Parker (Face-Off Series Book 1)

by Jillian Quinn

  Whatever I need to finish, I can do at home. I’m already calling this city and Charlotte’s apartment my home. The thought gives me a chill.

  I’ve had enough of Kane and this discussion—though I can’t pretend I’m not relieved to hear that Jamie and Charlotte are just friends. That makes sense, considering I’ve slept in her bed without her giving me as much as a warning glance to keep my hands off. A woman like Charlotte, one with so many rules, wouldn’t let a man into her bed if she were in a relationship.

  “I’m going to go hit the showers. I’ll catch you later.”

  Kane nods, continuing his reps, and I walk toward the locker room with a smile on my face because Charlotte is fair game.

  Coach

  “Let me do that for you,” Alex says, walking into my home gym in a pair of shorts that hang low from his waist and no shirt, looking sexy as hell.

  He pushes his fingers through his dark hair, making it messy, as if blown by the wind and fallen back into place. Even his imperfections are perfection. It’s hard not to be distracted by the way his hair brushes his forehead as he drops to his knees in front of me or the way his muscles flex as he takes my calf in his big, strong hands. His abs…my God, his abs are so yummy, I want to lean forward and lick them.

  My heart, mind, and body are no longer in control, not when my ovaries are pounding hardest of all, ready to explode. With my back flat against the mat, Alex commands control and slips between my legs. Partner stretching is much more effective than doing it on your own, but this is going to be the hardest hour of my life with him shirtless and oozing sex, especially while he’s touching me.

  “You okay, Coach?” Alex raises his eyebrows in concern, still holding on to my leg and pushing it into my chest as he locks his right ankle over my other leg to pin it down. “Were you working out before I came in? You’re all sweaty, and you’re breathing pretty fast.”

  “Um…” Words fail me. “A little bit, I guess.”

  The thirty seconds he holds my leg in the air feels like thirty minutes. I bite the inside of my cheek, blood coursing through my veins and pumping so fast that I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. I’m dying—or at least it feels like it. I won’t last another second with Alex pressing his thigh into mine.

  He switches to my left leg and repeats the same stretch. This is pure fucking torture.

  It’s been five days since Alex moved into my apartment, and for three of those nights, I woke up to find him in my bed, cradling me in his arms. My nightmares have returned after years of me trying to put Charlotte behind and start a new life as Coach. But Alex wants to know Charlotte, the girl I used to be and not the woman I am—or maybe he wants both sides of me. When he pulls me from my dreams, I’m terrified, afraid that I’m about to relive my past. I cling to him, let him in more than I’ve let anyone else in a long time, and it scares me that I’m starting to need him.

  And, now, I want him. I crave his touch more than I should, more than I’ve ever desired another man. Because the Alex who comes to my rescue at night isn’t the same man I heard about from other agents and players. There’s a softness to him, unlike what I’ve seen from him on the ice or in the newspapers. The bad boy fades around me, replaced by a man who misses his father and needs someone to care about him, the same way I care for my clients and team.

  What happens two days from now when he leaves for ten days on travel, and I’m stuck at the apartment, wondering if he’s keeping his promise? Can I trust him?

  After he finishes up with my stretches, he plops down on the mat next to me, his hand lingering far too long as he uses me to support his weight.

  Is he doing this on purpose?

  “Your turn,” I announce. I climb over his thick, muscular thigh and begin the same exercise.

  He’s rock solid, not an ounce of fat on him. Hockey players are by far the most well-conditioned athletes I’ve ever worked with, and the kind of stamina you need to play at such an intense pace…I can’t stop myself from licking my lips at the thought of what he must be like in bed. I dated my share of athletes in college, but I swore off professional players the day I started at DMG.

  “You looked good last night, better than I’ve seen you play in a while,” I say, pressing my knee into the back of his thigh. “That shorthanded goal was pretty sweet.”

