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

by G. K. Brady

  “You can’t fly down here for a day or two? I could fly up there. I miss you,” she purred.

  “Can’t, sweetheart. Team rules.” Not really, but she wouldn’t know any different.

  “Oh, I hate this virus!” Her voice had taken on a pouty quality. Pouty and squeaky. “I’m missing my favorite man. Guess I’ll have to settle for talking to him—and doing other things with him on the phone. I’m wearing a special outfit. Want to see?” Her voice shifted into sexy mode. He pictured her in something sheer and small as she twirled her blond strands, but oddly, it wasn’t doing a damn thing for him.

  His mother’s words about getting to know the women in his life ricocheted around in his brain. “Keep me guessing for right now, sweetheart.” He plopped onto the edge of his bed. “What have you been up to?”

  Her tone took on a surprised quality. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what have you been doing? Are you working? Keeping busy?” Seen any engineering shows? Done any 3-D puzzles? Read anything?

  “Well, the salon had to furlough all of us so, uh, I haven’t been doing much of anything besides binge-watching Friends.”

  “Oh. Didn’t know you were into that show.” What else did he not know about her? So much. And that had always been fine with him.

  She laughed—how had he forgotten her laugh sounded like a bray? “Oh yeah. This is like the fourth time I’ve watched the whole season from start to end.”

  Huh. “With all this free time on your hands, wouldn’t you want to watch something different?”

  “Like what?” She sounded genuinely mystified. “Why? What are you watching? As if I couldn’t guess, dirty boy,” she said slyly.

  He ignored her inference. “Not exactly binge-watching, but I’m getting caught up on Impossible Engineering. I’m also enjoying Shark vs Tuna.”

  This seemed to blow her little mind because she didn’t respond.

  “Theresa? You still there?”

  “I’m here.”

  Normally, their time on the phone was short and deliberate—to set up a meeting place. And they often did that by texting. He usually took her to dinner, but what did they talk about? He couldn’t remember. Mostly, she talked while he sat, focused on getting back to her place, where conversation stopped and they got down to the real purpose for seeing each other.

  “So, uh,” he began, “what’s the weather like down there?”

  “Hot! And sticky. Hopefully, it’ll cool off tomorrow.” Another long pause. “What’s it like where you are?”

  “On the cool side.”

  As he hunted for a different topic of conversation, it struck him full force that all he had in common with this woman was sex. Not that there was anything wrong with that—it had been the reason he’d pursued her in the first place. Or had she pursued him? Didn’t matter because, either way, stark ramifications were staring him in the face. Ramifications such as how conversation between them bumped and jolted, like people on skates for the first time.

  He found himself anxious to escape what was turning into an extremely awkward phone call and hustle downstairs before Sarah turned in for the night. Maybe he could convince her to climb into the hot tub with him. No, bad idea. Maybe that poker game? A round or ten of cribbage? Parcheesi? He didn’t care what the game was. Or they could curl up on the couch and watch something, anything, close enough that he could breathe her in.

  “Quinn?” Theresa’s voice jarred him back to the conversation he was supposed to be engaged in.

  “Ah, yeah?” He cleared his throat.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  No effing idea. “Which part?”

  “Guess I tied your tongue, didn’t I?” she tee-heed. “The part about showing you what I’m wearing and letting you watch me pull it off slowly—”

  Something crashed downstairs. “Hey, Theresa, I gotta go, but it’s been nice talking to you. Take care, okay?”

  “Uh, okay. Bye, Quinn. Will I hear from you?”

  Unbidden, a forceful “No” popped into his head. “Sure. Once we get back to normal, I’ll be in touch.”

  He barely had time to chuck the phone on the bed before zooming downstairs. His heart hammered his rib cage as all sorts of bloody clips played through his head. When he got to the darkened kitchen, Sarah was frozen in place on the other side of the island, staring at the floor.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  She lifted wide eyes to his. Then she covered her mouth, and her shoulders began shaking.

