Winning It All (Hometown Players Book 4)

by Victoria Denault

  “Hey,” Avery says back, his voice all business as always. “So can you bring that cornbread you brought two years ago? Not the cornbread muffins you brought last year. The loaf from two years ago.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “To Jordan’s. For the annual chili night.” He replies like he’s talking about something as ingrained into society as Christmas or Memorial Day. It takes me a minute of staring blankly at my refrigerator but then I remember. For the last couple of years a bunch of us have been going to Jordan’s for our last meal before playoffs start. It started as a lark. We wanted one last night of beers and junk food before the crunch began. Jordan was single at the time and had just bought his big house so he hosted.

  We won the Stanley Cup that year. Then we did it again last year but lost in the conference finals. A lot of athletes are superstitious, but Avery takes it to a ridiculous level. He follows the same strict routine every game day. He eats the same thing every game day. He listens to the same music. He won’t even replace his jock, which is a totally disgusting thing he’s had since he was nineteen. It’s barely in one piece. And because we won the Stanley Cup the year we did the first chili night, he’s insisted it’s an annual event. And clearly he blames my missing cornbread for the loss last year.

  I try not to smile at his craziness. “I’m not going tonight.”

  “Yeah, you are,” he dismisses my statement. “And bring the bread, not the muffins, okay?”

  “Seriously, Avery, I have a date. I can’t make it.”

  “You have to make it,” he argues back, and his voice is firm. “It’s a tradition.”

  “Do it without me.” I know this answer isn’t acceptable to him, but there is no way I’m fucking up my date with Shayne because he believes in magic. “We have to do it without Larue since he got traded.”

  “I have no control over that,” Avery replies tersely, his voice dripping in that hard, bullheaded quality it gets when he’s frustrated because he’s not getting what he wants. In his defense, no one has ever really said no to him, so it’s not like he knows how to deal with it. “And that’s fucking with the mojo enough, Deveau. I’m not going to let your dick ruin our odds completely.”

  “My dick is not going to cost us the Cup, Avs.” Stephanie has no idea what we’re talking about because she can only hear my side of the conversation, but when I say that, she bursts out laughing, covering her mouth to keep her chilled mocha from coming out all over my kitchen. “But thanks for giving it so much power.”

  “Sebastian. I need you to come.” The tone of his voice is morphing from frustrated to desperate. “It’ll set the course for us. I know you don’t get it, but it will. Just fucking show up. Bring her if you want, but come. Don’t fucking screw me.”

  “I won’t screw you.” I sigh because I know I have no choice. Avery has more power than any other captain in the league. When he butted heads with the coach the first year he started, they fired the coach. There have been rookies sent back down to the minors because he didn’t like them, and he’s had people traded who didn’t get along with him. He runs the damn league, even though I’m not completely sure he knows that. But I do. So I’ll go to the stupid chili night, at least for a few minutes, to quell his anxiety and keep him from blaming me for our playoff fate if it’s disastrous.

  “What time does it start?”

  He heaves a loud sigh of relief, not even caring how fucking insane he comes across. “Seven. See you then, and bring your sister. She was there two years ago.”

  “Yeah.” He hangs up and then I add, “See you then, Captain Crazy-pants.”

  Stephanie is still laughing but she’s managed not to bring her drink through her nose, which I thought she might. “What the hell was that about?”

  “I have to go to Jordan’s to eat chili and so do you because my captain is certifiable.” I scrub a hand over my face, which reminds me I have to shave for the last time tonight. Injuries, playoff beards, superstitious rituals: fuck, this is the absolute worst time to try and woo a woman who hates hockey.

  Stephanie must see the worry on my face because she pats my shoulder. “Well, she’ll either sink or swim.”

  “She can’t sink,” I murmur back. “I really like her, Steph.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Make cornbread.”

  Stephanie looks confused but shrugs and immediately starts rummaging through my pantry for ingredients. I sigh. Damn it. This has disaster written all over it.

