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

by G. K. Brady

  She rose, teetered, shoved his rock-hard shoulder in the process of trying to balance, and swayed toward the bathroom.

  “Wow! I try to be nice, and she pushes me.”

  She pivoted in time to see him throw his hands out to the side in mock outrage. “Because you’re not being nice. You’re being a self-serving dick who smiles too much.”

  He pointed at her. “Got it. I’ll stop smiling.”

  Nearly tripping, she stumbled backward into the bathroom, where she untangled herself and turned around. Slammed the door behind her. Eyed her reflection in the mirror. “Sarah Sunshine, what the hell are you doing?”

  Chapter 15

  Let the Games Continue

  Despite the five-alarm fire bells clanging in Quinn’s head, he waited. Anticipated. When would Sarah emerge from the bathroom? Warnings—run the hell away, as fast as possible!—came roaring into his consciousness. But she’d been a bit unsteady, and he told himself he needed to be sure she didn’t slip and hit her head on the sink. Didn’t most home accidents happen in the bathroom?

  “Arch,” he hissed at the dog, “is your master—owner—mom—okay?”

  The dog lazily lifted his head and gave Quinn an “I’m-sleeping-here” look, which should have clued Quinn that Sarah was fine. Archer would have been at the bathroom door if he had the slightest inkling she was in danger of keeling over onto the bathroom floor. That dog was damn smart. Unlike him.

  When Sarah did come out, Quinn finally relaxed. She wobbled her way over to him—or maybe it was his eyesight doing the wobbling—and plopped her cute ass on the couch. Damn it! She does not have a cute ass. His eyes strayed and landed on her chest. Creamy flesh cresting over a bikini top popped into his head before he could stop it. He focused instead on her shoulder, bared by the slouching sweater, and the tiny strap that brought his mind back full circle to her in the bikini. Killing me here. Yeah, there were some mysteries under that sweater he was itching to discover. Cut this shit out now!

  Peering at the cards, she began to hum. “Did you look at my hand while I was gone? I think we need to start over.”

  “What? No! Of course not. I don’t do shit like that. I may be a lot of things, but I’m no cheater.”

  “Well, aren’t you the rare one?” She picked up and arranged her cards, her eyes dancing just above them, mesmerizing him so he didn’t register what she’d just said.

  He dragged his gaze away and picked up his own cards.

  They played in silence for a few minutes, the music soft in the background. Finally, he couldn’t take not talking.

  “Been reading more smokin’-hot romances to my mother?”

  “Why do you ask? Want me to read to you sometime?” Her voice dropped low and husky on the last words, shooting straight to his groin, where a fire threatened to break out. So not helping.

  He gulped down a groan, more aware than ever that he was harboring a boatload of steam that needed letting off. Time to change the subject.

  “Speaking of romance … Are you going to answer me about Wolf, or should I just let it go?”

  Mossy-green eyes snapped up to his, full of surprise. It took her a moment to recover, but her voice was soft when she spoke. “You really want to know?”

  He gave his cards a quick once-over, though he didn’t see a damn thing. “Yeah, I really do.”

  “I think I need more beer.” She picked up the bottle and tipped it back, taking a long, hard swallow. He followed suit and waited. She didn’t hold back when she launched into the story of how they met, how she fell—which stirred all kinds of other uncomfortable feelings in him he wasn’t willing to examine—and how she later found out he was banging someone else.

  He took a pull of his own beer. “So she was what, some piece of ass he picked up in a bar?”

  She shook her head, and a sad, faraway look stole into her eyes. She folded her cards in her lap. “I was the piece of ass.”

  “What?”

  Her gaze locked onto his. “He supposedly left for Sweden, and I was alone, so when some work colleagues asked if I wanted to join them at this new restaurant, I thought why not? It beat sitting home alone.” She pulled in a huge breath. “So I’m having dinner, and who walks in but Mister-I’m-In-Sweden with a beautiful blond on his arm.” Another tug on her beer. Quinn flicked his eyes to the bottle, satisfied it was still half-full. “He didn’t see me at first, and I was … frozen in place. My mind couldn’t wrap itself around what I was seeing. I kept thinking up excuses for why he was there with her—she was a client, a relative, a family friend—though it didn’t explain why he was in Seattle.”

