The Sport of Romance: A Multi-Author Box Set

by Cari Quinn

  Which was so wrong, because she knew it could never work. She’d stopped dating a long time ago because her needs weren’t going to change. Accepting that meant she didn’t date. The men who satisfied her needs didn’t date women like her. Her job kept her away for too long for her to serve as a proper sub, even if she’d consider delving that deeply into the lifestyle. Diving in once a month to take off the edge was usually enough. She was happy with her life, had never considered changing it.

  And she didn’t have any reason to start.

  Chapter Two

  Tim straightened his tie as he held open the door to his rental car for Madeline outside of her hotel, arching his brow at the small, black plastic box on top of the pillow in her arms. She looked adorably flustered, her hair pulled back into a soft ponytail, tendrils framing her face—which he was pleased to see was free of makeup except for a light peach lip gloss and maybe some mascara. Her cheeks were pink, but he had a feeling that was natural.

  “I’m sorry, my mother called about some trouble my youngest brother got into. It looks like I’m going to be an aunt again!” She shook her head as she slid into the passenger seat. “I completely lost track of time. Won’t take me long to finish mending the pillow, though.”

  “In the car?” He held the box for her as she put on her seat belt. She nodded and he returned the box to her, then closed the door and found himself grinning like an idiot as he went around to the driver’s side. By the time he pulled the car out onto the road, she had a needle threaded and was making precise stitches that almost disappeared into the material.

  Her focus on the task, the comfortable silence between them, had him taking the opportunity of every red light to just look at her. She was a refreshing change from the young women who hung around the team—those girls did nothing for him. The laugh lines around her lips, the sparkle in eyes that had seen the world, made her absolutely beautiful. This was a woman who’d lived, who knew what she wanted and wouldn’t be shy about telling him what that was.

  Part of him still wondered if she wasn’t better suited to his brother, but Tim wouldn’t let old insecurities ruin a good night. His boys had won the game in overtime. Callahan was proving to be the ideal captain after only a few months in the position, his talent and natural leadership skills providing the team with all the direction they needed. White had dropped the gloves—big surprise there—when an overeager forward from the Panthers crashed the net. The fight had ended with White spitting blood and holding two teeth in his hand, but he’d won and earned the respect of his teammates. Not that most hadn’t respected him before, but they’d seen him as more of a hothead than anything. It was hard to stand behind a player who had a hair-trigger and got penalties for losing his cool. A man who made the other team think twice about targeting your star players? He was invaluable.

  “Done!” Madeline put away the needle and ran her hand over the pillowcase as they pulled up in front of the hotel. “Would you give White a shout so he can come meet us? Then we can go have that beer. Did you have a particular place you’d like to go or would the hotel bar do?”

  “If we stay here, the boys will likely join us. So it depends on how much time you’d like to spend with my entire team.” He got out of the car, handed the valet his keys, and texted White as he joined Madeline on the sidewalk. “There’s a bar within walking distance with a live band that plays rock classics. I usually go there every time I’m in Miami, but it’s not the type of place the guys like to hang out.”

  “Sounds nice.” She shot him a playful look when he raised his brows at her. “And no, I don’t mean boring. Do they serve any good imports or just weak local brews?”

  This woman is something else. He laughed and put his hand on the small of her back as he opened the front door to the hotel for her. “They have some pretty incredible local brews. If by local, you mean American?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “What makes you think only foreign beers are good? I’ll assume you’re not saying that just to sound like you know what you’re talking about?”

  Her eyes widened, but she didn’t seem upset by his comment. Instead, challenge lit her eyes. “I’ve been all over the world, spent a month touring Europe in my early twenties, determined to expose my palate to more than the moonshine my daddy let me try when I turned nineteen.”

  “Nineteen? You were a good girl then?” He could picture her as a teen, long skirts and modest shirts, so polite and proper while under her parents’ roof. Then running wild as soon as she got the first taste of freedom. She’d have broken his heart if he’d met her back then.

