Hard Hitter

by Sarina Bowen

  O’Doul gave a little grunt of impatience for all the good times ahead. “I can get carried away anytime you’re ready, baby.” As the words came out of his mouth, he realized too late how it sounded—as if he was referring to baby bumps, not just sex. He chuckled. “Sorry, I meant . . .”

  “I know what you meant,” Ari said quickly. She looked away, studying the boats on the sound with a serious gaze.

  Too serious, maybe.

  “Ari,” he said quietly. “Honey?”

  “Mmm?” She still didn’t meet his eyes.

  The song they were dancing to ended, and everyone clapped.

  They broke apart then. Ari stepped back, looking ready to walk away.

  “Hey,” he said, catching her hand. “Come here a second. Please?” He led her over to the side of the tent. “Did I say something wrong?”

  She shook her head, but she looked uneasy.

  Think, Doulie. Everything to do with relationships still came slowly to him. Although he was getting better. It helped that he was dating the best girl in the whole world. Ari always told everyone where they stood with her. She was honest to a fault.

  Except for right now, apparently. Her wary gaze and obvious itch to exit the conversation was his only clue. Though if Ari were mad at him, she’d say so. That couldn’t be it. So what, then?

  The only times she ever avoided him were when she wanted something but did not want to trouble him about it.

  Oh.

  Oh, hell.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, cupping her chin gently. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “It’s nothing,” she said. Then she corrected herself. “It isn’t the right time. Weddings make me irrational, that’s all.” Her dark eyes dipped. “They make you consider all the big questions at once.”

  He put his hands on her bare shoulders, his thumbs tracing the line of her slim neck. “I know what you mean.” Watching Georgia and Leo declare their love forever made something go a little wrong in his gut. He’d never pictured himself as someone’s forever until he’d started spending so much time with Ari. Though he’d assumed he’d need to put in a few more months of good behavior and staying out of the newspapers before he got anywhere close to discussing it with her.

  But maybe he was wrong about that.

  “Ari? You know I love you, right?”

  Her eyes flew upward to his. “I love you, too.”

  O’Doul had to pause for a second to appreciate how easily those words had just rolled off of both their tongues. Forget weddings. This simple exchange was something he’d never imagined he’d do. He pulled her against his chest and sighed. “You make me so happy. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

  She laughed. “Careful.”

  But he didn’t want to be careful. “No, I mean it. If having babies someday is on your to-do list, you can tell me sometime. I won’t panic.”

  “You won’t?” She sounded so skeptical it broke his heart.

  “No.” Not much, anyway. “There’s a lot of things I thought I’d never do. Never thought I’d back away from a fight. Never thought I’d tell someone I loved her. But that was all before I met you. You can’t scare me, Ariana. I trust you. If you want to have a conversation about babies at some point, I’ll listen.”

  Her arms tightened around him. “I think about it sometimes.”

  “Next time you’re thinking about it, I want to hear your thoughts.”

  “That’s putting the cart before the horse, isn’t it?”

  “No,” he said firmly. “You and I aren’t on the traditional plan. We’ve both had some troubles, and now we know how to spot something good. We make our own luck, you and me.”

  She lifted her head and gazed up at him. “We do. You’re right.”

  “I know it.” He kissed her nose. “When do I get to peel this dress off you, anyway? Soon, right?”

  Ari smiled. “Soonish. They haven’t cut the cake yet. We’ll have to say good-bye to Georgia and Leo when their car comes. Georgia will throw the bouquet, and all that jazz.”

  He laughed. “How good are you at catching?”

  Ari shook out her arm. “Decent.”

  “Like your skating?”

  “Better,” she teased.

  “Oh, man.” She laughed and he leaned in to kiss that smile right off her face.

  “Get a room!” one of his teammates teased.

  “They’re cutting the cake!” someone else yelled.

  But O’Doul hung on for one more kiss. And then just one after that. Then he finally broke it off, breathing hard. “You ready for cake?”

