by Julia Bevan
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Other Books By Julie Bevan
Check out my website juliabevan.com for more information.
Submission Hold
My Football Romance
My MMA Romance
My Hockey Romance
Julia Bevan
Chapter 1
Josie
"Hey, Ben, I can't talk now," I murmur hurriedly into the phone, cupping the smooth screen device against my cheek and peering cautiously around the corner of my office door before retreating back to my desk. My boss was no doubt lurking in some shadowed corner, just waiting for one of us to slip up and make even the tiniest of mistakes. He hadn't been shy about making sure that we all know just how replaceable we are at his architecture firm. It was well known that his office was one of the most selective, demanding, and esteemed in the city. Working under Peter Tullamore had been my dream all throughout college - at least until I could open my own firm someday. Unfortunately for me, Peter is more slave driver than employer. The hours are endless, and the breaks are zilch. He might as well own the half dozen other people and me that he hired. While in his office, and he made damn sure we knew it was his office, we could barely even breathe without permission. There wasn't a single one amongst us who would complain, however. Architecture jobs, especially one as highly respected as this one, were hard to come by. I'd all but put my entire life on hold to work here. That meant no vacations and no holidays. I hadn't seen my older brother in what seemed like years, though it was more like a month or two. I barely had time to even grab a coffee with him lately, which had once been our weekly tradition. "You're working again?" Ben sighs, the distant sound of chatter and the rustle of heavy hockey equipment echoing behind him. "Lord, sis. You ever take a breather? You're going to work yourself into an early grave." "You know I'm too high-strung for a break," I tease back, smiling when he chuckles. Ben and I only really have each other. Our parents were always more interested in living their dream than raising their two kids. I never really blamed them for that. Both Ben and I were accidents, as far as we could tell. They hadn't asked to be parents, and we hadn't asked to be born. We all just coexisted with one another. They did the bare minimum, keeping us fed and healthy but rarely interacting with us. I couldn't even say now which island in the Bahamas they were on at the moment. Ben and I raised each other instead, though I suppose Ben did most of the raising at first. Even though he's only a few years older, he'd held my hand and walked me to school every day, making our lunches and telling me stories until I fell asleep at night. If I let him, he'd probably march right into my office and give Peter a big dressing down for how many hours of overtime my boss was having me work, but I'd managed to convince my older brother to focus on his own life for now. As an up and coming hockey star, he had plenty on his own plate. I tried to tell him that he didn't have to protect me anymore, but that fell on deaf ears. It's not as though I was ungrateful for all that Ben did for me. It truly warms my heart that he was protective. I knew a few other sets of siblings who barely had anything to do with one another, but Ben is my best friend and the only guy I've ever really trusted. I appreciate him, heart and soul, but I am also my own person. Suddenly, a woman with a short red bob stuck her head around the corner, her eyes going wide with an unspoken warning. He was coming. "Damn," I hiss, throwing a pen off my desk and then dramatically leaning down to get it to hide my head behind the mahogany wood and cautiously peer around the sanded edge, "I can't talk anymore today." "Okay. I just wanted to check in with you. I haven't heard from you in a like a week. Are you sleeping?" I have to resist rolling my eyes, but the sincerity in his voice is sweet. I
t's nice to know I have someone who worries about me, though I wish Ben didn't insist on checking up on me so much. I'm twenty-three now, living on my own and working a fancy big girl job. I appreciated his protectiveness, but I didn't need it so much anymore. "Of course I am, and I'm remembering to eat vegetables and brush my teeth too," I add playfully, actually rolling my eyes this time. He laughs and then sighs. "-tell her about the award party, man?" another voice calls from behind him. "Is that sister of yours coming? We don't think she's even real!" The men all laugh, and though their words sting, it also doesn't surprise me. I hadn't been to one of Ben's hockey games in forever. I streamed them on my phone when I had the chance, but I did miss the feeling of sitting in the arena, freezing my ass off and cheering until my throat was raw. I didn't even know any of Ben's teammates or friends. Then again, I barely had any friends of my own. There wasn't enough time to juggle relationships, even platonic ones. All I really have time for anymore is my job. My heart thuds heavily against my ribs, but I try to push away the dull ache. If I didn't have any time to chat with my brother, then I certainly didn't have time to feel sorry for myself for working so hard. This job is what I've always wanted, isn't it? I knew just how much I would have to sacrifice for it. Isn't this what I expected, what I prepared for all through college? "Award?" I ask, focusing again on my brother's voice in the phone even though I had mere seconds left before I got a stern rebuking and a potential