Cooper quirked an eyebrow at her melodramatic summation. “Real estate is a long game, not a short con. Give it some time.”
Lainey leaned back in the leather bucket seat, dragging a finger down the spines of the textbooks in her lap. “So you’re a hockey star and a real estate mogul, huh?” She sat up a little straighter, and her pretty eyes sparked with renewed hope. “Any tips?”
She wanted his help.
Shit.
He’d been teasing her and now she was asking for advice. Deep-seated insecurity reared up and threatened to smother him. It took a very conscious effort for Cooper to remind himself that all the oxygen had not been sucked out of the world, and that he just had to breathe. He inhaled slowly through his nose, the way he used to do in school while he endured the angst-soaked moment as he waited for the teacher to decide which sacrificial lamb was going to be the next to read aloud from the textbook or solve a math problem on the board.
He’d made a massive tactical error and let his guard down, and now she was asking him questions in the false belief that he was even half as smart as she was. And since her earlier acknowledgment that she had a business degree, he knew the percentage was much lower than that.
He wasn’t about to tell her that he had no plans for after he retired from hockey. No investments. No property. No passive income. The end of his career had always felt so far in the future, and it had taken so much effort to keep his issues with reading a secret from his agent that he’d never gotten around to hiring a business manager.
This was the very reason Cooper lived his social life in the currency of whirlwind flings and one-night stands with women who wanted to keep things as uncomplicated as he did.
He liked Lainey, but she hadn’t needed to worry this morning when he’d stupidly invited her to watch a game. He could never venture into relationship territory with her. She was too smart. Too driven. He couldn’t even keep up with this conversation, and she sure as hell wasn’t impressed by his career. What could he possibly offer her?
“Well, I’m just a dumb hockey player, but I highly recommend hiring a guy. You get stuff like this taken care of, and you keep your hands clean. I always try to keep as many layers between me and the actual money as possible.”
Her eyes darkened for a minute, as though a cloud had drifted through their gray-blue depths, and then cleared again. “Smart plan, Slick. You never know where that money has been.”
He smiled, relieved that she’d followed his lead.
At least that was what he told himself after she’d said goodbye and crawled out of the Maserati. With a quick check in his rearview mirror, Cooper backed out and pointed his car toward home.
* * *
ONCE PLAYOFFS STARTED, Lainey didn’t see much of Cooper. The team had a curfew, a strictly regimented practice schedule and a lot of interviews. Despite that, his legacy at the bar certainly lived on.
In the week since he’d body-checked his way into her life and made The Drunken Sportsman semifamous, there was a noticeable upswing in the profit column. Sports fans, hockey fans and Cooper Mead fans alike were stopping by to check out the place.
There was also, much to Darius’s chagrin, a spike in Black Widow sales. Word had gotten out about the “secret menu item”—Lainey supposed she had Cooper’s “date” to thank for that—and people were shelling out fifty bucks a pop to try one for themselves.
In keeping with liquor laws, and in the interest of increasing the profit margin, Lainey decided to keep the price but downsize the drink to a shot glass. Within the week, it had become all the rage to have your friends take a photo after you took the shot so you could compare your stank face to Cooper’s.
And still, no serious offers on the bar were coming in. Jeannie, the Realtor, said she was getting lots of interested calls as the bar’s profile rose, but for some reason, no one was taking that final step.
When she’d inherited the bar, Lainey had planned to be rid of it within two weeks of Martin’s funeral. Then she’d seen the place, and it had become apparent how much work she’d need to do if she was going to turn a decent profit.
She’d cashed in a few of her investments to bring the kitchen up to code and fix the plumbing issues that had threatened to turn the men’s bathroom into a sinkhole.
She’d spent the rest of the time implementing cosmetic changes—replacing cracked tiles, upgrading the bathroom counters, refreshing the glassware—that she believed were all that stood between her and getting the hell out of Portland.
It was a good property with a lot of potential. That’s what the Realtor had told her.
But now, months later, it was hard to remain optimistic about her speedy timeline.
Don’t give up, she chided herself, pulling on the white tank, dark-wash skinny jeans and black combat boots she favored for shifts at the bar. After a quick mirror check to make sure her teeth were lipstick-free, she tightened her ponytail and checked the time. Her bar shift started in twenty minutes.
Resolve stiffened her spine as she grabbed her jacket and headed for the door. Her dad owed her this. He hadn’t bothered to be a father while he was alive. But for some reason that was beyond her, he’d left her this bar, and she wasn’t going anywhere until she got what she was owed. She would do whatever it took to sell this bar and be free of Martin Sillinger’s shadow once and for all.
* * *
LAINEY DROPPED HER purse on the counter and tried to process the melee before her. The Sportsman was packed to capacity with not just the regulars, but also a glittery, surgically enhanced club crowd that had no business in a sports bar. Never mind that it was only nine o’clock and there was already a rowdy lineup that snaked around the block. A couple of men she didn’t recognize were playing bouncer, checking IDs and keeping the sequined mob inside down to numbers that almost complied with fire-safety regulations. A couple more strangers were unpacking large amounts of equipment on the tiny makeshift stage in the far corner.
