The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

  She rejoiced in every long, drawn-out stroke until he collapsed back against the bed, then she sat and watched him try to pull his shit back together. She glanced over at the clock.

  4:25 AM.

  Still time for a little more sleep. Would it be totally shameless if she asked him to spoon himself around her again?

  She smiled as she dragged the bedding up off the floor and over them, nudging his shoulder until he scooted back down in the bed where he belonged. With a sigh, she wriggled backwards until her ass was planted in his lap, and then wrapped his arms around her.

  Who cares about shameless?

  Garrick preferred her that way, anyhow.

  Chapter Twelve

  The first hints of light peeked around the edges of Savannah’s hotel room curtains and Garrick’s arms tightened around her even while he accepted the truth.

  It was time for him to go.

  Not that he had any desire to leave. He’d gladly stay right where he was until they had to run to catch the bus to the arena, but he wasn’t foolish enough to ask for that. He wasn’t even hopeful enough to try to make love to her again this morning. The sun was coming over the horizon and their teammates, and Rick right next door, would soon stir.

  He looked down at Savannah and smiled. Her face was pressed to his chest, her hand curling over his right pectoral muscle like she was feeling him up. His chuckle shook her, but she remained asleep. Giving a man a mind-altering blow job in the middle of the night was exhausting work.

  He felt pretty guilty about allowing her to tuck them both back under the covers and promptly falling back to sleep. He could have spent the rest of the night giving her a taste of her own wicked medicine. He should have spent the rest of the night memorizing everything he could about her.

  Her eyes eased open. Her sleepy smile made heat curl low in his belly. Then she glanced at her bedside clock.

  “Shit!” She bolted upright.

  He rose more slowly, sliding from the bed as he did. She put out a hand to stop him.

  “You have to go.”

  “I know.” Even though it sucked.

  He was going to have a hell of a time convincing Savannah to let this happen again—no way in hell was he going to give her any fodder for her arguments against it. It was critically important he get the hell out of this room and back to his without being seen by anyone on or associated with the team.

  He tugged on his clothes, trying to pull himself together and not look like he was doing the walk of shame.

  Of course, he was wearing grey flannel slacks and a sports coat at 6:15 AM, so who was he kidding?

  Savannah sat in the middle of the bed watching him, the covers pooled on her lap, her hair in wild disarray around her face. Leaving just might kill him. He congratulated himself on his iron will as he backed away from the bed.

  “I’ll see you later? On the bus or at the arena?”

  Her brows knitted. “Yes. Come early, so I can stretch your hip and groin, okay?”

  He thought about arguing, but he wanted to see her and his hip was sore. Though probably not as much as it would have been if she hadn’t given him that massage.

  And maybe the blow job. Everything hurt less after a blow job.

  “Okay, I’ll see you there.” There was so much more he wanted to say.

  The sound of a slamming door down the hall was like a gun shot in the room.

  Without another word he turned and left, checking the hallway before speed walking to the nearest exit and running up the two flights of stairs. He checked his hallway, too, then sprinted the length of the corridor, not releasing his breath until his door was closed and he’d locked himself in.

  He should probably get more sleep, but was too twitchy to go back to bed. Instead he took a long, hot shower and changed into his most comfortable workout clothes.

  He couldn’t wait to see Savannah at the arena later and act as though absolutely nothing had happened. He would prove it was possible to have earth-shattering sex with him and not have a single person treat her one iota differently. No one had to know except the two of them. And if it worked once, maybe he could convince her it was safe to do it again.

  It was a long shot, but he was starting to understand Savannah and her position with the team—as trainer and as one of the only women. He might have preferred to woo her, to court her openly, but it was out of the question.

  So he had his plan, and come hell or high water, he was going to be patient and let it unfold.

  He adjusted his cock in his shorts, trying to stem the erection that bloomed at the mere thought of Savannah sitting in her bed, rumpled from sleep and sex. Patience was going to be pure agony.

  Shaking his head, he put thoughts of his lovely friend away and set up his laptop on the little desk in the corner. If he couldn’t be with Savannah, then his time was better spent thinking about their meeting with Reese and Rupert. They’d heard some of what Garrick had said, and they’d listened carefully to what Savannah had told them. But it had been late, with wine and beer and betting on pool games. Garrick couldn’t be sure how much of it had stuck—let alone resonated.

  It had been years since he’d been in school, since he’d drafted anything like the document he was considering crafting, but he could probably find some good examples on the internet and make a go of it from there.

  Maybe Savannah would be willing to read it, give him some feedback and edits, if she had time. His goal was to get something messengered over to Lamont’s estate before they left Cape Breton Island in two days time.

  Savannah didn’t know what to expect after spending the night with Garrick, but she was mighty put out that he seemed to be avoiding her.

  Maybe he got what he wanted and was done with her?

  She let that idea rattle around in her head for all of ten minutes, trying to build up a good head of pissed-off steam. All she ended up with was a headache and guilt for thinking so shabbily of him. Maybe she would prove to be a poor judge of character, but she really didn’t think he would do that to her. To any woman. But particularly to her.

  They were friends. Right?

