Game On Box Set: Time OutHer Man AdvantageFace-OffBody Check

by Jill Shalvis

  “Dad’s a mechanic, and Mom works in a hair salon.” He paused. “Money was always tight during my childhood.” He resisted the urge to glance around the lavish penthouse, which was an obvious sign that Hayden hadn’t had the same problem growing up.

  He wasn’t quite sure why he’d brought up that money part, either. He hated talking about his childhood. Hated thinking about it, too. As much as he loved his parents, he didn’t like to be reminded of how hard life had been to them. How his mom used to stay up at night clipping coupons and how his dad walked to work—even when Michigan’s winter was at its worst—each time their beat-up Chevy truck broke down. Fortunately, his parents would never have to worry about money again, thanks to his lucrative career.

  The phone rang, putting an end to their conversation. Hayden picked up the receiver, then hung up and said room service was on its way.

  As Hayden headed for the elevator to greet the bellhop with the cart, Brody turned on the television, flipped through a few channels, then finally stopped on the eleven-o’clock news.

  Rolling the cart into the living room, Hayden uncovered their food and placed a plate in front of him. The aroma of French fries and ground beef floated toward him, making his mouth water. Funny, he hadn’t even noticed how hungry he was when Hayden had had him tied to her bed. He’d been satisfying a different sort of appetite then.

  He’d just taken a big bite of his cheeseburger when a familiar face flashed across the plasma screen. He nearly choked on the burger, as a wave of unease washed over him. Hayden had also noticed her father’s image on the TV, and she quickly grabbed the remote to turn up the volume. They caught the Channel 8 newscaster in midsentence.

  “—came forward this afternoon and admitted there is truth to the rumors surrounding the Chicago Warriors franchise. The player, who refused to be named, claims that the bribery and illegal betting activities Warriors owner Presley Houston is accused of are in fact true.”

  Brody suppressed a groan. Next to him, Hayden made a startled little sound.

  “An hour ago, the league announced they will be launching a full investigation into these allegations.”

  The newscaster went on to recap the accusation that Presley had bribed players to throw at least two games, and that he’d placed bets on the outcomes. The divorce was also mentioned, as well as Sheila Houston’s alleged affair with a Warrior, but by that point Brody had tuned out the news segment.

  Who had come forward? It couldn’t be Becker, because his friend would’ve called him with a heads-up before he did anything like that. Yeah, Becker would’ve definitely warned him.

  Craig Wyatt, though, seemed like a likely candidate, especially after what Brody had witnessed at the arena earlier today. The reporters had been pretty rough on Sheila Houston, many of them holding the firm belief that she was lying. It made sense that Wyatt would step in and try to support the woman in his bed.

  The headache Brody had tried to ignore before came back with full force. He reached up to rub his throbbing temples. Damn. He wished he knew which one of his teammates had confessed. Whoever it was, this probably didn’t bode well for tomorrow’s game. How would anybody be able to focus with a possible criminal investigation hanging over their heads?

  “It’s not true.”

  Hayden’s soft voice jarred him from his thoughts, and he glanced over to see her big eyes pleading with him. “Right?” she said wearily. “It’s not true.”

  “I don’t know.” He raked a hand through his hair, then absently picked up a French fry. Not that he had an appetite anymore. That news report had destroyed any desire he had for food. He dropped the fry and looked back at Hayden, who seemed to be waiting expectantly for him to continue. “I really don’t know, babe. So far, there’s been no proof that Pres bribed anyone.”

  “So far. But if that report we saw just now is true…”

  Her breath hitched, and her pained expression tore at his heart.

  “Were you…Did he…” She sounded tortured, as if saying each word took great effort. “Did he offer you a bribe?” she finally asked.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “But he could have bribed someone else, another player.”

  “He could have,” Brody said guardedly.

  She grew silent, looking so achingly sad that he reached over to draw her into his arms. Her hair tickled his chin, the sweet scent of her wafting into his nose. He wanted to kiss her, to make love to her again, but it was totally not the time. She was upset, and the way she pressed her head into the crook of his neck and snuggled closer told him she needed comfort at the moment, not sex.

