Game Misconduct: A Baltimore Banners Hockey Romance (The Baltimore Banners Book 11)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  “Because he should have never been hanging around you at all, period.”

  “We were just friends.”

  “You were too young.”

  “I was eighteen!”

  “It doesn’t matter. I told him to stay away and he didn’t listen—”

  “You didn’t have any right to tell him anything!” Her angry words bounced off the concrete walls, echoing back with a sharpness that made her wince. She took a deep breath, released it as she ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell—”

  “I know.” He kept watching her, his dark gaze pinning her in place, his eyes and face blank of all emotion. She looked away, shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and reminded herself she was an adult now, even if his look did make her feel like a reckless teenager.

  “It’s just—Uncle Ian, that was ten years ago. I’m twenty-eight. A grown woman. I have my own life now. A career. I’m capable of making responsible, mature decisions.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked up in a quick smile. “So you only came back up here to say hi to me?”

  “Oh. Um, yeah. That. Not really, no.” She grimaced and looked away, heat filling her face. “Do you have the spare key to my car? I, uh, kind of locked mine in.”

  So much for mature and responsible. At least he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t really laugh. No, the sound was more of a strangled choke, muffled when he turned away and went back into his office. He came back a few seconds later, the spare key dangling from one finger. She reached for it, only to have him pull it away.

  “I’ll walk you down.”

  “You don’t have to. I know you still have work to do.”

  “I’m done for the night.” He reached behind him, grabbing his overstuffed soft briefcase and suit jacket. He slung both over his shoulder, pulled the door closed, then motioned her toward the elevator.

  “So—tonight was a pretty good game, wasn’t it?”

  He quirked one eyebrow and slowly nodded. “It was…different.”

  “But a good different, right? I mean, the Banners won.”

  “We did.”

  They walked a few more steps before Lori looked over at him. “And you were happy with the goaltending?”

  His jaw clenched, just for a second. He leaned forward, jabbed the elevator button, then tossed an unreadable expression her way. “She was impressive, I’ll give her that.”

  “Maybe you could use her again.”

  “Maybe.”

  The elevator doors slid open and they stepped inside. Ian pressed the button for the garage then stared straight ahead. Lori watched him for another second then playfully nudged him.

  “Pretty cool that she actually got to play, huh? I mean, that doesn’t happen very often, having to put in your emergency back-up.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” He inhaled, then just as quickly exhaled. “Of course, you don’t have much choice when your primary goalie has his head in a toilet because of a stomach virus and your back-up goalie fakes an injury.”

  Lori opened her mouth, then snapped it closed when the elevator came to a stop. Uncle Ian knew? But how? Even she hadn’t been sure, not until she saw Corbin walking out of the elevator. He had looked so convincing out on the ice. The only reason she even remotely suspected anything was because it was something Corbin would do.

  Uncle Ian stepped off the elevator then turned. “Are you coming? Or are you going to stand there all night, gaping?”

  “I—” She stopped, stepped off the elevator and stared at him. “How did you know?”

  “I just did.”

  “And you let him get away with it?”

  “I didn’t have much choice, did I? Not that I wouldn’t have said anything if she hadn’t played as well as she did.”

  “But she did. Play well, I mean.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Better than well, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like, she kicked their asses.”

  Her uncle’s mouth turned up in a smile as another laugh escaped him. “Okay, she kicked their asses.”

  Lori did a small fist pump in the air. “Ha! I knew you were impressed. And just think—it would have never happened if Corbin hadn’t been willing to make that sacrifice.”

  And just like that, her uncle’s smile disappeared. His eyes grew a little colder, the faint lines around the edges deepening just a bit as he frowned. “Don’t push it, Lori. What Gauthier did or didn’t do tonight doesn’t change my opinion about him.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “I’m not discussing this right now.” They came to a stop next to her car, the horn coming to life with a quick beep when he used the remote to unlock it. Lori opened the door and tossed her bag onto the passenger seat.