  “Are you hurt?” He rounded the island. His gaze landed on what she’d been looking at, though he couldn’t quite comprehend what he saw. As if she’d been trying to hold back a bursting dam, she suddenly let go, and peals of laughter rolled through her body.

  Scattered at her bare feet were piles of bills and shards of glass from the now shattered swear jar. “I was … I was … trying … and then …” Her words came out in gasps, she was laughing so hard. “The whole … the damn thing …” She doubled over in hysterics, causing laughter to bubble up and out of him.

  “Don’t move until I clean up the glass. How did it happen?”

  She finally caught her breath. “I was putting money in, and I knocked it over. Now we can swear all we want!” Another fit of laughter.

  By the time he returned with a handheld vacuum, she was shaking splinters from money and setting it gingerly on the counter. Her body still shuddered with mirth.

  “Where’s my mom?”

  Sarah stooped, reached, and plucked a bill off the floor. “She turned in. I’m surprised she hasn’t come out to find out what the loud crash was all about.”

  Quinn motioned for Sarah to stand still while he sucked up shards around her feet. “She probably didn’t hear it. Her bedroom’s too far away.”

  Sarah inched out her big toe.

  “Stop moving until I get this cleaned up!” he barked. “Where’s Archer?”

  “Outside.” Her answer to his order was to dance in tight little circles, swinging her hips from side to side. She might as well have flipped him off.

  He set the mini vac aside, trying not to laugh at her antics. “As usual, you’re being a total pain in the ass. No more Mr. Nice Guy.”

  “When have you ever—” She let out a screech when he swooped her up. “What the hell are you doing?” She kicked her feet until he dumped her unceremoniously on the couch, where she promptly gusted with more laughter and rolled off.

  He let out a few chuckles and wagged a finger at her. “Stay. Better yet, go find another vase. Maybe we can make this look like nothing happened.”

  She popped up, and as she walked away, his conversation with Theresa shot through his mind, along with the feeling of being off balance, unable to relax. By contrast, the tension that had had his insides wadded up was already melting away.

  Chapter 17

  Stud, Draw, or Strip?

  Whatever had pissed Quinn off and sent him stomping away seemed long gone, and Sarah found herself breathing a sigh of relief.

  In a huge room they called a butler’s pantry, she rummaged around until she found the vases and selected the largest one she could find. What an idiot she’d been! Her baggy hoodie sleeve had caught when she’d been dumping in a few bucks, and when she’d wheeled, she’d pulled the damn thing with her.

  Back in the kitchen, Quinn was crouched on the floor, finishing up, and she slid the vase onto the counter. “Excellent job, Sparky. You might have found your calling.”

  He looked up with a smirk. “Cleaning up your messes?” A hank of hair fell across one of his eyes, and he shoved it back.

  Why the hell did that move cause her insides to bust a move, and why did he look hotter than he had before? As if he knew exactly what was streaking through her mind, a dazzling, dimpled smile overtook his features. Oh hell. Don’t go there, Sar.

  He looked down, returning to his work —and thank God because she was still checking for drool—when he said, “Wanna watch some Im
possible Engineering? What season are you on?”

  She gave herself an inner shake. “As usual, I’m light years ahead of you. I finished that up, and now I’m into Jack Ryan.”

  Even at this angle, she saw his smile broaden. “No shit? I just watched the first two episodes a few nights ago.”

  “I’m up to episode five.” They spent the next half hour comparing notes on the characters, the storyline, the acting. Surprisingly, their opinions aligned.

  “If I turn on episode three, would you be willing to watch with me so I can catch up?” he ventured.

  She regarded him a moment, trying to ignore how handsome he was when he was earnest. “I thought you wanted to play poker.”

  “I did, didn’t I? In that case, get ready to lose your panties, Sunshine.” He gave her a wicked smile that sent a warm ripple through her body.

  He’s kinda handsome when he’s acting like a hotshot too. When had that brash side of his—the one she usually disliked—suddenly become appealing? Damn it! “We agreed no strip poker.”

  “Goddamn. You’re sucking all the fun out of this. Guess I’ll have to take all your money instead.”