“And get some more pineapple juice. No! Pine. Apple. Juice.” Darius’s voice rose above the din, and Lainey turned to find him shouting into the phone. “I don’t know! Apparently, people who wear a lot of rhinestones like to drink it with alcohol. And don’t forget the cherries. We’re almost out.” Darius had barely hung up when he rounded and tossed an apron at her. “Where the hell have you been? You’re late!”
“Traffic was unbelievable, and then I had to park two blocks away and fight my way through hordes of pedestrians. What the hell is going on here?”
“Your boyfriend scored the winning goal tonight, and the Storm swept Wyoming in four games straight. Playoff fever has officially taken over Portland.” Darius flicked a glance in her direction even as he began pouring what Lainey guessed would end up a Long Island iced tea. “So now Geoff and Raj are doing their best to keep your bar legal. Malcolm’s helping his brother set up his DJ stuff because your jukebox is a piece of crap, and I have packs of Kappas roaming grocery stores and liquor barns for all the crazy shit girls in spandex like to drink. In short, my frat brothers are saving your ass, and you owe me big time. Pass me another box of...” The request was lost in the clamor.
“What?”
“Straws!”
Lainey complied automatically, staring in awe as people jostled for Darius’s attention. Her bar was busy. Her bar was crazy busy. The slightest hint of a smile pulled at her mouth. There was no way she wouldn’t have the bar sold soon if this kept up.
Then a storm cloud in the form of Aggie Demille trundled up to the bar and rained all over Lainey’s sequin-wearing, cash-wielding parade. “Well, don’t just stand there gawkin’ with your purse takin’ up valuable counter space. Put on that apron and pour me some Cosmopolitans for the prissy missies at table fourteen.”
“Cosmopolitans?” Lainey asked, shoving her purse under the counter with a frown. Sex and the
City had been off the air for more than a decade. Did people still drink Cosmos?
“Yeah, five of ’em. And put a rush on it.” Aggie exchanged a tray full of empty shooter glasses for both of Darius’s newly completed Long Island iced teas before she pushed her way back into the gyrating mass. Until last week, the Sportsman’s usual clientele had thought pouring a bottle of beer into a glass was too fancy. Apparently the pierced and spangled had a more refined sense of the frou-frou.
Lainey leaned toward Darius, who was assembling a couple of shooters. “What the hell is in a Cosmopolitan?”
He pushed a tattered bartending guide toward her. “Page forty-three.” Darius topped off the shooter with a squirt of aerated edible oil product. “And for the record, I’d just like to take this opportunity to apologize on behalf of my gender’s preoccupation with this particular sexual act, because I swear to you, Lainey, if one more person asks me for a Blow Job, I’m going to lose it.”
“Preaching to the choir, my brother. Welcome to the plight of straight women everywhere.”
Aggie pushed her way back up to the counter. “I’m gonna need two Gladiators, a Monkey’s Lunch, a Black Widow and three more Blow Jobs. And be quick about it, Darius. We don’t have time for you to be an artist with the whipped cream.”
Darius’s jaw tightened at the jab. “Is a little appreciation too much to ask for?”
Lainey gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “Aw, just ignore her, Darius. I’m sure you give good head.”
He snagged the can of whipped cream off the counter with undue force and Lainey smiled as she leafed through the sticky guide in search of page forty-three.
9
HE’D LEFT THE state for four days, played two hockey games and scored a goal with a beauty of a slap shot to send the Storm into the second round of the playoffs, and all Cooper could think about was getting back to Portland. Getting back to Lainey.
Things had been a little strained between them since he’d dropped her off at her hotel that night when she’d been ambushed by her ex-teammate and he’d been so flippant about her business questions. He’d faked his way through, just as he always did in situations where he was out of his depth. They were his survival tactics, but with Lainey, they felt more like lies.
He was determined to set things right. If she’d let him. That was the unknown factor, and his stomach churned with nerves as he raised his fist to knock on her door. Why the hell had he chosen a dress shirt and black pants for their reunion? He probably looked like he was trying too hard.
“Cooper? What are you doing here?”
It was good to see her. Good enough that he tried to ignore the awkwardness of her greeting, like he was an old friend she wasn’t sure she wanted to see. “They were expecting lightning, so the charter company moved up our flight time.” He glanced past her at her new room on the second floor. It was smaller, more utilitarian. At least a couple hundred bucks a night less than her last room. “Were you going to tell me you moved, or just sneak out of town without a goodbye?”
The quick dart of her eyes to the carpet let him know the latter had crossed her mind.
“Turns out when the assignment is over, so’s the premium room. But I decided to give it a few more weeks. Zenith’s not happy about it, but they relented when I played the dead dad card. I’m just hoping I can unload the Sportsman before I run out of vacation days and hotel reward points. And I was going to text you about it once I was all settled. I was,” she insisted, reading the doubt on his face.
“I wish you had. The elderly couple who are staying in your old room think I’m a crazy person now.”
