Winning It All (Hometown Players Book 4) (24 page)

Trey stares at me expectantly, like he’s waiting for me to clue in. When I stare back blankly he starts to shake his head slowly. He leans down and kisses the top of my head. “And there’s the baggage I was talking about.”

He starts to my door but stops at the threshold and examines the dead bolts on my door—I am suddenly very happy there are two and two chains. He seems satisfied with that. “Keep this locked up tight and call me for anything at anytime. Got it?”

He leaves, and I poke my head out the door and watch him walk to the elevator. As he gets into it, he calls out without turning around. “If he’s different and you don’t think he’s like Dad, then tell him about tonight, Shayne.”

I don’t have time to think of a snotty response before the elevator doors slide shut.

The first person I see when we walk through the door is Sara. She’s about to give me bitchface, which is her go-to since she caught me with Shayne, but then she sees my face. “Oh my God!” she squeaks. “It didn’t look that bad on TV.”

“It’s not that bad,” I promise. “It’s just swollen.”

I knew I shouldn’t come here like this. Damn it. But I really wanted to see Shay. It’s been a rough few days. We won the first game clean and easy, but the second game the Comets came out with a chip on their shoulder. It was rough; there was almost as much going on after the whistles as there was during the game. I caught a high stick in front of the net. That douchebag Braddock nailed me and actually had the nerve to lip off to the ref that it was an accident. I had a nice slice through my chin, but because he drew blood, we got a four-minute power play and scored what ended up being the game winner. Now my chin is swollen and bruised, along with being stitched, and judging by the way Sara is looking at me, I look like Frankenstein’s monster. At least my wrist healed before my face got mutilated. There’s only so much pain I can take at once. Maybe I should wait to see Shay until I look better.

I don’t think Sara even heard my response, because she’s spotted Avery, who came with me. Her eyes grow wide and her smile grows even wider. “Avery Westwood! Great game this afternoon! That goal was a beauty!”

“Thanks. Two down, two more to go.” Avery gives her his typical milk-’n’-cookies smile, the one that’s launched a thousand products.

“You’ll sweep them. I know it!”

“Shh!” He tries to make it sound casual, but I know Avery, and the “sweep” word is on his superstitious “never say out loud” list of playoff words. He thinks it’s a jinx, like when a goalie hasn’t let in a goal and someone says “shutout” before the end of the game. And as if on cue…

“I just know you’ll do it. I bet Choochinsky even gets a shutout next game! He’s playing great! You’re going to win the Cup this year!”

I interrupt because if I don’t, Avery might have to sacrifice a goat or something to make up for all the jinxes he thinks she’s putting out there.

“Is Shay…Shayne here?” I ask, but I think I already know the answer. She has an eight o’clock yoga class. So I’m a little shocked when Sara shakes her head.

“She isn’t. Had to cancel her class so she could go to the police station.”

“What? Why?”

“The mugging. They think they got the guy, and she had to go identify him.” Sara says this casually as she starts putting the fruit in the fridge for the night.

“She was mugged?!”

“Holy shit,” Avery adds under his breath, but loud enough that I can hear him.

Sara freezes and blinks, then frowns. “Yeah. How do you not know that?”

Yeah, how the fuck do I not know that?

“Is Trey here?”

Sara motions with her head toward his office. I turn and Avery follows. “She didn’t tell you she was mugged?”

I shake my head, but I don’t respond because I can’t think of a good reason why I shouldn’t know this. Two seconds later I’m standing in Trey’s open door with Avery right behind me. Trey’s sitting behind his desk. I clear my throat. He jerks his head up and his posture straightens at the sight of me.

“Hey, Trey.”

“Sebastian.” He walks around the desk and shakes my hand as his eyes land on my chin. “Tough win.”

Clearly he watched the game. I nod, and he notices Avery over my shoulder. “Avery.”

He doesn’t extend his hand this time, just nods. Avery deserves that, and he knows it, which is why he tagged along when I said I was heading to Elevate to see Shayne.

“Sara just told me Shayne was mugged,” I say to him.

Trey almost grimaces at that. “Yeah. She’s fine. He didn’t touch her, but he got her wallet. It’s been a pain in the ass for her to run all over town without a car trying to get her ATM card and driver’s license replaced. But it could have been a lot worse. He had a knife, for fuck’s sake.”