  Sarah set down her cards. “She was stunning.” She whispered the last words reverently, like she believed this woman was far above her. It occurred to Quinn the woman couldn’t have been, though he’d never set eyes on her.

  “They were in my line of sight, all cuddled up. He kissed her, and I … Well, let’s just say”—she pointed her bottle at Quinn before chugging the rest of her brew—“there was no mistaking the body language.”

  Her words slammed into his heart. They were raw, exposing her soft underbelly, and her vulnerability tugged at him. A voice whispered in his head that the finger point, the chug-a-lug—in fact her whole demeanor—were part of an elaborate defense mechanism she kept locked in place. She was giving him a rare peek behind her walls.

  In an exquisite moment of clarity he might’ve missed had he been sober, he got it. He understood why she hated his guts. In her eyes, he was Wolf. Except he wasn’t. Was he? The question dizzied his mind.

  She wiggled her empty at him. “More beer?” Her voice came out choked, and her eyes were glossy.

  All of him wanted to do something, but he had no clue what, so he simply said, “Aw, shit, Sunshine. Jesus,” and drained his own beer before staggering upright to get more.

  He returned with fresh bottles. She was sniffling, though he saw no tears. Archer’s head lay in her lap, and Quinn felt a rush of affection for the furry mutt.

  “Oh crap. I still need to throw down some cards,” she muttered as her fingers tapped the small stack.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Quinn fastened every iota of his attention on her. “Tell me what happened.” He held his breath, praying she’d keep going, praying she didn’t. Push, pull. This woman seemed to do that to him. A lot.

  A huge intake of breath, an equally robust exhale, a pull on her beer bottle. “After I came out of my daze, I got up and headed toward them with no idea what I was going to say or do. He saw me coming, and he slid his arm from her shoulders and put on a cool-as-a-cucumber mask. Imagine my surprise when he introduced me as a business associate to Ingrid, his wife. I was so damn stunned I just stood there like an idiot. When I finally got my brain and my mouth connected, all I could say was, ‘Nice to meet you, Ingrid.’ Who does that? It turns out he’d been married for fifteen years—to the mother of two children I had no idea he had.

  “I … I didn’t know what to do, so I just walked away. I needed to go someplace where I could sort things out, make sense of them, think. It didn’t hit me until later that my only refuge was the house I shared with him! No surprise, he showed up a few hours later—after no doubt filling Ingrid with a shit ton of lies—spewing all kinds of promises to divorce her.”

  She let out a mirthless laugh. “On top of it, he hadn’t been anywhere in Europe for years. He’s not even Swedish—he’s as American as you or me. He’d been living in Seattle the whole time with his wife and kids! He led a double life, splitting his time between us under the pretext of traveling to Sweden for business. Not only did I feel like an utter fool, but I felt dirty. Ashamed. Like some cheap home wrecker. For fuck’s sake, she’s the mother of his children!”

  The ridiculous thought that it was good they’d agreed on the new swear jar protocol blazed through Quinn’s mind.

  “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this.” She dropped her head in her hands. The confession baffled him yet filled him with pri
de in one breathless sweep. “Gage doesn’t even know the guy was married. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that part, so I just said he had someone else. I can’t … I don’t want my brother to know.”

  “Your secret’s safe,” he soothed. “I’m not telling him.”

  She raised her head and zeroed beautiful, watery eyes on him. They had turned fern-green. “See, Sparky? Gage and I don’t tell each other everything.”

  “I guess not,” he agreed.

  She guzzled more beer, and some leaked out of her mouth and slid down her chest under her sweater. A laugh spurted from her.

