by Shen, L. J.
Copyright © 2019 by Sarina Bowen and Elle Kennedy.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
1
WES
“You can’t just decide to be Canadian,” Blake Riley says, his beer glass clutched in one of his giant paws.
“Sure you can,” Jess argues, lining up the cue ball for a tricky combination shot. “That’s what I like about Canada.”
“Nuh-uh. Canadian is a state of mind. I’ve got the Canada brain. You don’t.”
“Oh, you’ve got something, all right,” she mutters under her breath.
“It’s okay to be jealous, baby.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Yeah you are.”
“Oh my God, I’m not.”
“Lying isn’t sexy.”
“You’re not sexy.”
“Don’t be crazy now.”
Jess gapes at him over her cue. “I’m the crazy one?”
I watch the entire exchange in amused silence. Blake and Jess love to argue with each other almost as much as they love each other. I glance at Jamie to see if he also finds the two of them ridiculous. But he’s staring into his beer glass, lost in thought.
He’s been awfully distracted tonight. And I have no idea why.
Jess finally shoots, and I can tell that she’s not going to pull it off. Or rather—she wasn’t. But at the last second Blake casually reaches down and nudges the ball toward the corner. And it drops into the pocket.
“Hey!” I argue. “Whose side are you on?” Blake and I are supposed to be partners against the Cannings. And we’re winning.
“Shut up, ya hoser,” Blake yawps. Then he gives me a big grin. “See? It sounds perfectly natural on me. Canadian brain.”
“Did you really just throw the game for me?” Jess squeaks. She sets down the pool cue and leaps into his arms.
“Yeah, babycakes. Anything for you.” Blake’s beer sloshes violently against the side of his glass as he kisses her. “Is it time to go home? I’m planning an invasion of California with my Canadian missile.”
“Jesus. TMI.” I shudder as they continue to make out right in front of me. “We’ve been over this. I’m easily scarred. I thought Canadians were polite. Jamie, make them stop.”
“Hmm?” My husband looks up suddenly. “Problem?”
I take a good look at him. Not that I mind the view. His hair looks golden in the warm lighting of the bar, and his brown eyes blink back at me. But he’s weirdly distracted. “You okay? You’re kind of checked out tonight.”
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Who won, anyway?”
“They did, apparently.” I jerk a thumb toward Blake and Jess, who are staring into each other’s eyes and exchanging kisses. “Maybe it’s time to hit the road? You have an early practice, right?”
“Totally.” He sets down his unfinished beer. “You brought the Jeep? I don’t mind driving if you need me to.”
“Yeah, I drove. But I got it. Should we pry them apart or just yell goodnight from a safe distance?”
Jamie finally glances at his sister and Blake. He scowls. “Keep it PG, kids. We’re heading out.”
“Don’t wait up, Wesmie!” Blake says with a grin.
“Night!” Jess chirps.
Before we even turn around, they’re back in each other’s arms. “Do you think they’re always like that?” I ask. “Or do they just lay it on thick to annoy us? You’re the one with all the siblings. Tell me how this works.”
“Uh huh,” is all Jamie says. Then he pushes open the door to the bar, and a gust of chilly March air makes us both shiver.
* * *
Thirty minutes later I come out of the bathroom to find Jamie already in our bed, arms tucked behind his head, expression thoughtful.
I shut off the light and climb in beside him, ready to finally hear what’s on his mind. Maybe it was something I said?
Or maybe not, because Jamie rolls toward me immediately, hand on my belly, fingertips sweeping across the skin above the waistband of my flannel pants.
I open my mouth to ask what’s on his mind, but it doesn’t quite work. Because his lips land on mine, and then we’re kissing. I’m not an idiot. When the love of your life wants a make-out sesh, you don’t toss that aside.
So I move closer, running a hand up his bare back, threading a flannel-covered knee between his bare ones.
Wait. Jamie isn’t mad at me. Jamie is naked. I do a mental backflip at this realization, and kiss him a little more deeply. I miss him so much when I’m away. There’s another road trip coming up, too. I’ll be on the West Coast for days and days.
Jamie knows this. Jamie is a smart man. Very very smart. I groan, sliding my tongue against his. And then I turn my head in order to explore his jaw, testing the softness of his whiskers with my lips.
It’s been almost three years since our first kiss. My life changed that rainy night in Lake Placid when Jamie pushed me up against the side of a roadside bar and kissed me. It was like falling into a fantasy from which I’ve never had to wake up. I suck on his neck, right under the line of his whiskers. He smells of minty toothpaste and the shower products we both share.
The room shifts, and I find myself on my back. My golden boy has escalated the situation by climbing on top of me and sifting his fingers through my short hair. His next kiss is hard, maybe even a little desperate.
“Jamie,” I say against his mouth.
“Mmm?” He runs a hand across my chest and then pinches my nipple.
“You okay?” I’m loving the attention, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is bothering him. When he’s troubled, my guy won’t always say what’s on his mind.
“Really?” he rasps, kissing me again. “You want to chat right now?”
