Twisted Wrister: A Next-Door-Neighbor Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 7)

by G. K. Brady

  She shifted, throwing a leg over his knees. “I believe I said ‘love.’ Speaking of love, Ferguson explained he wasn’t firing on all cylinders because he was loopy for Tracy, which made me wonder how Amanda’s handling her crush falling for someone else.”

  “Not sure. I think she still blames me, which might be easier for her than believing he wasn’t into her. And thank God he wasn’t.” Blake blew out a relieved breath. He and Ferguson might have patched up the majority of the damage between them, but that didn’t mean he wanted the guy touching his sister.

  “I have a feeling Amanda won’t hold you responsible forever. In the meantime, maybe she’ll meet some nice surfer boy in Hawaii to take her mind off Owen.”

  Blake snorted. “Are you trying to upset me?”

  “No,” she giggled.

  “Then stop it.” He settled back with a sigh and tightened his hold on her. “Fergs was insane long before he met Tracy, but I can see where she might have pushed him over the edge. Especially since he wouldn’t admit how much he cared about her. Reminds me of someone I know.”

  M parked her chin on his chest. “Who?”

  “Me.” He twined a few more curls around his fingers.

  “Are you saying you’re insane?”

  “For you, yeah. I’m fucking nuts.”

  “Aw, you say the nicest things.” She kissed his nose. “I love you too.”

  He chuckled. “Speaking of nuts, my mom entered a rehab program. On her own.” He filled M in on the story his mother had shared at Christmas. “I’m not holding my breath—we’ve been down Rehab Road before—but this time feels different, like maybe she’s turned a corner after getting some heavy shit off her chest.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  He nodded. “I read my dad’s journals. It’s all there.”

  Concern etched her features. “How was that?”

  “Not easy. I had to deconstruct a lot of what I’d believed about him all these years, which sent me into a bit of an emotional tailspin.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there while you were dealing with it.”

  Me too. The ache from what he’d learned about his dad lingered, though it was more blunted. “Ironically, I feel closer to him now than I ever did—like I know him better. It’s a new reality that Mom, Amanda, and I are adjusting to, and it’s still confusing. As hard as it was to learn all that shit about my dad, knowing my mom isn’t pure evil somehow balances it out. And maybe because she’s the surviving parent, it’s actually a little easier to deal with. I don’t know. Like I said, it’s still confusing.” He shrugged. “We’re pulling together, though, and we’ll help each other through.”

  M’s thoughtful quicksilver eyes studied him. “What will you say if your mom wants to come live with you when she’s through rehab?”

  “No,” he said unequivocally. “That wouldn’t benefit either of us; in fact, it would drive us both to drink. There’s only one woman I’m inviting to live with me.”

  Her breath stuttered so loudly that he heard it.

  “A discussion for later,” he added, totally unrattled. Yeah, he was determined. M was his, same as he owned that twisted wrister title he was about to reclaim. “Speaking of drinking, I owe you a colossal apology for what I said. For the record, I don’t think you drink too much. I was being a prick and vomiting crap out for the sake of vomiting.”

  She offered him a soft, warm smile. “I don’t know that I’d describe it in such colorful terms.”

  His heart sat heavily in his chest. “I’m sorry I hurt you, M. It’s nothing I ever want to do again.” He kissed her gently, relishing the feel and taste of her lips. “You’re sorry you weren’t there when I found out the truth about my dad, and I’m even sorrier I wasn’t there for you when you went through the Steadman crap. Fiona told me what you did, and I am so damn proud of you. I can’t believe how that asshole Hewitt set you up.” Jesus, just thinking about the lengths Brad Hewitt had gone to in order to hurt her made his blood boil over. “I knew I didn’t like the guy, but if I’d known what he was capable of the night I met him, I would have done more than threaten him. And if I ever see him again, I’m following through.”

  “If I’d known what he was up to, you would’ve had to get behind me while I unloaded the contents of my pepper-spray canister in his face.” With a small laugh, she laid her head back down, and her index finger returned to tracing loops on his chest. “After I had a chance to process what you said about my drinking, I realized maybe you struck a nerve and that I was getting into some bad habits and blaming them on stress. I’ve cut back, and I feel better, physically and mentally.”

