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 not?” His still-strained voice held genuine curiosity.

  “Because I’ve spent too much time around them, and I know what makes them tick. They’re only interested in three things.” She began counting on her fingers. “The game of hockey, their next meal, and their next lay. And most of them couldn’t care less who the layee—or is that layer?—is. Is he interested in anything beyond her looks, like what drives her? Her goals? Things she loves and hates? No. His primary concern is how he can get his dick inside her.”

  His eyes popped wide, and he twisted in his seat.

  Yeah, I’m describing you, Sparky.

  “Toots, you’ve just described every male on the fucking planet.”

  She shot to her feet and shook her empty bottle at him. “Another beer?”

  “No. I’m switching to rum.”

  “Ooh, then I will too!”

  He grinned at her. “You like rum?”

  “Well, I prefer bourbon. And Coke. Together.”

  “Yeah, they’re usually together.” He shook his head and gave her an indulgent smile.

  They settled into their respective seats after he prepared their drinks, the next game forgotten for the time being. Which suited her just fine because she was feeling unusually chatty. Quinn was easy to talk to. No pressure, no judgment. She could say anything, blab whatever, and he accepted it with humor and curiosity. So liberating. And so different from talking to Wolf. Conversations with him had been stimulating, but she was realizing an undercurrent had always run through them, and the longer she’d been with him, the more guarded she’d become.

  But with Quinn? He was an equal. A friend. A safe harbor. And right now he was giving her a quizzical stare.

  “You look like you might blow a fuse over there, Sunshine. What’s running through your head?”

  She took a healthy sip of her drink. “What happened between your parents?”

  She noted the surprise in his eyes. Yeah, she’d sort of blindsided him, and while that hadn’t been the foremost thought in her head, it had been spinning around for a while.

  He smoothed the back of his head. “Honestly? I wish I knew. They were together, and then they weren’t. It’s not like they lived separately, but when he left to coach in Poland, they might as well have divorced. To this day, I don’t know why he left and didn’t come back or why they’re still married. Mom dressed it up as an opportunity”—he airquoted the last word—“but he’s been there for years and acts as if we don’t exist. I don’t hear from him, I don’t think Mom hears from him, and Ronan … Well, Ronan claims Dad calls him. But then, Ronan is the golden child.” Brown eyes pierced hers, the pain evident in their depths. “It’s totally jacked-up. I don’t get it. You’re lucky you’ve got a brother you like.”

  “I’m guessing you have one you don’t like.”

  “Yes.” He threw back half of his cocktail.

  “Why don’t you like him?”

  “Because he’s an asshole?”

  She simply nodded.

  “Okay. Because he’s an ungrateful asshole who thinks his shit doesn’t stink. How’s that?” His voice held an edge she wasn’t accustomed to. Quinn’s approach tended toward lighthearted, carefree. As though everything rolled off his back. Obviously, everything didn’t roll off his back.

  “Wow. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’d do without Gage. It was always him and me against my mom. But don’t tell him I said so, or I might have to kill you.” She gave him a little smirk in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You and I have father baggage in common, I think.”

  “Yeah? Tell me about your dad.” He jerked his chin toward her drink in a “Need more?” gesture. When she shook her head no, he excused himself for a refill. “Hold that thought, Sunshine.”

  Sunshine. She’d hated the moniker at first, but now it sounded sort of nice rolling off his tongue, especially in that deep, decadent timbre of his.

  He was back within minutes, sipping and gesturing for her to continue.

  “Our dad didn’t leave the country, but he might as well have,” she began. “He took off and started a whole new family. We talk occasionally, but it’s awkward as hell. It feels forced, you know? Like because we share the same blood, we have to stay in touch. Needless to say, we’re not close with our stepmom or stepsiblings, which is sad. Mom’s never explained what happened—I think he cheated on her—but whatever it was, it sure left a bad taste in her mouth for every human with a Y chromosome.” She took a quenching sip of her drink.

  “Is that why you’re always giving me shit?” One corner of his mouth curved up.

