Winning It All (Hometown Players Book 4)

by Victoria Denault

  “You look great out there,” I tell her as my eyes feast on her flushed cheeks and the dewy look of her skin.

  “You should join me,” she replies with a small seductive smile.

  I shake my head reluctantly. “I don’t dance.”

  She snorts at that. “No guy dances. They just rub themselves up against girls.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Are you saying you want me to rub myself against you?”

  She pauses and fights a smile. She loses the battle and grins as she reaches out, pinches the fabric of my sweater between her fingers and pulls. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  I wanted to talk to her about her dad, but she’s flirty and happy and I’ll be damned if I’m about to ruin that. It’s such a rare moment, something I haven’t seen since that first night.

  I drop my half-empty beer on a nearby table and let her lead me onto the dance floor. I’m not graceful. I never have been. It’s why I’m a defenseman. I just need to have speed and good aim—both for my shots and my hits. I’m about as good at moving to music as I would be at figure skating, which is not at all. But there is no way I am going to turn down the chance to touch her in public, like she’s mine and only mine, for the world to see.

  I might not be a dancer but I have a fairly decent voice and I know the words to this old eighties tune, so I lean close to her ear and sing. “Take my hand, we’ll make it, I swear.”

  She looks up at me, our eyes latched on to each other. I reach up and move a hand through her hair, pushing it back off her shoulder, exposing her long, slender neck. I lean forward, take a deep breath of that scent that is all Shay—vanilla and lilacs or something—and let my lips ever so slightly touch the side of her neck.

  She heaves a heavy breath and leans into the touch. I want to roar in victory. Instead I whisper, “Every man in this place wants you.”

  “Well, now they think I’m with you,” she responds, and it makes my heart do a stutter step. I pull her closer and move my hips in rhythm with hers. I can feel her fingers curl into my hair. It sends a shiver down my spine.

  “Every woman in this place wants you,” she whispers.

  “I only want you.” The words leave my lips before I can filter them, and I instantly regret it. It’s too honest. Too needy. Too much. But her eyes dart downward, as if suddenly shy, and then she steps a little closer. Our torsos are pressed against each other and she’s just about riding my leg now. Since she hasn’t run screaming yet, I decide to tell her everything I’ve been thinking. “Shay, hockey isn’t who I am. It’s what I do. You would like who I am if you let yourself. I’m good for you. And I know you’re good for me.”

  When she looks up again, her kitten gray eyes seem dark. She’s torn. Half of her wants to run, but half of her doesn’t. I keep pushing, hoping that it gives the latter half more power to win the war. “I want to kiss you right now.”

  She licks her lips and we’re not moving anymore. We’re just standing there as everyone bounces and dances around us. “In public?” She acts mildly shocked. “So the world thinks I’m some puck bunny?”

  She’s still putting up her sarcastic, defiant walls, but she’s not shutting me out or running away, so that’s something. Still, I feel like I’m done with the games.

  “So the world knows that I am fucking crazy about you.” The smile on her lips fades and she looks suddenly deadly serious. I don’t know what that means, but it makes me panic, so I do the only thing that I want to—I kiss her. Right there, on the dance floor in front of anyone and everyone, I cover her pretty little mouth with mine and my tongue sweeps over hers. She seems to melt, her body sinking into mine and her fingers tangling in the hair at my neck. The song is over and the next one is halfway done before we pull apart.

  “My place?” I barely manage to get out between raspy breaths.

  Without a word she leads me out of the club. Victory! my brain screams. Or maybe it’s my dick. Once again, I can’t differentiate.

  Chapter 27

  Shayne

  I feel him before I see him. That’s because I’m still in a deep, glorious sleep, and his lips are slowly tugging me back to reality. He’s kissing my neck. Soft, feather-light kisses that graze over my throat and then my collarbone and then my breast as he pushes the duvet off me.

  He stops and his tongue, all wet and warm, rolls circles around my right nipple. I press my shoulders into his deliciously comfortable mattress, arching my back to give him easier access. I can feel him smile against my skin at that.

