The Crease: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance

by Colleen Charles

  “And now, the Cobra,” Kylie said, taking a deep breath in, then releasing it in slow seconds.

  With her face upturned to the light, Shredder admired how she seemed at peace, almost rapturous in the act, and he liked the way her forehead, cheeks, and lips shone in reflection. His own head must be glowing like a searchlight, he realized. The effect was surreal, and in an odd way, he felt transported to another level of consciousness.

  What a load of crap.

  “More animals, huh? Is this a gym or a zoo?” he joked quietly.

  “If it seems like a zoo to you,” Kylie replied in a sexy whisper, “a beast like you should fit right in.”

  Chapter Seven

  The cascading water from the shower felt blissful on her skin, cooling not only her body but her brain cells that refused to gear down out of overdrive. Her diabolical plan had backfired on her like a 1979 Dodge Dart. Sheldon “Shredder” Politski must be the Rochester Riot’s best kept secret. Did anyone else realize what a hot bod lurked beneath all that padding and face shield? It was all she could do to stop her hands from roving all over it in the yoga studio. The guy was not only built like a Greek God but hung like Pegasus. She’d only been half-kidding when she’d called him a beast and hoped he wouldn’t take offense. Flashes of the two of them intertwined, thrashing in the wild grass ala Wild Kingdom infiltrated every cell. She’d never wanted a man more than she wanted Shredder Politski. In every possible way.

  His cracks about doggie-style didn’t escape her notice either. Though she could tell his comments were an attempt to deflect the awkwardness he clearly felt, beneath that innocent, adorably clumsy exterior lay a typical, oversexed ice monkey like all the rest. A stab of unexpected pain pierced her chest. He’d probably leave the studio, whip out his phone, and penetrate some gold digging tart with his massive cock before sleeping it off. That part didn’t really surprise or bother her. What did surprise her was his determination to see their evening through no matter how much it hurt or how silly it seemed. He’d kept his word, and that was good enough for Kylie.

  I like him.

  But was she good enough for him? The implications of a relationship with a pro hockey player and a co-worker were doubly concerning. He made tons of money and was nationally famous – at least in the hockey world. Who was she in comparison to that? Pro athletes didn’t get involved with little miss nobodies. Arm candy. Feminine trophies to make their teammates jealous. They liked beauty and class, not quirk. And those that did date someone like her ended up on the front page of rags like Inside Sports as the latest joke of the NHL. Plus, she’d watched firsthand the struggles of Cole and Eloise, and though they seemed to have worked it out, happiness came at the cost of Eloise resigning her job. Players moved around all over the country; they didn’t get to pick their addresses. The idea of Kylie giving up her job was a no-go.

  Would. Not. Happen.

  She toweled off and dressed as fast as she could. Shredder said he’d wait for her at the front desk. A guy with no hair would definitely be finished in the dressing room before her. She laughed inwardly at her runaway thoughts and pulled on the reins. Probably just a one-off anyway. A lark. She’d be fooling herself to think there might be a second date. He’d seen everything there was to see, literally. Maybe he didn’t like the merchandise and was just being polite, playing the gentleman until he could jump into that glittering BMW and take off. Another notch on the goalie stick. Sure. That was it. She steeled herself for the big brush-off as she dashed on some pearly pink lipstick and left the dressing room.

  True to his word, Shredder waited out front, pretending to admire the minimalist décor of the studio. His clothing could never disguise the physique that Kylie now knew existed underneath; and though she’d noticed his gifted package while on the workout floor, the size of his hands became apparent as he draped an elbow on the reception desk counter. His larger than life mitts certainly made for bar-room hazards but no doubt could stop a puck anywhere between the pipes even without the benefit of his glove. She imagined her not-insignificant sized breasts being dwarfed while cupped in those giant palms. Whoa. Where’d that come from? She was fantasizing about him already? Getting way ahead of yourself here, Kyles. With a blush, she realized she’d been doing it ever since she’d met him.

  “Hi,” she said as she stepped up to the desk.

