by Cathryn Fox
The Troublemaker
Cathryn Fox
Contents
Copyright
1. Cason
2. Kinsley
3. Cason
4. Kinsley
5. Cason
6. Kinsley
7. Cason
8. Kinsley
9. Cason
10. Kinsley
11. Cason
12. Kinsley
13. Cason
14. Kinsley
15. Cason
16. Kinsley
17. Cason
18. Kinsley
Epilogue
Afterword
His Obsession Next Door
Also by Cathryn Fox
About Cathryn
Copyright
The Troublemaker
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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ISBN Ebook: 978-1-989374-24-5
ISBN Print: 978-1-989374-23-8
1
Cason
I nudge my best bud Cole as he lifts his near empty beer bottle to his lips. “Who’s the cute girl with Kinsley?” I ask and take in the hot blonde shaking her ass on stage, as our good friend Kinsley dances wildly beside her. Kinsley, with her bright pink hair and numerous piercings, never fails to stand out in a crowd. I always liked the way she marched to the beat of her own drum. The saying is cliché, I know, but confidence radiates off her, and her refusal to cave to the ridiculous societal pressures put on women has always impressed me.
Cole takes a long pull from the bottle, and he scans the Vegas nightclub. “You mean the cute blonde?” His gaze rakes over our eclectic group of friends as they butcher some Neil Diamond song, giving zero fucks that my ears are bleeding from the off-key notes.
But I’m glad they’re all having fun with the karaoke machine. That’s what weddings in Vegas are all about, right? Tomorrow our friend Rider—aka the Wingman—and his gorgeous fiancée Jules will be tying the knot. I couldn’t be happier, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to get up on that stage and make a fool of myself like everyone else in the wedding party.
My younger sister Nina—Cole’s wife—takes the microphone, and things go from bad to worse. I must have done something shitty in a past lifetime to be subjected to this kind of torture. Cole cringes and turns my way.
“Sweet baby Jesus. Don’t tell her I said this, but she needs to stick to her day job,” he says.
I laugh at that. My sister is a New York Times bestselling author, and the love of my best friend’s life. I smile, because she looks happy and all I’ve ever wanted was for her to have the life she deserves—with a guy who knows her value, and knows how to treat a woman with respect. The two have been happily married for a few years now, and after a successful NHL season, this break away from work and their two kids looks good on them both.
“Do you know who she is?” I ask again as the blonde looks my way.
“She’s a friend of Jule’s and Kinsley’s. I think all three of them go way back. I can’t remember her name. Maybe it’s Emma or something. Why, you like her?” he asks.
A trio of barely dressed women in heels so high it’s a wonder their noses aren’t bleeding, giggle and stare as they walk by our table—obviously trying to get our attention. The people in the club went a little wild when half of the Seattle Shooter’s team sauntered in. The staff quickly quieted them, but many have been trying to crash our private party.
I smile at them as they pass. “She’s cute and fun. What’s not to like?”
Cole nods and takes another pull from his beer. “She’s definitely your type. Then again, who isn’t?”
“Hey,” I say and push him. The server comes by with a couple of fresh beers and sets them in front of us. “Can I get you boys anything else?” she asks as she drops a napkin in front of me, her name and number scribbled on it.
“We’re good for now.”
“Okay, just shout if you need anything.” She offers me a big smile. “I do mean anything.”
I nod, and she saunters off, an extra little shake in her backside.
“Are you denying that every woman is your type?” Cole asks when it’s just the two of us.
“Well yeah…I mean…no. I just like women.” It’s true I do, although I have to say I am so goddamn played out these days, it’s killing me. I’d love to go to bed with the same woman every night, and more importantly, wake up with her every morning. Too bad settling down just isn’t in my future—and it’s not because I’m commitment phobic.
“And they like you,” he says, nodding to the napkin in front of me. “Obviously, but someday though, the right one will come along, and once you fall in love, your priorities will change big time. Next thing you know, your ride will be a minivan and a stroller.”
I shrug, not worried about trading in the sports car—because I want that. Cole is my best friend, and on some level, he must know I want what he has, but it’s out of my reach. What is it women say about me? Emotionally closed off? Yeah, that’s it. It’s no secret that two weeks is my limit with a woman. I thought things might go further a couple years back when I hooked up with Jess, my sister’s best friend. But nope, I couldn’t seem to give her what she wanted, and she dumped me for a guy who could express himself better than me.
Love and affection were rare things in my household growing up, which might be why it’s hard for me to express myself. I usually just fuck things up and end up hurting whoever I’m with. I’ve since learned that if I bail after two weeks, no one falls in love, no one gets hurt. I’m just glad Nina never had the same problem, and is now in a loving relationship with my buddy.