  “Morning, sunshine,” he whispers before he moves onto my other nipple, shifting his body so he’s half on top of me.

  “We should talk,” I say back as my brain fights off sleep and struggles to keep my hormones from drowning my common sense.

  “Je préfère les actions sur les mots.”

  Damn, the way his Rs roll and his sleepy voice drops an octave, yeah, okay, maybe I get why women think French is sexy. I don’t even care that I have no idea what he said. “Frenchie…”

  His warm breath tickles my stomach as he moves lower and traces his tongue along my side, over my belly. He bites down my hip lightly and I can’t help but arch my back a little. My hands reach out, find the back of his head, and I run my fingers over his soft hair made messy by sleep and last night’s sex. He slips lower, under the duvet. My body tightens in anticipation.

  “Before you can tell me why last night was a mistake, I’m going to remind you why you keep making it.” His words make their way out from the blankets to my ears. He kisses the inside of my thigh. And then his head tilts in my hands and his tongue ever so softly slides across my most delicate parts, making sure to press more firmly as his tongue reaches my clit.

  Oh my fucking God.

  He does it again, and then I hear him chuckle. His hands slide gently over my thighs, moving inward. “You’re arching your back so much, baby, I think it might break.”

  “Yoga instructor…” I pant as I feel his velvety tongue slip inside me. “Bendy.”

  He pushes farther inside me, wiggling his tongue and pressing his fingertips into my thighs, opening me farther. I am so close to coming—so very close—and I fight against it. I don’t want it to end. I want him there forever. And ever. Oh God, it feels so good…

  He moves his tongue upward, straight to my aching button, and circles it so slowly I want to squeal—and then I do as he pushes two fingers into me as far as they can go. I turn my head and moan into the pillow, the orgasm making my body quake.

  “You’re so fucking hot,” he says into my pussy as his fingers keep moving me through the euphoric haze. “I’ve wanted to do this to you since the first time I saw you.”

  My body stills, but I’m still fighting for breath as he moves up, kissing another trail toward my face. He gently drops down on top of me, his hard, pulsing cock pressing into my belly. I feel a ripple of excitement that making me come with his tongue has turned him on so much. My face is turned, my cheek on the pillow. Sebastian leans forward and brushes my hair from my face and kisses my temple. I lift my arms and run my fingertips down his broad, muscled back.

  “How you feeling?” he asks.

  “Like I died and this is heaven.” My orgasm has clearly obliterated my defenses.

  “Are you sore from last night?”

  Last night was crazy. We were both acting like animals in heat. We had basically thrown ourselves in a cab, hands and lips all over each other until we made it back to his place. Turns out he lives in Laurelhurst, which is one of the richest areas of Seattle. My brain somehow registered that as we fondled each other up the driveway.

  I had my hands in his pants before he had his key in the door and was giving him a full-on blow job as soon as the door closed. I know the floors downstairs are marble because I was on my knees on them, but other than that, I don’t remember much about his place. It was dark and all I cared about was quelling the insatiable urge I had for his touch, his skin, his tongue, his cock.


  We’d fucked on the living room floor, with me on all fours and him taking me from behind. Before we’d even made it to the bedroom he had pushed me down on the stairs and fucked me there. Then we’d fucked in bed, good old missionary style, but he was pounding me so hard I had to put my hands on the cherrywood headboard to keep from getting a concussion.

  I’d finally fallen asleep at three a.m., exhausted and, just as Sebastian suspected now, sore—but satisfied and able to ignore the shame I knew I was going to feel once I realized I’d broken my own rule—again. I fully intended to sneak out this morning before he woke up. Cab it home and take a cold shower and wash off the remnants of whatever spell he always casts on me. Then call him and explain to him, really explain, why we can never be a serious, actual thing. But he had to wake me up with his tongue between my legs and now…thanks to another mind-shattering orgasm, I can’t even convince myself not to sleep with him one more…one last time.

