Parker (Face-Off Series Book 1)

by Jillian Quinn

  Charlotte’s tears soak my bare chest, and she clings to me for dear life. Her grip around my waist is so tight, I have no doubt, she’ll leave her fingerprints on my skin. I swipe the sweat-matted strands of her caramel hair out of her face and lean down to plant a kiss on her forehead. Seeing this side of Charlotte, I want nothing more than to protect her from the pain, from the nightmares that keep waking her from a sound sleep.

  My hands are still shaking like I have a medical condition because I guess I technically do. I am lucky no one on my team knows me well enough to spot the signs of withdrawal. I’m not addicted though, and I like to think that I can beat this on my own. But I’m weak, and if I go back to my apartment, it won’t be long before I get bored and anxious enough to run to the store for a six-pack. The thought of having one sip of alcohol to take off the edge becomes more appealing as the hours pass.

  Except now I have Charlotte, who’s beautiful and strong yet fragile and sad, and she needs me. After crying for twenty minutes, she opens her eyes and wipes the tears away with her thumb.

  “Alex,” she whispers, looking up at me, her voice unsteady, “I’m so sorry you have to see me like this. I don’t know why the nightmares are coming back. It’s been years since I’ve had one.”

  “Shh, shh.” I stroke her hair and twirl the ends around my fingers. “I want to be here with you. You can’t control what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

  She cracks a tiny smile, brings her hand to my face, and runs her fingers along my jaw. “You don’t look so hot. How are you feeling?”

  “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’ll be okay. Right now, let’s focus on you.” I peel her hand from my face and bring it to my lips. With Charlotte, this level of intimacy is beyond sex, and while I’m dying to get in her pants, what we’re doing here is something I have never really done before—connecting on an emotional level.

  Since she doesn’t speak, only nods her head in acknowledgment, I continue, “I dated a girl who was obsessed with tarot cards, zodiac signs, and interpreting dreams. She swore that dreams had a deeper meaning and that they could help you solve your problems. Back then, I never remembered any of my dreams. I thought she was a crackpot, but she was hot, so I put up with her craziness.” That remark gets a snicker and an eye roll from Charlotte. At least she finds it amusing. “After my dad died, I kept seeing his face in my head. It was the worst highlight reel I’d ever watched, and it wouldn’t stop playing. I couldn’t forget how he looked in that hospital bed with all those wires and tubes connected to his face and arms. Instead of recalling the last thing he said to me, all I can think about is how he didn’t look like himself anymore. He was sedated, so I never got to say good-bye.”

  Choking back her tears, she says, “What was the last thing your father said to you? It’s important you remember that. For me, it was a promise from my father that he wasn’t able to keep. People always leave. They always let you down. That’s what I took away from my father.”

  “Before game one of the finals, my dad stopped by the locker room to give me his usual pep talk full of obscure sports quotes and references.”

  “That sounds like your dad,” Charlotte says, running her fingers down my bare thigh.

  I was lying in bed, watching TV in boxer briefs and no shirt, before I heard her screaming. I didn’t even think to put clothes on, and now that she has her hands on me, the heat from her touch is going straight to my balls, and I’m finding it hard to concentrate. But this isn’t the time to start thinking about Charlotte in inappropriate ways, not when we’re sharing so much of ourselves with each other.

  “Will you tell me about that night?”

  I nod. “Yeah, of course.” I haven’t talked to anyone about my father other than Mickey, and even those conversations have been short because men like Mickey and me don’t sit around and share feelings. We get drunk and tell stories about what my dad was like when he was alive.

  “He hadn’t been looking good for a few days before the start of the series and insisted that it was because he hadn’t been sleeping well and that he just needed a few days of rest after following the team during the playoffs. I think all the traveling took its toll on him. I blame myself for not seeing the signs and for being so focused on trying to win the Stanley Cup that I thought the grayish tint to his skin was from all the flights between cities and the hectic schedule and not because he was dying. It turns out, he wasn’t in remission after all and had found out the cancer was back and spreading fast before playoffs even began.

  “His doctor said he didn’t want his prognosis to affect my game. I wish I had known how little time we had left together. I would’ve made sure that I spent every second I wasn’t on the ice with him. I tried to win the Cup for him, but after I missed two games, we were down in the series, and the momentum we’d had wasn’t there anymore. I thought, this year, things would be different and that we’d have another shot at the Cup until I fucked up more than usual, and now, here we are.”

  Charlotte sniffs, and there’s sadness in her eyes and behind her words. “He was really proud of you, Alex. Your dad would talk about you for hours anytime he was in town to visit Mickey. I think that’s why I feel like I already know you. But everything your father told me about you felt sort of contradictory once I started reading about your wild lifestyle. I didn’t expect to be so comfortable around you after I saw some of those videos. Then, there are also the articles with statements from different girls, including the young girl you slept with that landed you in Philly. Not to mention, all the GMs I spoke with who weren’t so thrilled with you. I had one hell of a time finding another team for you after the scandal with your team owner’s granddaughter. No one wanted the bad press, not even the smaller markets that could use someone like you, but the Flyers were willing to take a chance on you.”