  “God, this is such a mess,” she murmured, her breath warming his skin. “Dad is already stressed-out because of the divorce, and now…”

  She abruptly lifted her head, her lips set in a tight line. “I refuse to believe he did what they’re accusing him of. My dad is a lot of things, but he’s not a criminal.”

  The certainty in her eyes was unmistakable, and Brody wisely kept quiet. He’d always admired and respected Presley Houston, but experience had taught him that even people you admired and respected could screw up.

  “Whoever came forward has to be lying,” Hayden said firmly. She swallowed. “This will all get cleared up during the investigation. It has to.”

  She slid close to him again. “I don’t want to think about this anymore. Can we just pretend we didn’t see that newscast?” Without waiting for an answer, she went on. “And while we’re at it, we can pretend I came home for a vacation rather than to deal with my father’s problems.” She sighed against his shoulder. “God, a vacation would be so good. I could really use some fun right now.”

  He smoothed her hair, loving how soft it felt under his fingers. “What did you have in mind?”

  She tilted her head up and smiled. “We could go see a movie tomorrow—it’s been ages since I’ve been to the movies. Or we could walk along the waterfront, go to Navy Pier. I don’t know, just have fun, damn it!”

  As much as he hated disappointing her, Brody smiled gently and said, “I would love to, but I can’t. The team’s catching a plane to L.A. at 9:00 a.m. There’s a game tomorrow night.”

  The light drained out of her eyes, but she gave him a quick smile as if to hide her reaction. “Oh. Right. Dad mentioned something about an away game.”

  His arms felt empty as she disentangled herself from the embrace and inched back, absently reaching for a French fry on her plate. She popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly, not looking at him.

  “How about Sunday?” he suggested, anxious to make things right and at the same time not sure what he’d done wrong.

  “I have this party to go to.” She pushed her plate away, apparently as uninterested in eating as he was. “It’s important to my dad.”

  “Then another time,” he said. “I promise you, I’ll take you out and give you the fun you need.”

  Her expression grew strained. “It’s okay, Brody. You don’t have to indulge me. It’s probably a silly idea to go out on a date anyway.”

  He bristled. “Why is it silly?”

  She blew out an exasperated breath. “This is only supposed to be a fling. Playing out a few sexual fantasies.”

  A fling. Something inside him hardened at the word. Casual flings had pretty much been his entire life for the past ten years, serious relationships never even making a blip on his radar. And then he’d met Hayden and suddenly he wasn’t thinking about casual anymore. He liked her. A lot. Hell, he’d actually experienced a flicker of excitement when she’d mentioned engaging in normal couple things like going to the movies or walking by the lake. He’d never felt the urge to do stuff like that with the previous women in his life. He hadn’t cared enough, and that would have sounded awful if not for the fact that they hadn’t cared, either.

  Crazy as it was, Hayden was the first woman, aside from a reporter, who’d ever asked him about his parents or his college major. Mundane little questions that people asked each o
ther all the time, and yet something he’d been lacking.

  He’d seen the potential when Hayden had first walked up to him in that bar. Somehow, he’d known deep down that this was a woman he could have a meaningful relationship with.

  And it was damn ironic that she only wanted a goddamn fling.

  “What happened to promising to keep an open mind?” he asked quietly.

  “I plan on keeping that promise.” She shifted her gaze. “But you can’t blame me for being skeptical about this becoming anything deeper.”

  “You don’t think it will?”

  “Honestly?” She looked him square in the eye. “No, I don’t.”

  He frowned. “You sound convinced of that.”

  “I am.” Pushing an errant strand of hair from her eyes, she shrugged. “I’m going back to the West Coast in a couple of months, and even if I were staying here, our lives don’t mesh.”

  Irritation swelled inside him. “How do you figure that?”

  “You’re a hockey player. I’m a professor.”

  “So?”