  I turn my face to his, our eyes locking. God, he is so beautiful. I’ve never seen anyone with eyes like his. It’s more than just their color. It’s how intuitive and expressive they seem. It’s why I thought he was an accountant. He looks like he sees so much more—all the time—than what’s on the surface.

  I will never ever be able to get enough of this man. The thought is slightly terrifying as it runs through my head.

  Sebastian starts to kiss me, but then his stomach gurgles loudly. I laugh. He joins me, self-consciously.

  “I’m starving,” he confesses and grins. “Wanna go to breakfast with me?”

  I trace the outline of the scar in his eyebrow with my fingertip. Hockey players and their scars. They have them, they cause them. Those beautiful, intuitive eyes must see what I’m thinking because he reaches up and pulls my hand from his face and presses his lips to it. “Breakfast, ma belle. Just one meal. If you’re so confident you’re right about me—about all hockey players—then what are you scared of?”

  “I’m not scared,” I reply firmly, but my racing heart says otherwise.

  “You’re scared that the more time you spend with me, the more you’ll realize I’m not the monster you think I am.” He leans into the crook of my neck, his lips ghosting my skin. “Come on, baby, I dare you. Brunch with me.”

  “Dare?” I question, and he gives me the sexiest, cockiest grin. “Fine. But I’m paying—for both of us. I’m not looking for a free ride.”

  “I just gave you a ride.” Seb wiggles his eyebrows. “Should I start charging for those?”

  “Shut up.” I can’t help but laugh. “Let’s just go to brunch.”

  Frenchie lights up like a kid on Christmas morning and jumps out of bed, naked and once again not afraid to show it. He pulls me out of bed too.

  “First we shower,” he insists and starts dragging me toward his bathroom.

  “Together?” I question.

  “Of course,” he says smoothly. “That back of yours has to be scrubbed.”

  I feel a little flutter in my belly as I look at him. It’s fear. Because Audrey is one hundred percent right—he is good for me and I like him. A lot. And it scares me but I think he might be worth the risk.

  Chapter 28

  Sebastian

  Twenty minutes later, I’m freshly showered in a T-shirt and jeans drinking orange juice out of the container as I lean against the fridge door. I’m so incredibly happy. I really am. I’m not worried about my wrist issues anymore, even though it still aches almost constantly. I’m not stressed about the start of playoffs. Because once again, I’m with Shay. And when she’s around I feel like everything else will be okay. She makes me okay.

  I want to ask her out—on a real date. Something that shows her I’m not a typical hockey player and I’m serious about her and this relationship and she can trust me—trust this. But maybe I should wait until after the playoffs to tell her. I mean, playoff hockey is intense. There are curfews and stricter diets and training and practices and injury. There are always aches and pains and I’m always bitchy. Depending on how far we go, I’ll be all gimpy and pathetic and probably cranky because I like to avoid taking pain meds. Not to mention the travel, which is every couple of days. No long home stands during playoffs. This is all part of the stuff that she hates about hockey. Is it smart to try and pull her into a commitment right now?

  Shayne wanders into the living room trying to smooth the wrinkles out of her top with both hands. I can’t help but laugh. “Wow. It totally looks like you’ve just been fucked.”

  She gives me a saucy glare. “Next time I’ll make sure to fold them before getting on all fours for you.”

  I grin at the memory.

  “You have a gorgeous grin, you know that?” she says and I flush. “It’s disarmingly charming and beyond sexy.”

  “That’s how I feel about your smile,” I reply because it’s the truth. “And everything else about you too.”

  She smiles shyly at me. God, I think I’m falling in love with her. How the fuck is that happening when I can’t even grow a pair and ask her out? I put the now empty orange juice container on the counter and walk over to where she’s leaning on the door frame to the kitchen.

  “I used your toothbrush.” She smiles evilly. “I owed you.”

  “Yes, you did.” I laugh and lean forward and grab her hand, pulling her right into a kiss. She tastes of toothpaste, and it makes me smile again.

  “Shay, listen,” I swallow and try to gather my courage. “I want to ask you something—”

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  Who the fuck is that? Shay looks up at me confused. They knock again.