  His eyes travel to my breasts that are slightly popping out of my spandex top before he makes his way to my face. “I’m surprised you watched the game. You know, I was hoping you’d come. Too bad you were stuck at work.”

  “I was thinking I’d come to your last home game before your road trip.”

  His face lights up, but he’s trying not to act too excited. He’s not fooling me.

  “That’s cool, if you can make it. Do you want the same seats as last time, or would you prefer to sit with the wives?”

  “Um…” He wants me to sit with the players’ wives? How weird. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

  He places his hand on the mat and sits up into a crunch position, and I release his leg from my grip.

  “You didn’t seem to like your seats last time—you know, because of those girls. They’ve been to every game since I got here. I think you’d be more comfortable around the guys’ wives and girlfriends instead of bunnies.”

  “Won’t they get the wrong idea? I usually sit in a club box, so I can stuff my face and get hammered, not gab about where I got my nails done.”

  That comment earns a laugh from Alex. “You’re definitely not like most girls, but trust me when I say, that’s a good thing. It’s what makes you interesting. I’m sure they will love you.”

  He reaches out and grabs my hips, pulling me toward him, as he lies back on the map, holding me above him, as if I weigh nothing.

  “What the hell are you doing, Parker?”

  He smirks. “Weight training.”

  I swat at his hand and end up smacking his shoulder, but that doesn’t break his stride as he counts out his reps aloud with a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “I’m glad you find this so amusing because I don’t. Put me down right now.”

  He lowers me onto his chest, his grip still tight on my hips, keeping me in place. “At least now I know what you look like on top of me. It was a nice visual. I think we should give it a try sometime.”

  “Oh, do you now?” My voice is accusatory, defensive even, but I like where this conversation is heading. “Well, I don’t,” I lie.

  He moves his right hand from my side, leaving a trail of heat in his wake, and his fingers graze my breast as he slowly taunts and tests me before he takes his thumb and rubs it across my bottom lip. “Beautiful.”

  I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath, unable to function as my pulse speeds up. It’s been far too long since a man has touched me. Work has consumed my life, leaving no room for anything else. Now, Alex is here, shirtless and growing hard against my thigh.

  Without another thought, I lick his thumb. He reacts as I was hoping and sits up, so I can wrap my long legs around his back. Once our lips meet, I can’t think straight. My vagina is in charge now, the throbbing between my legs controlling this situation and me as I slip my tongue inside his mouth. I moan against his lips and throw my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

  He groans and palms my ass in his hands, a thin layer of spandex from my shorts and the mesh from his the only things separating us, as he places me onto his erection. My entire body clenches. The need to satisfy the fire brewing inside me takes over, and I want Alex to make it go away. I have no willpower. I’m a victim of my own hormones.

  And, when he tugs at the edge of my shorts, I pull them to the side to let him know it’s okay.

  He glances down for a second before meeting my gaze and grins. “You’re not wearing any panties. Naughty girl.”

  “Maybe you should teach me a lesson,” I challenge.

  “You’re the one who’s supposed to be coaching me, sweetheart, not the other way around. Why don’t you s
tart by telling me what you want me to do to you?”

  And that’s when it hits me. I can’t coach a player if I’m bobbing up and down on his dick or thinking about the ridges of his perfectly sculpted stomach.

  Can I make an exception just this once?

  He seems to notice my internal struggle and rubs his hands down my arms to comfort me. “You know we don’t have to do this. I’m okay with waiting, if that’s what you want.”

  I peel myself away from him and stand. My body is unstable as I attempt to get my footing. Most women would kill for one night with Alex Parker, top NHL defenseman and all-around hockey hottie, but I’m becoming attached to Alex Parker, the man who holds me and tells me it will be all right until I stop crying at night, and I know the versions cannot be separated from each other.

  “We can’t do this, Alex. It’s completely unprofessional on my part. I have rules.”

  Pressing his hand to the mat, he uses it to stabilize himself as he jumps to his feet. My breath hitches when he moves in front of me, and because of my height, our foreheads are touching.