  “What can I say? I was indoctrinated at an early age.” She let out a disgusted little puff of air. “But as I get older, I realize not everything my mom says is gospel. In fact, I often wonder if she didn’t drive Dad away. Contrary to what she preached, I’ve had good experiences with past boyfriends—”

  “Were there a lot?”

  There was that earnest look again, as if the answer really mattered to him. “It depends on what you mean by ‘a lot.’ I’m sure the number of guys I’ve dated is nothing compared to your track record.” She winked.

  He seemed to wince, and she felt a twinge of remorse.

  “Sorry. I’m not trying to be a jerk on purpose, but it’s true, isn’t it?” she said.

  He pulled in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His eyes slid to the side. “Yeah. Not gonna lie. I’ve treated it like a sport. But it’s one thing to score goals in hockey. They’re tangible. They count for something. And God, it’s an unbelievable rush when that puck finds the back of the net. Don’t even get me started on scoring a winning goal, especially in the playoffs.” He paused as though gathering his thoughts. “But it’s a different game entirely when you’re scoring with the ladies, and it doesn’t compare. Sure, there’s a little rush at first and you impress your buddies, but you don’t win a prize.”

  “I thought scoring in bed was the prize. Besides, you earn the right to swagger.”

  A laugh gusted from him. “Yeah, I guess there’s that—for what it’s worth, which ain’t much.” He fastened his eyes on hers. “This is gonna sound weird, but it’s getting old. Same game, different night. Too easy. Like you’re the only shooter on the ice, and the net has just doubled in size. And when it’s over, I’m … I don’t know. Disappointed, I guess. It reminds me of coffee.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “Sex reminds you of coffee? Hot and bitter?”

  He chuckled. “Not exactly. Think about how good coffee smells. The beans, the aroma when it’s brewing. You’re anticipating drinking it, and your taste buds get all worked up. But then you have a sip and … meh. Lots of promise, but the delivery is a letdown.” He shook his head. “Maybe I’m just over it.”

  “Yet you continue the same behavior. Is it about scoring? Winning on and off the ice?”

  “Maybe. I’ve never spent much time analyzing the motivation. One thing I do know: my libido doesn’t have much of an IQ, but that motherfucker sure controls a lot of what I do.” He gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  Whoa. Honesty alert. He was laying himself open, and a need to soothe him surged inside her. “That’s true of lots of people. Men and women.”

  “Yeah? I doubt yours pushes you around. In fact, I can’t think of anything—or anyone—that does push you around.”

  “Oh good. The illusion that I’ve got my shit together is holding.”

  “You don’t have your shit together?”

  She busted out a laugh. “Hell no! If I did, I wouldn’t be jobless and homeless right now.”

  “But you’re neither. You have a roof over your head, and you’re gainfully employed,” he pointed out logically.

  She saw no reason to remind her generous employer that her current caregiver position wasn’t exactly her dream job.

  He seemed to read her mind nonetheless. “I get that taking care of my mom isn’t what you hoped to be doing, but it’s just a temporary stopover. And w
hen the time comes, you’ll be kicking ass in Engineering World again.” He paused a beat. “What is it you want, career-wise? Where do you see yourself in ten, twenty years?”

  Had anyone ever asked her this question? She had a ready answer, though she couldn’t remember sharing it aloud. “Honestly? I’d like to run my own show, which means I need to learn as much as I can in the meantime—about every aspect of the business—so when I get there, I do it right.”

  “Awesome goal. I bet you’ll nail it.”

  Approval wasn’t what she’d sought in telling him, but hearing it filled her with warm, floating fuzzies. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

  He nodded. “What’s the hardest part of your job?”

  “Dealing with prima donna architects.”

  “Didn’t you say Wolf is an architect?”

  “He is, but he’s also a structural engineer, so he gets it. I think that’s one of the reasons we connected. I appreciated his art, and he appreciated that a solid structure must support the art. We used to geek out on design and construction and talk for hours.”

  Hair hung over his eye, and he pushed it back with a grumble and raked his hands through it.