  “So, our careers alone tell me how different we are. I’ve lived in your world, Brody. I grew up in it. Dad and I had most of our conversations on airplanes on the way to whatever city his team was playing against. I lived in five states during a fifteen-year period. And I hated it.”

  “Your father was a hockey coach,” he pointed out.

  “And the travel requirements are not much different for players. I had no say in the career my father chose for himself. But when it comes to what I want in a partner, I can choose.”

  “The guy in San Francisco, what does he do?”

  Her discomfort at discussing the guy who Brody now thought of as the Other Man was evident as she began to fidget with her hands. She laced her fingers together, unlaced them, then tapped them against her thighs. “Actually, he teaches art history at Berkeley, too.”

  How frickin’ peachy. “What else?” he demanded.

  She faltered. “What do you mean?”

  “So you’re both interested in art. What else makes this relationship so delightfully rewarding?”

  He almost winced at the sarcasm he heard in his tone. Damn it, he was acting like a total ass here, and from the cloudy look in Hayden’s eyes, she obviously thought the same thing.

  “My relationship with Doug is none of your concern. I promised to remain sexually exclusive, but I never agreed to sit around and talk about him.”

  “I don’t want to talk about him,” he growled. “I just want to get to know you. I want to understand why you feel I’m not a good match for you.”

  “God, don’t you see it?” she sighed. “I want, I want. You said so yourself, you always get what you want. And that’s why I feel the way I do. I’ve dated too many guys who want. But none of them want to give. They’re too concerned with getting their way, advancing their careers, and I always come in second. Well, I’m sick of it. Doug may not be the most exciting man on the planet, but he wants the same things I do—a solid marriage, a stable home, and that’s what I want out of a relationship.”

  A deafening silence fell over the room, stretching between. Brody felt like throwing something. He resented the fact that Hayden was projecting her frustration with her father and the previous men in her life onto him, but, hell, he’d opened this can of worms. Pushed her too far, too fast. Needled her about her on-hold relationship and demanded she give him a chance she wasn’t ready to give.

  Would he still get that chance now? Or had he blown it completely?

  “I think asking you over here was a bad idea,” she said.

  The answer to his silent question became painfully clear.

  He’d blown it, all right.

  Big-time.

  * * *

  THE LAST THING Hayden felt like doing on Sunday night was attending a birthday party for a wealthy entrepreneur she didn’t even know, but when she’d called her father to try to get out of it, he wouldn’t have it. He’d insisted her presence was essential, though she honestly didn’t know why. Every time she socialized with her father and his friends she ended up standing at the bar by herself.

  But she didn’t want to let down her dad. And considering how she’d left things with Brody on Friday night, maybe it was better to get out of that big penthouse and away from her thoughts.

  It was just past eight o’clock when she neared the Gallagher Club, a prestigious men’s club in one of Chicago’s most historical neighborhoods. It had been founded by Walter Gallagher, a filthy rich entrepreneur who’d decided he needed to build a place where other filthy rich entrepreneurs could congregate.

  The Gallagher Club was by invitation only, and it took some men decades to gain membership. Her father had inherited the membership when he’d purchased the Warriors from their previous owner, and he loved flaunting it. When Hayden was in town, he never took her anywhere else.

  She drove down the wide, tree-lined street, slowing her rented Honda Civic when she spotted a crowd at the end of the road. As she got closer, she noticed a few news vans. The dozen or so people milling by the curb were reporters.

  And since she couldn’t think of anyone else currently involved in a possible criminal investigation, she knew the press was there because of her father.

  This was not good.

  Taking a few calming breaths, she drove through the wrought-iron gates leading to the Gallagher Club, turning her head and averting her eyes when a few of the reporters started to peer in at her. She exhaled as she steered up the circular cobblestone driveway and slowed the car behind the line of vehicles waiting near the valet area.

  Had the reporters harassed her father when he’d driven in? Had he stopped to speak with them, to deny the absurd news report?

  A voice interrupted the troubling thoughts. “Good evening, madam.”