“A knife?” Avery sounds as horrified as I feel.

“But she’s okay?” I ask, even though he just said she was.

His face softens a little. “Yeah. Honestly, she was a little shaken up, I could tell, but she wouldn’t admit it.”

“Of course not.” I almost smile at that.

“But she’s okay. She really needs to get a car or move. Or both.”

I nod. “That neighborhood is fucking horrible.”

“Totally!” he agrees with a grateful smile, because clearly she hasn’t been agreeing with him.

“I thought she was looking into a new car?”

He sighs and sits on the edge of his desk. “She was, but she honestly can’t afford anything decent. She’s got student loans and she won’t take money from our parents. I’d give her a raise, but I can’t. Business is steady but slow. And the commercials I had planned won’t be as effective as I thought they would be.”

“About that,” Avery says and he looks as awkward as he sounds. Avery isn’t great at taking responsibility for his actions, mostly because he’s never had to. People let him get away with shit because he’s Avery Westwood. “Can I talk to you about that?”

Trey shrugs. I don’t want to stick around for this. As fun as it would be to watch Avery apologize for probably the first time in his life, all I want to do is see Shay for myself and make sure she’s okay. “Is she still at the police station?”

“Not sure. Want me to text her?”

“Nah. I’ll do it. Thanks, Trey.” I start to leave but his words stop me.

“So, like, this thing with Shayne…” I turn back to look at him. “I hear you’re dating or something?”

“I’d like to think so,” I answer, because I
would
like to think so. But I would also like to think the woman I’m dating would tell me about any life-threatening situations she was in, so at this point…I’m not sure what the fuck we’re doing.

He gives me a half smile as if to show he’s only half joking when he warns, “She’s a smart-mouthed, obstinate pain in the ass, but I love her dearly, so I will fucking end you if you hurt her.”

“Fair enough,” I reply and nod solemnly like I’m accepting his terms—and I am. If I hurt her I will let him kill me.

I text her as I walk across the parking lot.
Hey, babe.
Where are you?

She responds right away.
Are you back?

I am. And I want to see you. Do I head to the police station or your house?

There’s an expected pause after that text. But as I climb into my car she responds.

I’m in a cab on the way home. Meet me there?

On my way,
I respond.

I buzz her when I get to her door because no one is walking out and leaving the door wide open like last time. She doesn’t ask who it is; she just opens the front door. I take the stairs two at a time until I’m on her floor. No passed-out smelly drunk guy this time. She has the door open before I can knock. Her pretty gray eyes land on my face and flare. “Holy shit! Your face!”

She reaches up and gently cups the side of my face next to the cut and rocks up on her tiptoes to examine it. She’s barefoot, wearing a pair of very tight, very short workout shorts and a vintage T-shirt with the Eagles’s band logo on the front. “Does it hurt?”

“Not as much as finding out from your brother that you were mugged,” I tell her and reach up and remove her hand from my throbbing face, lacing my fingers with hers, and stare down at her intently.

She looks genuinely perplexed, which perplexes me. “You’re in playoffs.”

“Yeah. So?”

She looks even more confused by that and tries to pull her hand from mine, but I’m not having it. She stares right in my eye and explains. “You can’t focus if people are yammering at you about crap. I was fine. And there was nothing you could do from San Francisco anyway.”

“I could have listened,” I tell her, and I’m really amazed I have to. “Trey said you were upset. Even if it was just over the phone, I could have been there for you.”

She looks even more confused than before, and I have no idea why. What the hell does she think, that I would be annoyed by finding out she was attacked? What the hell is wrong with…

“Is this about your dad?”

“What?” She bites her bottom lip and her eyes shift to the scuffed hardwood, and I know it
is
about Glenn Beckford. Fuck, how did I ever idolize this guy? I take a deep breath and pull her into the apartment. I walk her through the room, past her sketchy cat, who’s giving me the hairy eyeball again, and into the bedroom. The light beside her bed is on and the sheets are rumpled like she was in it recently.

“Sit,” I command, and just like I knew she would, she hesitates. I fucking love the way she challenges me, but I add the word please.

She lowers her cute little ass to the edge of the mattress at the foot of the bed, but she keeps her eyes cast downward. “Eyes up.”

She looks up only to glare at me. I grin and my dick starts to get hard. “So your dad used to zone out during playoffs?”