  The scene sent his mind wandering to places it shouldn’t. Wholly inappropriate places where she was naked, straddling him, or lying beneath him, wrapped around him, whispering that she wouldn’t tell her brother as Quinn buried himself deep inside her. His dick roused, suddenly eager to be surrounded in her wet heat. Jesus! Gotta be the drinks. Alcohol had a funny way of boosting sex to the top of his priority list. Couldn’t be because he was finding her more and more attractive—even without the booze.

  In need of yet another distraction, he blurted, “Do you have a picture of him?” WTF?

  She eyed him skeptically. He didn’t blame her. “You want to see a picture of Wolf?”

  No. “Sure. Curiosity and all that.”

  With a swipe at her eyes, she picked up her phone and scrolled until she landed on what she was looking for. The heartbreaking look on her face nearly undid him, sending desire into a free fall.

  “This is us right after I moved to Seattle.” She handed him the phone.

  Quinn took in the picture of a man with his arm around Sarah’s shoulders, and two things struck him at once: First, Wolf looked nothing like a biker dude. He was a tall, lean, forty-or-fifty-ish man who exuded confidence and poise—in the regal style of one of Sarah’s eighteenth-century dukes. In other words, Quinn’s opposite. Second, the Sarah in the picture looked way different than the Sarah seated across from him. Seattle Sarah wore a green dress that hit her mid-thigh and molded to her mouthwatering curvature without making her look like she was trying to show it off. On the contrary, she was the epitome of class and femininity, and the contrast to her badass self was remarkable—not that he didn’t find the badass Sarah attractive, but this Sarah was … Wow. Her long, dark hair curled in thick waves over her shoulders, and the smile on her face was dazzling. It conveyed pure joy while the man beside her, in stark comparison, looked as cold as a fjord. A pang of envy dug into Quinn. He found himself wishing he could put a smile of that wattage on her face.

  “When did you cut your hair?” was all he could come up with.

  “Couple months ago. I decided to cheer myself up while Wolf was … After he’d been away for a while. I cut it and did the pink for fun. He sort of freaked out over the change.” A little chuckle escaped her.

  Quinn handed the phone back to her. “I’m guessing he wasn’t a fan of the nose stud either.”

  She shook her head no. “He’s pretty straitlaced. Well, about some things.”

  “Do you think he’ll come after you?”

  She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. He lied, and I’m not going back. There’s nothing to build a relationship on when trust has been turned into rubble. Without trust, you’ve got no foundation, no support to hold up the structure.” Twiddling Archer’s ears, she glanced at Quinn. “I hope you don’t mind. I, uh … I’m not really in the mood for cribbage anymore. Think I’ll go to bed.”

  “Yeah, of course.” He stood when she did, waving at their mess. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “Thanks, Sparks.” She patted his arm in an affectionate move that surprised him even as it warmed him all over.

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep them from pulling her against him. “You gonna be okay?”

  Closing her eyes, she nodded. “Yep. I’ll be fine.”

  As he watched her walk away, he admonished himself. They’d had a great day together—best time he could ever remember having simply hanging out with a woman—and he’d had to push, had to know about Wolf. What had compelled him to ask? Curiosity. Competitiveness. Whatever it was, he’d made her talk about her painful past, which had made her cry. Dumbass!

  Sarah definitely had a softer side. She’d exposed it, and Quinn liked what he saw. Now all he wanted was to make everything better. But how? He’d never been in this situation—whatever this situation was. Despite Gage’s warnings, despite knowing better, Quinn couldn’t deny his growing fascination with Sarah. Was it the same kind of draw he felt for other women? In other words, was it only because he was a horny fucker? No. This was different. He’d never wanted to know everything about another woman before. And he couldn’t make heads or tails out of it.

  Chapter 16

  Socially Distanced Sex

  As Quinn was heading into the gym the next morning, Sarah and his mom were heading out.

  Sarah gave him a chin lift and a cool look that had him wondering if he’d dreamed last night. “Hey, Sparky. How’d you sleep?”

  “Like sh—sherbet. You?”

  She smirked. “Like a log.”

  His mom’s puzzled gaze bounced between them, but before she could ask, Sarah herded her upstairs.

