Finn's Shot (Eden's Odyssey Book 1)

by Tiffani Lynn

  Finn’s Shot

  Eden’s Odyssey, Book 1

  Tiffani Lynn

  Finn’s Shot

  Copyright Ó by Tiffani Lynn

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  For information contact Tiffani Lynn at www.tiffanilynn.com

  Cover Design by Bella Media Management

  Editor: Bella Media Management

  Dedication

  To Teddy, for giving me my happily ever after and my introduction to hockey. I love that you continue to nurture my obsession with this crazy-amazing sport. Cheering for our Tampa Bay Lightning next to you is one of my favorite things to do. Go BOLTS!

  Acknowledgements

  Author and friend, Lexi Post, you have not only been a great support to me through this process but you’ve also been a wealth of knowledge. I want to thank you for selflessly sharing with me all you’ve learned with romance writing and self publishing. Mentoring is a tough gig but you’ve taken on the task with patience and a smile even when you’re knee deep in your own deadlines. Our long lunches always get my creativity flowing and the idea for Eden’s Odyssey came to me during one of those.

  Carol Webb at Bella Media Management you created a website I’m proud of, provided editing that was helpful and professional (never hurtful), a sexy cover for this book, and answered a ton of questions for me during every phone call. I look forward to working with you again soon. Thank you for everything!

  A huge debt of gratitude to my friend and fellow author Kat Mizera for sharing all the things you’ve learned during your own self publishing process this year and helping me rename this Chicago team. I also want you to know how much I love having a woman friend who loves and understands hockey like you do. One day we will go to a game together!

  A special thanks to Judy Swinson for encouraging me to self publish. You knew I could do it before I did. Your positivity is contagious!

  Finally, I’ll never tire of thanking my Beta Babes. Your honest opinion and insight is more helpful than you can imagine. Alison Dye, April Klusman, Barb Teeter, Barbie Stokes Timpson, Judy Swinson., Kat Mizera, Lisa Qualls, and Maria Robinette if I had a million dollars for each of you it still wouldn’t come close to your worth.

  Author’s Note

  The character of Finn Thompson was inspired by a mixture of my favorite NHL players and not one specific player. If you contact me, I’ll be glad to share who my favorites are and why. I also wanted to note that because this is a work of fiction I changed the Chicago team name to reflect that. Last, I felt it worth mentioning that I took some liberties with the schedule and it may not match up exactly with the traditional NHL schedule.

  I spend a ridiculous amount of time watching hockey and am therefore well acquainted with the teams, many of it’s players and a lot of the rules. I wasn’t sure how much hockey my readers were familiar with so I didn’t include as much ice time as I would have liked. If you’d like to see more game time included in future works please feel free to contact me and let me know. I look forward to hearing from you, I hope you enjoy what find between the covers of this book.

  Chapter One: Finn

  I smile to myself as I step out of the double doors and away from the empty arena. I took my time leaving tonight hoping to be able to walk to my truck without a horde of hockey hookers following me like the pied piper of fake boobs and stilettos. It looks like I waited long enough. If I were Irish I’d do a damn jig to celebrate, but I’m Canadian and we’re far more reserved than that.

  It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed my share of puck bunnies over the years, but the groupie scene gets old after awhile. I’m old enough now that I need more substance. Just getting my rocks off doesn’t quite cut it, so I don’t bother with those women unless I’m desperate. It’s been awhile, but not so long that I need to go that route.

  I sling my duffle bag onto the back seat of my truck, shut the door and press the button on my keys to lock it up. After the tell-tale beep of the lock, I stride to a bar about three blocks down. I’m not going to stay anonymous in this suit for long, but I forgot to bring a change of clothes. It’s a league rule we arrive and depart from the arenas in a suit and tie. With my height and build sporting a suit makes it hard to remain inconspicuous in a bar, especially near our home ice.

  Buddy’s Bar is one of my favorites near our home arena, and I drop in every chance I get. I don’t drink much, especially during the season, but I like the staff, the kind of clientele they draw and the enormous televisions all turned to different hockey games during the season. In the off season it’s just a nice place to relax.

  As I approach, a petite woman with long blonde, curly hair catches my attention. She’s standing on the street corner in front of Buddy’s like she plans to cross, but hasn’t moved. There’s a crowd of people behind her and they all step out and around her, moving past like she’s a statue in their path.

  Why isn’t she moving?

  I’ve stopped moving as my gaze runs the length of her. A black thigh length pea coat is wrapped around her and tied with a red sash in the front leaving her toned shapely legs visible. The last thing I notice is the sexy high heels on her little feet. Something about this woman has me like a duck in an oil slick, unable to move. She continues to stare straight ahead as the windy Chicago air toys with the ends of her hair, lifting and twisting the strands. The movement is hypnotizing.

  Almost as if she knows I’m staring at her, she turns her head toward me, her eyes locking on mine. Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything. Her eyes sweep me from head to toe, and then meet mine again. I smile at her, unable to help myself. Her features are delicate with a small and slightly upturned nose, plump rose-colored lips, skin a soft alabaster, and cheeks pink from the cool air. She’s simply stunning. Classy and beautiful in a way I haven’t seen in a long time.

