The Winning Score: A best-friend's-sister, enemies-to-lovers sports romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romance Book 4)
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When he reached the cashier, he mumbled a few instructions. The guy’s eyes went wide. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
The clerk glanced at Quinn’s American Express, and a knowing smile spread over his face. “Nice” was all he said before ringing him up.
Quinn hustled out of the store before anyone could slow him down. Didn’t want or need the attention. Hey, if folks could buy burgers for the people behind them in the MacDonald’s drive-through, why not do the same for people in a liquor store line? Though it wasn’t a big deal, it buoyed him and got the gears in his head turning. Before he could call any of his teammates, though, Coach beat him to it.
Bracing himself, Quinn picked up the call. “Coach LeBrun, how are you and your family?”
“We’re good, Hadley. Thanks for asking.” Coach’s voice sounded way different from the last time they’d spoken. Thank fuck. “So the reporter that’s been such a pain in the ass?”
Quinn swallowed hard. “Yeah? Any news on him?”
Coach let out a mirthless chuckle. “You’re gonna love this. He tested negative. But even better, they found COVID-19 antibodies in his blood.”
“What? He’s had it?”
“Yep. Little bastard claims he didn’t know because he had it in late February. Which means he spread it himself to everyone he came in contact with.”
“That’s unreal!” Quinn said. “So management isn’t mad at me anymore?”
“Let’s just say they’re enjoying having a good laugh right now, but I’d keep my head down if I were you.”
“I can do that. But I have this idea I want to talk to you and the team about.”
By the time he parked in the garage, he’d relayed his idea to Coach and some of his teammates about pooling their funds to help out the furloughed arena staff. The players’ pay structure was still on the fuzzy side, but they’d work it out. And in the meantime, he had something productive to do.
He walked into the house with an extra bounce in his step that made him happy to have Archer greet him with a head bump. Sarah Sunshine’s voice drifted from the general direction of the family room in a soft, almost sensual lilt. He stopped dead in his tracks.
“She quivered with anticipation as he laid her pliant body upon rosy satin sheets that matched her taut, throbbing nipples.”
What. The. Fuck?
Frozen in place, he sharpened his hearing.
“He lowered himself between her pillowy thighs, and his throbbing member grazed her wet entrance, making her gasp and faint dead away.”
“Oh, throbbing’s in there twice,” came his mother’s very practical sounding voice.
A shock of electricity raced through him. What the hell is going on?
“Well, hey, when it throbs, it throbs,” Sarah laughed.
Unsure what to do, Quinn stood like a tree that had just drilled roots into the ground.
“Keep going,” his mother urged. “I can’t wait to find out if he’s going to do the dirty while she’s out cold.”
They both giggled before Sarah went on. “‘Millicent, my love. Wake up, darling.’ He was as hard as a hickory log, and the throbbing—”
“That’s three throbbings!” his mother exclaimed. “This author needs to learn her way around a thesaurus.”
“Okay. Here’s the good part. Creamy mounds alert!” Sarah sounded wickedly gleeful.
Quinn burst out of his trance. Oh hell no! He coughed. Loudly. “I’m home.” His voice sailed out of him a few octaves higher than normal.
He rounded the corner, and two pairs of eyes fastened on him.
“Quinnie!” his mother exclaimed—without a trace of guilt.
“What,” he warbled, “what, ah, are you guys doing?”
Mom rubbed her hands together with delight. “Sarah’s reading me a smutty romance novel about an eighteenth-century duke who’s about to have his way with the chambermaid he’s been lusting after.” She shrugged. As though this were the most normal pastime in the world for a fifty-something mother of a grown man. Said grown man nearly choked on his spit. Meanwhile, his mom’s face brightened. “Come sit down. You can listen in.”
His voice cracked. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
“C’mon, Sparky. You might learn a thing or two.” Sarah’s eyes gleamed with pure evil.
