Dirty Player_A Hockey Romance

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  “Hmm? Hettler. Said you were having a tough time. Needed a break.” Brows furrowing, he asks, “That not accurate?”

  My blood boils, but I hold it together, keeping my voice level and calm when I respond. “How about in the future we leave Ray out of the loop when it comes to calls about my career?”

  Bill’s eyes go deadly sharp. “Done.” Next thing I know his phone is at his ear, and he’s walking back toward the elevator. “Agnes, set up whatever travel Julia Wesley needs tonight, and get HR in my office ASAP… Yeah, Ray Hettler.”

  22

  Julia

  NINETY MINUTES LATER, I’m seated across from Mike Rylan in the private room of a popular Lakeview bar, wrapping things up. I know Mike was only trying to help by calling on me specifically to cover this, and it means a lot. And I’m glad for him that he isn’t announcing his retirement… but still, Mike’s off-season plans to host a dating show hardly merit my delay. I need to get to Boston and talk to Greg.

  I unclip my mic and hand it off to a PA who waves goodbye while the rest of the small crew carries out the gear.

  “Congratulations again, Mike. The show sounds great,” I say, grabbing my coat and purse from the booth behind us. I didn’t have time to pack a bag, but all I need is my wallet to get on a plane.

  To get to Greg. Please, don’t let me be too late.

  Mike shoves his hands into his pockets and looks around the now-empty room. “Yeah, well, it’s the start of a necessary transition. I’ve got one more season in me, but after that?”

  What he’s telling me wasn’t part of the interview, and I turn back. “I wondered.”

  “I know. And hell, when the time is right… maybe the exclusive for that announcement will get me back in your good graces.”

  I give him a questioning look, and that aww-shucks smile quirks as he shrugs, backing away. “Don’t hate me, Julia.”

  Hate him?

  Only then, I feel it, this sort of warm and tingly sense of awareness washing over me. I freeze, my lungs locked around my next breath.

  “Jules.”

  Slowly, I turn, emotion clogging my throat as I take in my first look at the man I haven’t seen in weeks but haven’t been able to get out of my mind for a minute. He’s dressed in a dark suit, his hair is a sexy dark mess, and his too-blue eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that pins me to my spot.

  Distantly, I register Mike giving my shoulder a pat as he walks away, but I’m too shocked, too absorbed by the man standing in front of me to reply.

  Greg’s nostrils flare, and the muscles in his hard-cut jaw flex as he brushes a knuckle against my cheek.

  I feel it then.

  A lone tear, wetting my skin as he wipes it away.

  “Tears?” he asks, but the word is hoarse, like it wounds him.

  I say the only thing my sluggish brain can think of. “You’re supposed to be in Boston.” Oh God, why isn’t he there? I look him over in a panic. “Are you injured? Are you hurt?”

  “No.” The corner of his mouth hitches up, but that barely-there smile doesn’t meet his eyes. “Keeping track of me, Jules?”

  More tears push past my lids. I can’t believe he’s here.

  “Jesus, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you cry. I just—” Thick fingers plow through his hair as he mutters, “Great fucking plan, Baxter.”

  I see what my tears do to him and brush them away. I want to fling myself into his arms and tell him I’m sorry, that I love him—but after that last message telling me no more calls, I’m not sure I still have the right. “I’m fine. Just emotional. So… this is a plan?”

  “A shitty one, from the looks of it.” He wipes a hand over his face. “I just wanted to talk to you. Once.” He swallows, searching my eyes. “And don’t worry. This isn’t going to blow up all over social media. Anyone with a phone is going to have it aimed out front where Jack, Hank and Mike are playing darts.” He waves a hand to the swinging door behind us. “The guy who owns Belfast here, Brody, said we could use his office to talk. Will you give me a minute?”

  Praying we have more than that, I follow him through the kitchen and around to an office with a large black couch and an oversized desk and chair. He locks the door behind us and for a moment just stands there, one arm braced against the solid wood above his head, the neat lines of his suit underscoring the powerful build beneath.

