by Piper Rayne
The Trouble with #9
Piper Rayne
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2021 by Piper Rayne
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover Design: By Hang Le
1st Line Editor: Joy Editing
2nd Line Editor: My Brother’s Editor
Proofreader: My Brother’s Editor
Contents
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About The Trouble with #9
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Cockamamie Unicorn Ramblings
About Piper & Rayne
Also by Piper Rayne
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* * *
About The Trouble with #9
Trouble.
* * *
One word that comes to mind when someone talks about me. I like to think of it as protection, watching out for the ones I love. But now I’m spending more time in the penalty box than on the ice and the team owner isn’t happy.
* * *
Finding myself across the room from the hot therapist I kissed on New Year’s Eve only makes me push my problems down further. I want couch time with her but not the kind she’s used to.
* * *
I decide to lie to her just to finish off my therapy so I can do what I really want—date her—even if she says she doesn’t date hockey players. Just when my therapy sessions are up and I’ve made some headway with Paisley, it’s my parents who throw another wrench in my plans.
* * *
If I abide by my parent’s wishes to marry the one they’ve chosen, I’ll lose Paisley forever. But if I go against my parents, I’m failing my deceased best friend all over again.
“Drake! Petrov!” Coach yells as I skate off the ice after practice, alongside my best friend and our center, Aiden Drake. “Get to the psychologist today and make an appointment. I’m trying to win us a championship and you two can’t do one simple thing? Gerhardt’s on my ass and I want him off it, you understand me?”
“Already done, Coach. I’m meeting with her right now,” Aiden says.
Coach nods and glares at me.
“I don’t need therapy,” I say.
“Gerhardt says everyone. What makes you so goddamn special?”
My teammates snicker as they pass by.
“I’m Russian, Coach, we don’t do the whole ‘up in our feelings’ shit.” I’m being upfront and honest, but instead of understanding, he gives me a look of disgust.
“I don’t care if you tell her you believe in fucking unicorns and gold pots at the end of the rainbow. Go to that office and sit down in a chair across from her for one hour.” He disappears into his office and slams the door.
“What’s the problem?” Aiden asks. “It’s not a big deal. Just tell her your game is good. That you’re fucking perfect.” He winks and laughs.
I’m not going to admit to anyone that I kissed the therapist, Paisley Pearce, on New Year’s Eve. At the time, I had no idea she was going to be our team therapist. But damn, sometimes late at night, I think back on that kiss, and I wonder what if. But there’s no changing it, so I need to forget that kiss. The team owner, Carl Gerhardt, wants all the Florida Fury hockey players to go to therapy because he believes it will help us with our game.
“You know this is your fault, right?” I say to Aiden as we reach the locker room, finally realizing who I can blame for this situation.
“My fault?” He takes off his pads.
I sit and unlace my skates. “If it wasn’t for your little drought, Gerhardt wouldn’t have felt the need to bring someone in.”
“Therapy didn’t get me out of my slump. Saige did.”
Saige is Aiden’s girlfriend. They met on New Year’s Eve too, but instead of a kiss, he got a drink in the face at midnight.
“Speaking of,” he says and picks up his phone, hammering out a text to someone.
“Maybe Saige was your lucky charm, but Gerhardt made those plans before you started scoring again, and now I’m stuck having to sit in some claustrophobic office while that woman stares at me, waiting to fix me.”
I don’t mention that having Paisley’s eyes on me will probably only make me want to make a move again. Which I can’t since we’ll be under the patient/client umbrella. I don’t know Paisley well, but I know enough to know she’d have an issue with it.
“Sorry, man.” He doesn’t sound apologetic. What does he care? The guy’s been on cloud fucking nine since he and Saige became exclusive. “Did I tell you I sent a moving truck to Saige’s place? She’s moving in with me today.”
Knowing Aiden, he didn’t even ask, but I’m fairly sure Saige won’t object anyway.
“Peachy,” I say, and continue to undress so I can shower and change.
Aiden finishes undressing before me and wraps a towel around his waist to head to the showers.
I follow a minute later. “I’m not joking, Aid, get me the fuck out of this.”
He laughs, washing his hair. “Why do you think I can do that?”
“Talk to Gerhardt. You’re his little pet. Tell him I’m meant to stay angry if he wants me to be the enforcer I am.”
How does Gerhardt think I can remain the policeman of this team by slamming opponents into the boards and starting fights with opposing players who try dirty moves on our best guys if I’m all up in my feelings? I’m in the penalty box all the time because I’m the one who lets the other team know not to fuck with us. If they do, they know I’m coming for them. If Paisley gets me to open up and put all my shit out on the table, I might turn soft and lose my hockey career.