  “I still don’t understand—”

  “Lori, not now.” His voice held the tone a parent would take with a wayward child. She bit her tongue, resisting the urge to stomp her foot in frustration. Mature and responsible? Yes, usually—except when her uncle was being so unreasonable.

  She didn’t even know why she was pushing the issue. It wasn’t like she was going to see Corbin again. Tonight had been nothing more than a fluke. The best thing she could do was just drop the subject, pretend she had never brought it up to begin with.

  She dropped into the driver seat of her small car and swung her legs inside. “Thanks for the rescue, Uncle Ian.”

  “Not a problem. You have your keys?”

  She reached inside the cup holder, the jumble of keys clanging together as she held them up. “Yup. Right here where I left them.”

  “Good.” He stepped away from the car and closed the door, then waited for her to start the engine and roll down the window. “Are you coming to dinner next week?”

  “As far as I know, yes. Does Aunt Kayli need me to bring anything?”

  “Probably. You better call and ask her, though, since I’ve been banned from the kitchen until grilling season starts.”

  Lori laughed, some of the tension easing out of her—tension she hadn’t even realized she was feeling. “She still hasn’t forgiven you for melting the microwave, huh?”

  “Oh, she’s forgiven me. She just hasn’t forgotten.”

  “I know how that goes.” Lori muttered the words under her breath, making sure they were low enough so Uncle Ian wouldn’t hear. At least, she thought they were low enough. But maybe not, because he frowned and leaned a little closer.

  “Lori, I know you don’t understand, but there’s a reason I don’t—”

  “Yeah, I know.” She didn’t, not really, only knew that it had something to do with some stupid team code that made absolutely no sense to her. “And can we not talk about this, like you said? It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like I’m going to run into him or see him or anything. It’s old news, okay?”

  Uncle Ian hesitated, looking like he wanted to say more. But in the end, he simply nodded, then reached up and tapped the hood of her car with his knuckles. She offered him a quick smile then put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking spot, her eyes darting to his image in the rearview mirror.

  Old news. Yes, it was. And she had meant it when she said it didn’t matter. It didn’t, because tonight was just a fluke. She wouldn’t be running into Corbin again any time soon.

  No matter how much she wanted to.

  Chapter Three

  Darkness greeted him when he opened the door. Darkness, along with chilled air and the underlying odor of stale cardboard. Corbin swallowed a sigh and palmed the switch to his left, filling the room was harsh light. The door closed behind him as he tossed the keys onto the small table just along the wall.

  His gaze scanned the small living room, taking in the stacks of boxes, the single leather recliner, the massive television he rarely watched. No art hung on the walls, no decorative touches rested on the small table next to the recliner. The table tucked into the dining alcove off to the right sat empty, except
for one lonely chair pushed against it. The other chairs were still in storage, along with most of his other belongings. He’d kept only the most basic things and wondered why he’d done even that much.

  As nice as it was, this apartment was only temporary. His agent was working on finding him a new place. Maybe a spacious condo. Something on the waterfront would be nice, but not mandatory.

  Corbin dropped his bag beside the door, reaching up to undo his tie as he made his way down the hall to the bedroom. A spacious condo? Why was he even bothering? What was the sense in buying a place when his gut was screaming that this move was only temporary? He wasn’t going to settle here in Baltimore, wasn’t going to put down roots and try to act like he belonged. He didn’t.

  Tomorrow, he’d call his agent and tell him to stop the search. There was no sense in wasting time and money buying a place he’d end up selling within a year—if that long.

  He didn’t belong here, period. He was still trying to figure out how he had ended up back here, the one place he’d never dreamed of seeing again. But the offer had been too good to pass up—Corbin knew that without his agent ramming the point down his throat. And yet, he’d almost said no. Almost told his agent to pass—because Ian Donovan was the head coach. If it had been anyone else, there would have been no hesitation on his part at all at coming back here.