  She scoffed. “You’re on, Sparky.”

  Quinn gathered up the cards while Sarah clucked with triumph. “Stop being so cocky, Sunshine. You’re only up by one game.”

  He hadn’t anticipated she’d be any good, but she’d surprised him. Again. Plus, conversation during play had ebbed and flowed naturally, seamlessly—even when they sparred. Especially when they sparred. Damn fun, and easy as gliding on a fresh sheet of ice. Even the silent lulls felt right.

  For the first time since she’d destroyed the swear jar, he glanced at the clock, shocked that several hours had zoomed by. Damn! But he didn’t want to stop, didn’t want the night to end, so he bit his tongue about the time.

  Sarah took a quick sip of her beer, giving him an appraising look. “Earlier tonight, in the kitchen, you got your undies in a bunch. What was that about?”

  He still wasn’t sure himself, though the exchange about Wolf—in the sack—had triggered it. Casting his gaze to the cards he was dealing, he gave her a noncommittal shrug. “Don’t recall. Probably something snarky you said. You’re always giving me such a ration of shit; I have a hard time keeping track.”

  “Well, if I offended you, I’m sorry.”

  Her soft, genuine tone had him snapping his head up. “What?”

  Hazel eyes sparkled with mischief above her cute little smirk. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, and his gaze dipped unabashedly to her mouth. God, she had nice lips. Sexy, deep pink, inviting him to nibble.

  “I said, I didn’t mean to offend you. This time.” Her words jarred him right out of his ridiculous reverie.

  A chuckle escaped him. “Duly noted. I’m sorry if I acted like a—”

  “Tool? Jerk? Dickhead?” she offered helpfully. “No apology necessary. I’m used to it.”

  He shook his head with amusement. “Anyone being cooped up with you and my mom would be on edge.”

  “Maybe you’re on edge because you’ve gone too long without doing the horizontal bop. Must be tough on a guy like you.”

  He jerked before he could corral the movement.

  She reached out and shoved his shoulder playfully. “Sorry. That was mean. Let’s get your mind off what you can’t have and get busy with your next poker defeat.” Her head went down as though she were studying the decidedly boring pattern on the back of her cards.

  He stopped dealing. “What do you mean, ‘what you can’t have’?”

  Her gaze lifted to his. “Uh, sex, dumbass?”

  Goddamn, does she really need to remind me? Especially when she’s sitting over there looking all hot and cute and untouchable? She’d taken off her hoodie, and he’d been checking out her T-shirt that read, “This Is Why I’m Hot,” with a strategically placed drawing of a sun. Staring at her was like admiring something shiny and enticing that was locked up in a display case. Taunting and out of reach. He decided to have a little fun at her expense. “And why can’t I have sex, exactly?”

  Her smug expression was firmly back in place, and she added folded arms to strike a badass pose. “Unless you’re having it with yourself, you’re kinda screwed. Not!” She guffawed at her own joke. Her head swiveled dramatically. “After all, I don’t see any potential playmates, do you?”

  Now he smirked—and wiggled his eyebrows. “Thought for a sec I might be looking at one.”

  Surprise flashed through her eyes before she narrowed them. Arms unfolded, and she made a circling motion with her index finger. “Nuh-uh. No effing way. Let’s see, how did you so eloquently put it? If we were on a deserted island together, I’d prefer offering myself up as shark bait.”

  He rubbed his jaw dramatically. Guess I deserved that one.

  Sarah gave him a quick glance. “Something wrong with your face, Sparky?”

  “Just trying to get feeling back after you busted my chops.”

  “Oh, good one,” she snorted.

  Just like that, there was that prickle from earlier jabbing at him when Sarah had gushed about Wolf’s skill. Didn’t matter that she’d probably been kidding; he couldn’t keep his mind from roaming to how many more tricks a guy twenty years older had up his sleeve. Besides maturity and experience, what else did Wolf have on Quinn? Not money, that was for damn sure. But Sarah didn’t strike him as the type who was all about the dough. There was a depth to her, multiple layers to be peeled back. Mysterious, intriguing. Unlike anyone he’d ever met.