“You’re making a way bigger deal out of this than it is. Just go for one visit and make Gerhardt happy.”
“Hell no. And if it’s such a big deal, why are you just going now?” I shampoo my blond hair and allow the warm water to spray down my back.
“I had more important things to take care of.” Aiden winks.
He’s talking about Saige and I’m this close to ewwing like a seventh grader walking in on his parents banging.
He turns off his water and wraps a towel around himself. “I’ll make you a bet. If I win the bet, then you go to one session right now. You can tag along with me. If I lose, I’ll talk to Gerhardt on your behalf.”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s the bet?”
Aiden’s notorious for making bets that are to his advantage, so I’m skeptical. We walk out of the shower room and find Tweetie going through a box of hockey power pack player cards.
“Let’s make it easy. Tweet! Toss one over.” Aiden holds up his hands.
Tweetie throws a pack to Aiden.
Aiden
holds it up in front of me. “If one of our cards is in this pack, that’s the winner. If not, we play wars.”
“That’s just based on luck, man. Give me a skills competition to make this interesting.”
“Take it or leave it.” He shrugs.
I groan and sit on the bench. “Your cards are probably in these things two for one of mine.”
He laughs because he knows I’m right. But the chance that either one of ours is in those packs of cards has to be slim to none.
“Fine.” I roll my head in a circle to relieve the stress making my neck muscles tight.
Aiden rips open the pack, and all of our teammates gather round. I’m just thankful Ford’s not here since he had to go up to New York to figure out some stuff with his new baby mama. I’d never hear the end of it if I lose and he was here to witness.
Aiden flips through the cards, my breath stuck in my throat the entire time. The thought of sitting in a chair across from Paisley and her wanting to know everything about me and my past gives me anxiety.
His wicked smile makes my chest tighten until Aiden laughs. “Neither of us made the cut.”
“Thank fuck,” I murmur.
Tweetie grabs the cards and shuffles them. “Okay, guys. You each get five.”
He doles out hockey player cards to each of us. The whole point of war with hockey cards is to have the best of whatever category is named.
I stare at my cards, happy that I got a good mix.
Tweetie clears his throat. “Who has the most goals scored in a season?”
Aiden and I thumb through our cards, reading stats of the players.
Aiden slams his on the bench and Tweetie picks it up. “Maksim, you got anything better than forty-six?”
I shake my head and my jaw clenches. Aiden laughs like I knew he would.
“Don’t worry, big guy, best of five.” Tweetie pats me on the shoulder.
“Who’s got the shortest player?” someone calls.
We both go through our cards. I slam one on the bench and Tweetie picks it up.
“Got anything shorter than five-nine?” Tweetie asks Aiden.
He groans.
“Hell yeah,” I say.
“Long way to go,” Aiden says.
Next, they do draft year, which Aiden wins.
“One more,” Tweetie says to Aiden like maybe he wants him to win.
I scowl at Tweetie.
“Who has the youngest player?” another teammate calls.
The two of us scramble. I win that one, which ties us. Aiden stares me down with a cocky smirk.
“Most assists,” Tweetie says.
Aiden slams his down right away. Tweetie picks it up and laughs his ass off, revealing to everyone that it’s him.
“I’d say this is one good-ass-looking player,” Tweetie says. “No way you have a card that beats me on assists.”
Tweetie’s our left winger and passes that puck to Aiden all the fucking time. Still, I search my cards with a little hope. I shake my head in defeat. Fuck.
“Aiden’s the winner!” Tweetie holds up Aiden’s arm as though he just won the Cup.
“Thanks, guys. Looks like you’re coming with me.” He smiles brightly.
We leave the locker room and head up to the executive offices.
Aiden clasps my shoulder and squeezes. “Relax, man, this is nothing. Say whatever you want. You don’t have to actually be looking for therapy.”
I nod, and we enter the office that’s been set aside for Paisley. Since Aiden said he’ll go in first, I sit and grab a magazine off the table in front of me.
Aiden takes a seat next to me. “I’m so damn excited for Saige to move in.” His knee bounces up and down.
“That’s awesome, man.” I flip through a Better Homes & Gardens magazine. “Is she trying to introduce us to other interests?” I hold up the magazine. “I mean, I’m not taking up gardening to Zen myself out or whatever the hell it’s called.”
“Try to be positive,” he says. “Maybe it’ll be a one-and-done session.”
Aiden gets called in, and right after the door shuts, Gerhardt walks by the glass office door. He stops for a moment, smiles when he sees me, and carries on his way.
