"You don't have a chance in hell."
"Then why are you worried?"
"I never said I was worried."
"Then what's the problem?"
"The problem is, it isn't even a fair fight. You're setting yourself up to lose."
"Am I?"
She moved back and shot a pointed look at his feet. "When's the last time you were even on a pair of skates?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yeah, it does." She looked at him and narrowed her eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Let me worry about that."
Taylor studied him, her sculpted brows pulled low in a deep frown. Silence descended on the rink, broken only by the obnoxious clunking of the aging compressor kicking on somewhere in the back. She finally heaved a heavy sigh and tilted her head to the side, still watching him.
"What's the catch?"
"No catch, because I win either way."
"How do you figure?"
"Like I said, I have Murphy on my side. If you win, you can make yourself feel better and fight me every step of the way. If you lose—"
"Yeah, right."
"If you lose, the fighting stops. No more arguing. No more going behind my back and undermining me."
"Doesn't sound like there's anything in it for me."
"There's not."
"So then why are you even suggesting it?"
"For my own peace of mind."
A smile crept across her face, one that tugged at something deep inside him. He ruthlessly pushed the unwelcome thoughts from his mind.
"You're not very good at propositions, are you?"
"What do you care? You're convinced you're going to win, aren't you?"
"Yeah, but I still lose, no matter what."
"Then you get bragging rights. You can tell all the girls how you beat me up. Again."
She frowned again then finally shook her head and leaned down to pick up one of the pucks. "Yeah, whatever. Okay, fine. But this is stupid. And don't say I didn't warn you."
"Fair enough." He followed her across the ice and watched as she dropped the puck in the corner. "What are you doing?"
"What's it look like? I'm trying to give you a fighting chance. We both know you don't have a shot in hell of catching me if we don't do it here."
"Cocky as always, I see."
"Not cocky—honest." She rested the blade of her stick on the ice then leaned against the boards, looking slightly bored and arrogant. She smiled and nodded toward the puck. "Go ahead. Get it."
"Just like that?"
She laughed, the sound low and throaty. "Just like that…if you think you can, that is."
Charles bit back a smile. He knew exactly how this would play out. As soon as he reached for the puck, Taylor would spring into action and snag it from him before he could do more than blink in surprise.
At least, he knew that's how Taylor thought it would play out. He had something else in mind.
He kept his gaze focused on hers and moved closer, until mere inches separated them. Her body tensed, prepared to launch into action as soon as he reached for the puck. But she underestimated him, her eyes widening in surprise as he pinned her body between his and the boards. Her mouth opened, no doubt to argue or call him names. Charles leaned down and closed his mouth over hers, cutting off any protest she might have made.
It was supposed to be nothing more than a simple kiss. A brief meeting of lips, just long enough to distract her so he could shoot the puck away. He hadn't anticipated the softness of her mouth, hadn't anticipated the heat that flared to life between them. Her mouth opened wider on a sigh—or maybe it was a gasp of surprise. It didn't matter because he took ruthless advantage of it, sweeping his tongue inside to dance with hers. Warm, sweet, tantalizing. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss, his body tightening as she curled one hand along the back of his neck. And shit, he hadn't meant for this to happen, hadn't expected his reaction—or hers.
The sound of a stick clattering to the ice broke through the haze of want and need coursing through him. Her stick, not his. And shit, he needed to stop, needed to pull away.
Needed to remember why he was kissing her in the first place.
He pulled away, swallowing a groan that echoed hers. Taylor's eyes were still closed, her mouth full and damp from his kiss, her chest rising and falling beneath the pads as she struggled to catch her breath. Christ, all he wanted to do was kiss her again. To feel her body pressed against his, to feel her hands tangling in his hair as she came to life under his touch.
He was a fool. Such a fool.
He clenched his jaw and reached for the puck, sent it flying down the ice with an awkward swing of his stick. Taylor's eyes popped open, the heat in their depths quickly turning to frost when she realized what he'd done.