  “I know, and I promise, I won’t let you down. I was so angry when I first heard the news of my trade. As much as I didn’t want to move to Philly and play for this team, I’m glad that I’m here because I never would’ve officially met you. My dad and Mickey didn’t do you justice. You’re so much better than what I imagined when I heard about this woman agent with a killer instinct. You reminded me so much of Mickey during our first phone call, and if you were a dude, I would’ve wanted to punch you with the way you spoke to me.”

  She laughs, and her lips move against my chest. “Yeah, I was kind of harsh with you the first time we talked. I was really pissed. I had just come back from a business trip, only to hop right back onto a plane to do serious damage control for Mickey after finding out that you’d already screwed up before you even got here. I was at O’Hare Airport when I called you and so angry that, after all the time I’d spent to get you a new contract, you turned around the next day and had another scandal blasted all over the Internet. No offense, but you’re not exactly my dream client. You’re kind of a nightmare actually.”

  “Sorry about that,” I say, meaning every word. “When I go into self-destruct mode, I think I’m only hurting myself, and I don’t even realize how it affects others until I have to deal with the aftermath. I always had my dad around to keep me in line. Anytime he saw me slipping, he’d whip my ass back into shape. He always made me pay in the summer when it was time for his hard-core skill clinics. They were brutal.”

  “I’ve heard all about his clinics from players he coached over the years. Your dad was a good coach.” She sits up for a minute to shift her weight and lays her head back down—this time, on my stomach with her arm draped across my body. It’s nice to be able to sit here and talk to a woman I connect with and without feeling the need to do anything other than talk.

  I lean my head to the side, just enough that I can see the broad smile on her face.

  Even with bloodshot eyes, all puffy and red, she still looks incredibly beautiful as she continues, “He had this energy about him that made everyone around him feel…inspired. Hell, he even convinced me to become a sports agent, and I
never in a million years would’ve considered this as a profession. I was too busy planning for what I hoped would be a professional career that I honestly never even sat down to consider what I would do with my life if I didn’t make it. Your dad was the perfect example of what you should do when you couldn’t pursue your dream. He told me I just needed to take that dream and channel it into something else that would bring me the same joy, and he was right about that. I love my job, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

  Hearing that my father helped Charlotte as much as he helped me makes me smile. My dad made a difference in so many people’s lives. His funeral was a real testament to the number of lives he’d changed over the years. I feel closer to Charlotte, knowing that she’s one of those people.

  Once she closes her eyes, it doesn’t take long for my lids to grow heavy and my lack of sleep to hit me like a gloves-off uppercut to the jaw.

  I wake to the sound of Charlotte’s alarm clock, accompanied by a massive migraine and slobber on my stomach. Charlotte’s mouth is hanging open, her arm still draped across my body, and she yells, “Turn it off! Five more minutes.”

  Even with drool on her face and mascara smudged under her eyes, she still looks like the girl next door, if that girl was also a feisty sports agent who gets my blood pumping every time I was around her. The last time I had a girlfriend was during my first and only year of college, and I can’t even remember the last time I actually held a woman in my arms. This is…nice.

  Reaching for the clock on the nightstand next to me, I have to hold on to Charlotte, tightening my grip so that I don’t disrupt her position. She looks so peaceful and adorable, like a human blanket. I could get used to waking up with Charlotte.

  For the first night in months, I slept for more than four hours straight, something I hadn’t done since my father’s death. It’s still dark outside, and the curtains are slightly drawn, providing a perfect view of the waterfront and the lights that illuminate the Delaware River. It’s sort of cool to be in one state while staring at another, like how you can see the lights in Connecticut from the Long Island Sound. From this angle, I can see Camden, New Jersey, about twenty minutes from where our practice facility is located. And I have about one hour until I’m expected to be there.

  “Charlotte,” I say, shaking her by the shoulder, “time to wake up, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes flutter open, and she rolls onto her back, grazing my skin with her fingertips as she removes her arm from my stomach. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and then moves it behind her head to prop herself up.

  “I can’t believe I fell asleep on you again. You must be exhausted from sleeping in such an awkward position all night. I’m so sorry about that.”

  “I wanted to stay.” That’s the truth. “Believe it or not, this has been the best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

  Sitting up, she yawns and then pulls her legs into her chest, resting her chin on her thighs. She’s all legs, long and toned, and exactly what I want wrapped around me later. Now, if only she were single. I always want the things I can’t have, but don’t all men?

  “As your coach, I order you to get more rest. Now that you’re not drinking yourself into a coma, you need to focus on training and keeping yourself in shape.”

  I rub a hand over my abs and laugh. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in amazing shape. You can bounce quarters off these.”

  “Okay, Captain Cocky, save it for one of your bunnies. You’re not fooling me. When was the last time you worked out? And don’t even try to tell me that games count because they don’t.”

  She’s got me there.

  “Um…I guess it was two weeks before I left DC.”

  Charlotte frowns. “Alex, that’s pathetic. Seriously. You’re a professional athlete. You need to start acting like one. I want you to commit to at least two days per week where you lift or do something that remotely resembles training.”

  “Only two days?”

