Defending the Reaper: A Standalone Steamy Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 5)

by G. K. Brady

  Watching him, watching the game, was mesmerizing. The speed! And how could such big men move as though made of liquid?

  Finn was good as his word, filling in details and answering questions so she had an overall idea of how the game worked. An elaborate game of keep-away so one team could control the puck and shoot it past the goalie to score a point. Er, goal. They were allowed to hit each other, but within limits. A fine line she didn’t yet understand. And if they committed an infraction, they sat in the penalty box while their team was down one player. The Blizzard had taken one penalty, and Dave had been on the ice for the “kill.” He also “quarterbacked” the power play when the other team got sent to the sin bin, which meant he was on the ice a lot.

  A hulking hockey player from the other team clobbered a Blizzard player against the boards as they battled—literally battled—for the small puck. Dave skated in and shoved the bad guy out of the way while his teammate coaxed the puck onto his stick. The same hulk ran at two other Blizzard players on his way to his team’s bench.

  “He’s not very nice,” Ellie declared. “I don’t think I like him.”

  “Who?”

  “The stupid Flyer guy who keeps knocking our guys down.”

  Finn laughed. “That’s his job. Besides, he’s a beast and hits everything out there. Haven’t you been watching Grims? He’s doing the same thing, only I’d put my money on him over the other dude any day. Grims is stronger and way smarter with the puck. He rarely turns it over. When he’s out there, watch his body position, his feet, his stick, how his head’s on a swivel. He’s an awesome D-man because he’s got great vision that allows him to keep track of the puck, his guys, their guys, while they’re all going at hyperspeed.”

  After the game ended, Finn left and Ellie let Casper out one last time. She climbed into bed, wide awake. Hockey players skated through her mind at blazing speed, and she replayed different scenes—each one starring ninety-two—trying to puzzle out what happened and why. Then her thoughts leapt to him standing in front of a cubby-looking thing on TV. The helmet was gone, and so was every other piece of upper body armor, leaving him in a tight, long-sleeved black shirt that molded to his well-cut body. Sweat slicked his forehead and cheeks, and he swiped at it whenever he shoved his thick hair back. Microphones and cell phones were clustered around him, and reporters asked him questions, which he answered with the same ease and confidence she’d witnessed during the project. Nothing rattled him. Any credit for their win tonight he bestowed on his teammates, even though he’d scored a goal of his own. He was plus-four for the game, whatever that meant. Finn had told her it was all good.

  The only time she saw a flinch was when one female voice asked about team chemistry. He’d given a wooden answer about what a great group of guys his club was and how everyone on the team skated for one another. When she tried asking the question a different way, he flicked his eyes elsewhere and fielded a question from a different reporter. What was that all about?

  Her mind roamed back to how he’d looked, all hot and sweaty, his sculpted muscles showing with every movement. While she’d listened to what he said, she’d also focused on his mouth as he talked, easy now that he’d lost that whole Wookiee thing he’d had going on. He had a beautiful mouth that hinted at what a great job it would do kissing and nibbling. Oh Lord. Just like she’d never been into big guys, she’d never been into hot and sweaty, but on him? He wore it well. Testosterone seemed to wave off of him and leak right through her TV screen, and a tickle down low confirmed her lady parts were checking the box marked “Hot!” And not just sweaty hot.

  If he hadn’t slammed his car into her, she’d never have given him a second glance. Maybe she’d been drawn to the wrong type all these years. What had drawn her to Will, and the occasional boyfriend before and after him, was that they were … unobtrusive. She knew she’d be able to take her landscape design career to any height she wanted without them telling her what to do. Maybe a little more testosterone in her life would have been an improvement.

  With that thought, she really couldn’t sleep, so she popped out of bed, flipped on her office light, and waited while her computer whirred to life. Her fingers danced a tippy-tap across her keyboard, and soon she was staring at pictures of Dave in hospitals with kids and adults, in nursing homes with seniors, and in shelters with pets. He was active in community giving and had been for the ten years he’d been with the Blizzard. No wonder he’d offered to help with her Habitat project—that kind of thing was right up his alley. Who knew a once-terrifying Wookiee could be so magnanimous?