  Chapter 31

  Shayne

  He knocks on my door early. It’s only six thirty, and it makes me jump and smudge the attempt I’m making at eyeliner. Holy shit, why is he early? I quickly wipe the smudge and survey my face. I did an okay job, I guess. I mean I don’t look nearly as glamorous as Audrey on any given day, but I look better than I normally do every day at the gym so…winning?

  I realized after Trey dropped me off that I had nothing to do or think about but this impending “date.” And by think, I mean obsess. Relentlessly. Where were we going? What should I wear? A dress? Jeans? Is this a real date or just food before we have sex again? And how do you go on a first date with someone you’ve already seen naked? Dates are for getting to know someone, figuring out what you have in common. It’s going to be weird asking him what his favorite food is when I already know he’s circumcised. And finding out about his childhood when I already know what his O face looks like. Fuck, we’re doing this all backward, and I’m all about order.

  I swing open my front door and he’s standing there looking like something a bunch of horny female scientists cooked up in a laboratory. He’s wearing a thin white Henley hugging his perfectly sculpted torso and shoulders. The buttons in the front are open, showing his smooth, tan skin and the edge of a bite mark I left on him last night. Oops. A pair of perfectly faded jeans hang off his delicious hips, his hair is tousled and brushed forward over his forehead, and his face is clean-shaven, not a hint of a shadow. Those piercing blue eyes are framed by those sexy dark glasses again.

  “Glasses again?”

  He smiles seductively. “I wanted to give off a porn vibe tonight, even if it’s accountant porn.”

  I laugh and move so he can walk into my apartment. “I’ll never live that down.”

  “No, you won’t.” He leans close and kisses my cheek, lingering for a long moment, and fuck, it makes my insides quiver. In my ear he whispers, “I’m hoping the glasses aren’t the only porn-like thing that happens tonight.”

  As I turn pink, he reaches behind me and twists the dead bolt on my front door. I scowl. “Scared of my ’hood?”

  “Hell, yes,” he replies without hesitation. “Did you notice you didn’t have to buzz me in? Because some sketchy-looking guy was walking out and just held the door for me. No questions asked. Just ‘Hey, come on in, potential rapist or burglar or murderer.’”

  I laugh and he frowns. “Ma belle, I’m serious. C’est dangereux.”

  “English over here,” I reply and roll my eyes at his amazingly hot French words. He finally notices I’m wearing a bathrobe. A big, fluffy, pink bathrobe. “I haven’t decided on what to wear.”

  His eyes sweep over my robe and the corners of his irresistible mouth turn up. His left hand reaches between us and toys with the belt. “What’re you wearing under that?”

  “A snowsuit,” I chirp back, and the irresistible mouth grows more irresistible as it slips into a smirk.

  “Such a smart mouth…” he whispers as he tips his head down closer to my ear. “I have half a mind to pull that robe off and smack your beautiful ass. But unfortunately we have somewhere to be.”

  “Okay,” I say, trying to hide my shock. Not shock at his words but shock that the idea of Sebastian smacking my ass created a ripple of desire that skittered up my spine. “Any clues on where we’re going so I know what to put on?”

  “Jeans are fine. I have something casual in mind.”

  “Okay, I’ll b
e right back. Make yourself comfortable.” I motion for him to head into the living room and then disappear into the bedroom.

  “And bring a sweater for later. It might get cold and we’ll be outside.”

  I dig out my favorite jeans and my favorite non-athletic-wear top. It’s a loose, flowy black shirt that falls off both shoulders. I decide to pair it with my over-the-knee black heeled boots. I grab some delicate dangling earrings with black tourmaline stones and a matching necklace and put them on as I glance around the room for my oversize red-and-gray poncho-style cardigan. I pull it off a pile of clothes on the chair in the corner. When I turn around he’s leaning on the doorjamb, eyes glued to me.

  I get flustered. “Were you watching me get dressed?”

  He nods, and his tongue slips out of his mouth and wets his full lips. Like he’s anticipating how I’ll taste. Because he wants to taste me. Oh my God, this man…“In my defense, I was going to just hang on your couch, but your feline hissed at me.”

  I laugh. “Roy doesn’t like hockey players either.”