  Damn, I feel like I’m looking at women through a different pair of binoculars. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable with the altered view. He shifted into stupid mode. “So the thought of having sex with me is that disgusting?”

  She didn’t answer at first, instead surveying him like a structural engineer searching for the weak spots in a building. Yeah, that. He began squirming and tried not to show it.

  “Not exactly disgusting.”

  “So I’ve got that going for me. Gee, thanks.” He blew out a gust of air.

  “What I mean is, and forgive me if I tromp on your fragile male ego, you’d probably be fun for a night, but not for long-term.”

  This should have made him leap for joy. Hadn’t “short-term” been his goal all along? Instead, her statement nearly knocked the wind from his lungs. “Why not?” Damn, it bugged him to know she thought that.

  She stretched her arms above her head like a graceful cat, and her T-shirt rode up, exposing a narrow band of smooth, peach-flesh skin. An urge to kiss it, lick it, danced through his mind, but her next words shut down the flashing fantasy.

  “You strike me as a one-trick pony.”

  Confusion must’ve shown all over his face because she gave him another eye-roll and an exasperated hmph. “You know, one and done. Same routine with every woman. And if you’re trading one puck bunny for another, you don’t really have to try, do you? No variety, no spice, like when you’re intimate with someone and you spend time exploring what really turns them on.”

  Uncomfortably aware that he was growing more turned on, he gawked at her. No words came. No coherent ones anyway.

  “Cat got your tongue there, Sparky?”

  “Yeah, the cat does got my tongue.”

  She laughed out loud. And who could blame her? He sounded like an asshat of epic proportion.

  He gave his head a quick shake and blurted, “Have you ever dated a younger guy?”

  She flicked up a forefinger. “Once. That cured me.”

  “How much younger?”

  “Two years.”

  “What was wrong with him? Was he stupid?” Like me?

  Her gaze swung to the ceiling, as though she were forming her thoughts, and returned to him. “Nothing was wrong with him, and no,” she chuckled, “he wasn’t stupid. In fact, he was scary brainy. He was just … young. Unsophisticated.”

  “In bed too?” Why was he even going there?

  “He wa
s meh in bed, although he made up for it in enthusiasm. He really enjoyed sex.”

  Quinn spluttered and laughed, relieving some of his pent-up tension like steam whistling out of a kettle. “And what’s wrong with that?”

  Cocking her head, she gave him a little grin. “Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against sex. In fact, it’s one of my favorite things to do.”

  With the image of her creamy skin still emblazoned in his brain, her words bolted straight to his dick. As things rearranged themselves in his pants to accommodate his rock-hard shaft, he shifted in his chair and plastered on an “I’m-fascinated-by-what-you-have-to-say” look. While he was fascinated by what Sarah had to say, the growing distraction in his crotch was making focusing difficult.

  Fortunately, she started talking again, saving him from having to find his missing voice, which would have no doubt come out strained anyway.

  “The thing is, you can’t screw all the time,” she said matter-of-factly, which did nothing to alleviate his aching problem. “You have to be able to carry on conversations if you’re going to spend time with someone. In fact, I think—for women at least—stimulating conversation is an aphrodisiac. A guy can be good-looking, have an Adonis body, and be able to swivel his hips like nobody’s business, but the real turn-on is here.” She tapped her finger against her temple. “You feel me?”

  Nothing I’d rather do than feel you. His mind departed the cerebral world. He could have beat his chest and let out a carnal caveman yell in his current primal state. Instead, he cleared his throat, disguising a groan as he tried to get himself under control. “I think so.” Having a hard time processing here because all the blood in my body is in my swollen cock, where it’ll stay until I do something about it.

  He needed another shower.

  Quinn looked as though he was in pain.

  “You okay over there, Sparky?”

  “I’m good,” he croaked. Another throat clear, and he barked out, “Have you ever dated a hockey player?”

  “Ha! No.” No need to even think about her answer before she spat it out there. She shook her head so violently she made herself dizzy. Or was it the beer? What time was it?