Kaufman: The Season (Austin Arrows Book 2)

by Nicole Edwards

  Kaufman

  Also by Nicole Edwards

  The Alluring Indulgence Series

  Kaleb

  Zane

  Travis

  Holidays with the Walker Brothers

  Ethan

  Braydon

  Sawyer

  Brendon

  The Austin Arrows Series

  The Season: RUSH

  The Season: KAUFMAN

  The Club Destiny Series

  Conviction

  Temptation

  Addicted

  Seduction

  Infatuation

  Captivated

  Devotion

  Perception

  Entrusted

  Adored

  The Coyote Ridge Series

  Curtis

  Jared (Crossover Novel

  The Dead Heat Ranch Series

  Boots Optional

  Betting on Grace

  Overnight Love

  Jared (Crossover Novel)

  The Devil’s Bend Series

  Chasing Dreams

  Vanishing Dreams

  The Devil’s Playground Series

  Without Regret

  Without Restraint

  The Pier 70 Series

  Reckless

  Fearless

  Speechless

  The Sniper 1 Security Series

  Wait for Morning

  Never Say Never

  The Southern Boy Mafia Series

  Beautifully Brutal

  Beautifully Loyal

  Standalone Novels

  A Million Tiny Pieces

  Inked on Paper

  Writing as Timberlyn Scott

  Unhinged

  Unraveling

  Chaos

  Naughty Nice Holiday Books

  2015

  2016

  THE

  SEASON

  Kaufman

  NICOLE EDWARDS

  Nicole Edwards Limited

  PO Box 806

  Hutto, Texas 78634

  www.NicoleEdwardsLimited.com

  www.slipublishing.com

  Copyright © Nicole Edwards, 2016

  All rights reserved.

  This is a self-published title.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  The SEASON: Kaufman– An Austin Arrows Novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Image: © Kruse Images & Photography

  Models: Jonny James

  Cover Design: © Nicole Edwards Limited

  Editing: Blue Otter Editing

  ISBN (ebook): 978-1-939786-72-2

  ISBN (print): 978-1-939786-71-5

  Contemporary Erotic Romance

  Mature Audience

  Dear Reader,

  Kaufman is a spin-off from my standalone book, A Million Tiny Pieces. It is the second book in the Austin Arrows series and runs parallel to the first book, Rush. You do not have to read AMTP or RUSH in order to enjoy this book. However, if you do want to find out more about Phoenix Pierce, the owner of the Austin Arrows, or Kingston Rush, the uber sexy goalie for the Austin Arrows you should definitely check them out.

  The SEASON: Kaufman is a 100k word standalone novel.

  Additional note:

  I make a reference to The Secret by Rhonda Byrne within this book. I read this book years ago and enjoyed it.

  Dedication

  To romance and hockey.

  Two things that make my life complete.

  1

  Noelle

  Thursday, October 6th

  “I MADE AN EXTRA CHICKEN breast. You want one or two?” I chuckle, can’t help it. “Seriously. One or two? Can I possibly ask a dumber question?”

  That unladylike snort … yeah, that was me.

  While I fork my chicken breast onto my own plate, I don’t bother waiting for a response. I know what the answer will be. Two. Always two. Extra protein is never a bad thing.

  After adding a heaping spoonful of steamed vegetables to my plate, I grab my wineglass and head to the table. I’m starving because I missed lunch today. That sometimes happens with my job. There are days that’ll go by when I’m bored to tears, standing behind the bar, and others when I can hardly stop long enough to take a breath. Sometimes I’ll snag some fried pickles if I get a chance. Today was the lack-of-breath kind of day. Go, go, go. All day long.

  As I step out of my small galley kitchen, a knock sounds on my door. My bare feet squeak on the linoleum as I come to an abrupt halt. I manage to do that fancy lift and tilt thing to keep my wine from sloshing over the edge.

  Disaster averted.

  “Noelle! Honey, it’s Mom and Dad!”

  Or not.

  “Crap, crap, crap.” I glance between my front door and the small, two-seat table in my breakfast nook currently set up with, nope, not one but two place settings. For the record, two is not a good number when the single girl’s mom comes banging on the door.

  “Open up, Noelle! We thought we’d surprise you!”

  Okay, well, I have to say my parents definitely accomplished their goal, because I am completely befuddled as I stand here debating what I should do. To a normal person, it might be a no-brainer. Open the door, let the ’rents come on in.

  I’m not so sure this situation is going to qualify me as normal.

  To answer or not to answer? That is the question.

  On the other hand, I could be as quiet as possible and pretend I’m not home. Which, with my luck, won’t work. The fact that all the lights in my apartment are blazing and my baby blue Prius is parked directly in front of my window doesn’t help my cause any. Since no one else in the world drives a baby blue Prius, I can’t very well hide it.

  Crap.

  But I could’ve gone out with friends, right? Could I be so lucky that they’d think that? It is a possibility. Maybe. Or, better yet, maybe they’ll think I’m at the Penalty Box. I tend to work a lot.