  And Lori—

  He shrugged out of his suit jacket, wadded it into a ball and hurled it across the room. Crisse! What was she doing here? If he had known she was here, if he had known she was working for the Banners, he would have never agreed to come back here. Donovan he could handle. That he could make work. But Lori?

  Corbin sank to the edge of the bed and dropped his head into his hands, his fingers squeezing the pulse throbbing in his temples. Fuck. He hadn’t expected to see her again, hadn’t expected to react the way he had. The way his heart twisted in his chest, the way his gut clenched and churned. Even now, his lungs squeezed so hard, it hurt to draw breath.

  If he had known she was working for the Banners, he would have never agreed to come back. And now…now he was screwed.

  He ran his hands through his hair and launched himself from the bed, pacing the room with short, angry strides. Energy pulsated through him—adrenaline, anger, frustration, desire…all of it, mixing together into a deadly cocktail of energy he couldn’t contain. He needed to run. To hit. To breathe. To focus.

  To find Lori and pull her to him, to claim her mouth, her body, her soul, until he forgot…

  It had been eight years. Eight fucking years. He’d never forgotten her in that time, had always wondered what may have happened between them if he hadn’t been traded to Vegas. She had been too young back then—they had been too young. Would it have worked? Or would it have fizzled out, whatever it was between them dying before ever really having a chance to come to life?

  He had tried so hard to forget her, especially that first year in Vegas. Burying himself in the game. Losing himself in all the distractions Vegas had to offer: the bright lights, the fancy parties, the willing women.

  His marriage to Tiffany.

  He laughed, the sound short and bitter. Marriage? Only on paper. He had known, even before entering the tacky chapel with his head pounding from a week’s worth of alcohol, that it wasn’t going to work. And when he stood there at the front of the room, with several of his teammates acting as reluctant witnesses, it had been Lori standing beside him, not Tiffany. In his mind, it had been Lori’s face looking up at him as they exchanged vows. Lori, with her laughing eyes and soft smile. Lori, with her sense of humor and vibrant outlook on life.

  After the divorce—one that should have happened a month later instead of a year—there had been other women. Nameless faces, meaningless encounters, all of them a substitute for what he really wanted as he let himself be drawn into a downward spiral.

  Down, down, down, until he hit bottom. Not on the ice—never on the ice. Just everywhere else.

  What had Lori said? That he was believing his own bad press?

  He laughed again. Bad press? She had no idea.

  He should have never come back. Never. The only saving grace was that he probably wouldn’t see her again. Please, God, let that be true. He wasn’t sure what he would do if it wasn’t. Just seeing her tonight had been too much. Too tempting. Too uplifting. Too painful. Too…everything. He had wanted to pull her into his arms right there in the elevator. Wanted to bury his face in her hair, wanted to hold her.

  Wanted to bury himself so deep inside her, finding himself even as he lost himself.

  Foolish. So fucking stupid. For all he knew, she wanted nothing to do with him. For all he knew, she was married and had a family of her own. He ignored the pain that sliced through him at the thought. No, she wasn’t wearing a ring, but that didn’t mean anything. Tiffany never wore the expensive, gaudy ring she had insisted he buy—

  He pushed all thoughts of his first wife from his mind, anger flaring in his chest from that long-ago fiasco. To even think about comparing the two—no, he wouldn’t. Not now, not ever.

  Lori wasn’t married. If she was, there would have been a ring. But there was no ring, no jewelry at all except for a simple pair of studs in her ears and the silver four-leaf clover hanging from a delicate chain around her neck.

  Corbin uncurled his fists and dropped to the bed once more. She still had it. She still wore it. Did it mean anything? No—he couldn’t allow himself to read into it, couldn’t allow himself to think that maybe, just maybe—

  He shook his head and closed his eyes, memories of that long-ago day playing like a movie in his head. They’d been at her father’s house—technically also her aunt and uncle’s, but Ian wasn’t home that day, which was the only reason Corbin had gone with her. She had been excited to show him the new calf, teasing him because he’d never seen one before, not up close. They’d been in the old stone barn, the damp air cool and welcoming after the unusual heat of the sunny March weekend. The barn had been filled with a mixture of smells that still teased his nostrils: the earthy scents of hay and straw and dirt; the molasses-sweet aroma of grain; the pungent odor of farm animals as the large cow calmly stood in the middle of the stall while the calf noisily nursed.