“With you? Always.” I brace my hands on his shoulders, lock a heel against the bed, and then roll quickly. I’ve turned the tables, so now I’m looking down into his handsome, startled face. “Now spill, babe. You can’t have this hot body until you tell me why you were so quiet tonight. I mean—you didn’t even react when Blake claimed that sloppy Joe sandwiches were named after his uncle.”
Jamie snorts. “That wouldn’t even surprise me if it were true.”
“Yet you didn’t hear it. And I want to know why.”
He turns his head to the side and sighs. “I had a weird day, is all. But it’s nothing a couple of blow jobs can’t fix.”
“Weird how?” I press. “Tell me, and then we’ll have more time for funzies.”
He smiles, then runs a hand down my chest. “It’s not that big a deal, okay? We had some scouts at the rink today.”
“From where?”
“Ottawa.” Jamie yawns before continuing. “The goalie scout. Again.”
“They must be seriously interested in your man Chambers.” Jamie is the goalie coach for one of the best teams in the Ontario Hockey League. He’ll probably be named Head Coach for a major juniors team of his own in a few years. He’s had three rock-star seasons just like I have. “This is exciting, right? They’re going to draft your guy?”
Slowly, Jamie shakes his head. “That’s what I thought, too. But then the scout pulled me aside and blew my mind. He said they had some pressing issues on their keeper bench. And would I consider coming to Ottawa on a two way contract for their farm team.”
“Oh,” I say quietly. “As a player. That’s…” I break off, because I have no idea what to say.
It shouldn’t be all that shocking, because Jamie was a prospect for Detroit right after college. He was a terrific goalie. Is a terrific goalie. But he made the unusual decision to forgo that life in order to coach young hockey players.
And to be in Ontario. With me.
“You gonna talk to them about it? You should,” I a
dd quickly, just so he doesn’t think I’d be upset about it.
“I’m really not sure. I mean, I’m probably days away from a promotion that I really want. And I didn’t move to Detroit because I didn’t want to sit around waiting for a chance to play.“
“If they need you badly enough in Ottawa, maybe it wouldn’t be like that, though.”
Jamie covers his eyes with one of his hands. “Yeah. That occurred to me, too. I do not want to think about this right now.” His hand flops to the side again, and he looks up at me. “I bet you’ll think twice next time before you push me off your dick to have a bedtime conversation.” The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile. “Won’t you?”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s true.” I lower myself onto his body again. “Would it be insensitive of me to ask where we were before I so rudely interrupted you?” I kiss him once. Twice.
Until he smiles against my mouth. “Not rude at all. But I believe we were…” He nudges me, and I let him roll me onto my back again. “Here,” he says, settling his hips against mine. “Now shut up for a few minutes so I can do what I do best.”
I zip my lips together, and I’m rewarded by a hot mouth kissing a path down my neck, and onto my chest. His tongue comes out to play as he works his way down my abs. I spread my legs and groan, ruffling his soft hair as his perfect mouth gets ever closer to my rapidly hardening cock.
As my pulse leaps, I sink into the moment, trying not to think about how much I already miss Jamie during the season.
Or how long a drive it is from here to Ottawa.
2
Jamie
“Jamie, hey,” my boss Bill says when I enter his office for our morning meeting. “Have a seat.” Smiling, he gestures to the only empty chair in the room. The second visitor’s chair is occupied by Bill’s boss, who I didn’t expect to find at this meeting.
My pulse speeds up at the sight of Ron Farham. Ron’s one of the top guys at the Canadian Hockey League, the organization that governs the three leagues that make up Major Junior hockey in Canada. He’s kind of a big deal, and my palms grow damp as I settle in the plush chair next to him.
Behind his mahogany desk, Bill Braddock offers me another smile. Reassuring. “Relax, Canning. This is just a yearly review, not an execution.”
Just a yearly review? Nuh-uh. This is the meeting where I find out if I got the promotion I applied for.
Assistant Coach. The big AC. Sure, it doesn’t sound like the most glamorous job title, but it’s a step up from my current position of Associate Coach, and it’s one step closer to my ultimate goal—Head Coach.
Don’t get me wrong, I love working one-on-one with my team’s goalie and defensemen. And I know my efforts definitely contributed to us winning the Memorial Cup tournament last year. The jury’s still out on this year, but the boys have been kicking ass this season, so a return to the championship isn’t out of reach.
But just because I was a goalie myself doesn’t mean I don’t have ideas about offensive strategies, or the ability to coach the hot young forwards that enter the league every year. I need a change. I need a broader set of responsibilities.
During our last road trip, Bill all but confirmed I was getting a promotion. It means moving to a different team whose home arena is about forty-five minutes north of Toronto, but I’m not worried about the commute from downtown. And yes, it also means no longer working with Bill, but as much as I like and respect the man, change is good.
Now, as I sit there in the presence of Bill and Ron, I wonder if maybe…maybe I’m getting an even better position? Why else would someone from the CHL be here?
“Let’s get right down to business,” Bill says without preamble. “Ron and I have been singing your praises all season. What you’ve done with Chambers is truly something.”
Ron nods enthusiastically. “The way you turned that kid around? Very impressive.”