He glared at her, ready to throttle the smirk right off her face. Every last one of his good feels from the liquor store had been utterly pulverized.
His mother stood and fluttered her hand against her chest. “Whew! On second thought, maybe I need a nap after that literary walk on the wild side. I’m going to my room for a rest now.”
Sarah giggled. “We’ll pick up later when Grumpy Butt isn’t around.”
When his mother was out of earshot, Quinn rounded on Sarah. “What the hell was that?”
Sarah flipped the cover closed on her e-reader. “Afraid of a little competition?”
“From an eighteenth-century count who’s not even real?” he snorted. “I doubt there’s anything he can teach me.”
Sarah rose from her seat and sauntered toward him. “From a woman author writing romance for women about stuff women like. You could add it to your arsenal and learn to be a better lover.”
“Who says I need—never mind,” he groused. “I’m not sure I could deal with all the throbbing. And you should not be reading that shit to my mother.” He went for his wallet before Sarah could tell him to pony up the two bucks—three, if she took note of the “hell” he’d thrown out. As he stuffed the bills into the swear jar, he said, “This stack grew. Is this you?”
She bit her bottom lip and shot her eyes to the ceiling, where they lingered for a few beats. Oh shit. There was that cute look again. “Well, I was wrangling the stupid blender to make smoothies, and your mother happened to overhear—”
He let out a whoop, blowing off some of the tension that had built up inside him, though he couldn’t say exactly where the tension had come from; he hadn’t been tense when he’d first walked in. Whether it was being annoyed Sarah was reading this crap to him mom or whether it was hearing the crap in her sultry voice, he couldn’t be sure. Wait! Since when has she had a sultry voice?
Sarah took the opportunity to size him up, raking her gaze from the sunglasses on top of his head to his feet. “I never took you for a prude.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Shit! Another five bucks. Goddamn! In pure frustration, he wrestled all the money from his wallet. “There! Now I can swear all I want.”
Sarah stood on tiptoe and pretended to inspect the wad he’d thrown in. “Not all you want, Sparks.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “That shit you were reading. Is that really what women want?”
She patted his chest. “Only if they can’t have you, big guy.”
He face-palmed. “I give up.”
“Hey, Gage was telling me about some virtual interview thing for the team in”—she dashed a look at the microwave clock—“fifteen minutes. Aren’t you part of that?”
He’d been so distracted he’d nearly forgotten. “Oh shit!” Before pivoting away, he pointed at the jar. “I’m covered.”
Today was his PR virtual appearance, and three of his teammates had been added to the mix. Yep. Nelson, Shanstrom, and McMurphy were now part of the fun and games. Probably to diffuse the ongoing fallout from the press conference.
A grin broke out on his face. Wish I could’ve been there when Weasel Prick heard the “good” news. The guy had sure milked the situation for all he was worth, whining on social media about Quinn and the team. Scumbag. Much as Quinn wanted to announce it on today’s show, it wasn’t his place. But he’d make sure Wyatt found out because the goalie had gotten sick and was still pissed as hell at Quinn.
“Hello, Quinn! Glad you could join us today,” a voice bellowed from his computer, jerking him back to what he was supposed to be doing.
“Uh, hey. How’s it going?” He gave a little wave
to the tiny black eye above his computer screen.
The interview went the way Quinn had expected. Softball questions about what he’d been doing to keep in shape and stay busy—same questions his teammates fielded. Sarah Sunshine had sashayed past a few times with piles of clothes, making him wonder what the hell she was up to. When the interview wound down, Quinn tried to catch T.J. for a few minutes—he really needed to clear the air with the guy, but Shanny gave him a curt “Not now.”
Quinn had been juggling off and on during the interview and lobbed one in frustration when Shanny cut him off. Unfortunately, it bounced off Sarah’s right shoulder as she was breezing by. She stopped and turned. “Trying to tell me something, Sparky?”