  “Greg?” I say it softly, tentatively reaching for his shoulder, only to pull back at the last second.

  His head drops forward. “I thought maybe if I could just talk to you again… maybe we could find our way back to something where I could hear your laugh once in a while. See your smile. Because I fucking miss it, Julia.”

  “I miss you too.” So much. I’ve missed my friend. The one with the strict limit on what we were to each for more than a decade. And even more, the one he’s become these last months.

  “How have you been?” he asks, turning so he’s standing with his back against the door, arms crossed over his broad chest.

  I laugh at the casual question, but even I can hear the heartbreak in it. “I’ve been better. You?”

  “I’m not sleeping great. Been spending more time with my sister these last two weeks. Less with the team outside of practices. I love those guys, but they can be a bunch of meatheads.”

  “How’s Natalie?” I ask, but I’m thinking those meatheads are his best friends. I can’t imagine him wanting to avoid them, except I haven’t exactly been sticking to my usual routine either. I’ve switched some of the classes I take at the gym for more solitary workouts on the treadmill and rowing machine. I’ve been passing on lunches and dinner plans. Avoiding the situations where the people who know me best would have the opportunity to see that I’m not myself. To try to cheer me up when it feels like I’m dying inside.

  It feels like that now.

  I’m physically aching to touch him, to bury my head against his chest. Soak in the woodsy scent of him and the warmth I haven’t felt since we said goodbye.

  Since I said goodbye.

  “Nat? Same as always,” he says. “Sweet. Annoying. Well-intentioned and misguided.” His eyes crinkle at the edges. “She made me zucchini bread with protein powder to cheer me up.”

  “Cammy made me a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough to eat raw.”

  “Damn. That sounds way better. Think we can work out some kind of little sister exchange for a week or two?”

  I laugh, really laugh at the envy in his voice, and when Greg smiles, it’s like something inside my chest opens, letting in the first fresh air and sunshine it’s seen in weeks.

  He watches me until my laughter dies and we’re standing in this borrowed space, eyes locked across a divide neither of us seems to know how to breach.

  “That laugh, it’s what I came for,” he says, the ghost of his smile all that’s left on his lips. “What I needed.”

  He takes a deep breath, his brows furrow, and his eyes move over me in a slow crawl. I can see the debate in them when they stop at my mouth, feel that pull tugging between us. But then that look is gone. One of resignation in its place.

  He clears his throat, eyes lingering on me a few seconds before breaking contact. “Maybe you wouldn’t mind if I texted you sometime?”

  He’s offering friendship. A safe way to keep him in my life without having to risk anything. It kills me.

  For two weeks I’ve been telling myself I never should have let Greg so close. That I should have known better than to allow myself to become so vulnerable. And for two weeks, I haven’t been able to shake this ever-growing sense of wrong. The persistent whisper in my head warning that I was making a mistake.

  But in this moment, standing so close to him… I know with a soul-deep certainty that kind of safety would break my heart.

  “Greg,” I whisper, shaking my head as I cross the divide to stand in front of him. My hands catch the sides of his suit. His eyes follow the motion, moving from one hand to the other before slowly comi
ng up to meet mine. “I miss you. So much.”

  Brushing a few strands of hair from my brow, he lets out a shaky breath. “So that’s a yes to the texts? To maybe seeing if we can find our way back to being in each other’s lives again? As friends.”

  Friends. “Is that all you want?”

  “What I want is—” He cuts off the gruff words, but I see the admission in his eyes before he closes them.

  My heart beats faster, stronger.

  Cupping the side of his beautiful face, I brush his heavy cheekbone, taking solace in the sound of his low groan.

  Can he feel my hand shaking or sense how scared I am?

  “I miss us.”

  Those bright blue eyes pop open, meeting mine with a stare so intense I lose my breath beneath it, can barely whisper my next words. “I miss the conversations that stretch from one day into the next and laughing until my stomach hurts. I miss your arms around me and that feeling of right I’ve never had with anyone else. I miss my best friend showing me day after day how much more we are to each other.”