  The subject made him cringe inside, but her words eased his guilt a fraction. “Does this mean life is less stressful?”

  “I wish,” she laughed. “In some ways, it’s more stressful, but it’s more freeing at the same time. I’m looking forward to establishing my own practice. I know it’ll be crazy, but it’ll get better.”

  He traced her tattoo from her shoulder to her elbow while he pondered how he could help her. “Where did you move to? How safe is it?”

  “Well, it’s a little carriage house above Beckett Miller’s garage. Not only does a hockey player live close by, but construction guys go in and out all the time. It feels pretty safe.”

  Not as safe as a secure building … with a different hockey player close by. “Shit! You’re living above all those classic cars? Does Miller keep you up all hours revving engines?”

  “Hardly,” she laughed. “He’s up all hours with Paige, taking care of their twins.”

  “Oh yeah. I heard about that. Two more girls. Ha!”

  “What’s wrong with girls?”

  “Absolutely nothing. I love girls. Especially the one whose curls are tickling my chest. Must get pretty noisy around there, though, huh?”

  She sighed. “At times. Now that the weather’s warming up, I keep the windows open more. They have a big house, but sound carries.”

  He adjusted their bodies so he could look into her eyes. “Like I’ve said before, I know a quiet place close to downtown where you can live and have plenty of space for an office too. The guy who lives there is gone half the time, but when he is home, he’ll try his damnedest to give you your space. Well, during work hours anyway.”

  “Doesn’t it worry you that we’ve only known each other—”

  “Four months. Lots of people are already engaged at this point in their relationship.”

  Her eyes startled wide.

  “Yeah, that’s right. I said the M word.”

  “I think that’s the E word,” she stammered.

  “Technicalities. E leads to M. You’re cute when you’re nervous, by the way.”

  “You’re not nervous talking about this stuff?”

  “Nope. When it’s right, it’s right.” Nothing had ever been more real or more crystal clear. Being with this woman pulled the whole man at his very core from his deepest depths to the surface where he could breathe. She completed him. He would never let that feeling stop.

  He would never let her get away again.

  Chapter 38

  Doesn’t Take an Einstein

  Blake pulled Michaela against him, her back to his front, as he tried to get the bartender’s attention. The bar they stood in was raucous, crammed with Blizzard players, the coaching staff, and their SOs celebrating tonight’s victory. Elation thrummed in Michaela’s veins, spilling over from Blake and the rest of his teammates. The team had closed out round two of the playoffs in six games, and now they awaited the as-yet-undetermined winner of the other Western Conference series. While those two teams duked it out, though, Blake and the boys would get a few extra days to rest up and heal as best they could before the start of the brutal third round less than a week away. Which was a good thing, considering how many bumps and bruises and pulls and sprains her man had.

  Yep, her man.

  Her man, who had centered the second line through the first two rounds.
Who’d ticked and twitched for every face-off and was tied with Gage Nelson for best face-off percentage in the playoffs. Who had scored seven goals and four assists. Who had gotten his mojo back, and then some, and was a force the other teams weren’t sure how to contain.

  She leaned back against him, soaking up his heat and his hard angles, pride surging inside of her that he was all hers.

  Arms banded around her, he leaned down and pulled the shell of her ear between his teeth. “Hang on. I’m trying to get us some drinks.”

  She tucked her arms on top of his and craned her neck to look up at him. “I’ve got all I need right here.”

  “Here!” Two drinks were thrust at them, and she looked up into Ferguson’s grinning face. “Chopin for you, right?”

  She nodded and accepted both drinks, nudging Blake with her elbow to hand off a bourbon on the rocks.

  “Hey, thanks!” He raised his glass to Ferguson.

  Ferguson matched the motion. “To a hard-fought series and the Blizzard’s goal-scoring machine.” Ferguson took a sip of a pale gold liquid in a shot glass. “So which goalie would you rather meet in the Finals?” he asked Blake.