  “Rules are meant to be broken.”

  “No,” I counter, “rules are meant to prevent bad things from happening.”

  His eyes flicker over my body, sending chills down my spine with one look. “There’s nothing bad about what just happened between us. I’ve slept in the same bed as you for the past few nights. We’ve shared things about ourselves, things I would never tell a woman I’m only using for sex.”

  I believe him. I couldn’t see a man like Alex divulging his feelings to a puck bunny or some one-night stand he picked up at a bar.

  “Alex, it’s not that I don’t want you because I do. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to mix business with pleasure. If anyone were to find out—”

  “No one will ever know,” he interrupts. “I promise. Despite what you might think of me, I don’t go around bragging every time I get laid.”

  He cups my face in his hand, and I’m not sure what I was going to say next because the thought vanishes along with my self-control.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

  I almost melt into a puddle on the floor.

  “You’re a mess,” I shoot back, feeling bad the second the sentence leaves my mouth.

  He seems entertained. “You’re smart, sexy, and unbelievably hot when you’re spouting off random sports trivia.”

  “I don’t want to be another notch on your headboard or the laughingstock of the sports world. I worked too hard to get to where I am.”

  “You wouldn’t be another conquest, and like I said, no one will ever find out. It will be our little secret.”

  Taking a step back, I inch toward the door. How do I respond when my body and mind are not in sync, battling one another? “I don’t want to be your side piece. That’s not my style. I’m not like you.”

  “Then, be my girlfriend.” His voice and his facial expression match, but I’m not convinced I’m anything more to him than his next screw.

  My mouth opens in shock. “Your what? No, I don’t think so. You don’t date women. I’d be shocked if you could commit to me for more than a few days.”

  “I’ve been in Philly for almost two weeks, and I haven’t been with another woman.”

  I laugh and fold my arms across my chest. “You’re delusional. Have you developed amnesia since I found you with a half-naked stripper on your lap?”

  “I didn’t have sex with her, so that doesn’t exactly count.”

  Rolling my eyes, I turn away from him and walk out of the gym and into the living room. He follows behind me, and before I can protest, he clutches my arm and spins me around so that we’re facing each other. My heart races once our eyes meet. He’s gorgeous and sweet, and he whispers everything I need to hear at night to fall back to sleep. The Alex I know is different.

  “Just give me a chance, Charlotte,” he pleads, slipping his fingers between mine. “I like you, and I think you like me, too. Tomorrow, I want you to come to my game and then let me take you out on a date before I leave.” I’m speechless, and before I can answer him, he says, “Please.”

  Alex Parker is begging me to go out with him. Never in a million years would I have ever believed that he would resort to such a thing.

  How can I say no?

  I bite down on my lip, mulling it over. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  He kisses my cheek and slaps me on the butt. “That’s the spirit, Coach.” Then, he walks toward his bedroom without looking back.

  Fuck. Me. I am in trouble.

  The Wells Fargo Center is packed, and with the Flyers playing against Pittsburgh, the arena is mostly a sea of orange, white, and black jerseys, hats, and jackets with a sprinkling of white, black, and yellow Penguins gear. It’s so cold in here that my nipples are poking a hole through my bra.

  Or maybe it’s the fact that Alex skates up to the Plexiglas and mouths, You look hot.

  That’s because I’m wearing your jersey, I want to yell, but I know he wouldn’t hear me.

  He skates away before I even have the chance to give him the finger.

  He insisted I wear his jersey instead of my usual vintage Ron Hextall. At first, I said no because this was something a girlfriend would do and also because I didn’t want him to think that, by wearing his number, we were back in high school and going steady. While he might look like the prom king, we’re adults, and I’m not one to allow a man to stake his claim to me. Plus, the winter jacket I’m wearing covers his number, so no one will ever know.

  After another night of waking in Alex’s arms, I feel such a strong emotional bond to him that I almost forget he’s a bad boy and that I want him to do bad things to me. But I have rules when it comes to clients. I’m not sure why I agreed to give him a chance. Every time I’m near him, it’s like I’m under his spell, and every time he smiles, I lose my train of thought.