  “Just a second,” I tell her and wander to the front door. I swing it open and find my sister standing on my stoop with her coworker, my ex-girlfriend Dawn.

  “You forgot?” Stephanie rolls her eyes. “Golf. My work’s charity golf tournament.”

  This is going to go badly.

  “Elle m’a dit que tu m’as promis,” Stephanie tells me in French so Dawn doesn’t understand.

  Fuck me. I promised to attend the firm’s charity golf game as a celebrity guest when I was dating Dawn. I’d completely forgotten about it.

  “Et vous ne pouvez pas annuler maintenant parce que notre patron vous attend.”

  “Merde.” It’ll look bad for Stephanie if don’t show up.

  “Miss me, Sebastian?” Dawn asks, batting her eyelashes expectantly and reaching up to hug me.

  “Guys, I kind of have other plans. I just didn’t…”

  “I’ll see you later, Frenchie.” Shayne’s voice is airy and calm, which fills my stomach with dread. She’s a blur as she whizzes past me, smiling serenely as she leaves.

  “Wait! You don’t have to go!” I say urgently because I want to spend the day with her. I want to spend every day with her.

  “Seb, this is for charity,” Dawn calls out as if reminding me I’m an asshole. “You promised me. Don’t bail on this promise too.”

  What kind of bullshit is she trying to spew? I never promised her anything.

  Without looking back, Shay gives a casual wave and keeps walking. “Bye. Have a good one!”

  “That was her, wasn’t it?” Stephanie gives me a sympathetic look. “The one?”

  “I’ll be back, guys,” I say and dart outside, slamming my heavy oak door behind me.

  I jump down the five stairs that lead up to my front door and do a quick sprint to catch Shayne two houses down, about to turn off my street toward a busy main road. She’s only a foot in front of me; her long hair is over one shoulder, shielding her face from my view. She doesn’t stop walking even though I know she knows I’m here.

  “Shay.” I step out in front of her and grab her arm just above the wrist. She glances at me and gently tugs her arm free. Her shoulders jut back and her head tips up a little.

  “I totally forgot that I promised to play in a charity game at my sister’s law firm,” I mumble guiltily.

  “Your sister?” Shayne questions with an arched eyeb
row that screams “bullshit.” But before I can swear up and down Stephanie and I share DNA, she shrugs. “No worries. Go. I’ll Uber it.”

  Her tone is so distant it disturbs me. It’s like we’re strangers. Like I’m just an arbitrary client at the gym who forgot a training class.

  “I’d rather spend the day with you,” I say and place two fingers under her chin to draw her eyes up. “Seriously. I can cancel. My coach wouldn’t want me swinging a golf club with my wrist issues anyway. Not before playoffs.”

  “Frenchie, really, it’s fine,” she insists and steps away. “We had random sex. You don’t have to cancel your plans because of it.”

  She starts to walk away. And I grab her arm again. “Since we have sex every time we see each other, I don’t think you can call it random anymore. Seriously, Stephanie is my sister. I swear. I know you want this moment to be a shining example of why you can’t date a hockey player but it isn’t.”

  “And the other one?”

  Fuck.

  “She’s Stephanie’s coworker.” That’s not a lie but it’s a half truth and eventually it may bite me in the ass. And I know, I can feel it deep in my chest, that if I’m not brutally honest with this woman I will ruin everything. I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “And my ex-girlfriend.”

  She doesn’t storm off at that. She doesn’t blink. She doesn’t frown. She simply says, “Oh.”

  She stares at me. I can’t figure out if her silence is good or bad. I just know it’s unnerving so I keep talking. “Everyone has exes. It doesn’t make me a player.”

  “I know.” She mumbles but she won’t look me in the eye. I don’t like that. Not one bit. “I have to go.”

  She tries to step around me, but I won’t let her. She looks almost pained and I hold her shoulder with one hand and push her chin up gently with the other. She looks at me and I don’t like the tight press of her lips or the way her gray eyes seem stormy. “Seb, I said I didn’t want this.”