  He’d been enthralled at the sight and sounds and smells, watching in amazement, knowing that Lori’s soft laughter was because of the expression on his face. A blush had heated his cheeks, something that always seemed to happen when he was around her.

  “You can go in and pet her if you want, she won’t hurt you.”

  Corbin shook his head and stepped away from the stall. “Non. I think it’s better I stay a spectator for this, eh?”

  Lori laughed then turned away, resting her arms against the wooden half-wall of the stall. He watched her, taking in the soft smile that curved her mouth, the way her ponytail brushed the soft cotton of her shirt, the way the faded denim of her jeans hugged the curve of her bottom and clung to her long legs.

  He reached into the pocket of his own jeans, not stopping to think, knowing he’d chicken out if he hesitated. His fingers curled around the small velvet box, clutching it for a brief second before pulling it out and thrusting it toward her.

  “Here, ma cocotte. For you.”

  Lori turned, her brows pulling down in a brief frown before shooting up in surprise. “What is it?”

  “You must open it to see, eh?” He held his breath, waiting for her to take it, wondering again if he was making a mistake. Her fingers brushed against his as she reached for the box; he swallowed his gasp of surprise as tingles of awareness and need seared him. Corbin jammed his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t do something silly, like reach for her, and watched as she opened the box.

  A surprised gasp fell from her mouth a second before her lips stretched in a wide smile. She stared down at the silver necklace nestled in black satin then looked up at him.

  “Corbin! It’s beautiful! Thank you. But you didn’t have to do this.”

&
nbsp; He shrugged, trying to play down the pleasure her happiness gave him. “It is nothing. Just try not lose this one, eh?”

  Lori threw her arms around him, the hug catching him by surprise. But she was already pulling away before he had a chance to react, before he could wrap him own arms around her and hold her. Just hold her.

  She removed the necklace from the box then held it out to him. “Will you put it on for me? I always have trouble with those stupid clasps.”

  Lori thrust the necklace into his trembling hands then turned, holding her ponytail out of the way. He fought with the clasp, trying to get it open and nearly dropping it in the process. Then he reached in front of her, the ends of her silky hair brushing against the skin of his hands as he fumbled to fasten the necklace.

  She stepped away as soon as he got the clasped closed, adjusting the necklace then wrapping her hand around the charm and holding it. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  “It is nothing, just a small necklace, that is all—”

  “It’s not nothing.” She watched him with those beautiful amber eyes, filled with swirling emotions that both terrified and enthralled him. Then she was leaning toward him, her lips slightly parted and it would be easy, oh-so-easy, to let the kiss happen. It’s what he wanted, what he’d always wanted from the first time he’d met her nine months ago. But she was his teammate’s niece, too young even if she was eighteen. It wouldn’t be right, he couldn’t—

  Corbin stepped back and turned his face to the side, felt the breathy sigh of her disappointment against his flushed cheek a second before her lips touched his skin in the briefest of friendly pecks.

  Corbin swallowed a groan and opened his eyes, surprised that he could still smell the scents of that long-ago afternoon even as the sterile white walls of his bedroom stared back at him.

  He jumped to his feet, no longer able to contain the edgy energy that held him in its grip. He needed to get out, get away from here, get away from the memories. He didn’t know where, didn’t care, as long as he could escape.

  He dug the phone from his pocket, thumbing the screen to life as he hurried toward the door. The list of contacts lit the screen and he scrolled down each name, frowning. He hadn’t been back long enough to make any true friendships yet, wasn’t sure who he could even call—