  “So,” the blonde sitting next to me with long, curly hair says to me as she clamps down on my wrist, “how long have ya’ll been dating?”

  Without hesitation, I peel my eyes from Alex, who’s so graceful on the ice, even with his large frame, that he makes it appear effortless. I turn to my seatmate and nonchalantly shake her hand from my wrist by shifting in my chair. “Oh, we’re not dating. I’m Alex’s agent. I couldn’t turn down free tickets to a Flyers-Pens game.”

  “Well, I can’t say that I blame you.” Her Southern accent is thick, and she really has the Southern belle thing going for her.

  I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d won a few beauty pageants in her day.

  “Spence has been looking forward to this game for weeks.”

  She calls her husband by his last name. That’s odd but also not completely crazy when I refuse to answer to Charlotte, except for when I hear Alex whispering it in my ear at night to wake me from my nightmares. He doesn’t like to call me Coach. I can tell by the way the word rolls off his tongue that he’d prefer to use my real name. I’m not ready for that.

  When I met Jamie at my first foster home, I wouldn’t respond when he called me Charlotte, which is how I ended up being Charlie. Not long after, I became Coach.

  In a short amount of time, my opinion of Alex is changing, mostly because of our late-night chats. And, now, I’m sitting next to Barbie and the rest of the wives, feeling out of place. I should be up in a club box with Jamie in a nice comfy seat, eating hot dogs and drinking beer. That’s where I belong. Not down here with the manicured beauty queens who bat their eyelashes every time their men skate past them.

  “You’re a sports agent. How cool. I never followed hockey until I met my hubby.”

  If I hadn’t known she was Girard Spencer’s wife, I would’ve thought she was a puck bunny. Her tits are falling out of a low-cut black top, and she’s sporting a pair of super-tight matching jeggings and six-inch heels.

  How does she even walk in those things?

  No normal person would wear shoes like that into a
cold-ass rink where they have to climb stairs and maneuver through thousands of crazy fans. Here I am, in Alex’s jersey, jeans, and a winter jacket while these chicks are decked out like they’re about to hit the club after the game.

  I’m so out of my element with a woman like her that I have no idea how to make small talk. I prefer the company of men because they don’t look at me sideways when I start rambling off the scores for the day or tweet about my favorite disasters from SportsCenter Not Top Ten.

  I’m trying my best to watch the game because Alex is on point tonight, and I really don’t feel like talking, but she leans onto my armrest, drawing my attention from the ice to her.

  “What’s your name, sugar?”

  “Coach.” My voice is firm, and even though she seems confused, she doesn’t press me.

  “I’m Candice.” She points to the girl next to her and says, “That’s Monica.”

  The dark-haired beauty waves.

  Then, Candice spins around to face the ladies in the row behind us, and she rambles off, moving her hand from left to right, “Peyton, Lana, Kim, Sally, and Michele, this is…Coach.”

  “Coach, what an interesting name,” Peyton says.

  “Sure is,” says, Lana. “How’d you get a name like that?”

  “I used to play college ball before I became an agent. My last name is Coachman, and it just stuck.”

  “Oh, wow! That’s so neat,” Candice says. “You were an athlete. I bet you can relate to these guys a lot more than we ever will. Sometimes, Spence comes home and complains about some hockey gibberish that I can’t even understand, and I’m like, Okay, just shut up and kiss me already, and stop talking about hockey.”

  The girls around me chuckle, and the young brunette who I think is Sally says, “I know, right? I’m still trying to figure out the penalties and how this all works. As much as I love watching my man, I have no idea what’s going on most of the time.”

  I want nothing more than to get away from these women. Next time, I’ll take my chances around the boob flashers one section over. If only Jamie were here to shoot the shit with me while we shoveled food in our mouths. This isn’t the same, watching the game with the wives.