Fuck, that annoys the shit out of me. Not that I don’t want to please my boss. I do. Hell, it’d suck to get traded at this point in my career, but the stubborn side of me hates bowing down to the man.
I lower my chin and read about the color patterns popular this spring. Seriously, she needs better reading material if she plans on being a fixture to the team. The guys aren’t gonna want to read this shit.
The door to the office opens about fifteen minutes later, and Aiden leaves it propped open for me to step through. He winks and slaps me on the back while we trade places. I sit my ass on the couch across from Paisley, pissed that I’m here but enjoying the view, nonetheless.
“I’ll be here, but I’m not talking,” I say with my arms crossed.
The door clicks shut, and Paisley unleashes a determined glare on me.
Damn, she’s beautiful. I’d do about anything to take her over that desk right now, but I know that’s never happening. Which puts me in an even worse mood. Hope she’s used to difficult patients.
I uncross and cross my legs when Maksim Petrov walks into my office. It’s a small space already, and he seems to fill it as soon as he enters, forcing me to control my breathing. Ever since New Year’s Eve when his lips were on mine, I’ve wondered if things would have turned out differently if I hadn’t found out minutes later that I was his new therapist and how much he hates my profession.
It was the fastest my libido has gone from thinking I’d chance a one-night stand with a hockey god to icing over because of what a condescending asshole he was. After that, he couldn’t have gotten in my pants with a crowbar.
But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t affect me or that our kiss didn’t either.
“We both know you’re not here to partake in therapy,” I say, my pen tapping on the pad of paper that rests on my lap from where I sit across from him. “Shall we play charades?”
He rests his ankle on his knee, his fingers tapping his calf. “How about you tell Gerhardt I came, participated, and then we can check that box?”
The “I came” phrasing from his lips makes me swallow hard. But I push aside my reaction. I need to remain professional.
Mr. Gerhardt is my best friend’s dad, and he’s the one who threw me this bone to help elevate my business. I’m a pretty new graduate, having received my doctorate only two years ago. It’s hard to start a practice. When he suggested I come counsel the Florida Fury, I jumped at the chance. But he was clear that I had to see every player.
Mr. Gerhardt also told me specifically to meet with Maksim because of his anger issues on the ice. Of course, a competitive fire is good when it comes to hockey, but sometimes Maksim takes protecting his teammates too far. He’s had a lot of suspensions and fines throughout his career, which Mr. Gerhardt wants to stop. But I know if I tell Maksim that, he’ll blow out of here and into Mr. Gerhardt’s office to confront him, so we’ll need to ease into this.
“I can’t do that. Mr. Gerhardt instructed me that he wants you and the rest of the players to attend at least three sessions now. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but those are the rules.”
His mouth drops open and his forehead wrinkles. “But Drake only has to do fifteen minutes?” He sighs. “Goddamn golden boy,” he murmurs under his breath.
“Well, Mr. Gerhardt did tell me Aiden got his game back recently.”
He nods. “He’s getting laid on the regular by a hot blonde.”
“What does one have to do with the other?” I ask.
“The blonde is his lucky charm.”
“Are you insinuating that sex is the reason for the improvement in his game?”
He lets out a deep, throaty laugh. “Sex does it for some guys. You’ve already counseled most of the team by now… I’m sure you’ve heard the tales
on how it works differently for everyone.”
I shrug. A few have made comments to suggest as much, but the majority of the team have long-term girlfriends or wives. Some even have children. They tend to talk more about how to effectively juggle the different roles in their life. All Tweetie talked about was his girlfriend, Tedi. Or how he wants her to officially be his girlfriend but is afraid to ask. I had to bite down my smile at the big rough-and-tumble guy who’s afraid to ask the girl he’s been seeing to be exclusive.
“What about you? Do you think you need sex before games?” I tilt my head.
“Porn and a nap is just fine by me.” He looks up from his shoe and points at me. “You’re not getting me to talk.”
“Knowing your preference for porn is hardly delving into your psyche,” I deadpan. “You and every other man in America.”
“So do you wanna know what kind of porn I prefer?” His tone is challenging.
I poise my pen over the paper. It could tell me something about him, but nothing that will reveal why he thinks he has to be the enforcer on his team. Then again, maybe I’m wrong. “If you care to share. I’m here to listen.”
“Well, I like big tits and a nice ass. There has to be something to the woman.”
I feel heat accosting my cheeks. I didn’t think he’d actually tell me.
“How are you doing over there? Want a glass of water? An ice cube?” His mockery makes my blush disappear.