  Why was a guy like him single?

  Sonoma said he had “unfortunate” taste in women. Sprinkled among the many images were a few of him all dolled up for charity events with women on his arm who were anything but “unfortunate.” Blessed with bountiful beauty was a more apt description. And no wonder—he was a sought-after bachelor who made ten mil a year. Whether he sported the mountain man look or not, he had his pick of the stunners, though one particular woman seemed to be his exclusive, for all the times she was with him. A model named Nicole Something-or-Other. Statuesque, breathtakingly beautiful—a dead ringer for Charlize Theron. They had broken up a year ago, and his name hadn’t been linked with anyone since.

  Instead of giving Ellie a boost—as if she’d ever stood a chance with him, not that she’d wanted one—the realization made her sag inside. She hadn’t measured up for Will, an everyday guy. How could she even compete for a local celebrity who was the walking, talking embodiment of masculine perfection?

  Dejectedly, she allowed that she might, just might, be crushing a little on Dave Grimson. Even if she wanted to date him—which she didn’t—he’d never ask. He was so far out of her league that he might as well have been playing hockey on one of Jupiter’s moons.

  The team barely eked out a win the next night, no thanks to Dave mishandling the puck. Repeatedly. And it bit him in the butt when he turned it over in his own zone and the Penguins pounced on it and fired one past Wyatt. The mistakes weren’t going to help his marketability score. But damn! Despite it being the second game of a back-to-back, it had felt good to be playing again, even if he was totally gassed and his hand throbbed like the red goal lamp. No better way to get his timing back than being in a real game, and there was no place he’d rather be than on the ice. He fucking loved this game, and he’d missed being out there.

  That night, after Quinn, his road roomie, fell asleep, Dave covertly iced his hand and stared at the hotel room ceiling. Something T.J. had said bobbed in the stew bubbling in his brain. I stopped blaming everyone else. Dave had resented the hell out of hearing it, which made him wonder if there was a nugget of truth in there for him. He’d let that one simmer a while longer.

  Two nights later, he couldn’t wait to get on the ice. He was pumped to beat Columbus—so pumped that his testosterone levels had to be off the charts. Lack of sex might have contributed to the elevated T-factor, and he told himself there was a bright side to his dismal dry spell before shoving it from his mind. Whatever was pushing him, he flew across the ice on his first shift and didn’t let up the gas pedal. All game, he shadowed their best players, making a six-foot-three nuisance out of himself as he flattened opponents, blocked shots, took away pucks. He could feel his rhythm coming back.

  The whole team, in fact, was firing on all cylinders, and it was a thing of a beauty. They shut Columbus down, frustrating the hell out of them. Going into the third period, the Blizzard were up by two goals.

  “Let’s keep playing smart, boys,” he said to the room as the second intermission was winding down. Coach had already come and gone, and no one else was talking, so Dave stepped into the quiet—something he hadn’t done in a long while. Adrenalin was crackling in his veins. “Defense first, but we take advantage of our opportunities. We’ve been beating these fuckers all night, and they’re gonna open up and take chances. We’re the better team out there, so let’s go show ’em how it’s done.”


  He yelled the last words, and twenty-something pairs of wide eyes stared at him. A handful of guys grunted their agreement, and then it was crickets. Without another word, he turned to his stall and pulled on his gear. A puck could have rolled over thick carpet and the trainers in the next room would have heard it. Never was good at speeches anyway. He locked it out and got his gladiator on. He’d make any potential teams watching his play drool over the chance to bring him aboard—especially Arizona.

  Chapter 15

  Brain Scramble

  Thanksgiving’s next week, Dave. Have you thought about what you want to do?” Sonoma was bent to the side, examining Dave’s head before taking a few more snips. Today her hair was a shade of purple that probably had some food name to describe it. Plum or eggplant or—

  “Next week? Already? Shit! No, hadn’t given it a thought.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She turned on the clippers, and they buzzed against the back of his neck. “What would you think of adding Finn and Ellie to our sad little twosome?”