  His hand covers mine, and holding it in his grip, he pulls it down to his chest, pressing it against his hard-beating heart. “Julia, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I’m sorry. I was scared and hurt, but I shouldn’t have cut you off the way I did. I told myself that you were the one who left when things got tough, but really, it was me. I thought I was protecting myself. Doing the right thing. The smart thing. But I’ve never been more wrong in my entire life.”

  Greg’s breath comes out in a punch. Wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, he pulls me in and presses his brow to mine. “Christ, Julia, don’t say you’re sorry. I pushed and pushed for your trust, and the minute you gave it to me, I let you down.” His fingers tighten. “But I swear to you, I won’t do it again. Give me another chance, and I’ll never give you a reason to doubt me, us, again.”

  His words make me ache. In the past I haven’t been able to let go of my doubts and insecurities. But now, I believe.

  I know this man.

  I love this man.

  He’s good and loyal and honest and driven… and even though I gave him every reason to, he hasn’t given up on me.

  “You have it,” I whisper into the space where we cling to each other.

  The bridge of his nose brushes mine. “Jules, you promised me another kiss at our next reunion. What do you say to an advance?”

  My heart beats harder. “I can give you that. But I’ll expect to be paid back in full.”

  His breath huffs out in a laugh heavy with emotion. He tips my head, cradling it in his powerful hands. There’s amusement and tenderness in his eyes, and the first real hint of that cocky smile I haven’t seen in a long time hanging from his lips.

  “You won’t regret this.”

  He parts my lips with the softest brush of his own. The tender contact is light and gentle and just the beginning. Chills skate across my skin, and all those knotted nerves ease, giving way to butterflies taking flight by the dozens in my belly. My arms slide around his neck as my fingers find their way into his tousled mess of hair. Soaking in the clean, manly scent of him and the warmth of being this close, I close my eyes.

  It feels like being home.

  “Julia.”

  Then he’s kissing me harder, his arms locking around my back and waist. Holding me close as his tongue glides against mine. Our breath is ragged, the need between us hot and sharp.

  His big hand crushes my hair. “God, I missed you.”

  My shoulders hit the wall, and then I have the decadent weight of Greg’s big body pinning me where I stand.

  Yes.

  We can’t get close enough, can’t stop the rush of hands and heated, breathless words. Promises and pleas tumble between us, as urgent as our touch.

  “I love you,” I gasp, and he pulls back to meet my eyes. Nostrils flared, brows drawn forward, he nods.

  “Good. That’s going to make convincing you to marry me a lot easier.”

  There’s no time to think or respond or shower his gorgeous face with kisses before he crushes me beneath his kiss again, growling against my mouth and neck and chest that he loves me, that he wants me, that I’m everything.

  He’s wrong.

  We’re everything. Together.

  Slowly, painfully, Greg draws back. “We’ve got to stop, or I’m going to do something that will ensure Brody never lends out his office again.”

  He’s right. “What do you say we get out of here?”

  He brushes the hair from my brow and fastens the top two buttons on my blouse. “Much as I don’t want to let you go, even for a second, I’ll cut out the back so you leave from the front. We can keep things quiet as long as you like, Jules. We can keep them quiet forever if that’s what you need.”

  The sincerity in his eyes touches me. He knows what he’s offering—he’s lived with it before—and he means it.

  This man.

  I reach for his belt and unabashedly refasten it. Yes, we’ve been here before, but this time it’s different. “I love you.”

  His eyes close, and he blows out an emotional breath. “I love you too, Jules. I’m never going to let you go.”

  “Promise?” I ask, taking his big hand in mine.

  He nods, that cocky smile slanting at full strength. “Swear.”

  I press a quick kiss to his lips and pull the door open wide. “Good. Then let’s go see how your friends are doing with darts while we wait on an Uber.”

  He’s stock still beside me. Shocked silent by my suggestion, I’m guessing, but not for long. Greg Baxter is a man who has made his career thinking on his feet. One look at my smile and his is back, blinding and brilliant as he pulls me toward the front of the bar where Jack just landed a bullseye.