  She lifted her head and saw a young man in a burgundy valet uniform hovering over the driver’s window.

  “May I take your keys?” he asked.

  Her gaze flitted to the massive mansion with its enormous limestone pillars and the stone statues lining the marble entrance. Her father was probably already in there, most likely smoking cigars with his rich friends and acting as if the presence of the media didn’t bother him. But she knew it had to bug him. Presley’s reputation mattered to him more than anything.

  With another sigh, she handed the valet her keys and stepped out of the car. “Davis will escort you inside,” the young man informed her.

  Davis turned out to be a tall, bulky man in a black tuxedo who extended his arm and led her up the front steps toward the two oak doors at the entrance.

  He opened one door and said, “Enjoy your evening.”

  “Thank you,” she answered, then stepped into the lavish foyer.

  Miles of black marble spanned the front hall, and overhead a sparkling crystal chandelier dangled from the high ceiling. When she took a breath, she inhaled the scent of wine, cologne and all things expensive.

  She paused next to the entrance of the coat check and quickly glanced down to make sure there were no wardrobe mishaps happening. She’d worn a slinky silver dress that clung to her curves, emphasizing her cleavage and bottom. Not to mention that it was slit up to the thigh, revealing a lot of leg. A light touch of eye makeup and some shiny pink lip gloss, and the ensemble had been complete.

  Annoyingly, she’d thought about Brody the entire time she’d gotten ready. How much he’d probably enjoy seeing her in the dress—and how much he’d love taking it off her.

  It still bothered her, how they’d left things Friday night. Brody hadn’t spent the night, needing to catch his flight in the morning, and he’d headed for the elevator with the air of a man leaving a battlefield in defeat.

  She’d felt pretty defeated, too. What had she been thinking, suggesting they go out on a real date? After all, she was the one who’d made it clear she wanted a fling. Yet she’d really enjoyed their conversation—talking to him about art, hearing about his paren
ts. It had been really nice. Comfortable. And before she knew it, she was falling right back into her old ways, looking to embark on a new relationship.

  That Brody had to be in L.A. the next day was just the wake-up call she’d needed. It reminded her precisely what she wanted—someone stable. Someone who wouldn’t be out of town for half the year, while their relationship took second place. As wildly attracted to Brody as she was, she knew he couldn’t be that someone.

  “Quade has outdone himself this year,” a male voice boomed, interrupting her thoughts and reminding her where she was.

  Smoothing out the front of her dress, she followed the group of tuxedo-clad men into the large ballroom off to the left. It was a black-tie event, and she found herself surrounded by beautifully dressed people, some older, some younger, all strangers. A dance floor graced the center of the room, in front of a live band that was belting out an upbeat swing song. Before she could blink, a waiter handed her a glass of champagne.

  Just as she was about to take a sip, a familiar face caught her eye.

  “Darcy?” she called in surprise.

  Her best friend’s silky red hair swung over her shoulders as she spun around. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

  “My dad demanded I make an appearance.” She grimaced. “And to think, I almost believed he wanted to spend some time with me.”

  Bitter much?

  Fine, so she was bitter, but really, who could blame her? She’d come here to support her father and bridge the distance between them, and yet he seemed determined to avoid spending quality time with her.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked Darcy.

  Her friend was clad in a white minidress that contrasted nicely with her bright red hair and vibrant blue eyes. “I know the birthday boy. He’s a regular at the boutique and pretty much threatened to take his business elsewhere if I didn’t make an appearance.” Darcy snorted. “To be honest, I think he’s dying to get into my panties. Like that will ever happen.”

  “Who exactly is the birthday boy? Dad neglected to mention.”

  “Jonas Quade,” Darcy answered. “He’s filthy rich, calls himself a philanthropist, and spends thousands of dollars on his many mistresses. Oh, and he’s also a pompous ass, but I can’t complain because those thousands I mentioned, well, he spends them at my boutique. He likes getting his lady friends to try on lace teddies and model for him, that sleazy bastar—Crap, here he comes.”