  “Does it matter?” Michaela posed. “Bear can beat any goalie. Nobody stops the Twisted Wrister.” Both men stared at her a beat, then broke into laughter.

  “Well, hot damn, buddy!” Ferguson said. “I guess you’ve got yourself an honest-to-goodness mama bear.”

  Blake kissed the top of her head. “And I am one lucky son of a bitch.”

  She lifted her chin an inch or two, tilting it toward Ferguson. “And you’d best remember it next time you try any shenanigans.”

  “You still haven’t forgiven me, have you?”

  She shook her head and smirked. “Not yet, but keep trying. You might get there. The fact that Tracy likes you is a point in your favor.”

  “I can’t disagree,” he chuckled. “Speaking of Trace, I need to go find her before one of my asshole teammates tries to steal her away.” He winked at Blake. “Drink up, Bear. Time to cut loose. You’ve earned it.”

  “Oh, I’m cutting loose all right.”

  Ferguson moved off, and Blake hauled Michaela into a less-rowdy part of the bar, where he pinned her against a wall. One hand braced by her head, the other held his cocktail as he leaned down to her. “About cutting loose. You know what an easy drunk I am, and I haven’t had a drop in months. I’m expecting to have my bones jumped as soon as I get you home.” He paused to rotate his shoulder and grimaced with the motion. “Maybe we should leave jumping off the menu, and you’re probably going to have to do most of the work.”

  She grinned. “I’ll be gentle, I promise. Then again, with your mom and sister staying with us, it’s probably best to put the frisky stuff on hold altogether.” He’d flown them in for the game, and Amanda had ferried his mom back to the condo. Still on shaky recovery ground, DeeAnn didn’t need to be around an inebriated bunch of guys celebrating themselves silly. Besides, DeeAnn had developed a new addiction: astrology. Michaela giggled inside every time she thought of Blake’s mom poring over charts, telling Michaela about her houses and moons and planets … and a future that looked quite rosy.

  “They’ll be asleep when we get home, and their rooms are at the other end of the condo anyway, so they can’t hear you scream,” Blake countered. “But if you’re worried, you could take advantage of me before we get home.”

  She shot him a questioning look, and he wrapped a curl around his finger. “I’m told they have big bathrooms here.” He waggled his eyebrows. “A few more bourbons and I’m all yours.”

  “Are you saying you have to be drunk to have sex with me?” she chided.

  He pulled back, dismay in his eyes. “Fuck no! Just saying I’ll be putty in your hands. You can have your way with me.”

  She quirked a grin. “I usually do.”

  He wagged his head back and forth. “True. Did you know oxytocin is released during sex, and it boosts feelings of love? All that oxytocin must be why I love you so much. And did you also know that sex is about connection more than it is about lust?” He poked her collarbone with his index finger, nearly tipping his drink on her.

  “Really? So lust is out? Damn.”

  He sipped his bourbon. “That’s not what I said.” Now he nudged her elbow to encourage her to drink her vodka.

  She sipped, letting the icy liquid burn a cold path to her stomach, warming it when it landed. “I haven’t been drinking either. So are you trying to take advantage of me?”

  “Always. A smart attorney like you should know this by now.” His expression suddenly shifted, and his green eyes filled with tenderness. “I can’t tell you how damn glad I am that you’re here to celebrate this with me. I’ve won other stuff, but it’s never felt like this before, and that’s because of you, M. I can’t wait until we win the Cup and you’re with me at the parade.”

  His misty eyes had her choking up, and she blinked rapidly and downed another sip. “I love you, big guy.”

  He rubbed her nose with his and plastered his wide grin back in place. “If I’m going to win the Cup, there’s something I need from you first.”

  She tilted her head. “What’s that?”

  “I need a new picture for luck. With your consent this time.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are we talking naked pictures here?”

  “Oh, I get more than one? Sweet! And we’ll probably need to take a bunch to get just the right pose.”

  She spluttered, then eyed him skeptically. “I don’t know if you can be trusted with a picture. Who’s going to see—”

  “Just me, I promise.”