  The crowd parts for us, heads turning as we pass. I squeeze Greg’s hand tighter, and the smile he gives me warms me through.

  “Nice toss, man,” Greg says, clapping Jack on the shoulder.

  Jack’s eyes shift between us, and his grin spreads. “No way.” Turning to Hank, he adds, “I can’t fucking believe your football play worked. And to think, this jackass tried to kick us out.”

  “Football?” My brows shoot high, and I turn to Greg, who groans.

  This I’ve got to hear.

  “It wasn’t football,” he protests, giving each of his buddies a glare.

  Hank shoves his geeky stud billionaire glasses up his nose. “Quarterback sneak. Got the offensive team pushing forward, keeping everyone out of the way, while our QB ran with the ball.”

  Oh, this is too good. Beaming up at Greg, I whisper, “You played quarterback to get me back?”

  His arm lashes around my lower back, pulling me close to his side. “I’d do anything for you. Even play quarterback.”

  Surrounded by a crowd, many with their phones out and undoubtedly recording, I wrap my hand around Greg’s tie and slowly reel him in, closer and closer still, until his face looms inches above mine. Eyes locked, I whisper, “Brace yourself,” and then, pushing up onto my toes, close that last distance to kiss him.

  His hands settle on my waist, gripping once before sliding around to my back as we linger in the soft press of our lips. It’s a kiss more about a promise than the passion we’ll give in to once we’re alone. It’s sweet and tame, but when we break apart, both of us are breathless and smiling like fools.

  This is the beginning of the us I won’t ever try to hide.

  I rest my hand over Greg’s heart. “We should probably get out of here.”

  “Where do you want to go? I’ll take you anywhere, Jules.”

  He would. But there’s only one place I want to go. “Boston.”

  His head rocks back and he laughs, pulling me into a tight hug that I tighten even more.

  “I’m serious, Greg. You’ve got a game tomorrow. We gotta go.”

  Tilting my head back, he presses another sweet and soulful kiss to my lips.

  “You gonna wea
r my jersey?”

  “Try to stop me.”

  Epilogue

  Jack

  IT’S BEEN SIX months since I delivered up my latest happily ever after—not that I get any fucking credit for my efforts, thank you very much—and we’re back at the bar where it all came together. Belfast is hopping, but parked at our high-top by the bar, we might as well be any other set of customers. Sure, people notice Julia, Greg, and the Wagners, and hell, sometimes me too, but aside from a nod or smile we’re pretty much left to enjoy our night out. The bar’s cool, with a pressed copperplate ceiling, exposed brick walls, and a chill atmosphere. It’s the perfect spot to grab a drink when our schedules line up. Bonus points because those little white lights they’ve got strung around have the rock on Julia’s finger throwing off enough strobes we ought to put a seizure warning on it.

  Julia’s still working as a sideline reporter, but she’s got another gig now too. Her own weekly show where she invites pro athletes from various sports to play Xbox and shoot the shit about what’s going on in their personal and professional lives. It’s an ultra-casual format, but between that chick’s sport knowledge and her easy repartee with the players, the show has turned into an instant hit. Viewers can’t get enough of her trash talk and bickering over league records and player stats. And Greg just can’t get enough of her.

  The wedding’s next month, and Ruxton Meyers is going to be the best man. I get it. Baxter didn’t want Hank to feel weird if he picked me. Understandable, since Wagner was the one to come up with the whole quarterback sneak thing. Sure, I mean, yeah, I’m the guy who knew which buttons to push to guilt Mr. Billionaire Brainiac into putting his thinking cap on for Greg’s benefit, but whatever. I don’t need the stroke. Hank, though? Hell, every time Abby pulls out that adoring look, calling him her romantic hero, the guy sits a little taller. Gives her that dopey, completely whipped, hard-crush smile he’s damn lucky I’d forgotten about in the years since they dated in high school. Not sure I’d have gone to the trouble to get them back together if I had.