  “I would’ve suggested four if I thought you’d make the effort, but I think two is a good starting point. You can use my home gym while you’re living in the building, if you like.”

  Biting down on her bottom lip, she flashes a sexy-as-fuck, bend-me-over-and-spank-me kind of look. Except she has no idea she’s even making a pouty face that, to most men, says, I’ve been a bad girl. And I want to do so many dirty things to her. I have to remind myself that she’s off-limits—not only taken by another man, but also Mickey’s girl.

  I slide off the edge of the bed, needing to get away from her and the sight of her bare legs in those tiny pink shorts that hug her ass. “Two is a good start. I think I’d be even more motivated if you worked out with me.”

  She doesn’t catch on that I’m flirting with her, or at least attempting to, and a broad smile lights up her face. “That’s what I like to hear. I’m glad you’re giving this a real shot. It’s important to me that you take this seriously. I’m here whenever you need me. My schedule fluctuates, and so do my workouts, but tomorrow works for me. I expect you to stay after practice and hit the weights. No junk food, and no fucking off with Kane and Donovan.”

  After our late-night chat sessions this week about our fathers, I know exactly how much this means to her, and I don’t want to fuck it up.

  Once our on-ice practice drills conclude, I head to the gym inside the Flyers training facility, per my agreement with Charlotte. I’m halfway into my routine, minding my own business, when Kane comes up from behind my bench and offers to spot me. Charlotte is right. I’m out of shape because benching two hundred pounds shouldn’t feel like such a chore, yet it does. I used to be able to press twice my weight, and now, I’m like some geriatric hockey player who’s on the last year of his contract, just here to kill time.

  Kane laughs after my tenth rep and helps me set the bar on the rack. “Man, you look like shit. Were you out all night with a bunny?”

  I’m out of breath, and this is so fucking sad to have my teammate call me out. “Nah, I was at home with Charlotte.”

  His eyebrows rise in confusion. “Who?”

  I sit up and take a sip from my water bottle. Then, I wipe my face with my towel and hang it around my neck. “You know, Charlotte, your agent.”

  “You mean, Coach?” He balls his hand into a fist and bites down on it, making an obscene facial expression. “Damn, Parker, you’re tapping Coach? How did you manage that? Her panties are harder to get into than Fort Knox.” Then, he holds his hand up for me to smack it, but I ignore him. “I’ve tried just about everything with her, and nothing works. She always tells me that she has ‘rules,’” he says the last word by making air quotes with his hands.

  Instead of acknowledging his stupidity with a high five, one that I haven’t even earned, I stand and shake my head. “I wish I had a shot with her. She has a boyfriend.”

  “What are you talking about? No, she doesn’t.”

  Kane walks with me to the next machine, and I stop and wait for one of our forwards to finish up with his workout. Kane stands beside me, his hands on his hips.

  “Yeah, she’s dating that guy Jamie. She even brought him home with her the other night.”

  Technically, he only stayed for ice cream and then left. He even made a point to tell me that Charlotte isn’t like other girls, something I’d already figured out, and engaged in a stare-down with me until he finished eating. It was awkward. I’m almost positive Charlotte picked up on the bad vibes he was sending in my direction, but she never let it affect her mood. Rico also added a nice little buffer between us. If he hadn’t been in the apartment, I’m not so sure Jamie would’ve held his tongue. Clearly, he has an issue with me staying with Charlotte, which I attributed to him being her overprotective boyfriend.

  Kane shrugs and gives me a knowing look. “She played you then because Jamie is her best friend. They grew up together in foster care. There’s nothing sexual at all between them.”

  I never once considered who had ra
ised Charlotte because I assumed she’d had one decent family member agree to take her in after her parents’ deaths. It never occurred to me that her life had been even harder than she’d let on.

  The amount of respect I have for this woman grows by the day.

  “I’m not so sure that they’re not together. They seem pretty close, and Jamie practically threatened me before he left last night.”

  Once the machine becomes open, Kane takes a seat and pulls the towel from his pocket to wipe down the equipment. “If you weren’t hooking up with Coach, then what were you doing at her apartment?”

  I turn my head away from him and stare off into the expanse of the room. “Hanging out, I guess.”

  “You guess?” He chuckles to himself. “Right. You were just hanging out. Hey, I get it. If I had a chance to hit that, I’d be all over her.”

  I want to beat the smirk off his face. Kane’s not a bad dude, but hearing him talk about Charlotte like she’s a puck bunny really pisses me off.

  How do I tell him about our deal? It’s best if my teammates don’t know about the drinking or the fact that this is my first legit workout I’ve done in over three weeks. I’ve been with Philly for all of ten days, and other than the mandatory on-ice skills our coach enforces, I haven’t lifted a single weight or even attempted a squat. My legs haven’t hurt this bad since off-season when I drank for one week straight and then attempted one of my dad’s insane strength training regimens. I cut back on the drinking once the season started, but for the last few months, I was hitting the bottle a lot harder than I should have been.

  After taking such a long break, I feel weaker than I used to, and I hate it. One bad hit is all it would take to end my career, a lesson my father learned when he was a few years younger than I am now, which is why I need to get back into game-ready shape.