“He turned himself around,” I argue, although I can’t deny that Dale Chambers was an absolute nightmare at the start of the season. Chip on his shoulder, not to mention a God complex. Kid earned his teammates’ dislike from day one, and it took many, many team-building attempts to create some camaraderie between him and everyone else. If a team doesn’t like or trust their goalie, it could tank an entire season.
But all it took was a few conversations with Chambers for me to realize he was crying out for help. His father abandoned the family when Dale was six, and the parade of male “role models” courtesy of his mother’s awful taste in boyfriends created a hostile home environment that had Dale acting out in school and hockey practice. His sheer talent as a goaltender caught the attention of his youth league coaches, who encouraged him to keep playing.
“I just listened to him,” I tell my bosses.
“You’re good with them,” Bill says seriously. “The boys. You have a real talent for nurturing these kids, Canning.”
My cheeks heat up, and damned if my chest doesn’t puff up with pride. I am good with kids. I know I am. And the praise being poured on to me feels great, not gonna deny that.
“You’re an excellent role model,” Ron agrees.
The balloon of pride grows bigger, filling up my entire chest.
“With that said…” Bill starts.
Here it is. I almost rub my palms in glee. Promotion time.
“I know you were hoping to land as the AC for the Barrie team, but that position was offered to Hannigan this morning.”
Pop! goes the balloon in my chest. Replaced with a rush of cold air.
“Hannigan?” I echo stupidly. Percy Hannigan? But he’s the most recent hire for Toronto. I pretty much trained the guy.
What the fuck.
“Um.” I swallow, then force myself to maintain a neutral tone. “With all due respect, sir, but…do you think Hannigan is qualified? He only recently joined the staff.”
“He already has an existing relationship with Coach Shay,” Ron Farham reveals. “Percy played for him in high school.”
What. The. Fuck.
“We decided they’d make a good team,” Bill says gently, clearly catching the dumbfounded expression I was trying to mask. “And we believe your talents lie elsewhere.”
I frown. “Okay. Am I being sent somewhere else then?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. We’d like to keep you here in Toronto until we find the right position for you.”
Excuses excuses excuses! When he was a kid, my brother Brady used to stomp his foot and shout a litany of “Excuses!” whenever our dad told him he couldn’t go surfing that day for whatever (valid) reason. And now here I am, shouting my older brother’s ancient tantrum mantra in my head, trying hard not to let the words inadvertently slip out of my mouth.
But I know they’re just feeding me bullshit excuses. Uh-huh, I’m sure they’re really hunting for some super-awesome “right position” for me. Meanwhile, Percy fucking Hannigan got the promotion I wanted, because he’s buds with the Barrie head coach.
What in the actual fuck.
The two men keep talking. Keep trying to tell me what a great job I’m doing in Toronto. I know I’m doing a good job, I want to yell. That’s why I deserve a promotion!
I’m not quite sure what I say during the rest of the meeting. Not much, though. But I’m not about to channel my brother and throw a tantrum. I need employment, after all.
But I am not happy. At all. Although I smile through gritted teeth and exchange handshakes with Bill and Ron, I’m seething inside. It takes a lot to piss me off. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I’m the most chill, easygoing guy you’ll ever meet. I hardly ever lose my temper, and I can count all the times I’ve raised my voice on the fingers of one hand.
And yet I’m practically shouting when I call Wes while exiting the building. “You won’t fucking believe this! Those fucking motherfuckers!”
Dead silence.
“Wes?” I exhale in a rush. “You there?”
“Yeah. Sorry, yeah, I’m here.” There’
s another long pause. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that many expletives in one breath.”
“Sorry.” I shove my free hand through my hair. “I’m just furious, babe. I can’t even believe what just went down.”
“Tell me,” he says urgently, and so I do. I tell him how everything I’ve worked so hard toward for three years was snatched out of my grasp because of an asshole named Percy, and how I get to keep my title of Associate Coach while my superiors travel to Make-Believe Land to find me a better job.
“I mean…maybe they’re not bullshitting you? Maybe they’ll offer you something else?” Wes says in a weak attempt to console me. “It sounds like they’re really happy with your work, and have faith in you as a coach.”
“If they had faith in me, they’d give me the job I applied for. The job I earned.” I release an angry breath.
“I’m sorry, babe. I know this wasn’t what you’d hoped for.”
“You’re fucking right about that. I’m so fucking pissed.” I notice a woman pushing a stroller speed up as she overhears my potty mouth. “Ah, sorry,” I say lamely, but she keeps glaring at me until she’s out of sight.
Hysterical laughter bubbles in my throat. “I just scared a woman and her baby,” I inform Wes.
“All right. That’s it. Go home and pack,” he orders.
“Pack?”
“Yes. You’re coming on this trip with me.”
I furrow my brow. “To the West Coast?”
“Yup. You need some chill-out time. You can see your family, hang out with me and the guys, come to the game. A whole forty-eight hours without thinking about this job bullshit.”
I don’t know if that’ll be possible, but I appreciate that he’s trying to help. “I guess I could do that,” I say slowly. “As long as I’m back by Saturday for our Niagara game.”
“We fly back Friday,” Wes assures me. “Now quit wasting time. If you’re not at the airport in the next hour and a half, the jet will leave without you.”
3