  The sweet smile she gave him had him wondering if his heart was safe, even now. She laughed, the sound full of light and warmth, pulling him in as she faced him in the center of the lobby. “Are you implying I’m not a good girl anymore, Tim?”

  “I wouldn’t be with you if you were a ‘girl’ anymore, Madeline.” He could tell she liked his pointing that out. Many women didn’t want to be reminded they were no longer young, but he had a feeling she was confident with who she was. Which was sexy as hell. “But about your refined palate, I’d like the chance to prove to you that some domestic brews are just as good, if not better, than anything you’ve had overseas.”

  “You’ll have it.”

  They chatted a bit more about beer, and about her travels, before they both realized White was taking way too long coming down from his room. Tim checked his phone to see if the boy had texted him back. The message he’d sent wasn’t marked as read.

  Had White fallen asleep?

  All the rookies roomed with a veteran player. Tim would have liked White to have roomed with Perron or Mason—the latter could have helped the kid pick his fights a bit better from the start—but the head coach had paired him up with Mirek Brends, a Swedish defenseman who didn’t speak much English. Which made calling Brends to check on White pointless. He considered calling Callahan, but the team’s captain had probably gone out to celebrate with a few of the guys.

  “Maybe White’s not here?” Madeline seemed to read his thoughts, but concern shadowed her eyes. She’d decided White needed her to look out for him.

  The kid clearly needed someone to do it. Tim wouldn’t have left him alone if he hadn’t been cleared by the team’s doctor, but White had said he’d be in his room watching TV because he wasn’t feeling up to going out. He wasn’t impulsive, so Tim didn’t see him changing his mind.

  He did see him putting on a brave front for the doctor and the team though. Tim didn’t want to second-guess the doctor, but he couldn’t help worrying a little. He glanced over at Madeline when she cleared her throat to get his attention.

  “He wasn’t feeling up to going out. He got in a fight and was a bit roughed up.” Tim braced himself for her to give him hell. One of the things he’d liked most about her was that she cared about the boy, but that could be the very thing that ruined his chances with her. He scratched his jaw when she simply looked at him expectantly. “I’m sorry to delay our date, but I want to go check on him.”

  She inclined her head. “I thought you would. Should I wait here?”

  Now that impressed him. With how motherly she’d been to White, Tim had assumed she’d insist on tagging along. That she trusted him to decide what was best made him a lot more comfortable than her not giving him a choice. He motioned for her to follow him.

  “I think he’ll be happy to see you.” He chuckled as he pressed the button to call the elevator. “And his pillow.”

  “Probably.” She went quiet as they got on the elevator, her expression thoughtful. After a few minutes, she met his eyes. “Why did you look so surprised when I offered to wait?”

  Tim shrugged, seeing no reason not to be up-front. “You’ve been babying him. I honestly thought you’d plow me down on your way up to make sure he doesn’t need a Band-Aid.”

  “Ha! I did mention I have younger brothers?” She smirked at his nod. “I’d have a head full of gray ha
ir if I panicked every time one of them got hurt. I’m sure he’s a mess, but he’s a big boy. And you’re his coach—”

  “Assistant coach.” He corrected her out of habit, but he had a feeling she hadn’t said that by mistake. Some of the men considered Tim their coach and saw Paul as more of a figurehead. White was one of them.

  “His coach,” Madeline repeated, clearly feeling the same. “You’d know if he’ll be comfortable with me being around.”

  “I’m positive he’ll be fine with it.”

  “Good.”

  The elevator stopped and Tim let Madeline get off first, but stopped her partway down the hall with his hand on her arm, his tone very serious even though he struggled not to laugh. “I don’t need you making my boys soft though, so no kissing all his little bumps and bruises better.”

  “Agreed. No kisses.” She took his hand and rose up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his in a slow, sensual kiss that had him wanting to continue down the hall, past White’s room and straight to his own. He ran his hand over her hair, inhaling slowly as she put a breath of distance between them, speaking with quiet laughter in her voice. “I’ll save the kisses for you, but I can’t promise not to pet on him a little.”