  Her face lights up with a playful smile, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. She looks back to the street. Feet still cemented into place, I haven’t moved. Neither of us say a word but the connection is instant, and I know I can’t let her leave.

  “Wait!” I shout, surprising myself. “Wait!”

  She pauses and glances back as I approach from behind.

  “Hey. Are you busy now?” I ask.

  I should probably introduce myself, but I can’t seem to make my mouth say what I believe needs to be said. She shakes her head but doesn’t actually speak. She just gifts me with another dazzling smile.

  “Want to join me for a drink?” I blurt, suddenly feeling like an adolescent boy rather than the grown man I am. I reach my hand out toward her like I expect her to say yes.

  Her eyes search mine with the hint of smile in them and finally she nods and places her hand in mine, which is tiny and surprisingly warm. I grin at her and gently pull her inside Buddy’s.

  Once seated, I wave the barkeep down to us and say, “Molson bottle tonight for me, Frank, and for the lady….” I turn waiting for her response. She smiles and before she can reply, Frank answers for her with a chuckle, “Diet and rum with a twist of lime? Hey, Darcy. Good to see you.”

  “Yes. Hey, Frankie. Good to see you too. Sorry I haven’t been in for awhile.” The old guy chuckles again and wanders off to get our drinks. Twisting the upper half of my body as I lean against the bar, I shake my head and
smile. “Regular here… Darcy?”

  “Not anymore. I’m too busy. Been coming here for years though. Even with all the bars in the area, this one’s still my favorite.”

  “I see. So what do you do that has you so busy?”

  She smiles an I’ve-got-a-secret smile while looking at her clasped hands on the bar and responds, “Hmmm. Let’s not go there. Let’s avoid the usual small talk bullshit and come up with the most bizarre questions possible to ask the other person.”

  One side of my mouth kicks up as I consider her proposal. This could be very interesting. Why the hell not? No telling what she’ll say, and she’s already surprised me enough that I want to see what’s next. “Sure, that sounds good. I’m Finn by the way.”

  She giggles a little and says, “Nice to meet you, Finn. I’ll go first, since this was my idea. Would you rather be attacked by a mountain lion or a bear?”

  Not what I expected her to ask. What does that even mean? My surprise is obvious as my eyebrows rise to my hairline.

  “What?”

  “Mountain lion or bear?”

  My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Can I answer neither one?”

  The playful smile firmly in place, she shakes her head.

  “I guess a mountain lion, because I’ll be taller. I’ll have a better chance that way.”

  She busts up laughing, the sound infectious. What a bizarre question.

  “How tall are you exactly?” she asks.

  “Six foot six.”

  “I guess that’s why I have to crane my neck back to look up at you since I’m only five foot six.” She grins and holds her hand out, palm up, ushering for me to take the next question.

  “What makes you laugh the most? Slap stick, sarcasm or subtle humor?” I question, unable to come up with something as bizarre as the mountain lion vs. bear one she threw at me.

  “Slap stick when I’m watching a movie. I watched the Three Stooges non-stop as a kid and couldn’t stop laughing. Sarcasm in conversation, I guess. Subtle humor goes over my head, more often than not.” Without even blinking, she rolls right into the next question. “Whips or chains?” she asks with a naughty grin. I practically spit my drink out. I really wasn’t expecting her to go that route. It’s rare that a woman will surprise me, but she’s succeeded already.

  “Um…”

  She busts up laughing before she shares her own answer to the question. “My preference is chains. Rather be chained up than whipped. Pain is not my thing”

  My eyes are enormous as I get the impression she isn’t kidding. We go back and forth for an hour with more goofy questions, and it’s the best and strangest conversation I’ve had with a woman in awhile. Her forward nature mixed with high self-confidence and a body that won’t quit, leads me to yell down the bar to Frank and request the check. Before I can get a word out, she invites, “Come back to my place?”

  Under normal circumstances, forward women turn me off. As a hockey player, women tend to throw themselves at me and expect a response. It’s not something I care for anymore, but there’s something different about this woman, and she hasn’t mentioned the hockey player thing. I’m not sure if she knows who I am. She doesn’t come across as sleazy or cheap. She’s fun and charming and hasn’t acted like any other woman I’ve met.

  “Sure. Sounds good. You want to ride with me or do you have your own car?”

  “My place is walking distance from here. You can move your car to my street, but parking is limited so we’ll be lucky to find a spot, but it’s up to you.”

  “I can just leave it where it is now.” I almost mention it’s at the arena, but I decide I don’t want to reveal my profession if I don’t have to. Let’s see how this evening turns out without hockey player status.

  “Alright, follow me.”

  As we pass through the glass doors of the bar entrance, I follow closely behind her until she reaches back and slides her small hand in mine and pulls me up next to her. Her head doesn’t even reach my shoulder. She doesn’t say a word as we walk through the deserted streets; the only sound is the cadence of our footsteps. Ten minutes later, we’re riding an elevator up to the top of a nice downtown apartment building. It’s not fancy by any means, but it’s nicer than most and seems quiet.