“No minivan for me,” I say and casually stretch my legs out, pretending I’m relaxed when I’m actually strung so tight my shoulders are practically hugging my ears. I should probably get laid tonight, it’s what I always do to take my mind off things, but I’m not even sure if I want to have sex. If I tell Cole that I might just go to bed alone, he’ll check me in to the nearest clinic. “I’m a bachelor for life,” I add.
Cole makes a sound, one that suggests I’m full of shit, and says, “I think it’ll happen when you least expect it, and with the last person you expect it to happen with.”
I lift my bottle and tip it his way. “Look at that. My best friend. The hockey player and a philosopher. God, I’m a lucky guy.”
“Fuck off,” he says and shoves me. “I’m right. You’ll see.”
I snort. “Want to bet?”
He glances around, the overhead strobe lights beginning to giv
e me a headache. “We are in Vegas. I’ll take that bet.”
I shake my head. “Nah, forget it.”
“Forget what?” Nina asks, as she comes our way, and sets herself on Cole’s lap. She runs her hands through his hair, and kisses him like her brother isn’t sitting there watching the two display affection. While I’d rather not watch them make out, my heart swells, happy and envious at what they have.
“Jesus, get a room already,” I say.
She grins at me. “Ooh, that’s a good idea. What were you two talking about?” she asks.
Cole opens his mouth, but I lean forward and cut him off. “That girl dancing with Kinsley. Do you know her?”
She turns. “Yeah, that’s Jules’s friend. She’s here for the wedding, too. Her name is Emily.”
“Emma. Emily. I was close,” Cole says, and I roll my eyes at him.
“She asked about you,” Nina says and takes Cole’s beer.
My dick twitches. “Oh yeah.”
She takes a big drink of beer, leaving me hanging. “Thanks babe,” she says and hands the bottle back to Cole. She lifts her head to see me as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yeah, but I told her to stay away.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I let her know you were nothing but trouble.”
“Sis, seriously. When did little Neaner Neaner become such a cock blocker?” I ask, using the childhood nickname she hates, just to piss her off.
Cole nearly spews a mouthful of beer. “Watch what you’re calling my wife, buddy.”
Nina lifts her chin an inch, all tough with her husband backing her up, and my lips twitch. “That’s right, Cason. Talk to me like that again, and Cole will put a beating on you.”
I laugh, and Cole grins. The last fight we had—over Nina—I blackened his eye and they both know it. They don’t call me Crazy Callaghan the Troublemaker—on and off the ice—for nothing.
“Cool it you two,” Cole says. “Everyone is coming back.”
The gang are all laughing and hanging off each other as they come back to the big round table. Rider orders a round of shots for us all. They come and we lift them in salute. Kane, Rider’s best friend—his brother—lifts his glass.
“To Rider and Jules,” he says and we all down our tequila and reach for a lime from the bowl in the center. My hand connects with Emily’s and she gives me a smile.
“Here,” she says, and puts the lime in my mouth. I suck on it, and she nibbles on her bottom lip as she watches me. Yeah, maybe if I took her to bed, it would help me forget about all the things I want, but can never have. Juice drips down my chin, and I grab the napkin to wipe it.
“Uh oh,” she says, dark lashes fluttering over blue eyes.
“What?”
She points to the napkin. “I think you smudged the number.”
I shrug. “I wasn’t interested anyway.”
Her lips pucker as she reaches into her purse. “Maybe you’ll be interested in this,” she says, and discreetly slides her room key into my hand. I shift and shove it into my back pocket for safe keeping.
Kinsley grabs my hand. “Come on, Cason. You are not sitting here all night.”
“I am not singing,” I groan in protest.
“Fine, then you can dance with me. This is Vegas baby. You’ve been doing nothing but mope since we got here.”
“I am not…” I let my words fall off because it’s possible she’s right. She pulls me from my chair, and the second I stand, asshole and fellow teammate Liam, drops into my chair and turns his focus to Emily.
Motherfucker.
Where the hell is bro code? We don’t hit on another guy’s woman. Not that Emily is my woman. She’s not. But still, I was just sitting with her, and Liam is breaking bro code rules. I shake my head. I guess that’s why his on ice handle is the Rule Breaker, and I should probably cut him some slack; he recently lost his dad, and there was a huge scandal, and has been drinking steadily since arriving. I’m a bit worried about his mental state to be honest. I’m glad he’s here with us this weekend. I think he needs his friends around.
Kinsley drags me onto the dance floor just as those working the karaoke machine change to a slow song. I pull her into my arms, and her sweet vanilla scent fills my senses. I put my nose to her hair and breathe her in.