  His shiny head, once again covered by his Riot baseball cap, snapped toward her and he straightened his posture, dropping his arm to his side.

  “Hi. That was certainly an experience,” he said. “Do you put all your first dates through their paces this way? Some sort of personal hazing ritual?”

  She laughed, drawn into the humor in his voice.

  “Shit,” he went on. “I thought after college and my NHL rookie season I’d be done with that. I half expected you to whip out a razor and remove my glorious mane of golden hair.” He laughed and rubbed his hand over his cap. “Oh, that’s right. Some asshole already did it.”

  Kylie gasped, and a hand flew to her chest. “Really? Is that why you’re bald?”

  “Really. I lost my hair when I got hazed back at Boston College. One game without it, and I never went back. You can’t even imagine how much cooler it is under my protective headgear without it. I’ll grow it back once I retire.”

  “Well, I only haze my dates that lose bets,” she said with a smile. “Or that I think can handle it.”

  “How’d I do?” he asked.

  She cocked her head from side to side. “Well, your movements were a bit jerky, but not bad for a first-timer. You passed muster.”

  “A first-timer or a clumsy beast?”

  She reddened. Kylie hadn’t meant to offend him. Witty banter excited her, and she’d thought he was up for it. “Sorry about that. I meant it in the nicest way possible.”

  “I’m not sure there’s a nice way to compare a man to an animal,” he said but grinned his impossibly endearing grin. “Unless you call him a stud.”

  If she wasn’t careful, she’d be hooked on the man like Big Macs straight to the vein. And she hadn’t eaten fast food since she’d escaped her impoverished roots.

  Since he was probably about to ditch her, she’d best not get too attached. Kylie just stared, remaining quiet and waiting for the rejection. She’d come to expect it. Men didn’t go for a girl like her. Especially, not men like Shredder Politski.

  “But I accept your apology. Only now I have a condition.”

  Kylie’s blush deepened, recalling how she’d added her “condition” to their earlier challenge. Payback. Karma was a vicious bitch, so he didn’t have to be. He reached over to take her gym bag from her. As his face drew near, she caught an intensity in his calm stare she hadn’t seen before. He hovered there as if he wanted to kiss her. She held her breath and stared.

  God, I wish you would kiss me. Just this once, God, can’t Kylie Rose get the fairytale ending?

  He surprised her with his words. They almost didn’t register. Kylie started to ease his discomfort by rote before she’d even heard him.

  “It’s okay, Shredder…what?”

  “I said that I get to pick the next adventure. No backing out.”

  The heat stored in her body from the yoga workout seemed to release and flow straight to her sensitive pussy, wetness flooding into her folds. Really? He was asking her on a second date? Like Mrs. Kravitz, her self-doubt came knocking, ruining the moment.

  That’s just him being polite, just like you thought. You’re a novelty for him. He doesn’t really want you.

  It was his way of closing off, his sense of sportsmanship compelling him to even the score before dumping her. Or just plain get even for putting him through an embarrassing ordeal. Either way, she couldn’t deny wanting to see him again, if only to experience a shared adventure he’d have days to come up with. Kylie never backed down from an adventure. No risk, no reward.

  He nodded his chin at her, prompting her for an answer. And he looked…worried. As if he real
ly cared. As if he really wanted to see her again. She shook herself out of her swirling reverie of inadequacy and realized she’d done the same thing as last time; hesitated. Leaving the impression that she was giving him the brush off instead of the other way around. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  “I suppose that’s only fair,” she conceded with a grin of her own. “Let me know where and when.”

  “Do I get your private extension now?” he asked, his smile widening. “That barracuda manning the front office phones didn’t believe me when I told her I wanted to talk to you. I almost had to use my security badge and ask you out in person.”

  “Do I get my bag back now?” she countered, pointing to the bag he still held. “My business cards are in there. But you could have just called my cell phone, you know.”

  “Oh, just thought I would carry it to the car for you,” he said, handing it back to her. “And I wanted to be a gentleman and not bother you at home. Besides, I hate phone tag and it seems we’ve been playing it ever since the night we met.”