Lainey leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms. “So how did you find me?”
“I have my ways,” he said, overly suavely, but instead of the laugh he’d been going for, she gave him a look that said, “Cut the shit,” and he was the one who laughed.
Lainey was the whole package. Strong, smart and sarcastic as fuck. Cooper wondered how long it had been since he’d last genuinely liked a woman the way he liked her. And in deference to that, he confessed. “I let the desk clerk take a selfie with me.”
“Glad to know my privacy is absolutely secure...unless a famous athlete wants to murder me. He’s lucky I already submitted my report.”
Cooper shrugged. “Well, in his defense, I’m really good at hockey, so...it’s not like he sold you out for a photo of a professional bowler or something. Your death will be honorable.”
Her quick answering smile was too much to resist and he reached for her, his fingers circling her wrist. She swallowed, eyes darkening as she uncrossed her arms and allowed him to take her hand in his. Cooper ran his thumb down the middle of her palm. He took a small step toward her, even though he hadn’t meant to. Magnetism, he supposed.
“Listen, Lainey. I know things have been a little...strained since the last time we saw each other, and I was hoping...” Cooper took a deep breath. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
There was a long pause, and he wasn’t quite sure which way she was going to go.
“I’m not exactly dressed for a date,” she countered, looking down at her casual gray dress made of T-shirt material, then at his outfit.
“Not a date,” he assured her.
“I’ll put on some shoes.”
His sigh was one of relief.
* * *
THEY ENDED UP in a round booth at the back of a trendy taqueria.
The place was heavy on the hipsters, but there was a pretty good variety of people in the eclectically decorated restaurant that was a mix of weathered wood, intricate Aztec carvings, bright sugar skull prints and candles melting in Corona bottles to compensate for the dim overhead lighting. It was one of those places that had just the right ambience to make you feel like you were alone in the crowd.
It had been his agent’s suggestion—Jared had been on Coop’s back lately about not getting out enough, and when Cooper had told him about his meeting Marty Sillinger’s daughter, Golden had suggested he take her somewhere nice.
Lainey grabbed her menu while he set his phone and keys on the table.
“You already know what you want?” Lainey slid a couple of degrees closer on the bench seat, ostensibly so he could hear her over the background noise, but he liked to think she wasn’t unaware that it upped the intimacy.
“No. I like to hear what the server recommends,” he explained, relying as always on the coping mechanism that had got him through countless meals in countless restaurants.
“Sounds like you spend a lot of money paying for things you don’t want to eat,” she teased.
“I like to be adventurous.”
He moved his leg, and his knee came to rest against hers.
She raised her eyes from the menu at the contact, but she didn’t pull away.
“Hi, I’m Tiffany and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I grab you anything to drink?”
Lainey started at the server’s sudden intrusion.
“I think two Coronas and two waters?” Coop said, waiting for Lainey’s quick head bob of confirmation before he turned his attention to the young woman dressed in a black T-shirt, black jeans and black Chucks, her stoplight-red hair done in an old-timey style that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the 1950s.
“Sounds good. I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”
“This is a nice place.”
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
She seemed to sober as the intensity of his words registered.
“I’m in the middle of the biggest playoff run of my career and I can’t focus.”
“Cooper...”
His phone rang, and he glanced at the screen. Since it was the worst possible moment, he wasn’t surprised to see the identity of the caller. “It’s your brother.�
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“Go ahead and answer. I’m going to use the ladies’ room. Order me the chicken tacos if she comes by while I’m gone. Extra guac.”
Coop answered the phone as she left.
“What do you want, Rookie? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”
“Sports Nation published this article about me, and it’s full of lies!”
“Come on, man, I told you not to set that Google alert. And as for the article, that’s part of the job. Don’t let them get in your head.”
“They’re saying I have the worst plus/minus on the team and that I’m too young and I’m not ready for the pressure of being in the playoffs!”
Cooper remembered Danny’s assessment. “You do have the worst plus/minus on the team.”
“Well, thanks for nothing. Some mentor you are.”
Tiffany appeared beside him and dropped off their drinks and a basket of chips and salsa. Coop covered the mouthpiece and asked for two orders of chicken tacos, one with extra chicken, and a side of guacamole before he returned his attention to Brett.
“Look, you want some advice? Get off the internet for a couple of days. TV, too. Go work out, play some video games and get some sleep. It doesn’t matter what they say. It matters what you do. If you want to stick it to them, play better next time.”
Brett relented with a sigh. “I guess you’re right. We still on for breakfast on Thursday? Before practice?”
“Yeah. Sure. I guess. But only if you do what I tell you.”
“Hey, Coop? Before you go...did you have any playoff tickets for the next round that you were looking to get rid of? I already gave mine away, but I could use another set.”
“I’ll have to get back to you on that. I’m hoping one of the kids from the hospital can use mine, but we’re still figuring out the logistics.” Danny’s mom was trying to clear it with the doctors, make sure they okayed it before getting Danny’s hopes up.
Playing Dirty Page 10