firing, "Ben, what award? That's amazing!" "Just some lame hockey shit," he mumbles shyly, in a tone that told me that it was more than just some lame hockey shit to him. "And there's a party for you?" "Yeah, but I know you're working like crazy. It's no big deal." Again, he spoke with that tone that told me just what a big deal this award is to him. That's it. I have to be there. I have to support my big brother. There have been so many times lately when I've failed to do just that, but this won't be one. I'm a smart girl, I can figure this out… hopefully. I glance over towards the door, listening, but I can hear Peter just down the hall reprimanding one of the other junior architect's buildings layout. It'll be any moment now that it's my turn. "I'll be there. I promise. Text me the address-" "Josie, it's at a club. We both know you wouldn't have fun. You don't like loud music or drinking or anything like that, and I'm sure you have to work early tomorrow. It's just a get together with some buddies." "I'll be there," I repeat firmly, before hanging up the cell and gliding it underneath on the chair to hide it away. Straightening, I hunch over my own plan and begin scribbling away at it just as my boss rounds the corner. He gives a slight hum, his arms folding across his chest. Though he's a small man, he has a powerful aura. He's barely over five foot five inches, but the scowl he presents could melt a gargantuan luchador's mask clean off his terrifying face. There's a reason Peter Tullamore is feared in the architecture industry, and it isn't because he's always giving out hugs and candy. "Good afternoon, sir!" I force a smile on my face, greeting the man. "Working through lunch again?" he asks, a lone eyebrow quirking upwards. Only the dark brow moves, not the rest of his face, like it's being controlled by a puppeteer. I can't help glancing up towards the ceiling, expecting to see a string. Working through our lunches isn't necessarily a requirement, in fact for legal reasons it couldn't be, but it is extremely recommended. "Of course!" I say with a beaming smile and a bob of my head, hoping that the enthusiasm will brighten the man's dour mood. It doesn't. "I just love to work!" I add loudly, hoping to mask the phone suddenly vibrating underneath my legs. No doubt it's the text with Ben's party location. He was right when he said I didn't enjoy bars or clubs. I can't even remember the last time I had a drink that wasn't a single glass of white wine while I tried not to fall asleep in my bathtub after a twelve-hour shift in the office. "That's nice," Peter answers idly, shaking his head as he starts to leave. "We have a deadline coming up. Everyone is staying 'til eleven." Brain-scrambling for any reason on how I can get out of staying at work late again, I suddenly clear my throat and then give a hacking cough. When Peter looks at me curiously, I groan and drop my head into my hands. "Are you alright, Josie?" asks Peter dryly. I can't tell whether he's actually concerned or whether he's just asking for the sake of civility. Either will do, in this case. "It's just..." I trail off weakly and cough again loudly, "oh my, I feel so very faint." I feel like one of those southern belles in an old western film, fanning my face and fighting off a pretend spell of the vapors. In the months that I had been working at this firm, I'd never once been late or missed a single day. Hell, I'd come in almost every weekend and I was always the first to volunteer to stay late. I deserve a single night off, and I'm willing to do whatever I could for it. A thoughtful rumble reverberates in Peter's throat as he checks his watch. He couldn't care less about my state. I cough again as loudly as I can, swaying in the chair and taking a second to peek at him through half cracked lids. He glances back towards me, that odd eyebrow lifting again. "Do you think, sir, that I could just leave a few hours early?" I plead, "I'll be back here bright and early tomorrow. You know me, I'm never late. I've never asked to go home." A disappointed frown tugs at his mouth. I'd never thought Peter was especially fond of me, but whatever brownie points I'd earned were definitely being erased at this moment. It'll be back to the bottom of the barrel now, but for Ben, it's worth it. "Fine, fine, just stop coughing. Don't get any... fluids on our plans. I don't need you infecting our clients." Excitedly, I sprang to my feet before remembering that I was supposed to be deathly ill and sinking right back down into my chair with a dramatic moan. My hand flutters to my forehead, pressing against it as though I'm checking for a fever. "You better be here at 7 AM tomorrow. Don't be late," he mutters with a roll of his eyes, striding back out the door and away from my germs as quickly as he could. With a silent squeal, I threw my arms over my head and scoop up the phone, texting my brother back that I would be at the bar for his award party in no time. As I collected my things and shoved them in my purse, making sure to look aptly miserable as I marched out of the building, my eyes catch on my reflection in a passing window. I gaze at myself with demure eyes, a black pencil skirt snugly draped around my knees and a modest white button-up blouse tucked into the hem. My only accessory is a severe black belt. All in all, I'm more boring than white bread without butter; and stale white bread at that. If I was really going to have a single night of fun, I'm going to have to at least try to look the part.
