The Winning Score: A best-friend's-sister, enemies-to-lovers sports romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romance Book 4)

by G. K. Brady

  “Why am I not surprised?” He grinned back.

  He grabbed gloves and a stick for her—a shorter one from his juniors days—and soon they were marching through drills. She was better at stick handling than she’d given herself credit for, plus she had an uncanny ability to poke the puck away or get her body in the right place and impede his progress. Subtle, smart moves. In other words, she was a perfect drill partner. Plus, she could talk like one too.

  “You really mix up your shots. Do you have a sweet spot?” she said as they took a water break.

  “Top shelf, left,” he replied without thought.

  She gave him an approving nod. “Where Mama keeps the peanut butter.”

  A slow grin began to spread. “Exactly. Show me what else you know, toots.”

  And she did. He got so lost in the play that he zenned himself into a hockey zone. Unfortunately, it didn’t eliminate the thoughts he’d been trying to displace—like the visual of her in her itty-bitty, wet bikini molded to her curves like a second skin. No, instead he kept picturing her working out beside him wearing nothing but that.

  And who could blame him? Every time she was near, her scent drifted around him and beckoned him a little closer. He craved physical contact.

  Jesus, he needed to get laid.

  As quickly as the truism popped into his brain, he shoved it down. Even if he could indulge in a quick-and-dirty with someone not Sarah, that someone might pass on COVID that he could pass on to his mom. He wasn’t that desperate—or that selfish.

  While she stood to the side, he took a dozen more shots, trying harder with each pass for something fancy that would impress her—a spin-o-rama or between-the-legs move. Instead, he ended up looking like he didn’t know how to score. To make matters worse, things below his waistband had perked up since they’d started their drills, growing into a wicked distraction.

  Getting a boner around his buddy’s sister should never happen. Yeah, he absolutely needed to get laid. It would solve everything.

  They stowed the gear and headed in different directions inside. He wound up in the gym, where he picked up a trio of beanbags, trying to calm down his overactive imagination. Unfortunately, the damn thing wandered right back to Sarah and what a firecracker she’d be in bed. Shit, don’t go there! He forced his wayward thoughts to this Wolf dude, and he tried to picture the man who’d breached her defenses and made it to her softer side. Some badass biker with colors, prison tats, and a bandanna? Wolf would fit the bill.

  Wait. She didn’t have a softer side. Who was he kidding? Of course she had one because he’d witnessed it firsthand whenever she interacted with his mom or Archer.

  It was just him she didn’t trot it out for. Although she’d trotted it out today, blowing the hell out of his mind when she’d hugged him for one stuttering heartbeat. Damn, she’d felt good against him. And she’d rewarded him with lively drill play. If only it could be more than hockey drill play …

  No, no, no, you perv!

  Maybe if he showed her more random acts of kindness, stopped goading her, she’d return the favor by using a little less acid on him. His mom had told him to use his charm. What did that mean, exactly? Use the same worn lines on Sarah that he used on women he picked up?

  He practically laughed out loud at this idiotic idea. No doubt she would shred him into pieces so tiny they’d never be able to glue him back together again. No, that girl would need a custom approach if he were ever inclined to make a move, which he wasn’t. No matter how many times he had to remind himself.

  The loop in his ADHD-addled mind led him back to thoughts of Wolf and why Sarah thought his name was “strong and sexy” … and why the hell he was wasting so much time on Sarah Sunshine and Wolfman anyway. Frustration over his current train of thought had Quinn lobbing the beanbags across the room. Time to attack the rowing machine.

  He definitely needed to get laid.

  As he was in the grip of sorting his ping-ponging thoughts, his phone vibrated. “Dude, have you got ESP?”

  “No,” Nelson replied. “Why? Have you been dreaming about me again?”

  “You’re as funny as a broken skate blade, asshole. No, I was actually thinking about your sister and wondering about the douche she broke up with. They did break up, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. Why?” Nelson’s tone hovered between baffled and brotherly I’ll-tear-your-head-from-your-body-if-you-touch-her.

  “He called her the other day and seemed to shake her up. I offered her a phone, but she didn’t want it. Your sister is stubborn as shit.”