  Sad was right. In the past, she’d flown to Florida and spent the holiday with family, and he’d been with Nicky, Isaac, and his teammates, eating way too much, watching football, enjoying the hell out of himself. But their moms and the rest of the family had decided to take a seven-day Caribbean cruise, and neither he nor Sonoma had the luxury of a week off. Dave hadn’t gotten an invite from any teammates.

  After being on the road for the past week, getting in at 2:00 a.m. this morning following a frustrating loss to Chicago, hearing Ellie’s name perked him up, though he told himself it shouldn’t. Pondering the possibility of spending turkey day with her fired up and lightened his stomach at the same time.

  “We’re not sad, Nome, and they’re probably spending it with family or friends.”

  “Nope. I asked. Ellie usually hosts a dinner for Finn and the other guy who works there—Felipe, I think. I guess he has a big extended family, and they all come. But for some reason, that’s not happening this year, so they’re a sad little twosome too. Maybe we could all crash your place and you could whip something up that you learned on one of your cooking shows? Then we’d be a fat, happy foursome.” Sonoma spun him so he faced the mirror. “There. Better?”

  For the first time in as long as he could remember, Dave had actually itched for his cousin to clean up his appearance, going so far as arranging an appointment from the road. “This’ll do. Thanks, Nome.” Smoothing one side of his head and raking his fingers through the top, he was poised to rip off the cape and push up from the seat.

  She whacked him with her comb. “I’m not done!”

  “Then hurry up!” He re-settled himself.

  “Why are you in such a rush?”

  Because I want to say “Hi” to Ellie before she leaves her office. “Who says I’m in a rush?”

  “You’ve been twitchy since you sat down. Honestly, you’re acting like Finn.”

  “Are you serious about the guy, Nome?” Dave couldn’t help himself. Sonoma was usually guarded when it came to relationships, but she seemed to have a thing for the dude. While Dave tried to stay out of her business—just as he expected her to stay out of his—he didn’t want to see her heart strewn over a debris field, and he wasn’t sure Finn could be trusted not to do just that.

  “What? No. We’re just friends,” she fired back. Which told Dave volumes. She’s totally into him. Maybe Thanksgiving dinner is a good idea. I can suss the guy out.

  She brushed his neck and unfastened the cape. “Well, I still think it would be more fun to share Thanksgiving dinner with them than be bored with just the two of us.”

  “Gee, thanks.” He stood from her chair. “But you’re probably right. And it’d be easier to cook for four than two.”

  She patted his chest. “Good. Go talk to her.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Go talk to her’?”

  “I mean, with the holiday right around the corner, I’m swamped today. Everyone wants their hair done.” She turned and waved to a woman at the front of the shop as if to demonstrate how swamped. “I’ll be right there, Mrs. F.” To Dave she said, “I saw Ellie’s van, so I know she’s in her office right now. All you have to do is poke your head in and say, ‘Ellie, would you and Finn like to join Sonoma and me at my place for Thanksgiving dinner?’” Sonoma shrugged. “Easy peasy.” She turned her back on him and went to work sweeping her station.

  He blew out a breath. He had planned to stick his head in, but only for a casual “How’s it going?” Not an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner. Ellie was gonna think he was stalking her. Again.

  “It’s your idea. You ask her.”

  Sonoma wore a sly smile. “Is the big, bad hockey player afraid of a little landscaper?”

  “Ha! You’re hilarious, Nome. Maybe we should keep it just us. I could nuke a couple of chicken pot pies—”

  “Think how much more fun it’ll be having them over. Maybe you can teach Ellie some basic steps before the big dance so she doesn’t stomp all over your feet.”

  He scoffed. “I doubt that girl weighs enough to damage a bug, much less my feet.”

  She pushed him toward the door. “It’s your place. You ask her.”