  He pretends to look miffed but that sexy mouth is quirked slightly in a smirk. I slide past him, and he steps into me so our bodies brush at every conceivable angle. It becomes so tight in the doorway that I can’t move. My back is pressed to the frame and my front is pressed to Sebastian. “Aren’t you going to ask me how my day was?”

  “Did you get back together with your ex? Or fuck her on the ninth hole or something?” I blurt out completely crassly and totally inappropriately. It’s been on my mind all day. I would be worried about any potential boyfriend spending the day with his ex, but a hockey player? Even worse. Because I honestly don’t know Seb well enough to say one hundred percent that he’s not anything like the hockey players I know and hate. I feel like he’s different, but my feelings might be influenced by this insane carnal need I have for him.

  He looks startled by my tactless questions but not guilty. “No, I definitely did not. But I did get a hard cock every time I thought of you. Which was often.”

  I feel my cheeks heat at that, and a delicious flutter happens in my stomach. His eyes, so freaking light behind the dark frame of the glasses that they are almost see-through today, sweep over my face, and it makes me feel like he’s inspecting me, which makes me deeply uncomfortable. I’m about to squirm my way free of him when he lifts his hand and cups the side of my face, the rough pad of this thumb sweeping lightly over my nose to my cheekbone.

  “Why do you hate your freckles?” he asks, and I’m once again amazed by his astuteness. He notices everything. That’s not typical for any guy I’ve known let alone one that tends to take punches to the head for a living.

  “Because they’re freckles.”

  “They’re adorable,” he argues back, running his thumb along them again.

  “Adorable is for cocker spaniel puppies and toddlers,” I reply and try not to frown.

  He ignores my snarky reply and leans down so our foreheads touch. “They’re sexy. They give a softness to your otherwise hard edges,” he tells me bluntly. “Stop trying so hard to cover them with makeup.”

  I instantly want to walk back into the bathroom and wipe off my already minimal makeup. But I won’t. I can’t. This man may have some kind of chemical in his body that I’m addicted to, but I’ll be damned if he’s going to run my life. My dad use to tell my mother how to dress and what she should look like, and I am not about to let him do that to me.

  “Okay, when you stop taking punches to the face,” I counter as I slide free from the wedge that is Frenchie and the doorjamb. “I’ll stop covering the freckles on my face when you stop adding to the scars on yours.”

  I grab my purse off the arm of the couch, giving Roy a quick pet, and march toward the front door. I glance over my shoulder and try not to giggle as I watch Sebastian and Roy eyeball each other. Sebastian looks leery and Roy looks unimpressed. Seb follows me into the hall, and after I lock my door he takes my hand in his, and we start down the hall to the elevator. He bypasses it, though, and moves toward the stairs at the end of the hall. I hesitate. “Elevator is faster.”

  “It’s also a piece of shit and I don’t want to get stuck in it,” he replies. “I took it up and I swear it barely made it.”

  “It’s rickety but it never fails,” I argue, because I know if we take the stairs we’ll run into Wayne. Wayne is a harmless drunk who manages to scrounge up the rent every month on the studio apartment a few doors down from me, but he often ends up passing out in the stairwell, on his way to and from the laundry room or to get his mail or…just because.

  He ignores me and tugs me past the elevator. “Listen, we need to make a quick stop before our date really begins.”

  I stare at the back of his head as we make out way down the stairs, him leading the way. “Okay…” My voice is cautious because his tone is contrite, like this place we need to go to is going to suck for both of us.

  “Playoffs start tomorrow and our captain is batshit crazy so he’s making a bunch of us go to—”

  “Jordan and Jessie’s for chili?” I finish for him as the conversation with Jessie filters back into my head.

  We hit the first landing, on the floor below, and turn to continue down to the ground floor. No Wayne so far. Good. He stops suddenly and I stumble, almost banging into him. He catches me by the shoulders. “I ran into Jessie today and she mentioned it.”