"I win." His voice was shaky, a little too breathless and husky. He watched her, waiting for the biting set-down he so richly deserved.
"Yeah, I guess you do." She took a deep breath then leaned down to pick up the stick she had dropped. Her eyes were hard, her expression unreadable when she looked back at him. "Do you always cheat to get what you want?"
"When it matters? Yeah, I do."
"Then congratulations." Her hand tightened on the stick as her eyes drifted over his body. Could she see how the kiss had affected him? How could she not? Her eyes narrowed then moved back to his. "You got what you wanted. This time."
Charles didn't miss the silent accusation in her voice, or the disappointment. She started to skate past him, her head hung low. He reached for her, anger and self-loathing filling him.
"Taylor—"
She skated to the side, moving away from him when he would have stopped her.
"Taylor, I didn't mean—"
She stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. "Sure you did. Anything to win, right? I can appreciate that."
"Tay-Tay—"
"See you around, Chuckie." She skated away, her head high and her shoulders squared. But he could still see the hurt. See it? Hell, he could feel it. And he didn't know what the hell to do about it.
The door slammed closed, the noise echoing around the empty rink. Accusing and somehow final.
And still he stood there, unable to move. Unable to shake the feeling that his little stunt had cost him more than he fully realized.
Chapter Six
Taylor dug the toe of her skate into the ice and pushed off. The muscles of her legs warmed and stretched, coming alive with each stride. Long, balanced, more natural than breathing.
How long had she been doing this? Years. More than half her life. It was what she wanted to do. What she needed to do. It was in her blood—blood that had nothing to do with her step-dad and her uncle. They were related by marriage, not by birth. But nobody cared about that, not when they only focused on her name.
Not when they couldn't look beyond the name and see her talent for what it really was: natural talent. Skills she had worked on, developed and sharpened for as long as she could remember.
Would it be different if she didn't carry Sonny's last name?
Her stride faltered and she lost control of the puck, sliding sideways as Maddison Sinclair nudged her out of the way. Taylor bit into the mouthpiece and swallowed back a curse as a shrill whistle pierced the chilled air.
Dammit. What had brought that thought on? Where had it even come from? Bitter anger burned low in her gut—anger at herself for even thinking something like that. Sonny was her father, in every way that counted. He had officially adopted her two years after he had married her mom but even if he hadn't, he'd still be her father. He'd done so much for her—for both of them. So why was she having such selfish, immature thoughts now?
Taylor glanced to the side and felt the heat of anger rush to her face. It was his fault. Chuckie-the-fart. All of it. If it hadn't been for him, she wouldn't be thinking like this. Damn him and that stupid kiss. If it hadn't been for that stupid kiss—
Oh, who was she kidding? None of this
was Chuckie's fault, no matter how much she wished it was. She'd been out of sorts even before that stupid kiss, trying to figure out where she belonged, trying to figure out what she wanted to do.
Trying to face the reality that the Blades were the best she could ever hope for because there was no place else for her to go. For any of them to go. This was it. A lifetime of sweat and hard work. Of broken bones and pulled muscles and cuts and bruises. This was it, the best any of them could hope for.
But that didn't help explain her mood. And it certainly didn't help explain that kiss.
Why had he kissed her? What had he been trying to accomplish? She didn't understand it—or her reaction to it. It was like she'd been slammed into the boards from behind. Like someone had slashed her feet with a stick and sent her flying. Like—
"LeBlanc." Coach Reynolds' voice cut into her thoughts, startling her. Taylor glanced around and noticed that everyone was huddled around the coach—everyone but her.
She ignored Rachel's biting laugh and joined the group. Sammie tossed a questioning glance in her direction but Taylor shook her head, sending her the quick message that she was fine and wasn't going to answer any questions.
Now only if Rachel would wipe that self-serving smirk off her face…
"Just a little over two weeks before our first game, ladies. It'll be here before you know it. Are we ready?"