  “Hmm. A picture or two might be good for your twisted wrister mojo, since you’re chasing the Cup and all. But instead of being naked, I have a better idea.”

  “What could possibly be better than naked?”

  She batted her eyelashes at him. “Whipped cream.”

  His mouth dropped open. “We’re stopping at Costco on the way home,” he croaked.

  “It’s closed.”

  “Don’t care. I’m breaking in.”

  “Michaela?”

  She and Blake turned their heads at the same time, and she froze in place.

  “It is you! I don’t believe it! How long has it been since I’ve seen you, and you’re here, of all places, with—” Anders’s eyes swept Blake from head to toe. He stuck his hand out. “Hi. I’m Anders Einstein.”

  Blake’s eyebrows hitched up above his round eyes. He seemed to shake Anders’s hand out of reflex.

  At first, Michaela wished the wall would swallow her up. But she reminded herself that was a leftover feeling from a long time ago, and her voice grew strident. “Anders, hi. It has been a while. This is my … this is Blake Barrett, my fiancé.”

  Blake and Anders were mid-shake when Blake swiveled his head to her, his eyebrows climbing a few inches higher. Anders’s eyes were nearly as wide, but they were assessing Blake, which made the whole thing cosmically comic. She was a terrible liar, though, and she reeled a bit from her blatant deception, but Blake gave her a cockeyed smile that made her heart stutter in her chest. Apparently, he liked her lie.

  He released Anders’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you. Blake Barrett, is it?”

  “Yes, Michaela’s fiancé.” Blake’s grin widened as he threw an arm around her shoulder and hauled her against him in a staking-his-claim, caveman-like move. She loved it.

  “That’s … what wonderful news. I’m really happy for you, Michaela.” As Anders reached out a hand to her, she looked from him to Blake and back again. Past, meet Future. She’d traded up—way up.

  As she grasped Anders’s hand, the vestiges of hurt and anger he’d left her with dissolved away. How she had ever been in love with this man was a mystery to her, just as it must have been a mystery to him when he found his “one.” And she couldn’t be happier for him—and herself. If he’d never found his one, they might have settled for one another. Instead, she�
�d won the ultimate prize—the man beside her—whose fern-green eyes looked at her with love so deep and so profound he breathed life into every part of her being while wrapping her up in his warmth and safety. Whose raw power caged in a beautifully sculpted frame made her heart gallop and her knees turn gelatinous. Every. Single. Day.

  God, she’d barely had one sip of vodka, and she was waxing mega-mushball poetic. Blake had that effect on her, and she was okay with that. Deliriously okay.

  “Well,” Anders said awkwardly, “Pamela’s waiting outside for me. She forgot her coat in our rush to escape when the … group arrived. A little more excitement than we were up for.” He patted a coat draped over his arm and gave Blake a man-nod. “Congratulations on the win. Your team has brought a lot of excitement to the city.”

  A few quick good-byes and good lucks, and he was gone.

  Blake turned to her, his eyebrows practically glued to his hairline. “Einstein?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I know. Can you imagine me having that for a last name?”

  “No, but I can imagine you having ‘Barrett’ for a last name.” Eyes holding hers, he pointed in the direction Anders had gone. “You called me your fiancé. Was there a proposal in there somewhere?”

  “I, um …”

  “Because if there was, I accept. Although I wish you’d stop stealing my grand gestures.”

  A laugh escaped her chest. “Were you planning to … to propose?”

  “It had crossed my mind … about a hundred times. Or more. I was thinking maybe on top of that bus during the Stanley Cup parade in downtown Denver a few months from now.”

  “And on the off chance your team doesn’t win?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He rested his forehead against hers and dropped his voice. “Michaela Wagner, having you in my future, forever, is more win than I need or deserve.” His index finger traced a vine of her tattoo. “I might get one of these. A twisted vine with your name inked in it. Are you in my future? Forever?”

  “Just try and get rid of me.” Butterflies danced in her stomach, and she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to eat again. She looped an arm around his shoulders, steadying herself against his strong frame, something she planned to do the rest of her life.