by Kate Meader
“Thanks.” He took a step, then another, feeling an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Clearer than that, though, as the memory of a Kentucky bar seven years ago knocked against his brain. This moment mirrored the frustration he’d felt then: that of having the one thing he wanted more than anything in his reach but so far away. “I’d give anything to be able to touch you right now, but I know I have to keep a professional distance—”
That professional distance vanished when she kissed him, her mouth hot and sweet and yes, his end. Always, his end.
“Baby,” he murmured against her lips. “Everyone can see.”
“I know. Everyone should see.”
He pulled away, though it killed him. “We need to talk.”
Her eyes shone, bright, lovely, all Jordan. “Then talk.”
Talk. Like that was easy. But with this amazing woman, it was easier, and that was all that mattered.
The bar was noisy, but no one was paying attention—or at least, he convinced himself that he was flying under the radar just like his days in the service. Just like he’d tried to since returning stateside. He could angle for a quieter spot, but life had to go on. They had to figure out how to rise above all the noise.
This time, he was determined to let his heart lead the conversation.
“You’re right about me. You’ve always been right about me. I play this kick ass guy on TV but the real me—not even close. I didn’t have the guts to make a play for you the first time I met you all those years ago. I assumed someone like you wouldn’t want a guy like me, or that a guy like me had nothing to offer you. And when years later, I had a shot at this woman I’ve loved for fucking years, I couldn’t believe it was truly happening. You couldn’t possibly want me past the story. You were using me. I would never make you smile the way you need. I didn’t deserve a woman like you. A bunch of lame-ass excuses to keep me from going deep into the zone and making the play. I screwed up, Jordan, and I’m so damn sorry.”
She placed a hand on his chest. “Is that true? All this time?”
He nodded, the words to confirm his stupidity unable to form. Better they never find voice.
But Jordan was a woman of words, a sharpshooter who wouldn’t be satisfied without the whole truth. “Josh said you eased his doubts on our wedding day. You told him to marry me even though you felt that way about me?”
“Did he make you happy?”
Her smile, half-sad but so fucking beautiful, lit her from the inside like a love-lantern. “He did.”
“And that made me happy. That’s all I cared about. Yeah, it hurt some that it couldn’t be me, but I knew he’d be good to you. Back then, I wasn’t ready to be the man you need. I wasn’t prepared to take a chance. To give you everything. But now—hell, it’s like I have a death wish when it comes to shots with the woman of my dreams.”
“But you figured it out. Finally.” She blinked, her eyes shiny with feeling. “I can’t believe you used Cookie to sneak into my heart, you bastard.”
“Low blow?”
“The lowest. And I couldn’t react because the entire press box would be on me like velociraptors.”
“Just wanted to do a little something that only you and I would get.”
She smiled. “A coded message.”
“Yeah, but now you’re here, kissing me.” He kissed her because she wasn’t actually kissing him in this instant, and he needed it to be true. Needed this to be his truth. “Out in the open. Ruining my plans for discretion. Why the change of heart?”
“Something Harper said about how love made her stronger. I can love you and be a good reporter at the same time. My job’s important to me but so are you. So much. To hell with the haters, they’re going to have the knives out anyway. I’m a woman. Multitasking is my superpower.”
He closed his eyes, touched his forehead to hers. “You can love me? Did I hear that right?”
“You did. Not just that I can, but that I do. I love this strong, silent—sometimes too silent—man who’s given so much of himself to everyone. Who, despite his claims to dullness, excites me like no one else. Moves me like no one else. I love his face and his smile and his big, passionate heart. I love you, Levi.”
That deserved another kiss, a full, claiming one for the ages, and this kiss earned sappy-happy, rom-com applause. He sneaked a look at his crew at the other end of the bar, cat-calling and hooting in a way that might have been considered disrespectful if he didn’t know better. But he did.
They were a bunch of good guys, after all, not a bad bone in their bodies.