  “I’m ready for anything.”

  “Love you, Ariana,” he said again, testing it out again. It felt right.

  “Love you, too, Patrick O’Doul.” The words hit him right in the chest. Hard. And he liked it a lot.

  Continue reading for a special preview of

  Pipe Dreams,

  coming out in May!

  BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

  The first time Lauren Williams ever had a drink in front of her boss was the night the Brooklyn Bruisers clinched a play-offs berth for the first time since Nate Kattenberger bought the team.

  But the moment team captain Patrick O’Doul buried a slapshot in the corner of the net, securing an overtime victory against Pittsburgh, Lauren walked straight over to the bar at the side of the team owner’s private box and poured herself two fingers of scotch, neat. Lifting it, Lauren drained her shot.

  Not that anyone noticed her sudden affection for whiskey. The rest of the VIPs in the owner’s private box rushed over to congratulate her boss. This was a big moment for the young billionaire who owned the team. A great moment.

  But not for her.

  Lauren forced herself to look down at the rink where the players celebrated their victory. They’d convened into a knot of purple jerseys, rubbing helmets and slapping asses in the way of victorious athletes everywhere. There had been a time when this team was Lauren’s whole life.

  Until the sudden, awful moment when it wasn’t anymore.

  Somewhere in that clot of players down below was the one who’d turned her entire world upside down. Not only had he broken her heart, but he’d made it impossible for her to feel comfortable in the organization where she’d devoted a decade of her life. For the past two years, she’d avoided this place and everything to do with hockey. She’d avoided the entire borough of Brooklyn, except when her boss’s business brought the two of them over the bridge for a meeting. And the moment she was free to go, Lauren always hightailed it back to Manhattan where she belonged.

  But not this month.

  Nate had asked her to step in and manage the hockey team’s office and travel during the play-offs. And unless she wanted to quit a job she’d worked her ass off to get, she had to do what the boss asked of her. Even though it stung.

  The sound of a cork popping brought Lauren out of her grumpy reverie. “Did it!” cried Rebecca Rowley, the woman who was supposed to run the Bruisers’ Brooklyn office. She held a magnum of Cristal in two hands, which she now levered toward the first of a row of shining glasses.

  Lauren’s eyes narrowed at this display of joy. Miss Perky was supposedly recovering from a rather freakish concussion she’d sustained by walking out onto the ice rink in her street shoes. What had seemed like a minor fall had resulted in terrible symptoms for the poor little idiot. She’d been absent from work for a week already, and was therefore the cause of Lauren’s sudden craving for Scotch whiskey.

  But now Becca passed around glasses as if nothing in the world were wrong with her. She poured another glass as her friend Georgia—one of the team publicists—skated into the room with a grin on her face. “Press conference in ten minutes, guys. Oh! Champagne.”

  “Have some.” Becca handed Georgia a glass, then mov
ed on to their boss, who gave her with a hundred watt smile. “I’m so happy for you,” Becca crowed, stretching her arms around the billionaire and giving him a big friendly squeeze.

  Nate looked a little stunned by the full-frontal embrace. As usual, he did a poor job of concealing his reaction to Rebecca. His arms did what they probably always wanted to do, and closed around her back. His eyes fell shut, too.

  Lauren had to look away. The yearning just rose off Nate like a mist. Hell—hugging Rebecca might be as exciting to Nate as the hockey victory itself.

  Rebecca pulled back a moment later, as oblivious to him as she always was. She grabbed another glass of champagne off the table and held it out to Lauren. “Champagne? I know you aren’t really a drinker but . . .”

  Lauren took the glass from Miss Perky and took a gulp immediately. “Thanks.”

  “You’re . . . welcome,” Becca said, her eyes full of surprise. Then she took a sip of her own glass and moved off to serve someone else, her hips swaying to the victory music that was playing in the stadium—“No Sleep Till Brooklyn” by the Beastie Boys.