  He snorted and knocked on the door to White’s room. “Fine, but you’re not tucking him in.”

  “May I sing him to sleep?”

  White didn’t answer. Tim tested the doorknob. Found the door unlocked.

  “Yeah. Sing to him if you want.” Tim swallowed hard as he pushed the door open. The room was dark except for the flickering of the TV. “Hey, White? You in here?”

  Shit, what if the kid did have a concussion? Blood on his fucking brain and he was alone, had maybe fallen asleep and—

  “Ian?” Madeline reached out and squeezed Tim’s hand as she called out. She crossed the short hall with the door that led to the bathroom. Moved into the bedroom. “Hello, darlin’. Oh, that looks like it hurts. No, don’t sit up. Tim, can you go fetch some ice?”

  Moving to the end of the bed, Tim looked White over and winced. His face was a lot more swollen than before, one eye so puffy he couldn’t open it, and there was blood crusted on his chin. The doctor had given White some painkillers, but Tim had a feeling the kid hadn’t taken them. Fully-clothed and cringing at every movement, White looked utterly miserable.

  “I okay. Little sore.” White tried to smile at Madeline as she smoothed his light brown hair away from his face. It turned into a grimace. “Hurts to talk.”

  “Then don’t talk, honey. We’ll get some ice for your face.” Madeline frowned at Tim, which got him moving. He grabbed the ice bucket from the table and hurried down the hall to fill it. By the time he returned, Madeline had a damp facecloth that she was using to clean away the blood. And White’s head was on the pillow she’d fixed for him.

  Tim couldn’t quite explain why seeing White like this bugged him so much—this wasn’t the first time White had left a game looking like he’d just crawled out of a car wreck. Tim had a feeling he had Madeline to thank for it. Not that he hadn’t looked out for White, for all his players, before because he had. But she’d made being a little more protective of this kid all right. Who else did White really have?

  The thought didn’t make Tim sad though. His boy wasn’t alone. As Tim dumped some ice in a folded towel for White’s face, Madeline was busy taking off White’s shoes. She laughed when White stopped her from undoing his jeans with a grunt.

  “Would you prefer your coach help you out, buddy? I just want you to be as comfortable as possible.”

  White made a face, which looked painful. He rolled to his side. “Can take my own clothes off.”

  Every word came out muffled, like White’s mouth was full of cotton balls. Tim handed Madeline the ice and held out his hand to help the boy to his feet. “You didn’t take any of the pills Doc gave you, did you, kid?”

  “Don’t need ’em.” White shoved down his jeans and kicked them off. His face went pale, which had the dark bruises standing out even more. “Hate taking meds.”

  As White lay back down, Madeline pressed the ice-filled towel to his face and resumed stroking his hair. “I don’t blame you, but they’ll help with the swelling.”

  “Fine. But I take ’em, you gotta go.” White met Tim’s eyes as Tim drew the blanket up over his bare legs. Regret filled the kid’s undamaged eye. “Sorry I screwed things up for you.”

  “You didn’t. Just lie there and let me look good to her.” Tim lowered his voice as he bent down, even though he knew very well Madeline could hear him from the other side of the bed. He pulled the blanket up to White’s chin. “All better, buddy?”

  Laughing and groaning, White pushed Tim away. “Fuck off. Let me sleep.”

  Yeah, not happening. And from the regret-filled smile Madeline shot his way, she had no intention of leaving either. She went to the mini fridge and took out a bottle of water. She handed it to Tim. “Where are your pills, Ian?”

  “In my jeans.” White stared at the ceiling and let out a heavy sigh. “Pass me my phone too, please?”

  Madeline passed White his phone, then tapped two pills into her palm. After White finished texting someone, Madeline pressed them into his hand and watched him take them. Tim helped White lean up, snorting when the kid grunted and snatched the water.

  “I ain’t invalued,” White muttered.

  And the boy had gone to college? Tim took the water bottle and set it on the nightstand. “You mean you’re not an invalid.”