EPILOGUE
Don’t miss tonight’s episode when @HockeyGrrl finally gets her man!
LEVI_HUNT_PODCAST_JAN5_RAW_FILE.MP3
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“HAPPY NEW YEAR, friends! Welcome to the first HockeyGrrl podcast in January. We have a treat in store for you tonight. He’s a hard man to pin down, but we’ve managed to get Levi Hunt, rookie center for the Chicago Rebels to sit still and tell us all about his debut season so far. Levi, it’s so good to have you on HockeyGrrl at last.”
“Baby, it’s so good to be … on you.”
“The show. It’s so good to be on the show. And you can’t call me baby. Okay, I can edit that out, so let’s redo the intro.” Sound of a deep inhale. “Levi, it’s so good to have you on the show.”
“Thanks for having me, Jordan.”
“So how was your holiday break? I know you guys don’t get a long one but I’m guessing you managed a few days.”
“Good. Great, actually. I spent it with—wait, can I say that I spent it with you and your family in DC?”
“Well, it’s not a secret that we’re together. You could say you spent it relaxing and thanking your lucky stars that you came to your senses and are no longer a Grade A idiot. At least, as far as this one narrowly defined topic goes.”
“Seems sort of excessive. How about …” Long pause. “I spent the holiday visiting my girlfriend’s family and figuring out how to impress people who don’t give a flying f—fandango about hockey, mostly by cleaning up at Scrabble.”
Lusty giggle. “You did! Nothing impresses my father more than a high-scoring Scrabble word.”
“Quixotic. One of my favorites. Defined as absurdly chivalric, which I felt was apt.”
“Alternative meaning, Levi. Prone to delusion.”
Masculine growl. “Is this going in the podcast?”
“At this rate, I’ll spend more time editing this one episode than recording a whole season’s worth. Let’s get back on track!” Long pause. “Before we talk about the Rebels, I know you wanted to give a shout out to the Uptown Mission and the crew there.”
“Yep. It’s a place that’s close to my heart, offering meals, beds, and social services programs for the homeless—”
“And their pets.”
“And their pets. In fact, one of my buddies down there, Joe Connor along with his sidekick Cookie, is in charge of the new Rebel Critters Program, which manages the pets at three of the shelters on the North Side. Shots, food, even matching a furry friend with a human who needs companionship. The Chicago Rebels organization has pledged $100,000 to the Mission and I’m hoping the fans will want to help as well.”
“You know what it’s like to go without a roof over your head.”
Weighted pause. “I do. I was one of the lucky ones, though, because I had a talent that set me on another path. But homelessness is a problem that shouldn’t exist and something we can solve as a community. Hey, you okay?”
“I’m fine!” Sniff. “Just glad people are finally seeing the amazing guy I see every day.” Sniff, sniff. “Oh, I’ve made you blush.”
Manly throat-clearing. “I’m. Not. Blushing.”
“Yes, you are and it’s so cute. So, tell us more about your season. How do you think your game has improved?”
Sexy growl. “Well, Jordan, you’ll probably remember that first game where I didn’t seem to know my ass from my skates. And then after, when I’m at my
lowest because I think I’ve played like shit—can I say that?”
“You can. Because you did.”
“Always busting my balls. After my debut, I just wanted to crawl in a hole. But I had to talk to the media and you know how they are.”
“Scum-sucking bottom feeders?”
“Precisely. But one of them, in particular, despite her scum-sucking bottom feeder tendencies knocked me over when I saw her. She was so goddamn beautiful.”
A small gasp, then a breathy: “Oh yeah?”
“Simply stunning. And smart. And skilled at poking and prodding and prying.”
“She sounds like the perfect package.” Suckling sound, throaty moans. “I can’t do the rest of this interview sitting in your lap, Levi. It’s not—”
“Professional? Just try it. I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
“Not sure I believe that’s at all possible but we’ll give it the old college try. Cut here, future Jordan.” Five-second pause. “Following your first game, you seemed to adapt quickly to your new life as a hockey pro. You definitely played better. Extra practice?”