  She fished out her business card and yanked her bag from his hand. “Thanks for the offer of a ride, but I live nearby. I can walk.” He took the card, scanned it quickly then stuffed it in his jean pocket. She smiled at the thought that professional Kylie would be riding around next to his sculpted ass, at least vicariously and until he got home. Her business card better not end up in the circular file. No. Shredder wasn’t like that with all his talk of being a gentleman. He couldn’t be a closet narcissist, could he? All charm and politeness on the outside but hiding a controlling douche bag wearing a goalie mask just for fun?

  “It’s nearly dark out, and it looks like it’s still raining. I wouldn’t dream of letting you walk home alone. My pure Polish mother would have my head on a silver platter. She taught me how to treat a lady under my protection, and that doesn’t involve putting her in harm’s way.”

  He’s a protector in more ways than on the ice. The thought made her feel warm inside.

  “I’d buy you a drink except Jones and I have an early tee-off tomorrow. God knows we need a drink after that,” he laughed, thumbing toward the workout studio behind them. He opened the exit door for her.

  “Thanks,” she said and ducked out into the twilight. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, leaving the pavement full of puddles, the water reflecting the light from the parking lot lamp posts. They picked their way to his BMW, and as he reached to open the passenger door, a shadow passed by the corner of her eye. She peered through the semi-dark at the moving figure until it came to a standstill under one of the lamp-posts. She froze. Denny Marston’s bloodshot eyes glowered at her from beneath his black hooded sweatshirt.

  Shredder opened the car door. When she didn’t move, he turned his head and followed her gaze across the parking lot.

  “Get in,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

  Kylie folded her body into the car, keeping her head down. Her stomach lurched at the thought of Denny following her. Stalking her. The door slammed shut, and she released a breath at the sensation of being safely sealed in the leather-bound cabin of the classy vehicle. The custom interior oozed luxury and a sophisticated, masculine scent. Strong. Sexy. Like its owner.

  He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. It rumbled to life, the sound as large and powerful as a beast. It suited him. She clutched her gym bag in her lap and stole a sideways glance at him.

  “Someone you know?” he asked as he shifted gears and backed out of the parking lot. “I get the impression that guy’s never participated in hot yoga.”

  “No,” she lied, and her attempt at a chuckle fell flat. “He just…startled me. This used to be a good neighborhood,” she commented, deflecting the very real fear of someone else with a score to settle watching her every move. Except Denny’s score wouldn’t be nearly as much fun as Shredder’s.

  “Well, I hope your place is in a safer area. You said it’s not far…point the way,” he said, turning the wheel with an easy sweep of his muscled arm. Kylie stared at the chiseled sinew and her heart hammered. Either from Denny or Shredder. Maybe both. This was more excitement than she’d had in ages.

  “Turn right,” she said, giving him directions. Thankfully, he wouldn’t be able to see much of her building in the rain-soaked darkness. It wasn’t a dump, but certainly not a penthouse suite downtown like Eloise’s condo. Her feelings of inadequacy rose again, threatening to choke away any happiness this unique date had brought her. It was like she couldn’t allow herself to be happy. To just enjoy the journey.

  When they pulled up outside, she wanted to fling open the door and bail even if that meant she’d end up as road kill in the parking lot. Simply on the off-chance he might ask to come up to her place. Jesus, she needed to get out more. She was acting like a high schooler. The thought of this obviously well-heeled athlete seeing the inside of her modest apartment mortified her, even more so than her audacity to think he might actually be interested. Hockey jocks don’t waste any time getting into the slot, she’d said to Eloise, and now felt a little ashamed to have been so judgmental. Shredder Politski clearly bucked the stereotype.

  “Let me walk you up,” he said, putting the car in park.

  “No,” she blurted hastily. “I’m fine. Don’t trouble yourself.”

  “I’ll call…” he said, just as she slammed the door and cut off his words.