There was a low chorus of "Yes, Coach", the voices almost subdued. Coach Reynolds frowned and looked around, her dark gaze resting on each face. "I don't think I heard that. I said, are we ready, ladies?"
"Yes, Coach." The answer was loud, all sixteen players answering in unison at the top of their lungs. Coach nodded, a small smile briefly tugging at the corner of her mouth. "That's a little better. We have six practices left—let's make every one count. You ladies have worked hard to get where you are, but we're not done yet. I want to see one hundred and fifty percent out there. Each time. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Coach."
"Good. Are there any questions?"
Rachel pushed her way to the front, a calculating gleam in her eyes. "Do you have the starting lineup ready, Coach?"
"Not yet. I should have that ready by practice on Saturday." Coach paused and looked around, her gaze assessing. "Which means no slacking. From anyone."
Sammie raised her hand, a blush fanning across her cheeks when Rachel and Amanda laughed at her. Coach threw them both a quelling look then turned her attention back to Sammie.
"Reigler. What is it?"
"Have you heard anything about ticket sales? Is anyone but our families even going to show up?"
Coach Reynolds pursed her lips and looked toward the glass. Taylor didn't have to turn around to know she was looking at Mr. Murphy and Chuckie and the other suits that had gathered next to Sonny and JP. The Coach's gaze moved from the group of men and briefly touched on Taylor before moving back to Sammie.
"It's not our job to worry about ticket sales, Reigler. It's our job to get out there and play our best game. Leave the sales to the suits, okay?"
Sammie nodded, a motion echoed by several of the other players. But Taylor heard the undercurrents in the coach's voice. The hesitation, the worry. No, it wasn't their place to worry about the sales, but every single woman here understood the importance of those sales. Without them, there was no team. And if there was no team, there was no place left for them to go.
"Any other questions? No? Okay, hit the showers. I'll see everyone back here Saturday morning, bright and early." Coach Reynolds blew the whistle again, short and low, then nodded toward Taylor. "LeBlanc. A minute."
Oh great, now what? Taylor schooled her face into an expressionless mask. "Yes, Coach?"
"What happened out there? Looked like you lost your concentration."
"I—" She hesitated, wondering how to answer. It wasn't like she could tell Coach Reynolds the truth. No, that wasn't right. She could tell her the truth—she just couldn't tell her why. "I did. Sorry. It won't happen again."
"Listen, LeBlanc. I know you're not happy with this whole set-up."
"You do?"
"Yeah." Coach Reynolds smiled, the small gesture brief but understanding. "I get it. I wouldn't be too happy about it if I was in your shoes. But—"
"I know. If it helps the team…" Taylor shrugged and let the words fade into the chilly air.
"That's the spirit. You better get going. I think they're ready for you."
Taylor looked over her shoulder, dread filling her. Yeah, they were ready for her. But was she ready for them?
Not by a long shot. But it wasn't as if she had any choice in the matter.
She skated over to the boards, adjusting her stride as she reached the door. The last thing she needed was to trip and fall. Yeah, wouldn't that look just great. At least nobody was taking pictures or filming anything.
Yet.
She came to a stop next to Sonny, taking comfort in the wide smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "You okay, Pumpkin?"
"Yup. Never better."
Sonny leaned closer and lowered his voice. "You know I can tell when you're lying, right?"
"Yeah."
"Then what's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just don't feel—" She stopped midsentence when Mr. Murphy and Chuckie-the-bastard came up to them.
Don't look at him. Don't look at him.
She repeated the phrase to herself a dozen times, not that it did any good. Sure enough, her gaze drifted over to him. Tall, lean, broad. And brooding. Definitely brooding. She could see it in the set of his square jaw, in the defiant tilt of his head.
And in the depths of those stupid ocean blue eyes when he turned and looked at her. Was it her imagination, or were the tips of his ears turning the slightest bit red? Like he was embarrassed or something.
Good. He should be.