“That. Video games with my crew. Hanging with a few Rebels legends. But mostly, opening my mind to give me a chance to be freer on the ice.”
“Our listeners would love to hear more about that, the psychology of opening yourself up and how that’s helped your game.”
“I’ve lived a fairly contained life, Jordan, for both personal and professional reasons stemming from my pre-NHL career. Keeping my shit locked down was crucial for survival and self-preservation, but then I met you. Again.”
Sound like a gulp? “Okaayyy. And how did that change things?”
“Talking about myself has never come easy. With that comes a level of navel-gazing that’s frankly, not me. Shit, no guy wants to do that. Assuring myself that I was good enough, that I deserved this …”
“Levi.” Thirty seconds of not-dead, very-much-alive-with-love air. Kissing sounds galore. “You do deserve this. All of it.”
“Thanks, Jordan. This is my second act. Professionally. Personally. I’m ready.”
“Sounds like you are.” A sniffing sound. “Vadim Petrov has announced that this will be his last year in the pros, which leaves the captain’s patch up for grabs. Would you take it on if you were asked?”
“I’d be honored, but there are plenty of guys who would be more qualified than me. Jorgenson and Burnett have been there longer, so we’ll see what the Rebels leadership has in mind when the time comes. My focus right now is on getting to the playoffs and beyond.”
“And on that topic, the Rebels haven’t progressed to the post-season for a couple of years, Levi. Think you’ve got it in you this year?”
“I do. And if we don’t make it or if our playoffs ride is cut short, I’ll have something else to occupy me.”
“Such as?” Loud gasp. “Levi! Oh my God, it’s huge!”
“Please leave that on the podcast with no context whatsoever.”
“Seriously, though. That diamond is gorgeous—are you—oh wow!”
“Will you marry me, Jordan? Will you make me the happiest former-Green-Beret-now-NHL’s-oldest-rookie alive?”
Longest, most-heart-stopping pause ever recorded in the history of podcasting.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Because we’re not live, Jordan. It’s just you, me, and that half-empty box of macarons. You can edit all this out, especially if you’d rather say no.”
“Did you not hear me say yes? Twice? Sheesh, take the win, Hunt.”
“Say it again.”
Kissing sounds with additional engagement-quality moans. “Yes, times infinity. I love you, Levi Hunt, and I won’t be editing this part out. That’s a promise.”
“Are you crying, Ms. Sunshine?”
“No, just some dust in my eye. I really need to run a broom over this floor.”
“Pause the recording, baby. I need to do something dirty and delicious to the host and it’s really not suitable for sensitive ears.”
Happy giggle. Zipper scrape. Recording ends.
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THANK YOU FOR READING! I hope you enjoyed Levi and Jordan in this first book in the Rookie Rebels series. If you did, please leave a review on your favorite book platform! I would so appreciate it.
Are you new to the Chicago Rebels world? Three estranged sisters inherit their late father’s failing hockey franchise and are forced to confront a man’s world, their family’s demons, and the battle-hardened ice warriors skating into their hearts. Start right now with the free prequel, In Skates Trouble. Then meet Harper and Remy in the first full-length Chicago Rebels novel. If enemies to lovers, strong women, and Cajun heartbreakers make you swoon, you won’t want to miss Irresistible You.
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ARE you a fan of hot and heartfelt romance featuring found families? Check out the Hot in Chicago series about firefighting foster siblings honoring the father who saved them while they follow in his footsteps (say that ten times fast!). The Dempseys’ motto: fire is stronger than blood and defend the people you love to the last ember.