  “That too.”

  “Get some rest, White. We’ll stay until Brends comes back.”

  A soft knock at the door brought a smug smile—followed by a wince—to White’s lips. He cleared his throat. “That you, Perron?”

  The door opened and the muscular forward came into the room, his light blond hair rumpled as though he’d just climbed out of bed. He folded his arms over his chest, his eyes hard as he stared down at White. “I’m starting to think you need a babysitter, kid. Why’d you tell me and Callahan you were fine? You look like shit.”

  “I am fine. You gotta stay with me or Tim can’t take his lady out, and then I’ll feel like sh—” White glanced over at Madeline. “Max Perron is the nicest guy on the team. He’ll take good care of me.”

  “You’re damn right, I will. You’re lucky Callahan’s not here, Bruiser. Are you trying to end your career already?” Perron picked up the bottle of pills that Madeline had set beside the water on the nightstand. “Did you take your meds?”

  “Ya, Coach and Madeline made sure I did. And been icing my face.” White prodded his jaw lightly with a finger. “Working already. My mouth hurts a bit, that’s all. No reason to freak out.”

  Perron apparently didn’t agree, but his concern had Tim satisfied that White was in good hands. He turned to Madeline, not sure if she’d agree, but hoping maybe the night could be salvaged. The way she was watching Perron wasn’t promising. She’d gone all momma bear on White, and another player wouldn’t treat her baby as gently as she would.

  “Max Perron is a good man, Madeline.” Tim slid his hand around the back of her neck, speaking softly as she relaxed against his side. He stroked the side of her neck, enjoying the way she let him touch her as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “It’s good for the boys to look out for each other, and you won’t find anyone better.”

  Madeline nodded slowly. “You make sure he keeps icing his jaw, Max. And call if he gets sick or anything. I’m not sure I trust that he’d have told the doctor the truth about headaches or anything else. He goes straight to the hospital if there are any symptoms of a concussion.”

  “Yes, ma’am. No question about that.” Perron flashed Madeline a broad smile, bringing out his full Texan charm. “I reckon he’s just smartin’ from lettin’ Deek get off a few punches, but I don’t trust him either. I was stupid like him at his age.”

  “You’re what, five years older than me?” White grumbled as Perron brought the ice p
ack back to his cheek. “Gimme that, I can do it.”

  “Then do it so Miss Madeline won’t have to fuss over you no more.”

  “Good night, boys.” Tim gently steered Madeline toward the door, sure she’d turn around and demand to stay even after they reached the elevator. They passed through the lobby and stepped out onto the street where the cool night air toyed with the tendrils framing her face and a slight, wistful smile played at her lips. He’d stopped worrying about White as soon as he’d seen the kid was well enough to continue with his matchmaking efforts, but maybe Madeline didn’t feel the same.

  She noticed him watching her and let out a soft laugh. “In case you’re wondering, I’m fine leaving him to his teammate. They’re good boys; they’ll take care of each other. I’m missing my own brothers, and Ian’s getting all the coddling I can’t do for them.”

  “Do you get to see them often?” Tim slid his hand down her wrist, lacing their fingers together as they crossed the street. On a Wednesday night the Crescent bar shouldn’t be crowded, but there were quite a few people milling around the terrace and the music was louder than the last time he’d been here. They might not be able to hear each other even side by side at a small table.

  This date wasn’t going at all as he’d planned.

  She squeezed his hand and slowed close to the open door of the bar. “A few times a year, but it’s better that way. They’re sowing their wild oats and aren’t too keen on their big sister cramping their style.”

  No resentment in her words. Actually, she sounded a bit relieved.

  Laughing, she led the way into the bar, raising her voice as she wove through the crowd with practiced ease. “You can only say ‘Well, bless your heart’ to your own blood so many times before you start wondering if you’re gonna catch their stupid. I love them, and I know they’ll be all right when they grow up a bit, but I have my own life to live. It took getting away from the drama before I realized how exhausting keeping up with it was!”