felt like a tool for making her mad.

  For some unfathomable reason, he really wanted that coffee, but his hope was disappearing quicker than a plate of bacon on a team breakfast table.

  IHOP’s glaring signs a few blocks away caught Gage’s eye. In an attempt to lighten the moment, he let out a conciliatory chuckle. “Touché. Hello, Pot. My name’s Kettle. Truce?”

  Her shoulders dropped from where they’d been hugging her ears.

  He puffed out a long breath. “Look, I didn’t mean to offend you. Can I buy you that coffee and make up for being an assmunch? I promise not to push for answers you don’t want to give.” Ah. And now, for some other unknown reason, he was giving her wiggle room.

  She took her time answering. “Truce. And yes, you can buy me a coffee.” A hint of a smile sounded in her voice. “So what do I call you? Professor? Admiral? Gage? Blues Boy?”

  Blues Boy. She remembered. That’s worth a chip. His smile hitched a little higher. “Whatever works for you.”

  A sudden, unexpected twinge of giddiness caught him off guard, but it was quickly swallowed up by the voice echoing between his ears. Danger, danger!

  Chapter 4

  Of Vampires and Pancakes

  Lily’s heart hammered so loudly she was sure Gage Nelson could pick out the sound of it slamming against her ribcage. Oh Lord! Why hadn’t she U-turned out of his life the second she realized who was striding toward her SUV? What were the chances she’d run into him again? In the parking lot by the Sapphire Club, of all places! At eleven thirty at night! Although, she was grateful to swap him for Brett. I think so anyway. Not that Brett was being stalkerish—he seemed genuinely concerned for her safety. Problem was, he’d started talking and didn’t stop. He was just … so sad, and she’d felt guilty wanting to get rid of him. The whole scene had been sucking what little energy had remained in her tank, and she’d been grateful to escape.

  Suddenly, though, energy wasn’t a problem. Here she was, all pins and needles, about to have coffee with a man she’d never planned to see again in this lifetime. A man she’d run from last July, who was looking for an explanation. Who was in her effing car, so close she could touch him!

  Emotions whirled at high speed, making her insides slosh and slide like mud. Embarrassed to see him, distressed at the same time because of the memories he dredged up of their time together. The crushing guilt she’d felt when
she’d woken up beside him. How could she have let herself get so carried away that night?

  She stole a sidelong glance at him. He was as handsome now as he’d been then, despite the badass scowl he’d been sporting since the parking lot. Trimmed blondish-brown beard over a square jaw. Sandy-blond hair with a clean-cut line across his muscular nape. Sculpted neck on powerful shoulders that matched the rest of his rock-hard body. Beautiful blue eyes. And those oh-so-masculine hands that had done wonderful things to her that night. Things she’d dreamed about—to her horror and shame.

  Why had she zeroed in on Gage in the first place? Because singing in front of people after such a long absence had transported her back in time, back to when Jack had still been alive and onstage with her. All the warmth, the feels, the energy had overwhelmed her, and she’d been floating on a cloud. When she’d looked at Gage across the room and felt that inexplicable connection to him, want and desire and longing had conspired and clubbed her over the head. Finding out he loved the blues as much as she did had drawn her in closer. Add to the mix that he wasn’t a smooth talker and he’d sucker-punched her with sweetness, and she’d been drawn closer still.

  The final “gotcha” had been his infectious smile that had struck her like lightning. Open, inviting, generous. Yeah, that had been the final nail.

  And later, how he’d made her feel—he seemed to understand everything she needed without her even realizing it. He’d worshipped her, treated her like a cherished treasure. Not a one-night fuck.

  Maybe that very intimacy had made waking up beside him worse. When she’d come to, when the evidence of what she’d done had confronted her, guilt had come flooding in. The memory sent a flare of shame up her spine.

  Was coffee with him now a good idea?

  I have to make amends. The thought she might have made him angry, or worse, that she’d hurt him, mortified her. She’d never considered that possibility as she’d sneaked around, gathering up her clothes, praying the entire time he wouldn’t wake up. She’d fled her own room in a panic, and as the sun had crested the horizon, she’d gone to Jack’s grave, where she’d fallen on her knees and begged his forgiveness.

  The hollowness it had carved in her had been unbearable. Not something she ever wanted to repeat.

  Those she counseled often asked how long one mourned the loss of a loved one. Her answer was always, “The timetable is as unique as each individual. There is no one-size-fits-all, and the length of time varies.” Yet when she compared herself to many she counseled, her process seemed stalled. Was she stuck in a quagmire? No, she simply had more to work through. Maybe she’d never get there. Grieving is different for everyone.

  Gage’s deep voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “The turn’s up ahead.” He stared out the passenger window, apparently lost in thought. Was he revisiting that night too?

  Doesn’t matter. It will never be repeated. Period.

  She coasted into a parking spot and turned off the engine. Gage hopped out of the car. Before she could gather her coat and bag, he was opening her door and helping her out. Of course he is.

  Time for a distraction. “How’s your season going so far?” she asked as they made their way toward the restaurant’s entrance.

  “Aside from not being in first place in our conference, it’s going well.”

  “I see you were part of the all-star game last weekend. That looked like fun. What an honor to have been chosen, huh?” And I voted for you at least ten times, every single day.

  “I was a last-minute substitute when someone else went down with an injury. I thought you didn’t have time to follow hockey.”

  Was he sporting a smirk? Going for more nonchalance than she had in her arsenal, she shrugged. “I like to keep up with the hometown teams. It makes for good conversation starters. You know. Rah, rah!”