“Sorry, it got away from me. But jeez, toots. That’s your third or fourth pass. Miss me that much?” he taunted.
She parked her fist on her hip. “In case you didn’t know, there’s a laundry room down this way. I’m doing the dirty clothes—including yours—and this is the shortest route, so passing by your office is a necessity, not a desire.”
“So sue me for not knowing. There are like five laundry rooms in this place. Wait. You’re doing my laundry?” Why the hell was she doing that? She wasn’t the damn maid.
“Uh, because your mom can’t and she asked me? No maid service while we’re sheltering in place, Sparky.”
Oh. Right. Well, didn’t he feel like an ungrateful jerk. “Uh, thanks for doing that.”
“How’d the interview go?”
“Meh, about what I expected. You know, though, there’s one thing that always bugs the shit out of me.” Why was he going here?
“What’s that?”
“Whenever they find out I’ve got an engineering degree, they act so damn surprised. Like I’m too stupid to have graduated in basket weaving, let alone earned a BE.”
“I get the same thing.”
“You do?” Stupid and Sarah didn’t go together. Annoying and Sarah, yes, but not stupid.
“Oh yeah, but it’s a little different. It’s more of a shocked look they get when they discover a woman could be a structural engineer.”
“No way. Not in this day and age.”
“Way. There are lots of holdouts who haven’t caught up to the twenty-first century. I feel like I’m being patronized sometimes, like they think what I’m doing is ‘cute’ when I really should be home taking care of my man.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” He knew better, he really did, but he couldn’t keep from needling her. Nor could he keep from making it worse. “Maybe if you had the right kind of man at home—”
“You’re really going there?” She shot him a look that told him he was skating on thin ice. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. If I had someone as awesome as ‘The Mighty Quinn,’ he’d become the center of the universe and I would be completely fulfilled?”
He grinned. “Sounds about right.”
She stooped, and before he knew what was coming, she hurled the beanbag at his head—and connected—then stomped off.
Chapter 13
Caution: Slippery When Wet
What an ass!
Sarah huffed and puffed into the kitchen. “Jerk! Why do I even try talking to the man? And why, oh why, do I let him get under my skin?”
“What did you say, Sunshine?” His closeness caught her by surprise, and she wheeled and yelped. When had he come up behind her?
“I need to hang a bell around your neck.”
He snorted. “Not gonna happen. Now what did you say?”
Instead of backing away, she pulled herself upright with all the kick-ass she had and waved him off. “You talk as if I’d be helpless to resist the Mighty Quinn if you decided I was your type.” What was wrong with her? She knew better than to goad him, damn it! Even knowing she was playing into his hands, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
Amusement flickered in his warm cocoa eyes, and his fresh man-and-soap scent wafted up her nose. She gave herself an inner shake and reminded herself how everything about him irritated the hell out of her. Except he’d gone to special lengths to make sure she and Archer were well accommodated—hell, Sparky wasn’t even a dog lover—not to mention how generous he’d been with her salary. He’d opened up his house to her, making her feel as though she belonged there. Crap, he’d even thanked her for how she’d been treating his mom, as if it were a big burden, which it wasn’t.
With a shrug and a smirk, he plucked a trio of limes from a bowl on the counter and began juggling. “Lots of women seem to like the Mighty Quinn.”
“Is that a pet name for your dick?” She let out an unabashed bahaha.
He ignored her.
“Just because you’re a hotshot hockey player with a great smile doesn’t mean you know what a woman wants in the sack.”
Eyes trained on the limes, he broadened his grin, displaying his pearly whites. “You think I have a great smile?”
“Seriously? That’s all you got out of that?” Her eyes followed the circling green mini-footballs, then came to rest on his handsome face, decorated in day-old scruff, as he concentrated on what he was doing. His tongue protruded, caught between his teeth. Yeah, add that sculpted body to the mix, and she got why women fell all over themselves for this cocky, class-A jerk. He’d be hard to resist once he pulled out all the charm stops. Well, not hard for her to resist because she knew who and what he was. That probably didn’t apply to the rest of the female population, however—especially blond bimbos in danger of being dragged down from the weight of their boobs and lack of anything in their heads.