  The alcohol she’d consumed seemed to crash into her in one powerful wave. “Is it a pain?”

  His entire body, which had been on the twitchy side, came to a standstill. “Is what a pain?”

  “The hair. All that beautiful, long hair.” What am I saying?

  Gorgeous brown eyes clouded with skepticism. “You like the hair?”

  She rolled her eyes again. Jeez, if she kept it up, they’d get stuck in their sockets. Thanks, Grandma. “Not necessarily, but it’s so … you. And honestly? I love the idea of your hair—on me.”

  His eyes widened, and he seemed to short-circuit.

  “No, no, no, I don’t mean on me, like we’re so close physically you’re dragging your hair all over my body. But like, I want your hair to be my hair.” She flapped her hand at him as if this would make him understand her babbling. Only confusion—and that same pained expression—showed on his chiseled face.

  Why her funny bone suddenly tickled, she had no idea, but she couldn’t hold back the laugh-snorts. She didn’t realize she’d needed the release, but it felt damn good. “I love your mom!”

  He seemed to recover, an adorable smirk replacing the tortured, befuddled one. “Totally random, Sunshine, but I love my mom too!”

  Now her laughs became so violent her side ached and tears sprang to her eyes, but she swallowed them whole when his expression grew wistful.

  “Your hair was so pretty in that picture you showed me. Damn, you looked so beautiful. Not that you’re not beautiful otherwise, but you had a special look. Because you were happy, I guess. I don’t get how he could’ve … Shit, I’m sorry.” His eyes caressed her with … Longing? Tenderness? She wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, it stopped her heart.

  And then she realized he meant Wolf. Just like that, a shroud folded itself around her. Suddenly, she was exhausted.

  He flicked out a hand and brushed her arm. Tingles made her hairs stand up on end. “Hey,” he said softly in his seductive, dark-fudge-sauce tone. “I shouldn’t have said any of that.” His hands came together and formed a T. “Timeout. Rewind. Tell me what you dream about besides running your own engineering company, Sunshine.”

  She narrowed her eyes. Well, she thought she did, though she couldn’t tell. Her face was numb. At least the shroud had been nudged back a fraction. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Too much. Tell me what you dream about,” he repeated.

  “Whirled peas.”

  He blinked. Then one corner of his mouth climbed, and his dimple reappeared, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

  Oh. My. God.

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” he said.

  “Do you have any fudge sauce?”

  “Say what?”

  “Fudge sauce. Oh, never mind.” Yeah, she probably shouldn’t tell him what had just rocketed through her brain that involved fudge, his dimple, and her tongue. “I think I had a teeny-weeny bit too much to drink. I should go to bed.”

  He looked all kinds of disappointed. “We still have a game to play.”

  “No, I’m up by one, so I’m gonna fold and float away on my little contented cloud of victory.” She sang a chorus of “We Are the Champions.”

  He chuckled. “Not half-bad. What happened to best of seven?”

  “We played seven. You won three, and I won four.”

  “Well, shit.” His hand shot to his chin and rubbed.

  “How does it feel to be naked?” she blurted.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your stubble. Where did it go? Don’t you feel naked or cold or … hairless?”

  His whole face transformed with a brilliant, panty-melting smile. Oh shit. That’s how he does it. Who can resist? He’s like Medusa. No, she turned people to stone. He turns them into puddles of goo.

  “Yeah, I think you might be right, Sunshine. Time for bed.”

  Fortunately, she had just enough self-control in her tank that she held back the “Yours or mine?” on the very edge of her cottony tongue. She wobbled to her feet. “Whoa. Head rush.”

  He staggered upward and held out an arm to steady her. She leaned against it. God, he had a nice arm. She wanted to feel it around her again, so she nuzzled against his chest and was rewarded when his arms encircled her, gently at first, and tightened. Strong, warm, safe. So safe. She could fall asleep like this.

  Chapter 18

  COVID Calling

  She feels incredible!