Chapter 2
Luke
Music came thumping in through the speakers, the deep bass vibrating through my bones. Within seconds of walking into the club, I might as well be deaf. At practice tomorrow, we're all going to be shouting at the tops of our lungs just speak to one another. People are packed in tight, an assortment of teammates, their girlfriends or hookups for the night, and Portland Puma fans. I like to think we've got the best fans in the NHL, but I guess I'd have to argue with every other team over that. We've never had a game that wasn't nearly sold out though, even when we're away. I scour the crowd while I wind and weave my way towards the bar, my gaze eventually finding the man of the hour. Grabbing a beer and balancing two overfilled shots of whiskey, I make my way over towards Ben. "Cheers, man!" I grin, passing him the shot. "Congrats again!" The night is still young, but it's apparent that the hockey center had already done quite a few shots with everyone else there celebrating his award. He sways just slightly on his feet, his whole face and neck flushed a bright candy apple red. "Thanks, Luke!" He calls back, words slurring just slightly together. With a huge grin, he tosses back the shot while I follow suit. The whiskey is like hot, delicious fire all the way down the back of my throat. I shake my head, lips smacking as a passing waitress takes the empty little glasses with a wink. She's all perky and smiling right now, but within a few hours, she's going to be so over the drunken people sloppily bumping into one another and shattering their glasses everywhere. I'm just glad I went into hockey young so that I never had to have any other job. There's no way I could do what she does every day. As far as I'm concerned, she's a saint. A liquor
-laden, skimpy clothed saint. "I can't get too trashed yet," Ben says, even though he's already rapidly approaching that point. "My sister's coming out tonight. How great is that?" Ben is very much an I-love-you-man when he's drunk. Everything is the most awesome thing ever. Everyone is the best person ever. Every drink or food is the best he's ever had. "Oh, the mysterious sister of yours who never bothers to come to your games or visibly support you in any way?" My teammate's rosy glow of drunk elation hardens instantly into a protective glare, the look he always does when I speak ill of his little sister. It's not that I don't like her, I don't even know her, it's just that she's never bothered once to come out to cheer for her brother during the last few hockey seasons that Ben and I have played together. Even still, he barely ever stopped talking about her. I knew more about whatever lame-o architecture program she was in then I did about my own college courses. Growing up, I'd always wanted a sibling. I definitely wouldn't take a brother or sister for granted the way she appeared to be doing. "Just kidding," I add playfully, despite being completely serious. He's drunk enough to break back into a smile and a laugh. Tonight, I won't bring up his sister or my thoughts on the matter. Tonight's going to be all about having a good time. But if I ever do meet that girl, I'm definitely giving her a solid piece of my mind. She probably wouldn't even show tonight. How many other times had I heard Ben say that this girl was going to be at a game or an after party or ceremony? I'd lost count. Ben always just shrugged it off, but it made me angry. "This music is incredible!" Ben hoots, throwing his arms over his head and bobbing his head to the music. I hadn't realized it, but my body is swaying slightly with the rhythm of the music as well, my shoulders rocking, head tilting from side to side. It'd been a long time since I stepped away from the hockey rink and just had a good time. Hockey is my life, my heart, my soul. I'd been playing since I could walk, or at least that was the story my mom liked to tell. She says before that, I was always crawling towards the ice like I wanted a turn in the rink. Before I made it onto a little league hockey team, she was sure I was going to grow up to be a Zamboni driver. "You'd like her you know," Ben says abruptly, grabbing my shoulder with one of his hands and leaning closer to shout into my ear. The music is so loud that I can still barely hear him. The waitress returns with more shots, and to keep Ben from doing his, I do them both before he can notice their arrival. We've got practice in the morning, and while I can handle my alcohol, Ben can't. He's already sloshed, no reason to make it any worse. "Who?" I shout back, cupping one hand around my mouth to make my voice louder. The alcohol is simmering in my belly, making my blood surge warm through my veins. I move a bit more with the music, letting the tempo fill me like a balloon inflating in my soul. Ben is right, this music is great. "My sister. She reminds me of you a lot," Ben's drunken grin gets wider. "Every time I'm talking to one of you, I think how much you'd get along." I start to say that it's too bad she's too busy to ever hang out but remember my mental promise not to deride her tonight. It's so obvious how much Ben loves his little sister. I'm almost envious of that bond. My mom had given birth to me young, and our relationship had been much more friend to friend than parent to child, but it still didn't fill that void that I'd always wanted in having a sibling. My best friend abruptly belches, breath stinking of mid-shelf liquor and cheap beer, before giving an uncharacteristic giggle. A few of the people nearby glance over with mild curiosity, judgement on their own drunken faces. "You've got to give your speech soon to accept your reward. Can you handle