“No, I got the whole thing. But I gotta say—and not to brag or anything—if we’re scoring by orgasms, I’m pretty sure I’m okay in the sack. The Mighty Quinn doesn’t do anything halfway.” He caught all three limes and leveled a devilish look at her.
Heat surged in her core, and she burst out with a laugh to mask it. “You do understand women fake orgasms. All. The. Time.”
“Yeah, well, that may be …” He sounded mildly irritated, which made her smirk. Snatching up the limes once more, he tossed them in the air.
Whoa! He’s pretty damn good at juggling. “How long have you been doing that?” She tracked the limes, letting them lull her.
He didn’t take his eyes off the spinning fruit. “Juggling or having sex?”
She stifled the urge to reach out and snatch one of his stupid limes just to watch him screw up. “Juggling. I don’t give a flip about your sex life.”
“Since I was a kid. Mom got me started. It was one way to keep me distracted so I didn’t drive her crazy.” He smoothly caught the limes and flashed Sarah another grin. “Ask her sometime. I was a handful. She used to drop me off at the rink for hours at a time. She was trying to wear me out so she could deal with me.”
“Like Michael Phelps, but on ice? Turned out well for MP.”
“Yeah, I guess it turned out well for me too.” His expression suddenly morphed into something akin to sadness. In that moment, his eyes reminded her of hot fudge sauce. Warm, dark, deep.
She gave herself another inner shake. “Was it a bad thing that it turned out well for you?”
“It was for my dad and my brother, Ronan.” He stared at her for a beat, as if he had something else he wanted to say. Instead, he seemed to snap back from wherever he’d gone. “Welp, if I’m gonna get another workout in, I’d better hop to it and let you get back to your trashy novels.” His teasing tone was back, and he winked at her. It should have annoyed the hell out of her, but something—she had no idea what—had temporarily dulled her desire to fire back an insult.
“I thought you were done working out?”
“I’m a little restless.”
“Any luck with the TP?”
“No.” He suddenly looked stricken. “Oh shit! I totally forgot about the flour.”
“I’ll go tomorrow.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t you have laundry to wrangle? I’ll go. It was my screw-up.” He turned and trotted away.
They were cleaning up after dinner while Liz was engrossed in a romcom and petting Archer, who was, as usual, by her side in the family room.
Quinn stacked plates beside the sink for Sarah to rinse. “So. Wolf. Is that short for Wolfgang? Like the composer or Eddie Van Halen’s kid?”
She whipped her head toward him but didn’t see a telltale smirk. Still, her stomach clenched. “No. Just Wolf.”
“That should’ve been your first clue the guy was a piece of work.” He laughed out loud, and her clench turned to flaring white heat.
“Meaning what?” She shoved the rinsed plates at him and barked, “Dishwasher,” not bothering to hold back her irritation.
Quinn flinched but managed to take the stack from her. “Meaning he’s a tweeze because he was raised by parents who named him after a shaggy animal that howls. And if they’re not the ones guilty of giving him the lame name, it means he named himself, which makes him an even bigger tweeze.”
This brought her to an abrupt stop. She turned and faced him, fist on her hip. “As usual, you have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. I think the name is incredibly strong and sexy.”
“Yeah, well, you would.” As he arranged the dishes in the dishwasher, he calmly added, “Jar, Sunshine.”
“For what?” she whisper-screeched.
“You said ‘no fucking clue.’ That’s a fiver.”
A laugh from the family room startled them both. They peeked from the kitchen and spied Liz rubbing her hands together. She did that a lot whenever one of them tossed out a blue word. “This is by far the easiest job I’ve ever had! And the best paying!”