  They had to be, because why else would he have slid his Business and Marketing Plan for the Moncton Ice Cats under her hotel door last night?

  Not exactly a love note—not that she wanted one—but a pretty cool surprise.

  She had no idea when he’d found time to pull it all together. It was everything he’d talked about for saving the team, turning the arena profitable, and her ideas for how to improve the team management, coaching, and fitness. They’d only met with Lamont the day before yesterday and in the meantime, he’d spent a night in her room, done his training and fitness work, played hockey, stayed late for a fan event and, presumably, somewhere in all that, slept. Though she would bet, based on the business plan, that the sleep had been mostly sacrificed.

  Now it was time for the bus ride back to Moncton. She sat in a chair in one corner of the lobby, waiting for the rest of the team to get their shit together, when a shadow fell over the book in her lap.

  “Hello, Bobby,” she said, irritated at how her pulse sped up. She desperately missed her scissors. “How’s the elbow?”

  Bobby’s smirk was mostly sneer. “Elbow’s fine. How was dinner Friday night?”

  Why the fuck would he want to know about her dinner Friday night? Then she remembered where she’d been. Lamont’s house. Shit. He couldn’t possibly know about that.

  Could he?

  “It’s none of your business what I do with my free time, Bobby,” she said flatly.

  Bobby laughed, his chuckle grating on her nerves. “It will be my business soon enough.”

  What did that mean? The loser couldn’t possibly believe he would win her over. She studied his face, his mean little smirk. Actually, he probably was that fucking crazy. And stupid.

  Bobby jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder. Mark stepped up to his side and smiled down at Savannah.

  “Ready?”


  She smiled gratefully. “Sure am.” She stood, hefted her bags, and followed Mark without another word or glance for Bobby.

  The next night, Savannah stood by the bench back in Moncton, eyes on the game and ignoring Bobby’s creepy stare. She had to give him credit for persistence, but she was starting to worry that he wasn’t just mean and dim-witted, but actually insane.

  Had he followed them to Lamont’s? The idea gave her the chills.

  More so, even, than the thought of him telling the rest of the team she’d gone out to dinner with Garrick. So much for her sterling reputation. All that hard work, and Bobby would no doubt gleefully destroy her reputation in the eyes of the rest of the team, even if all he had was conjecture and bullshit.

  Then again, if he’d seen them get out of the limo in the garage that night, it might not be entirely conjecture.

  She was so screwed.

  And as if that weren’t enough to think about, she also needed to find a way to tell Garrick. He’d been doing a really bang-up job of avoiding her these past few days.

  She didn’t even care. Much. She just wanted to know if he could make sense of it. Her free time would be Bobby’s business? She shuddered at the thought.

  Over my dead body.

  She was distracted by Bobby’s cryptic bullshit, she was startled when the piercing shriek of the referee’s whistle rent the air and stopped play.

  Shit.

  Savannah scanned the ice, her heart nearly stopping when she saw an Ice Cat down on the ice. She watched, waiting, until the ref signaled her.

  She was over the boards in an instant. She thanked Mike, grateful for his escort across the ice, particularly when she realized it was Garrick who’d been hurt. She picked up speed, sliding the last foot on her knees, heart pounding.

  “I’m fine!” he said, his voice muffled behind the glove he held over his face.

  She might have believed him if he wasn’t bleeding all over the damn place. She looked at the ref. “What happened?”

  “Puck. He stopped it with his face mask and…” The ref paused, peering down at Garrick as she pulled his hand away from Garrick’s face. “Maybe his right cheekbone.”

  She assessed the damage, biting back a smile at his thoroughly disgruntled look. “That’s using your head, LeBlanc.”

  “Har har.” He tried to stand.

  “Stay.” Her hand on his shoulder kept him still. “You didn’t get right up. Did you hit your head on the way down?”

  “Nah, I caught myself. I was just stunned for a second. It clipped my nose before it hit the cheek.”

  She studied his eyes and he looked back with a clear, steady gaze. She took her first real breath since leaving the bench.

  “Looks like you’ll live.” She stood. “But first you’ll come with me and get that cleaned.”

  He easily climbed to his feet. “No stitches,” he muttered as they stepped through the door and headed down the tunnel.

  “What, you don’t trust my sewing?”

  He gave her a bland look and yanked off his helmet, leading the way into the locker room and the training room there. Working quickly, she cleaned up his face and neck, confirmed no other injuries hid beneath the mess, then leaned in to examine the wound.

  “Did you read it?” Garrick asked.

  She grabbed a couple butterfly bandages to help keep the cut closed and clean. “I did. I’m impressed. I had no idea you knew how to do something like that.”

  Garrick shrugged. “I didn’t.”

  Now she was confused. “You didn’t write that plan?”

  “No, I did. But I didn’t know how. I looked it up the other night. Figured out what to do. At least I think I did.”

  She leaned in close, her face inches from his as she applied the first bandage. “I’m even more impressed.”

  He grunted. “Is there anything I should change? Anything I got wrong?”

  “Not that I saw.” She applied the last bandage. “I thought it was perfect.”