  Yes, that’s definitely more logical.

  Except, yep, you nailed it, the car is here.

  Then again, if I weren’t so pathetic and didn’t choose to spend all my free time at home—unless I’m at my best friend Ellie’s—it might be an easier sell. They know me. I’m not the going-out type. Plus, they’ve probably already stopped by the bar to see if I’m there. They know that I much prefer a microwaved dinner at home, especially on a rare evening that I don’t spend waiting tables and slinging beer because I choose to.

  Another knock makes my heart skip a beat.

  “Stay calm. It’s cool.” I’ve been telling myself that far too much lately.

  “Noelle! Are you all right, honey?”

  Knowing my grumpy upstairs neighbor is likely going to have a cow any second now, I rush to the front door, unlock the deadbolt, and turn the knob. Instantly, Marie Dexter barrels into me, pulling me into her arms, crushing my face
to her generous bosom.

  My mother smells like roses. A sweet, familiar scent that makes me hug her back, despite the inconvenient timing of her arrival.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say, my words muffled against her boobs.

  She pulls back to look at me. “What took you so long? I was getting worried.”

  My dad slips past my mother, giving me a knowing smirk. Ed Dexter loves when Marie goes all motherly on me. Come to find out, when my sister and I aren’t around, he gets to be the one Marie mothers. Not that he minds. They’ve been married for thirty-six years, so he’s used to it, or so he says.

  “Ooh. You got new curtains.” My mother gently pulls away to admire the floor-to-ceiling cream sheers hanging on the wide front window.

  I follow her gaze, glaring at my car sitting right there. Traitor.

  I focus on the comforting hand my mother has on my arm. Always keeping me close, that woman.

  I’m the oldest—my sister, Julie, who is seven years younger than me, was an oops baby—which should’ve meant my mother didn’t coddle me quite so much. That isn’t the case. Never has been. I’m not sure if it’s because there’s such a huge age gap between me and Julie, but whatever the reason, my mother likes to baby both of us equally. I’m thirty-four. You’d think she would’ve toned it down by now. Nope. In fact, I think she might be getting more motherly.

  Honestly, she’s been this way since I was little. And, truthfully, I was the normal kid. The kind who wanted to do nothing more than be outside. Yep, totally me. Right up until sixth grade, when we moved to Austin, next door to the girl who would quickly become my best friend in the world. Either there was something in the Texas water or someone injected me with a doofus hormone, because upon moving here, I became stupid, which translates to: boy crazy. I think my mother worried about me more then. That lasted about two years. Three tops. When it became glaringly obvious that Tony Something-or-other wasn’t going to fall madly in love with the short, frumpy girl with glasses and braces, I decided to focus on my schoolwork and left the flirting with boys up to my best friend, Ellie. She was much better at it than me.

  Luckily, I’m not so frumpy anymore, and I’ve shed the braces and glasses. Sure, I’m still short, and my boobs never did really develop, but that no longer bothers me. I’m me. That’s what matters.

  What does bother me is the fact that Mom and Dad pop in unannounced all the freaking time. Of all nights, why did it have to be now?

  I’ve lived on my own for more than a decade, but that doesn’t seem to matter to Mom. She acts as though I just moved out of her house yesterday. And okay, I probably get some of the blame since my apartment just so happens to be less than two miles from their house. Yes, I’ve moved three times in the past eight years, but I’ve remained in the same complex. I have an issue with commitment, I think. I tend to like change, and this particular place has multiple floor-plan options, so it has worked out for me. Just maybe not for those who have to help me move. As for my parents, I’ve made sure they have easy access to me, something I solemnly regret from time to time, but only because my mother likes to do these frequent surprise visits.

  I really should break down and buy a house. Ellie keeps urging me to, but I’m holding out. For what? Who knows.

  “It smells delicious.” My mother pointedly sniffs the air.

  “I was about to have dinner,” I tell her, hoping she’ll take the hint.

  I microwaved frozen chicken and threw some of those steam-in-the-bag veggies (greatest invention ever) in after that, so the delicious aroma is all thanks to the radioactive box that makes my life so much easier.

  Marie gasps, her hand going to her mouth.

  I drop my head at the surprised sound and slowly pivot in the direction my mother is looking. I so was hoping she wouldn’t notice.

  “I didn’t realize you had company.”

  I peek up at the empty place setting across from my seat at the table.

  “I don’t,” I reluctantly state. Probably doesn’t help that there is a full glass of ice water at that place setting.

  A worry line creases my mother’s forehead and she glances my way. She looks somewhat perplexed, but I think that’s hope sparkling in her light brown eyes. Hope that maybe I have found someone to have dinner with from time to time.

  “Then who’s the place setting for?”

  “No one,” I mutter. The heat creeping into my cheeks is probably lighting me up bright enough to guide airplanes.