  “You’re just now figuring this out?” Gage paused to chuckle. “I knew about Douchebag calling her. I told her to come back here because Lily, Daisy, and I are clearing out for a while.”

  For some unknown reason, the thought of Sarah leaving gave Quinn a gut check. “Where are you guys going?”

  “Beckett and Paige offered us their mountain house. Nobody’s using it, it’s bigger and more isolated than our place, and it has a full gym. With Daisy out of school, I took them up on it. We’re about to head up. So Sarah’s welcome to come back here—she’d have the whole place to herself—but she said she wants to stay at your place. I just thought I’d fill you in so you know that option’s open. In case you get to a breaking point and are contemplating murder—or she is.” He laughed as if this was the funniest joke in the world, which it wasn’t.

  Knowing that Sarah had told her brother she wanted to stay made Quinn’s chest fill with something warm and gooey. Maybe she didn’t hate him after all. “She like it here that much?” He tried to keep the surprise from his voice.

  “Nah, I think she’s more worried about Douchebag showing up at our place. He has no idea where to find her if she stays with you, so all in all, it’s a smart move.”

  The warm goo cooled a few degrees, followed by a spike of anger. “Back up a sec. Is this guy coming for her?”

  “She doesn’t think so, but I suspect she’s a little worried he might.”

  “Well, he’d better not try anything if he doesn’t want to get his ass handed to him. Nobody messes with—uh, your sister.”

  “Sarah’s more than capable of taking care of herself, but I appreciate you watching out for her, buddy.”

  After dinner, Quinn put his mom to bed, then retreated to his room and flicked on his TV. Bored as shit, he flicked it off, and his mind roamed to the fresh batch of cookies downstairs. A half dozen and a full glass of milk might put him into snooze mode, so he traipsed back to the kitchen.

  He was surprised to find Sarah sitting in the mostly dark family room, knees drawn up under a quilt, Archer curled at her feet. A cozy scene. The dog raised his head and gave him a friendly chuff. Sarah turned her head toward him.

  “Hey,” she said softly. He liked the tone of her voice. No edge. Inviting.

  “Hey. Why are you sitting alone in the dark?” He walked her way and dropped into an armchair perpendicular to the couch.

  On her lap she held an illuminated iPad. “Just winding down now that everything’s quiet.”

  He peered at her device. “Reading more smutty romance stuff?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m watching Impossible Engineering. Nerdy stuff.”

  “Huh. I like that show.”

  “So what are you doing? I thought you went to bed.”

  “No, it’s not that late. I just wanted to check on you.” Not exactly true, but what the hell?

  “Check on me? Why?”

  “I talked to Gage, and he said you’re uncomfortable going back to his place.” Entirely true.

  Even in the dimness, he could see her eyes widen. “Oh. Do you want me to leave? I know we don’t exactly—”

  He put up his hand, palm out. “No, no. I’d rather you stay. My mom’s … Shit, my mom’s improvement is amazing. I can’t believe what you’ve done for her already.”

  “It’s not me.” She shrugged, which drew his attention to a thin, stretchy, white strap under the oversized sweate
r that kept slipping off her shoulder. “She had the desire all along. She just needed a nudge.”

  Guilt washed over him. “Yeah, I should have tried harder.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Sparky. Between moving into a new place and being on the road, your life was a little chaotic. It’s amazing you pulled off what you did. I think it’s sweet how concerned you are about her.”

  A tickle in his belly flustered him. He hadn’t done shit and didn’t deserve a compliment from Sarah Sunshine, no matter how much he craved it. The “fidgets,” as his mother had called them when he was a kid, bumped through his body, making him twitch. He sprang up. “Well, uh, I just wanted you to know that if you’re ever worried about Wolf, come get me. Day or night.”

  “Thanks.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Do you play cribbage?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Cribbage. You know, a game involving a board with pegs and a deck of cards?”

  He scratched the back of his neck. Jeez, he needed a haircut. “It’s been a while. I think we used to play as kids.”

  She tilted her head and smiled—a slow, subtle smile that curved her sensuous lips—and watched him as if waiting for something.