  Sassy Sarah was back in all her glory and set the tone for the day, with her defensive systems solidly locked into place and bristling. Jonesing for a repeat of the night before when she’d opened up to him, he tried to rekindle the magic as they cleaned up after dinner.

  In the family room, his mom was safely ensconced on the couch, and he ventured in a hush, “So what made you fall for Wolf in the first place?”

  Sarah came to a complete stop and glared at him as though he’d committed some huge faux pas, like asking her to lick his hockey gear clean. “Why?”

  He twirled a fork before dropping it into the dishwasher silverware basket. “Just wondering. He’s a lot older.” He bit back a remark about the guy being too old to get it up more than once a week. “Is that what attracted you?”

  Her face went rosy with a flush, though he couldn’t be sure if it was embarrassment or anger. Whatever the cause, it was a pretty color on her fair skin. “That was part of it.”

  “And then, of course, there’s his ‘strong and sexy’ name.” Why this irked him, he had no clue.

  “Yes. It went along with that older-man mystique,” she snorted.

  “And I suppose Wolf was great in the sack.” Though he tried to hold it in, snark laced words he shouldn’t have even spewed. What the hell is wrong with me? A little voice blared that he was trying to knock Wolf down a peg or five, but he conveniently disregarded it.

  “Oh God, yeah. Phew!” She fanned herself with her hand. “A very skilled lover, as only an older man can be. That’s probably the main reason I fell for him.”

  Okay. Now she was just yanking his chain. Wasn’t she? The conversation had taken a decidedly uncomfortable turn—his fault—and he was anxious to steer it in a different direction. “How about we work a puzzle after Mom goes to bed?”

  “Too dark.”

  “Then let’s play poker tonight.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  Her head did a little shake-bob thing like she was trying to get a bug out of her ear. “What?” Light flared in her eyes. “Oh, I get it. No, I am not playing strip poker with you.”

  He began buffing the counters to lock out the image of naked Sarah inviting him to explore all that skin—her wonderland. “I didn’t suggest strip poker, Sunshine. Jesus, you think I’d want to play with my mom one short wing away?”

  His mind lurched in a new direction: Was he as skilled as Wolf? Whatever that meant. Just as he wasn’t sure exactly what made him successful at picking up women, he was equally uncertain about his bedroom prowess. Were his cocksure assumptions based on reality or on what his admirers constantly fed him—and what he wanted to believe?

  Another mental segue, and he was questioning whether he was just as guilty as Wolf. Quinn had used a lot of
women over the years. Except they’d used him too. It was mutual, consensual, honest. As for Wolf, what he’d done wasn’t right. On so many levels. Dude was married, and he’d lied to Sarah. He’d sucked her into an affair while withholding facts she should have had in the beginning in order to make an informed decision.

  Sarah twisting her head and peering up at him brought him back to the here and now. He must have still been frowning because her next words were, “Aw, is widdle Quinnie Winnie upset? C’mon. Don’t sulk. Let’s do this so I can beat your ass—ets in poker too.”

  “You’re such a—” Flustered, he threw down the kitchen towel and stalked away. Behind him, Sarah’s voice softened. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I didn’t mean …”

  Whoa. She called me “Quinn.” He didn’t register the rest of what she said because he was halfway down the hall and out of earshot, wondering how to stop comparing himself against Wolf. In his room, he stomped around the perimeter like a little bitch before he laced his hands on top of his head and blew out a series of lung-filling breaths, trying to blunt the spikes in his chest.

  His phone vibrated—his other phone—and he checked the screen. Dallas. One of his favorite hotties. He answered with a “Hey, Theresa,” before thinking through actually speaking with Theresa.

  “Hi, Quinn,” came her breathy voice. Only right now it bordered on squeaky. “Been thinking about you, lover boy.”

  His automaton self kicked into gear, and his lips tipped up in a half-smile. “Oh yeah? And what have you been thinking?”

  “About you and me and—”

  “You know I can’t come see you right now, right? I mean, with the virus?”