  She turned and ran up the steps, both fearful over Denny and cringing fatally at the bitter taste she’d left in Shredder’s lush mouth. Yeah, she’d left an impression on Shredder all right. The shut-out. For a goalie those were golden words, but not this time. She’d just blocked the one shot she desperately wanted in her net, and let it hit her in the head. Just like at the karaoke night, nothing was turning out right with this guy, and she only had herself, her personal demons, and her past to blame.

  ***

  Shredder blinked in disbelief. Girls had run out on him before, but not like this. Did she sense his closed-off sensuality before they’d even had their first kiss? Shit. And the guy in the parking lot. Her expressive eyes had lit with recognition. And he could tell with just one look that character had been bad news. Nothing good could come of any interaction with him. Nice girls didn’t get stalked; perhaps there was more to her come-again-go-away behavior than she let on. She wasn’t playing hard to get. She was trying to hide something.

  Look who’s calling the kettle black, Kylie Rose. Defense mechanisms. I can see yours plain as day because I’ve cornered the market on them myself.

  Oddly, instead of feeling put off it only made him more determined to figure her out. Kylie Rose had layers, and he’d peel them back one by one. It could be pleasurable, or it could be painful. Her choice. He stayed long enough to ensure she got inside the building safely, a gnawing irritation with himself that he hadn’t insisted on walking her. He got the message she was fiercely independent. He’d complimented her on her confidence at the Blues & Brews. He liked confidence in a woman; it put less pressure on himself. But something told him that Kylie’s confidence was like the glass around a hockey rink and just as transparent. A hit in the right place could shatter it in a heartbeat.

  Chapter Eight

  “If you want the job, I’ll vouch for you. In exchange for certain…considerations,” Murphy said, his cigar-wrinkled lips curling into a lascivious sneer.

  Bernie Griffiths sat across the desk from him, his hands folded in his puffy lap. At the sound of Murphy’s veiled threat, his heart began to pound double time. He glanced over his shoulder as a light sheen of anxious perspiration broke out across his forehead.

  “Considerations,” Bernie repeated innocently, an eyebrow raised in question. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Sheehan. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  Murphy’s leer slackened into a smug grin. “No, I don’t. You know damn well what I mean. You scratch my, um, back; I’ll scratch yours.”

  Bernie let out a mirthless chuckle. He kne
w where this conversation was headed. Straight to hell in a hand basket, and depravity waited at the end of the rainbow instead of the proverbial pot of gold.

  “Scratch your back. That’s quite a euphemism. I’ll bet your back is hairy and that’s a turn-off. You’ll have to sweeten the deal to get me to bite. What do I get in return?”

  Murphy leaned forward. “A job. And my silence. It’s been a lot of years since you were in trouble, Bernie. You got away clean, somehow. None of those boys talked. But I can. You wouldn’t want that, now would you? After doing such a good job of staying off the official sexual offender list all these years?”

  “Lower your voice,” Bernie hissed, shifting in his seat and looking side to side as if scanning for eavesdroppers.

  Murphy laughed. “There’s no one here, Bernie. No bugs. The door’s locked. You can stop looking over your shoulder like a nervous pussy. Shit. With that behavior, I should put you on a line with my other expensive pussy-boy, Fiorino. At least you could help him score some goals and make yourself useful.”

  Bernie scoffed at the inappropriate reference to the Riot’s star center. It was just like Sheehan Murphy to disparage everyone and everything. Even the uber-talented player that scored more than fifty goals a season and led his team to the playoffs, further lining his already overinflated pockets.

  “Unfortunately, as long as there are people like you, I will have to keep looking over my shoulder,” Bernie said. “I need this job, Sheehan. But Lou doesn’t particularly like me. Can’t you put in a good word, strictly as a professional courtesy?”

  “If you want professional courtesy, you should visit a local massage parlor. They excel at the happy ending. I’m not a charity backer.” Murphy leaned back into his chair in a gesture of dismissal. “The only fairytales I believe in are the ones written by the Brothers Grimm. Besides, Lou’s a good judge of character. Which is why he’s running my expensive hockey team.”