  What she was trying to say finally got through to him. “What? You want to play cribbage now?”

  “Why not? You got something better to do? Let’s see if you can put your money where your mouth is.” And just like that, the smirk was back. For a brief second, he wondered what it would take to bring that other smile back—the one that seemed alluringly private.

  “Wait. My mouth hasn’t claimed anything when it comes to cribbage.”

  Sarah twirled her hand. “Not specifically, but it sort of goes along with the whole cocky thing you’ve got going. C’mon. Let me beat your ass at something else.”

  “That’s a buck.”

  “No, it’s not. I thought we decided ‘ass’ is not a swear word.”

  “When you say it, it is.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to give you shit.”

  “Two bucks!” she cried triumphantly.

  “Fu—I totally walked into that one.”

  “C’mon, Sparky. Let’s have some fun. Or are you chickensh—sherbet? The game does involve counting, after all.”

  “Chicken sherbet?” he chortled. “How about you and I make a deal?”

  She quirked a suspicious eyebrow. “What kind of deal?”

  “As long as Mom’s not around, we forget the swear jar and say what comes naturally.”

  A long, slow nod. “I like it. I’m in.”

  Ha! They were on the same side for a change; it had only taken swearing. All of him suddenly sparked like he’d been dosed with caffeine. Even parts of him that shouldn’t. What was wrong with him? Oh, right. He had a bad case of the fidgets, and he needed to get laid.

  She eyed him. “So, cribbage? Or are you afraid the counting will tax your brain?”

  Yeah, he could use Sarah Sunshine’s stupid game—and her sass—as a distraction. What the hell could it hurt? “Hey, I can count. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have a degree—”

  “In engineering. Blah, blah. Yeah, yeah.” One corner of her mouth curled up. “We all know how smart you think you are. Now stop bragging and get some cards. I’ll grab my cribbage board.”

  Before he could toss back a retort, she was sashaying away, Archer on her heels. Quinn tried not to look at the way her hips swayed or the roundness of her ass in her yoga pants. Instead, he tried to imagine Nelson choking him out, but somehow his eyes lingered on Sarah’s curvy backside and made him wonder—again—at the softness under the fabric.

  What the actual fuck is wrong with me? And how many more times am I going to ask myself that question?

  Her voice sliced through his fog, bringing to mind the sound of gnashing teeth. Nothing soft about it. “Cards, Sparky. Hop to it.” He snapped right the hell back to the here-and-now and hustled in search of a deck of cards.

  Three winless games and three beers later, Quinn hopped up to grab more brews while Sarah shuffled the deck. Gas flames danced in the fireplace, and mellow music played in the background with Sarah humming along. Either his fidgets had finally simmered down or he was beer-buzzed. Three shots of rum might have had something to do with it too. In the kitchen, he fished out two cold ones, popped them open, handing one to Sarah when he walked back into the family room.

  Graceful eyebrows rose to her hairline. “Another beer? I haven’t finished the last one you gave me.”

  He got caught in her gaze and quickly shook himself free. “Your eyes change color. Did you know that?”

  “Yep. Depends on mood, lighting, all kinds of things. They’re usually brownish-green, but they can vary from golden brown to gray-green and anything in between. They used to turn blue when I was a kid. They’re also two different colors, just like Gage’s.” She paused a beat, taking in what must have been his confused expression. “Haven’t you ever noticed Gage’s eyes are two distinct shades of blue?”

  “Uh, no. Then again, I’ve never stared into his eyes.”

  Apparently, she found this very amusing because—besides overlooking his slip about staring into her eyes—she snorted and doubled over. “Yeah, Gage might rearrange that pretty face of yours if you gave him the googly eyes.”

  Googly eyes? Nah, no way did Quinn give Sarah anything remotely resembling googly eyes. Okay. So maybe he wasn’t the only one buzzed.

  Sarah’s head was swimming in a gurgling stream of happy bubbles. She dealt the cards and finished off the third beer before starting on the fresh one Quinn had brought her. Damn, she hoped she could count accurately during this round. The last round had been a challenge, but then again, Quinn wasn’t doing any better because she’d whooped his ass three times in a row. I don’t do anything halfway. No, he was losing all the way.