“Did you just smell me?” she asks.
“Why do you always smell so good?” I ask.
She laughs, and the sound curls around me. “Because I own a food truck. No matter how many times I shower I still smell like street tacos.”
“You think you smell like street tacos?” I chuckle at that.
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking of bottling the scent. Talk about an aphrodisiac for men, huh? They’d be coming at me from miles.”
I put my hands on her hips as she sways. What the fuck? Is that my dick twitching? Yeah, maybe I really am in bad shape if my dick is standing up and taking notice. Not that Kinsley isn’t hot, it’s just that she and I are friends. We go way back, and I eat at her food truck every chance I get.
My dick should not be moving.
“First, you smell like cupcakes, and second you don’t need to smell like a taco to attract a guy, Kins. I’m sure they’re lining up for you.”
She snorts and looks at me like I have a brain tumor. “Oh, they’re lining up all right. I own a food truck remember?”
Wait, does she think that’s the only reason a man would be interested in her? Fuck, she’s hot with her wild pink hair and numerous piercings, not to mention the abundance of curves any guy would be lucky to sink his teeth into. She’s completely different from the puck bunnies who line up to meet us after a game, but that’s why I like her. Like I said, she marches to the beat of her own drum and cares little about social norms.
A round of cheers erupt from behind us as the gang all do another shot. This time Liam is putting a lime to Emily’s lips and she sidles closer to him. He can flirt with her all he wants. I’m the one with her room key in my back pocket. I’m just not sure I want to use it. Maybe all this pumped in oxygen is messing with my brain.
“You like her, huh?” Kinsley asks, and lowers her head. While I can’t see her expression, I hear a hint of dejection in her voice. I must be mistaken. Why would she be upset that I liked her friend? Before I can say anything, she says, “She likes you, too, Cason. Then again, who doesn’t?”
“Are you saying you like me, Kins,” I tease. “You think I’m a big fat snack you’d like to bite into?”
Her face crinkles like she’d just tasted something sour. “And my snacking stops today,” she says with a laugh.
She’s a joker, a teaser, but for some reason those words hit like a punch. I smile to hide the blow and say, “Always good to know where I stand with the ladies.”
“I’m not one of your ladies, I’m your friend, and you’re welcome,” she says. “But you should go for it with Emily. She’s always looking for a good time, and has no desire to get serious. She’s having too much fun being single I guess.”
“You two go way back?”
“Friends since childhood. She stuck by me when I quit law school and bought a truck.”
“She sounds like a good friend.”
“She is.” She arches a brow, but there is something I don’t recognize in her eyes. It can’t be jealousy. She just told me she was off snacking. “Are you going to go for it?”
I shrug. One because I’m unsure and two it feels weird talking to Kinsley about this. But maybe she’s right. Maybe I should stop feeling sorry for myself and hook up with a girl who knows where I stand. We break apart as the song ends. She saunters off, her swaying ass dragging my focus, and teasing something deep inside me. My dick twitches again.
What the ever loving fuck is going on with me?
Am I really upset that I’m not her type, that she doesn’t want to crawl between the sheets with me? I mean, that’s good though, right? That should make me happy.
We’re friends for God’s sake.
> I shouldn’t want to sleep with her. Shouldn’t all of a sudden be thinking about her lush body beneath mine. I shut down my brain, and redirect my train of thoughts to ones that don’t involve my friend naked.
Too bad my dick didn’t get the memo.
2
Kinsley
“How did you end up with the honeymoon suite anyway?” Emily asks me, as I practically carry her to my bed, and toss her on it. She widens her arms and makes snow angels on my big, inviting mattress. She’s a hot mess, and if she could see herself, she’d be mortified. As a cosmetologist, she’s always so well put together. Tequila is not her friend.
“I guess I just got lucky,” I say. The hotel had lost my reservation, so they put me in one of their posh honeymoon suites. I’m not about to complain. The place is bigger than my Seattle condo.
“This bed is big enough to sleep six,” she tells me.
It’s true it is, but I wish I was sleeping alone in it, left to my thoughts about Cason, and the way his body moved with mine. Yeah, I want to lay here alone and fantasize, but I won’t. Not with Emily next to me. She’s had far too much tequila, and I needed to make sure she landed in bed safely. Friends take care of each other. She insisted she needed to go to her room, although she couldn’t remember why, and when her key was nowhere to be found, taking her here to my big suite to sleep off the tequila was a no-brainer.
“Wait,” she says and sits up. She peels her tongue from the roof of her mouth, and furrows her brow in thought. “I think I’m supposed to get lucky tonight.”