  He pinned her with his soft brown eyes. “Thanks.”

  She smiled. “You’re going to save this team.”

  His crooked smile and pink cheeks made him look younger. He gave his blood-stained jersey a cursory glance. “I’m sure as hell going to try.”

  She believed he could do it. She followed him back into the dressing room, where a new jersey had already been laid out by the equipment manager.

  “Bobby caught me alone in the lobby of the hotel the other day,” she said.

  His sharp look made her rush on. “He didn’t touch me. Didn’t even try.”

  Garrick only relaxed marginally, frowning as he discarded his old jersey and yanked on the new. “And?”

  She waited until the were halfway down the tunnel, almost back to the bench, before telling him. “He asked me how dinner was Friday night.”

  Garrick hesitated, digesting that for a second before muttering a heartfelt “fuck” under his breath.

  “That’s just what I was thinking,” Savannah said as Garrick reached the bench, heard Rick shout his name, and cleared the boards with the rest of his line.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Garrick sat in front of his locker after the game and tried to rein in his chaotic thoughts.

  How could Bobby possibly know about Friday night? And more importantly, who was he going to tell? Had he had seen them return? Had he seen Garrick go into Savannah’s room?

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, Garrick slumped against his locker. He’d never meant to bring this shit down on Savannah. Her reputation was critical to her success. Hell, she relied on it almost as much as her skills as a trainer. She had to. She was a woman.

  For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t understood that from the moment he’d met her.

  Fucking dense, LeBlanc.

  Garrick checked his phone, again, but there was still no response from Reese. He’d asked Reese to reach out with questions and included a plan forward if he was interesting. Now Garrick had taken to checking his phone as obsessively as any teenage girl.

  There were too many loose strings and it drove him crazy not to get at least a couple of them tied off. Confirmation from Reese. Determining what the fuck game Bobby was playing. Figuring out how the hell he was ever going to get Savannah in bed again when Bobby had sent her into a completely justified paranoid freak-out.

  Garrick wrestled with the burning desire to stand up, walk five lockers over, and punch Bobby Kramer in the face. God, that would feel so damn good.

  Just when he was descending into that happy fantasy, thoroughly enjoying the image it invoked, Mark came in and announce, “Team meeting. Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock.”

  A general groan went up from the crowd. Garrick dug his fingers into his tired eyes.

  Fuck, what now?

  Savannah smiled at Mike Erdo as she got out of her car and saw him lingering in the doorway to the arena. She really was going to have to talk to Mark about this escort thing. Poor Mike was hanging around in the bitter cold like it was his preference to freeze his nuts off for a while rather than moving the five feet it would take to get into the warm lobby.

  “Good morning, Mike.”

  “Morning, Savannah.”

  She opened the door and held it for him. He hardly even gave her a funny look. She was finally getting these men properly trained. She buried her mouth in her scarf to hide her smile.

  It was almost nine o’clock so they went directly to the meeting room. She stepped through the door and had the worst kind of déjà vu. Maybe she was turning into a pessimist, but she’d bet this meeting wasn’t going to be any more fun than the last.

  Bobby’s glare sure was reminiscent of the last time around. What was new was the little smile, the crinkle in the corners of his beady little eyes.

  Just when she’d thought he couldn’t get any creepier.

  Working her way to the front of the room, she murmured a quiet thank you to Mike when he stepped into a ro
w to sit with Alexei. She continued on, putting her hand on Rhian’s shoulder to get his attention. He started to stand but she pressed down and nodded at his long legs. Sighing, he swung them to the side and let her slide past him.

  Garrick did the same without being asked.

  Yes, the training was definitely starting to take.

  She sat next to Garrick, not bothering to check if Bobby was still smirking at her. She could feel his stare on the back of her neck.

  “Any idea?” she asked.

  Garrick sighed. “Not a blessed one.”

  Mark looked over his shoulder from the front row and caught Savannah’s eye. She had no idea what he was trying to tell her, but the look alone curdled the blood in her veins.

  Rhian and Garrick muttered various colorful curses.

  “Did you see that look?” Rhian whispered over Garrick’s muttered, “What the fuck was that?”

  Mark stood.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, stepping to the front of the room. “Yesterday the EHL and Edwin Lamont received what is considered to be a reasonable offer for the team.”

  Murmurs rippled around the room but Mark continued, slicing through the noise.

  “It will take a while to sort out the paperwork, and the league will have to approve the purchase. Nothing is final until that happens.”

  A new owner could mean their jobs were all saved, at least for a while longer, but instead of pleased, Mark appeared to be somewhere between uneasy and nauseous.

  Garrick’s eyes narrowed on Mark’s pale face. “Who’s the buyer?”

  “My dad,” said a familiar voice from the back of the room.

  With dawning horror, Savannah and everyone else in the room turned to see a triumphant Bobby being congratulated by his friends.

  The meeting didn’t last long after that. They stood as soon as it was over. Rhian looked like he’d swallowed something sour and Garrick appeared ready to commit murder.

  Savannah only wished she had some comfort to offer them. To offer any of her colleagues as everyone quietly fled the room.