  She began giggling uncontrollably. She should have felt self-conscious, but Quinn wore an amused look that broadcast it was safe to let herself go a little on his watch. He had such a nice smile. Why had she thought this guy was a jerk again?

  “Are you trying to get me drunk so you can get into my panties?” she blurted.

  A sly grin—complete with devastating dimples—slowly spread across his stubbled face. “Sweetheart, if I decided to get into your panties, I wouldn’t need to get you drunk.”

  Now she remembered why he was a jerk. She hadn’t had that much to drink. “Right. You’d have to knock me unconscious instead because that’s the only way you’d score.”

  He let out a guffaw.

  “What? You think I’m kidding?” she snapped.

  “Not at all,” he wheezed between chuckles.

  “I forgot. I’m not your type.” She gathered up the cards and began shuffling.

  He pointed at the stack of cards in her hand. “Hey, you just dealt!”

  Whoops. “I didn’t like the look of that hand,” she countered. He seemed to accept her explanation because he shut up and watched while she shuffled again. She dashed a look his way. “My brother says you like them young and dumb.”

  “Your brother should mind his own damn business. Seriously, do you guys tell each other everything?” He had a cute little smirk on his face.

  “Ew, no.” She slapped the stack of cards down and pointed. “Cut.”

  “Well, you’re definitely not dumb.” His pronouncement completely blindsided her. “And you’re not exactly old either.”

  What the hell does that mean? She couldn’t quite figure out what he was saying … if he was, in fact, saying anything logical. “I’m older than you, Sparky.” Now she just sounded like a stupid kid. Damn it! Why did she care what she sounded like in front of him? A question for a more sober moment.

  He cut the cards. “By five years. That’s not older. It’s just downright hot.”

  She couldn’t hide her surprise when she flicked her eyes to him. “Excuse me?”

  The smirk she expected wa
s gone. Instead, he was fidgeting again, as if he were embarrassed. “You gonna deal?” He ran one of his big hands—with his long, strong fingers—through that thick head of rock-star hair.

  Why the hell am I noticing his hair? Not to mention his hands. At least I’m not focused on his broad shoulders or muscular chest. Probably because I memorized them already. Shit.

  Keeping her head down, she did deal, but she felt his eyes boring into her the entire time, watching her every move. Either his sudden intensity was making chills rush up and down her spine or she was coming down with COVID-19. Either option was bad, bad, bad.

  They settled quietly back into the game, though she was having a hard time concentrating on her cards. Shit. What do these numbers add up to?

  “So, uh, I’m curious what happened with you and Wolf that’s got you worried he might come to Denver,” he ventured. “If you’re up for telling me. But you don’t have to.” He tipped the beer bottle to his lips and guzzled.

  Sarah appraised him for a beat. “Gage didn’t tell you?”

  He shrugged. “Just said you guys broke up.”

  She let out a little hmph. “More like imploded. Detonated. A nuclear meltdown.” She tried to imitate the sound of an exploding bomb.

  Quinn chuckled. “You sound like something’s stuck in your throat. This is how it’s supposed to sound.” He performed an epic imitation of an exploding bomb.

  She clapped. “That’s really good. Bet you do great car sounds too.”

  He nodded.

  “I wish I could, but I think I need a penis. Being able to make realistic sounds is like a perk God throws into the package to compensate for men’s … uh …” She had no idea what word to plug into the blank.

  His eyes danced with mischief. “Charisma is the word you’re looking for, toots. And it complements, not compensates.”

  “Does that pick up bullshit actually work? Please say it isn’t so because I’m going to have to revoke my membership in the girl’s club.”

  “And do what?” he laughed. “Join the boy’s club?” He swept his eyes over her body, twice, lingering longer each time. “That would be a downright shame—and a waste of woman.” His gravelly voice zapped her nerve endings, leaving her flustered. Between the timbre of his voice and the heated look in his eyes, her panties were about to go up in flames. He was giving off all the wrong signals, and her reactions were equally wrong. The alcohol merely added fuel to the fire. Damn!