  “All right.” He checked himself in Sonoma’s mirror one last time and strode through her salon, ignoring Mandy, who was giving him big eyes.

  At Ellie’s office door, he paused a beat, practicing what to say. Suddenly, all he could remember from Sonoma’s script was “Thanksgiving.” Before he had time to ponder further, his attention caught on a white barrel on four legs hurtling toward the door, stubby little tail going a hundred miles an hour. Motion in a shadowy corner became a lithe blond with a brilliant smile motioning him inside. Whoa! Had he seen that smile before? And could he make her do more of that?

  He cracked the door, and Casper wiggled through, burying her nose in his shoes. Snuffling and panting, she followed him as he stepped inside.

  “Looks like you’ve got a dog attached to your leg.” Ellie chuckled, crossed her arms, and leaned against a desk. Today her hair was in a thick braid that hung down the front of a dark hoodie. This one was fitted, not her usual baggy style, and it was paired with running tights that showed off toned thighs and calves. His gaze skidded down her body of its own accord, landing on her running shoes, where he tried to ground his focus before lifting back up to her bright blue eyes.

  “Ha! Guess I do.” Hoping he didn’t sound as off balance as he felt, he crouched and scratched Casper’s fuzzy chin. Get yourself under control, dumbass!

  “Keep that up, and she’ll attach herself permanently.”

  “That wouldn’t be so bad.” One last ruffle of Casper’s neck, and he stood and stuffed his hands in his front pockets.

  “You seem to like dogs. Do you have one yourself?”

  “I did. Now I only have visitation rights.” His bad hand shot to the back of his head and smoothed. “Actually, not even those. I get to see him when no one else can take care of him, so it’s a sporadic thing.” Why, exactly, was he spewing? Anything related to Benny—and therefore Nicole—was on a need-to-know basis, and Ellie didn’t need to know. Probably didn’t want to know.

  She cocked a shapely eyebrow. “That sounds … I’m sorry. You’re welcome to love on Casper anytime you want. She certainly won’t object.”

  Wonder if her owner would object to me loving on her? Christ! Where the hell did that come from?

  As his mind tried to unknot why he was here and what he was supposed to say, she looked at his hand. “How’s your hand?”

  He stared at the hand in question. “What?”

  “Your hand. You played as though it wasn’t bothering you on the road, especially when you slapped, er, shot, er, hit the puck really hard from the red line—or is it blue?—and got a goal against the Blackhawks.”

  He tried to mask his delight, barely registering her stumbling over the terms. “You watched our away games?”

  She gave a nonchalant shrug, but her cheeks tin
ged in telltale pink told a different story. The whole time he’d been gone, anytime he wasn’t in game mode, he hadn’t been able to get this girl out of his head, and it made his insides dance to think she had been watching him.

  “Finn made me.” There was that mischievous gleam in her eyes. “He also tried to teach me, but obviously I’m not a good student.”

  “I’m happy to teach you.” Why did that come out sounding dirty? Probably because assorted dirty thoughts were lurking at the back of his mind. It occurred to him he needed to shut down this … this … whatever the hell was scrambling his brain.

  An awkward pause hung between them, and she rushed in with, “So your hand’s good?”

  Her question brought him out of his stupor. “Yeah, fine.” It had hurt like a mother on the road. Coach had debated playing him, but then he’d had an unbelievable game against the Flyers and had convinced Coach he was good for the rest of the trip.

  And now his brain zigged when it should have zagged. “Next time I have Benny—that’s my dog—maybe we could take him and Casper running together?”

  “Oh, I don’t run. I barely walk.”

  Huh? “Not sure I follow.”

  She let out an embarrassed laugh. “What I meant was, with my schedule, I hardly have time to take Casper for a walk.”

  “Oh.” Smooth, Dave. He stood there like an idiot, trying to figure out how, exactly, to work in a Thanksgiving invite. The painful pause had him opening his mouth and blurting, “But you don’t work holidays, like Thanksgiving, right?”