that?" I ask quietly, grabbing his arm and pulling him over to a nice, quiet corner of the crowded bar. I catch the eye of the waitress who'd been walking around and gesture deliberately towards Ben. With a knowing nod, she returns a moment later with a tall glass of water which I force him to guzzle down with only a few complaints. "Is it vodka?" he slurs, "It's the best vodka I've ever had!" "Sure is, buddy," I have to stifle a chuckle. Fortunately, even if he slurred and bumbled his way through an incoherent speech, we were surrounded by friends who would think it was hysterical. Ben didn't tend to get wasted, but he also didn't tend to have people buying him shots left and right. I end up accepting more than a few on his behalf, and within the next twenty minutes, I'm sinking down to sit beside him with a big cup of water of my very own. Occasionally, Ben straightens up where he's sitting. Glassy eyes scan the crowd to try and find the familiar face he's seeking. I almost want to tell him to give up so that he'll stop but he looks too much like a little kid trying to spot Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer in the night sky on Christmas Eve. I don't want to be the Grinch that ruins it for him. "She's coming," he says when he notices me observing him from the corner of my eye, the water helping bring some clarity back to his tongue. "She promised. When we make promises to each other, we mean them." "If you say so," I shrug. I'd heard all about the situation with their parents and how hands off their mother and father had been. Maybe that's why his little sister is so disengaged as well. She couldn't help it, being a flake was in her DNA. "You don't get it," he insists. "She works so hard all the time. She's going to make something of herself. She doesn't date, she doesn't mess around, she doesn't go anywhere but the office and her apartment. She works her fingers to the bone," a glimmer of pride sparkles in Ben's eye like he's a father talking about his daughter. I wonder if, in the way that my mother was more like a lighthearted friend than a parent to me, that Ben is more like a protective parent to her. I also wonder if she knows how lucky she is to have someone in her life that cares for her so much. "Nachos," Ben abruptly gasps, his face going somber. He pushes deliberately up to his feet, sticking his nose up in the air like a dog sniffing for a bone. With his brain focused intensely on drunken sustenance, his body no longer has that same drunken swagger that it did only moments before and his eyes are no longer vacant. "Need nachos," he mutters, like a zombie hunting brains. If there's one thing Benjamin Mills is, it's stubborn. If he wants it, he's going to get it. I don't even know if this bar serves nachos, but I know Ben will end up with a big plate of them in no time if he has his way. He's the type of person that could convince a snake to merrily shed its skin six months early. I hold up my pointer finger, tilt my head back to finish gulping down some nice cool water, then climb up to my own feet and point him in the direction of the bar behind us. "Go on, they'll hook you up," I chuckle, giving him a light push. He saunters away, his nose following the hunt of salsa and crispy, salted chips. I'm about to follow him when a woman suddenly sidles up to my side. I glance down at her distractedly, trying to step around her swiveling body, but she presses her pelvis against my hip and bats her eyes. "You're the goalie, aren't you?" she asks, wetting her full lips, "That's, like, so cool." I'd met women like her a thousand times. She probably doesn't even know what an NHL goalie does, just the salary. Every time the team went out, there were flocks of women with dollar signs in their eyes who try to hook their claws into an unsuspecting player. All they really need is one night, one mysteriously broken condom, and they'll have a pro athlete on the hook for life. That isn't what I'm looking for. I don't have time to date or for mishaps like that. I only have time for the game. I live for hockey. The feel of the ice under my blades, the chill on my nose and cheese, the sound of the puck skidding towards me and the crowd cheering when I block it. That's all I need. It's all I've ever needed. "Excuse me," I grunt, gently grabbing the wrist of the hand pressed to my chest and carefully pushing it away. Her jaw drops, eyes wounded as I make my way past her. I've lost sight of Ben in the crowd now, but I'm sure he's probably chowing down on some nachos in a corner somewhere. I chuckle again, though the sound is muted by the loud music, and turn in a slow circle to take in the gyrating bodies of the dancing crowd. Then, across the room, I see something - someone - who makes my whole body freeze. It's like my blood has frozen in my veins, like my brain has skidded to a halt. Every thought that was going through my mind vanishes, replaced by one single one. Damn. She isn't doing anything in particular to grab my attention, but her legs are endlessly long under a short denim skirt
. There's something about her that forces me to keep staring, but whether it's the almond-shaped eyes, the button nose, or the way she twirls her hair around her finger, I don't know. She's perusing the crowd as well, her long spine pressed lithely back against a wall. She looks vaguely uncomfortable, like she wants nothing more than to leave. When our eyes meet, every single hair on my body lifts on electric edge, my lungs screaming for a breath that I can't convince my body to take. Never once has a woman had this captivating effect on me before. All I know is that I need to find out who she is, and fast.