  Lauren checked her boss’s face, and found his gaze tracking Becca across the walnut-paneled room. Lauren had been witness to this little romantic farce for the past two years. It was like living in a sitcom that she could never shut off.

  And yet, if Nate’s pining for Becca was the most irritating thing about Lauren’s situation at work, she wouldn’t be drinking tonight.

  Her problem wasn’t with the job itself, either. Before Nate Kattenberger bought and rebranded the Long Island team, she’d spent ten years working in the Syosset offices. In fact, it had been Lauren who managed the team’s office during its last three play-offs runs.

  Heck, Lauren was the veteran and Becca was the rookie.

  Then, two years ago, when the young internet whiz made a lot of changes to the organization, Lauren expected to be fired along with the rest of the casualties. In fact, her father—the team’s General Manager—was the first person Nate axed after the purchase went through.

  Lauren wasn’t fired, though. On the contrary, when Nate moved the team to Brooklyn, he stunned her by moving her even further—whisking her into the corporate headquarters of his internet company in Manhattan.

  She’d been ecstatic about this change, since working for Nate’s Fortune 500 company was exactly the sort of corporate leap she’d always hoped to make. Not only that, but the move away from the hockey team solved a lot of problems for Lauren all in one fell swoop, including the one huge problem that suddenly knocked her on her ass.

  And that problem was down on the ice right now, draped in sweaty goalie pads, lining up to skate past the other team for the traditional handshake. For the millionth time this week, Lauren closed her eyes and prayed to be spirited back to Nate’s office tower where there weren’t any hockey players, and there weren’t any reminders of the man who’d almost made her dreams come true.

  But as long as Becca was unable to work, Lauren was stuck in Brooklyn. And now that the Bruisers had won their freaking play-offs slot, it meant a hailstorm of planning and administrative overtime. The NHL play-offs were not a quick affair, either. Four rounds of seven game series. It would be two months before the Stanley Cup winner was crowned.

  And there would be travel with the very people she’d spent two years avoiding.

  “Lauren.” Nate’s voice cut through her reverie. “Please call Becca a car. She needs to get home and get some rest.”

  “Omigod.” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I can just walk, or grab a cab. I’m fine. All I do is rest.”

  But Nate gave Lauren a look over Becca’s head. And that look said, get her a car.

  “No big deal,” Lauren sighed, taking a healthy slug of her champagne. “I have cars waiting outside already.” She’d dealt with transportation during the third period of the game, while everyone else was screaming encouragements toward the ice. “You should take . . .” She pulled her Katt Phone out of her bag. “. . . Number 117. It’s parked at the curb outside the rink door.”

  Nate gave her a thankful nod. Then he went over to the coat rack in the corner and fetched Becca’s leopard-print jacket. He eased it onto her shoulders until Becca set down her empty wineglass and shoved her arms into the jacket, an irritated look on her face. “Pushy,” she muttered under her breath.

  Lovesick, Lauren countered in her head. Did it make her a horrible person that she wanted to knock their heads together right now?

  Probably.

  “Let’s go, Nate!” Georgia said, clapping her hands. “You can’t be late for your own press conference.” She grabbed his suit jacket off a chair and herded him toward the door.

  The fact that their fearless leader was actually wearing a suit spoke of tonight’s significance. Nate was a jeans-hoodie-and-800-dollar-sneakers kind of guy, even on game night.

  Lauren followed her boss, the publicist, and Rebecca into the private elevator, wondering why she couldn’t at least be happy for Nate. He’d wanted this so badly. But all Lauren felt was dread for the next few weeks. And a healthy dose of anger, too.

  Bitter much? Why yes, I still am.

  This was an unpleasant realization. Most of the time, Lauren was able to stay away from both hockey and Brooklyn. In Manhattan, she was able to focus on her excellent job, her tidy little Upper West Side apartment and the college degree she was just finishing up. She was too damn busy to feel bitter. But as the elevator slid lower, toward the locker rooms, so did her stomach.