  “Noelle…” Marie turns toward me and takes both of my hands. She peers toward the hallway that leads to my bedroom, her voice a little louder than normal, as though she’s also talking to whomever else might be here. “Honey, if you have a boyfriend, we would love to meet him. Maybe you could invite him to our house for dinner.”

  I lift my eyes to meet my mother’s. I think she’s saying a silent prayer, one that will get me hitched in the near future.

  God, how do I explain this? Hey, Mom. It’s all good. Just an extra place setting for that man I’m hoping to find. You know, that whole wishful thinking thing?

  Yeah. I don’t think that’ll go over all that well, so I keep it simple. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  Annnnd there you have it.

  My mom points to the table, which makes me laugh. “But … uh…” She looks from the table to me, then back. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Don’t worry, Mom. Me, neither.

  My gaze guiltily flits to the book sitting on the coffee table. Crap.

  Of course, my dad is the first to notice and he does as all good dads do. Without pause, Ed reaches over, picks up the book, pulls out his reading glasses, then drops onto the sofa with a grunt.

  “The Secret,” he says, looking from the book to me, then back to the book. He gets comfortable, hiking up his tan Dockers, then propping one ankle over the opposite knee as he studies the cover. “Is this one of those romance things?”

  I hold in the groan that threatens to escape. “Not a romance novel.” Nope. I couldn’t be that lucky. I don’t think I would’ve been more embarrassed if my parents had found my well-worn copy of the sexy cowboy ménage I recently took a liking to. Seriously. Two men, one woman. Holy smokes. Not that it’s something I want, but reading about it … I’m certainly guilty of wanting to escape to a fictional world from time to time.

  Definitely not the time or place to be thinking about that one.

  “Oh, I know what that is.” In a flurry of movement, my mom releases my hands and shuffles around to where my father is sitting, gracefully lowering herself to the couch before peering at the book along with him.

  I can honestly say that the bookmark that clips to the page is the worst invention ever. Not a chance that they don’t open to that page first.

  My dad opens the front cover, skims the synopsis, then…

  Yep, he opens right to the bookmarked page. Heat rises up from my neck to my cheeks. I think I might have a fever from all the embarrassment.

  My plate of chicken is quickly growing cold, but I’ve long since forgotten about food. What’s taking place in my living room is devastating enough to banish my appetite for the foreseeable future. As for the wine … I think I’ll forego the glass and chug straight from the bottle.

  “The secret to relationships,” my father reads aloud in his announcer voice. I can almost picture him at the hockey rink, his mouth hovering above the microphone as he informs the fans that, yes, his oldest daughter has lost her ever-loving mind.

  I’m probably the color of a tomato right now, and I’m almost certain I’m hyperventilating.

  Marie looks up at me, worry still marring her thin brow. I know I need to explain, but once I do, I’m never going to live this down. One of two things will happen. Either my mother will think I’m one ace short of a full deck or she’ll be so overly excited that the old grump in the apartment ab
ove mine will think some sort of alarm has sounded.

  I don’t know which I prefer, to tell the truth.

  Unfortunately, my father is still skimming, his face as easy to read as the print on those pages. His golden eyebrows shoot up, then down. His nose wrinkles once … twice. He squints. Then, in true Dad fashion, his index finger and thumb come up to gently pinch his chin. That means he’s interested in what he’s reading.

  Crap.

  “So, this says,” my father begins, “that if you’re interested in finding a relationship, you should make room in your life for what you want. In turn, the universe will know that you’re available and bring you what you’re hoping for.”

  In theory, yes.

  Marie and Ed both turn their heads at the exact same time, their eyes zeroing in on that damned place setting.

  This whole situation would’ve been funny if, you know, it wasn’t so sad.

  Oh, and yes, it dawned on me—but only in the last fifteen seconds—that I could’ve simply put up the extra place setting and they would’ve been none the wiser.

  Noelle’s Journal

  Dear Universe,

  I always thought my coming out party would be more exciting. Looks like my secret is now out. I definitely need more wine. Oh, and if possible, could you fast-track my soul mate to me? That way I can pretend this never happened. Thanks.

  2

  Friday, October 7th

  THE ONLY SOUND I HEAR is the repetitious scrape of my blades on the ice as I skate from one end to the other. My attention is focused on the goaltender standing in front of the net. My one and only job is to get this puck past his body and into the goal. I’ve done it a million times over the years.

  I watch as the goalie shifts. He’s raptly focused on me, a formidable opponent. He hardly moves, and when he does, it’s as though he’s in slow motion. I know he’s sizing me up, attempting to read my mind. When I cross the blue line, I angle to the left. Since I’m out here on my own, I have no wingers to pass it to, so it’s all on me. One on one. Me and the goalie.

  The second he veers to his left, his glove coming up, I know the shot I need to take. I rear back for a slap shot but change my mind at the last second, moving closer and following with a beautiful wrist shot that goes right, heading exactly where I want it to…