  As she pushes her way into the apartment, pausing to flick on lights in the place, an explosion of color smacks me in the face. I’m not expecting it, so it’s more shocking than it should be. The walls are sunshine yellow and there are colorful paintings all over the place. Her bright, multi-colored furniture is all solid patterns. This is the exact opposite of my apartment. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Two: Darcy

  I adore the shock on his face. He clearly didn’t expect the wild color scheme I have going on in my apartment. As an artist, I love the plethora of colors in my place. It helps to keep me happy. Who can be sad when surrounded by a rainbow?

  “Sorry. I forgot to warn you. I like color.”

  Surprised eyes turn to mine. I share a flirty smile and wait for him to say something.

  “I didn’t expect it, but I like it. Never been in a place this… colorful. It’s interesting.”

  He slides his hands in his pockets nervously and shakes them a little like he’s not quite sure what to think or do.

  “Let me take your coat. It was cool outside, but it gets warm in here in the winter.”

  He shrugs off the suit coat and passes it to me. I find his shoulders impressive with the jacket, but even more so with it off.

  “Want a drink? I have American beer and white wine.”

  “No, I’m good. I can’t drink too much.”

  I tilt my head trying to decipher his meaning, and when he doesn’t offer any other information, I hang his coat on a hanger, and put it in the coat closet behind the front door. I snag him by the hand and lead him to the bright red couch placed in the middle of my living room.

  He lowers his large body onto the middle cushion, and I step over to the stereo, pressing play and hoping to break up the quiet of the apartment. Once he’s seated, I waste no time with awkward pleasantries; I simply crawl up and straddle his thighs. Eye to eye, he watches me with wary eyes.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable?” Holding a sinful grin, I wait for his answer.

  His eyes search my face for a minute. I do my damnedest not to cower under his stare. I’m going to be proud of who I am and go after what I want. I refuse to be limited by what society says is the norm for sexual advances. As the owner of an exclusive sex club I can’t be shy about sex. I’m not a slut. In fact, I haven’t been with as many people as you’d think in my line of work, but he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen so I don’t plan to hold back. He looks familiar, and I can’t figure out why, but at this point I don’t care why. I just want to see what he’s packing under that expensive suit. This is a first. I’ve never brought a complete stranger back to my place. The whole scenario should scare me at least a little, but it doesn’t. He has a comforting aura about him and I tend to be good at reading people.

  “No, uncomfortable is not the word I’d use.” His voice is husky as his gigantic hands grip my curvy hips. He lifts me slightly to line up my center with his.

  I find his erection to be much bigger than I expect. He’s hard as stone and my body tunes into his immediately, soaking my panties at an alarming rate.

  I lean forward and place my lips so close to his that I can feel the heat of his breath as it escapes his mouth, and the combination of beer and mint gum tickles my senses. Our gazes lock. I’m afraid to close my eyes for fear of missing something in his. They’re so expressive, he’d give away his whole hand if we were playing poker.

  I flatten my palms on his chest and push them up slowly over his shoulders, along his neck and up into his hair. It’s a coffee colored, almost unruly, wavy mess that curls over the collar of his shirt. I grip the strands in my fingers and pull his lips to mine. My lids lower, and I try to soak up every step of this little li
aison and catalogue it for later. Our lips connect. He’s hesitant and gentle at first. Then I lick the seam of his lips, begging entrance, and as soon as I break the barrier, it’s like I break his control. His mouth opens enough to lick and stroke the inside of my mouth, and then his tongue coaxes mine to dance with his. It’s the sexiest kiss I’ve ever had. His erection is like steel between us, growing thicker by the second, as I grind down on him over and over again.

  His calloused hands slide under my blouse and up the sensitive skin of my back where he unhooks my bra. Stopping to check my expression, he waits for permission before I nod and allow him to go on.

  To prove I’m okay with where things are going, I unbutton my shirt all the way down leaving it open only a fraction. His mouth is back on mine, and his fingers push the flimsy material over my shoulders and off to the floor behind me. My bra follows shortly thereafter, and he groans as his hooded gaze takes in my 36 D breasts. His hands slide up over my rib cage to grip the mounds in his palms. Keeping eye contact, he seeks the berried tips with his lips, and his tongue snakes out to swipe across the tender flesh. My body shudders as my hips roll against him.

  My nipples have always been a highly erogenous zone for me, but now even more so with his attention. The sear of his tongue is like a hot line to my clit tonight. He pulls with his lush lips, giving a gentle nip and my head drops back. A moan escapes my mouth. His eyes observe my response as he moves his attention back to the other breast, repeating the process, and my thighs quiver at the sensation. It’s possible I’ll have an orgasm just from breast play. It’s only happened once before, and I was tied up at the time.

  With my shaky fingers I unbutton his shirt, pushing it back to reveal a sexy tribal tattoo in black ink that swirls around one of his thick muscular shoulders and down over his bicep. I trace the lines with a fingernail and watch as the goose bumps follow in its wake. I push the shirt as far down his arms as I can in this position, until he removes it and throws it to the floor. Artfully done, on the other arm are the tats of a hockey puck and stick, and the number 77 inked in black below them.