And at least she wasn't the only one blushing.
She looked away and forced a smile to her face as Mr. Murphy introduced the small group of people. Taylor barely heard their names, not when she was more focused on the look Sonny was giving her—like he had noticed something between Chuckie and her and was trying to figure it out.
Ridiculous. There was nothing between them.
Nothing except the memory of that stupid kiss that had made her stupid toes curl inside her stupid skates.
She tightened her grip on the stick and flashed a bright smile at nobody in particular. JP nudged her and briefly shook his head. She tamed the smile, wondering if maybe she had gone a bit overboard with it.
A robust brunette stepped to the front, her wavy hair sprayed into submission. Dark lashes, too long and thick to be natural, framed a pair of shrewd hazel eyes. Her full mouth was outlined in a dark mauve. Professional makeup accented her fair skin and sharp cheekbones, turning her face into some wizard's canvas. The woman looked vaguely familiar. A few seconds went by before Taylor recognized her as a reporter from one of the local stations.
Nerves fluttered in her stomach as she realized just how real things were about to get.
The woman came to a stop and looked up at Taylor. Her head tilted to the side as she studied her, a frown creasing the smooth skin of her forehead. "We have a few minutes before we get started. Would you like to freshen up?"
"Freshen up?"
"Yes. You know. Maybe put some makeup on and fix your hair before we get started?"
"Oh. I, uh—" Taylor swallowed and darted a panicked look at Sonny and JP. They both stared back at her, their expressions annoyingly blank and completely helpless. "I don't, um, I mean—I just had practice and—"
Mr. Murphy stepped forward and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "They just came off the ice, Patricia."
"Yes, of course. Well, I suppose we can work with the natural look." The woman didn't look like she wanted to do any such thing. She pursed her lips and looked away, her gaze settling on Sonny then moving to JP. An appreciative smile spread across her face and she moved a little closer to him. Taylor's h
and tightened on her stick and she fought against the urge to hit the woman with it.
Chuckie moved next to her and clamped a hand on her shoulder, holding her in place. Taylor tossed him a dirty look. Did he really think she'd do something as stupid as hit the woman?
Yeah, he did.
Of course he did.
"Patricia, why don't we let the men get their skates on while we go over what you wanted to see. Or maybe you'd like to talk to Taylor while we waited? Did you have any questions for her?"
"I think I have everything I need from her bio and stats." Patricia glanced down at the notes in her hand, her mouth moving soundlessly as she read over them. Taylor almost rolled her eyes but Chuckie's hand tightened on her shoulder in warning.
And what was up with that? How did he know what she was getting ready to do?
"Started playing at age six. Gold medal winner. Athletic scholarship. Scholar-Athlete." Patricia kept reading, the words turning into a barely audible mumble. She looked up, a plastic smile on her face. "No, I have everything I need."
Hope flared in Taylor's chest. "So, this isn't like a real interview?"
"No. We'll be doing mostly action shots. The camera will film the three of you on the ice for a little bit as I talk in front of the boards. Then they'll piece everything together back at the studio and run it tonight."
"Oh." The hope flared even brighter. "I can do that."
"I'll need to ask your father and uncle a few things, of course. And Mr. Dawson and Mr. Murphy. But I have everything I need from you."
The hope withered and died, morphing into something else. Not disappointment. No way. It must be anger. Or maybe impatience. Or—
Chuck's fingers squeezed her shoulder once more. "But you will be focusing on the Blades, correct? That was the whole purpose of you coming here today."
"Of course." She waved her hand absently, the smile never leaving her face. "I do know how to do my job, Mr. Dawson. No worries."
Sonny came to a stop next to them, silencing Taylor and Chuckie both. "You ready, Pumpkin?"
She glanced at Chuckie, wondering why the muscle in his jaw was jumping again, then looked back at Sonny. "Ready as always."
Winning Hard: A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance (The Chesapeake Blades Book 1) Page 5