  Quinn stood rooted to the floor, afraid he might stumble backward. And he didn’t want to stumble. No, he just wanted to stand here and hold Sarah forever. Inhale her floral, powder-fresh scent. Memorize the feel of her warm, soft curves pressed up against him and the perfect way she fit him. It hadn’t taken getting drunk for her to look awful damn good—she’d already looked damn good—but now that he was totally buzzed? Jesus effing Christ, he wanted her like he’d never wanted anyone before.

  She let out a little sigh and curled into him, her head snuggling against his chest. Damn! He laid his cheek on her soft hair, relishing the silky feel and the smell of her flowery shampoo. The move seemed to startle her, and she jerked in his arms. He loosened his hold. She stared up at him as if she’d just woken up. KissmeKissmeKissme. Please.

  She shook her head. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “Maybe not, but it doesn’t keep me from wanting to.” From wanting you.

  In a move that caught him completely by surprise, she shoved his chest with both hands—hard—and he staggered backward, clamping down on her wrists for balance and inadvertently bringing her with him. As he toppled to the floor, he yanked her so she broke her fall by landing on him. Unfortunately, the move made him fall against a corner of the stone hearth. Something crunched, and bright heat raced through his shoulder.

  “Oh fuck,” he gasped. “Think I broke something.” He raised his head and stared into her wide eyes staring back at him, all cat-gold and filled with something bordering on panic. Her body was draped over him, her parts lined up perfectly with his. Goddamn, it felt good! His dick agreed despite the pain radiating in his shoulder, and he began sliding her off of him so she wouldn’t notice the little problem that was quickly growing into a bigger one. A sound escaped her that had his mind whipping to what she’d sound like if she were naked and riding him.

  Shit! Not helping.

  “You okay?” he croaked.

  Somehow Archer had become part of the scene, part-sitting, part-crawling, whimpering beside them. Sarah shot up, hoisting her weight onto her well-toned arms, hovering her body so close Quinn could still feel the heat drifting off her skin. “Fine. But what about you?” To the dog, she said, “It’s okay, boy.”

  Quinn reached for his shoulder. “Shit, I think I dislocated something.”

  She wrap
ped both arms around his good one, nestling it between her breasts. Sweet Jesus!

  “Sunshine”—he winced—“you gotta let go of me.” Or I’m gonna flip you on your back and rip your clothes off. How he could contemplate ravishing her in the midst of the pain, he had little idea.

  She dropped his good arm like a linesman dropped a puck in a face-off—forcefully. “Oh. Sorry.” She scrambled backward on her ass, bringing Archer with her, and plopped down on the floor out of Quinn’s reach.

  “No, no. I didn’t mean to push you away.” He brought himself upright. “Fuck! That hurts like a motherfucker!”

  She rose in a crouch. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing yet.” He drew in and released three huge breaths, then hoisted himself to his feet. She followed suit, clambering to a standing position beside him. He side-eyed her. “Ever relocate a shoulder before?”

  “What? No! I’ll call 911.”

  “No! Those guys are around sick people all day, and I don’t want them near Mom.”

  “What about a Blizzard trainer? They do this shit all the time, right?” Her voice had climbed an octave or two.

  “No, they were exposed to the virus. Don’t want them here either,” he gritted out. “You can do it. I’ll walk you through it.”

  Her eyes were owl-like, big and unblinking. “Have you done this before?”

  “No, but I stayed at a Holiday Inn once.” He managed a half-smile.

  A ferocious frown pulled her brows together. “Not funny, Sparky. Let’s try this again. Have. You. Done. This. Before?”

  “I’ve seen it done. I know what to do.”

  She hugged herself, shifting her weight from side to side. All of him wanted to pull her in for a one-armed hug and comfort her. “Okay. Where do you want to lie down?”

  He jerked his chin toward the hall. “My bedroom. Let’s go.”

  When they reached the bedroom, she hovered by the door and broke out in a smirk. “Wow. So this is how you get women into your bed. You play the injury card. Clever, Sparky, but seems like a lotta trouble.”