  Truth be told, she’d submerged herself in the sport ever since the wedding, learning different nuances of the game. She had yet to fully understand offsides, but she’d get there eventually.

  A hostess grabbed a few menus and walked them to a booth in back.

  Once seated, Lily stared at the menu for several beats before Gage reached over and turned it right-side-up for her. “Breakfast menu’s in the front, beverages in back,” he said helpfully.

  While her cheeks flamed, his posture seemed to ease.

  Her gaze returned to the menu, a soft focus while her mind whirred. “Um, so I read that you’re assistant captain, and you’re leading at something. Not penalty minutes, I hope.” She faked a tsk.

  He ran his index finger over his whiskered chin, covering the raised line of an old scar—one she’d familiarized herself with last July.

  “Not penalty minutes,” he said matter-of-factly. “I lead in faceoff win percentage.”

  “Out of the entire league?”

  “Yep.”

  “What else are you good at?” Oh shit, Lil! I can’t believe you just said that. Head back down in the menu, she cringed because she knew color stained her skin right now, and it wasn’t pretty. She wore every emotion on her face, and each one seemed to have its own corresponding hue along the red spectrum.

  He surprised her by thumping his palm against his heart. “Ouch! Guess I didn’t leave much of an impression last summer.” Though he dropped his voice to a mumble, she thought she made out, “Unlike the impression you left on me.”

  Her pulse shot into overdrive, making it hard to pull in a breath, while her cheeks fired up a shade or two on the embarrassment scale.

  A waitress appeared with a carafe of coffee. “Ready to order?”

  “Give us a few minutes?” Gage asked with a smile as he twiddled the corner of the menu. Once she was gone, he filled their cups. “Steering back to hockey, I’m also the points leader on our team, but that’s because I have great linemates. Without them, my numbers would look a whole lot different.”

  “Sounds like you’re being too modest.”

  “Nope. Quinn’s got a wicked wrist shot, and T.J.’s been tearing it up all season. He makes a lot of room for me on the ice, plus he’s got soft hands.”

  She frowned. “T.J., the bridegroom? He has soft hands?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, that T.J. And the expression ‘soft hands’ refers to his great puck-handling skills, not smooth skin.” He sipped his coffee. “For the record, I have no idea what his skin feels like, nor do I want to know. But we have great chemistry. I set ’em up, and he and Quinn bang ’em in.”

  A smile tugged a corner of her mouth. “So you’re a playmaker.”

  “You really do follow hockey.”

  Busted. She sipped her own brew. “Like I said, I pay attention.” Especially when I watch NHL Network and hang on the hockey pundits’ every word about a certain hockey player I met last summer.

  No lie, her stomach did a weird flutterbug dance move anytime Gage’s smiling mug shot was plastered on TV, or—her favorite—whenever they featured a clip of him doing something jaw-dropping. She’d seen lots of those. One video showcased him skating with the puck while wearing an opposing player like a cape draped on his back. Somehow he’d managed to keep the puck on his stick and pass it through a forest of legs, placing it perfectly on the blade of his teammate’s stick. All the teammate had to do was shovel it into the net. And afterward? A ridiculous celly—yep, she was learning all the lingo—where he threw himself against the glass with a Tarzan yell. So hot!

  God, was she nursing a sex hangover after all these months? Pathetic.

  IHOP was packed, which meant getting seated quickly was either a massive stroke of luck or divine intervention. Either way, Gage took it as a sign. Of exactly what, he had no idea because he still wasn’t clear why he was sitting here. Well, if he were honest, he did know why: He wanted answers, damn it! The fact that she was fucking gorgeous had nothing to do with it.

  He glanced over his menu at Lily, who was busy studying her now-right-side-up menu. Her curls floated around her head, spilling onto her shoulders like an
abundant halo. He tried not to think of wrapping the silk coils around his fingers, instead scanning the crowded restaurant. “Do you ever wonder what people do for a living? I mean, look around. Are they all leaving bars, or are they getting off work and enjoying breakfast before they head home? Or maybe they’re vampires and this is the middle of their day. They’re out for lunch.”

  Her lips tipped up. “Vampires must get tired of the all-blood diet. They probably enjoy a healthy stack of pancakes and bacon from time to time.” She ducked her head back to the menu. “Some of the patrons could be hockey players who’ve worked up appetites. They don’t feed you at gentlemen’s clubs, do they, Professor?”

  Weary of metaphorically returning to the Sapphire Club, he released an exasperated breath. “Gee, with the way you keep bringing that up, a guy might think you’re envious.” He decided to indulge an urge to needle her. “Ever been inside a strip club?”

  Sparkling blue eyes rose to his. A bright, blotchy pink was working its way up her neck to her otherwise blank face.

  “If you’re curious,” he continued, “I could take you sometime, even though I generally avoid them.” Needling’s one thing, but why the hell am I inviting this girl to a strip club? Out of my ever-lovin’ mind.

  Eyes back on the menu, she lifted her coffee cup to her lips. “That’s okay, Professor. I don’t need to satisfy my curiosity. I’ve performed in one before.”

  Did not see that one coming. “You’re a …” What’s the PC term? “An exotic dancer?”

  A spew of coffee, followed by a cough she covered with her fingers. “No! I meant I performed music in one once.”

  Relief flooded him. “Ah. I knew that.”

  “No, you didn’t,” she laughed.

  The waitress appeared, pen poised over her pad, saving him from sticking his foot further down his throat.

  “Ladies first,” Gage deflected.

  Lily arched an eyebrow at him. “I have no idea. I thought we were just having coffee?”