  “I don’t want to go and I definitely don’t want to bring you.” He freezes as soon as the words leave his mouth. “I don’t mean that the way it sounds. I mean that I don’t want to subject you to it. It’s just a bunch of teammates, and it’s not the way I wanted to start this date, but Avery is superstitious and we won the Cup the year we started this stupid chili night, so he thinks if we don’t do it again we’re doomed.”

  I frown. “Avery Westwood is going to be there?”

  He nods, and as we turn to take the last seven steps that lead to the lobby, there’s Wayne. His torso, wrapped in a dirty sweatshirt, is sprawled across three steps, his arms crossed on the landing with his head resting facedown on top of them. A spilled can of beer is on the step next to his ass, probably soaking his sweatpants. Sebastian’s whole body tenses. I can feel his muscles tighten in his back and his arm as I bump against it after his abrupt stop.

  “It’s okay,” I say and step around Seb. His fingers, intertwined with mine, clench protectively, but I ignore it and bend down next to Wayne. “Wayne. Wayne, wake up.”

  Wayne stirs, takes a sharp breath and promptly starts to cough. The stench of stale beer pollutes the air around us as he exhales, and when I look up, Sebastian is cringing. I turn back to Wayne and use my free hand to take his forearm and help him up. “Come on, you need to get to your apartment and sleep it off.”

  “Thanks, Susie, honey.” He grins at me and uses the name he’s been calling me since I met him, even though I told him it was Shayne. His smile is lopsided and one of his top front teeth is missing. The other ones are yellow. “I didn’t mean to take a nap. Just, you know, couldn’t help myself.”

  “Uh-huh.” I nod and smile and yank on Sebastian’s hand to try to get him to remove the scowl from his face. Wayne nods at Sebastian with a small, friendly, yet drunk, smile and stumbles down the hall toward his apartment.

  I make sure he stumbles through the front door before I turn and lead Seb down the rest of the stairs. When we get to the bottom I speak before he has the chance—because I know he will and I know what he will say. “He’s harmless.”

  “You need to move.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Shay.” His voice is stern and brimming with concern, but I don’t like it.

  Once we’re seated inside his luxury SUV, which probably cost more than my entire year’s pay, he glances over at me. “I’m going to worry about you living here.”

  “I’m going to worry about you getting your head smashed in on the ice,” I retort. “Guess worry is what happens when two people…fornica
te on a regular basis.”

  He doesn’t even try to hold in his laughter at that. It’s a loud, deep bark. His eyebrow, the one with the still-pink slice through it, rises. “Is that what we’re doing? Fornicating on a regular basis?”

  “That’s what we’ve been doing so far,” I say as he pulls out onto the busy street. “I mean it’s regular for me. Probably not for you. You probably are used to it a few dozen times a week, but a couple times a month is pretty much a regular basis, considering before you I hadn’t had sex for almost two years.”

  He hits the brake a little too hard at a stop sign, and I lurch forward. Thank God for seat belts. He turns to me with a look that’s a medley of shock and awe, like he’s just seen a ghost. “Two whole years? As in seven hundred and thirty days?”

  “Longer, technically, because this was a leap year,” I reply calmly and watch his face grow even more stunned. It makes me feel a little embarrassed, which then makes me feel a little annoyed. “That’s a big deal to you?”

  “It’s not to you?” There’s such shock in his deep voice that I start to feel awkward again. I hate being made to feel awkward.

  “No,” I mutter back and wrap my sweater more tightly around me. “I’ve only had sex in relationships and I haven’t had a relationship.”

  He seems to catch on that this is making me uncomfortable, because he reaches out and rests his right hand on my thigh, over my own hand. “So then I guess we’re in a relationship.”

  “What?!”

  “Well, if you only have sex in relationships, then that’s what we’re doing.” Frenchie grins slyly and I have the urge to both slap and kiss it off his face. “I’m your boyfriend then. It’s settled.”

  “Until you,” I shoot back, flustered. “Now I’m all about the…the…” I’m trying to think of the right word.

  “Bed buddy? Friend with benefits? Fuck toy?” Sebastian suggests helpfully. His smile slips from his full lips just a little as he adds, “We’ve been through this. I don’t want to be any of those things. I’m campaigning for boyfriend.”