  The doors parted momentarily on the main level for Becca’s exit. “Goodnight!” Miss Perky called, stepping off the elevator.

  “Night, babe!” Georgia called after her. “Rest up! We need you back!”

  Do we ever.

  Becca gave them a cheeky salute and then walked away, while Nate watched, a worried look on his face. When the doors closed again, he finally gave his attention to Georgia. “Okay, what’s the scoop? I’m not used to giving victory speeches.”

  “Just don’t sound smug,” Georgia begged. “Try for grateful.”

  He smirked. “As in, Brooklyn should be grateful to me for bringing the team here?” She rolled her eyes and he laughed. “Joking! Okay, how about this—I’m proud of my team’s success at landing a play-offs spot.”

  “I’m humbled by my team’s inspiring efforts,” Georgia suggested.

  “Sure. I can be humble.”

  “No you can’t,” Lauren interjected. “But you can fake it when necessary.”

  Nate grinned. “You don’t do humble either.”

  “That’s why you have me working in the office and not in front of the camera,” Lauren pointed out. “I’m going to start booking hotel rooms in D.C. in the morning. It’s not jinxing us if I do it now, right?” Nate had refused to even consider travel plans before they were officially headed to the first round of the play-offs.

  “Bombs away,” he said. “But we need the whole organization in one hotel,” he cautioned. “Coach will burst a vessel if the guys aren’t all together. Team unity and all that. If you have any trouble call the league and ask for help.”

  “Got it,” Lauren said. She’d done this all before, and not that many years ago. Although it felt like another lifetime.

  The doors parted once again, and Georgia put a hand on the boss’s arm. “Slap on that humble face, Nate. Here we go.”

  An entire corridor full of reporters swung their lenses in Nate’s direction. They began to shout questions as he made his way past their camera lenses. “Press conference starts in five!” Georgia called. “This way, please!”

  Nate led the way into their press room, which would be packed tonight. At the other end of the hall she spotted Coach Worthington and defenseman Patrick O’Doul. The team’s captain was already showered and wearing his suit. The new publicist—Tommy—must have bribed the guy to get him camera-rea
dy so fast. And he was smiling.

  O’Doul was not a smiler. The whole world was turned on its ear tonight.

  She followed her boss into the press conference where she spent the next half hour trying to appear joyful while avoiding eye contact with any of the players. Just another day at the office.

  * * *

  It was eleven o’clock before the room emptied again after speeches and Q & A. Lauren had reported to work fifteen hours ago already. That was life in professional sports. Now she faced a car ride home to midtown. At least there would be no traffic on the FDR.

  She’d given away all the hired cars already, so Lauren found herself on the Flatbush Avenue sidewalk, tapping her Katt Phone to summon an Uber driver. The app gave her a four-minute wait. She used the time to compose a monster of a to do list for tomorrow. Not only did she need to play for the play-offs, but she needed to check in on the Manhattan office, making sure that the place wasn’t going to seed in her absence.

  And at some point during this fiasco she’d have to do a final revision of the senior thesis she was about to turn in. Thank God she’d only had one course left before graduation, and her work was almost complete. If the Brooklyn Bruisers wrecked her odds for receiving her diploma this June, she would not be responsible for her actions.

  Nate wouldn’t let that happen, Lauren’s conscience whispered. Her boss had made every possible accommodation these past two years as Lauren struggled to get her degree. Nate, for all his quirks, liked to see his people succeed. She was still mad at him, though, for asking this of her. The man knew exactly why she avoided the team, and he’d put her in this position anyway.

  “Hi,” said a voice beside her.

  Startled, Lauren whirled to find the very reason for her misery standing there on the sidewalk, his rugged face regarding her curiously. Her stomach flipped over and then dove straight down to her knees. Mike Beacon in a suit had always been her undoing. His tie was loosened already, showing her a glimpse of the contrast between his olive skin at his throat and the crisp white dress shirt. A five o’clock shadow dusted the planes of his strong jaw, gathering in the sexy cleft of his chin.