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FINALLY, to stay in touch about new releases, sales, and which Rebel is up next and when (hint: he’s got super glutes!), sign up for my newsletter or join my reader group, Kate’s Kittens on Facebook.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Kristi Yanta for helping me shape this book into something fabulous. I couldn’t have done it without you! Thanks also to Kim Cannon for doing such a great job cleaning up all my mistakes. And to everyone who asked for more Rebels books—this one’s for you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Originally from Ireland, USA Today bestselling author Kate Meader cut her romance reader teeth on Maeve Binchy and Jilly Cooper novels, with some Harlequins thrown in for variety. Give her tales about brooding mill owners, oversexed equestrians, and men who can rock an apron, a fire hose, or a hockey stick, and she’s there. Now based in Chicago, she writes sexy contemporary and LGBTQ+ romance featuring strong heroes and amazing women and men who can match their guys quip for quip.
www.katemeader.com
ALSO BY KATE MEADER
Chicago Rebels
IN SKATES TROUBLE
IRRESISTIBLE YOU
SO OVER YOU
UNDONE BY YOU
HOOKED ON YOU
* * *
Laws of Attraction
DOWN WITH LOVE
ILLEGALLY YOURS
THEN CAME YOU
* * *
Hot in Chicago
REKINDLE THE FLAME
FLIRTING WITH FIRE
MELTING POINT
PLAYING WITH FIRE
SPARKING THE FIRE
FOREVER IN FIRE
COMING IN HOT
* * *
Tall, Dark, and Texan
EVEN THE SCORE
TAKING THE SCORE
ONE WEEK TO SCORE
* * *
Hot in the Kitchen
FEEL THE HEAT
ALL FIRED UP
HOT AND BOTHERED
* * *
For updates, giveaways, and new release information,
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AN EXCERPT FROM IRRESISTIBLE YOU
A BUCOLIC BEDROOM community with easy access to Boston, only thirty miles away, West Bridgerton looked like a typical New England town as Harper Chase drove her rental car through its family friendly streets. This late, she was surprised they didn’t roll them up after dark. On her left, she passed a gazebo in War Memorial Park, on her right a steepled white church. Two Dunkin’s. No Starbucks. Farmland, a rail trail, a river, and a state forest spoke to its pastoral character.
Hard to believe a lughead of a hockey player would feel at home amid such peaceful surroundings.
The lughead in question? Remy DuPre, or Jinx, as he was better known with the Boston Cougars, a nickname earned because
he was considered the unluckiest guy in the NHL. A little bird—in the form of his agent—had told her the Cajun was ragin’ about his trade out of Boston and would need a dab of soft soap to smooth his transition to the Chicago Rebels.
Harper sighed. She had never met a bigger bunch of divas than hockey players. For all their supposed rough-and-tumble-warrior credentials, they were nothing but whiners when it came to their contracts.
She had made this trade fair and square.
Was it her fault DuPre was a bargain? Paying out the last year of his contract—a contract that should have been better negotiated by his loser agent when he came up for renewal with Boston two years ago—had cost her a pittance compared to what she’d have to pony up for someone younger. So he was thirty-five, positively elderly for hockey. And maybe his chances to go deep in a season were running out.
There’s no room for sentimentality in this game.
That was the mantra of Clifford Chase: three-time Stanley Cup champion, Hall of Famer, hockey franchise owner, notorious asshole.
And Harper’s lately departed father.
Two weeks ago the maverick owner of the Chicago Rebels had died following a massive heart attack at the age of sixty-two. A week later, Harper’s life was upended again with the reading of the will, leaving her to negotiate the rubble of her father’s final wishes for the team. Their relationship had been combative, to say the least, but she had never expected this.
Over the past decade, the Rebels, once the most popular team in the city, had become a laughingstock, named “the worst franchise in sports” by ESPN, with the second-lowest attendance in the NHL. Having made the playoffs only once in the last fifteen years—an abysmal record considering half the teams qualify each year—the organization was also suffering through the longest championship drought in the league. Sure, they had a few good players—their poor results put them in prime position for the best draft picks—but not enough. Her father’s grip on the team had been tight enough to bruise. Harper, despite her official title of vice president, was his right-hand woman in name only.