“He was never all that zoned in when it came to family,” she mutters and sighs. “But I know that this is why you guys play the sport. To get to the playoffs.”

“Yep.” I nod and start to unbutton my shirt, toeing off my shoes at the same time. “But there are two kinds of players. The ones who use it as an excuse to mistreat and ignore the people who love them, and the ones who find balance.”

“Haven’t met one of those balanced ones yet,” she mutters.

“Yes, you have,” I say flatly and unbutton my cuffs. I came straight from the airport and the team plane so I’m wearing a charcoal dress shirt and black dress pants.

She looks up at me wordlessly, but there’s skepticism on her pretty face. Man, her dad did a number on her. She bites her bottom lip as I shrug out of my shirt. I try not to flash her a cocky grin but man, I love the way she looks at me. It’s wild: she always looks like she’s struggling to control herself. It’s a battle she knows she’s going to lose, and I know she sees that as weakness but I see it as a sign we’re meant to be. Even though I haven’t known her long, I know her well and I know that she hates when things get under her skin, but she doesn’t hate me and I’ve rattled her in a delicious way since the second we met.

I reach for my belt. “You’re wearing too much clothing.”

She smirks as she looks down at her T-shirt and tiny workout shorts. “Just because you tend to put on stripteases in my apartment doesn’t mean I have to join in.”

I shrug and my pants drop to my ankles. “Too mesmerized by my fantastic body to move? Oh well, I’ll have to help you.”

She’s still got a sexy little smirk on her face as she returns my shrug. “Meh. You’re body is okay, but mesmerizing is a stretch, Frenchie.”

“I dare you to say you’re not so turned on right now your skin is tingling.”

“I’m not.”

I step out of my pants and walk toward her. I bend and capture her mouth with mine while my hand goes straight for the small space between her legs and I cup her sex. My fingers slip into the leg of her shorts and press up. I grin against her lips. “Liar.”

I push her down on the bed with the weight of my body and lie on top of her. I don’t want to remove my hand from between her legs, but I do because there’s something I need to know. I pull back from the kiss and stare down at her. “Are you okay? Honestly? Tell me.”

“Yeah,” she says softly. “It was scary, but I’m okay.”

I feel my shoulders relax as she runs her fingertips over my back. I drop my full weight onto her and nuzzle her neck, inhaling that intoxicating scent that is all Shay. Her hands run up my neck and into my hair and she whispers, “I’m better now that you’re here.”

For her, I know that’s a huge thing to admit. She doesn’t want to need anyone to feel anything and I am the last person she wants to need. I almost tell her I’m falling in love with her, but I want to do it when I don’t have a hard-on pressed against her. So instead I kiss her, pushing all my emotions into the way I move my lips over hers and the way my tongue moves in her mouth. Her fingers tangle in my hair and I start to push her T-shirt up.

I wanted this to be slow and deliberate, but the kiss and the emotions passing through it are like kindling on a fire, and everything starts sparking at once, and the next thing I know all our clothes are gone and my uncovered dick is precariously close to heaven. And I feel every muscle in my body strain as I fight against just sliding into her.

“Condom,” she reminds me softly against the shell of my ear before she bites down on the lobe.

I groan and drop my head into the crook of her neck. “I forgot to bring one.”

“I bought some,” she whispers, and pulls her hand off my back and reaches toward to night table.

She hands me a box of Magnums and I grin. “You’re the best girlfriend in the world.”

She looks almost fearful when the words leave my mouth, and it makes me worried. Are we not on the same page here? After all this? Before I can ask, and before the uncertainty I’m feeling starts to deflate my dick, she kisses my lips and rolls us over so she’s on top, kneeling between my legs. “Put it on.”

She almost growls the words and my dick gets harder. “Bossy.”

I do what she demands and she leans over me, her hair dropping down around her, creating curtains on either side of our faces. Her gray eyes look dark, almost like charcoal, and her pink lips are pulled up a little in a devious smile. “I’m in charge tonight.”

She reaches down and grabs my dick, firm and hard, and I fight the desire to buck up into her grip. Because she wants that. She wants to know I fucking love it when she’s bossy and that it turns me on when she tells me what to do. But my competitive nature won’t let me give her that satisfaction. So I make sure my ass stays flat against the mattress, even when she starts to stroke me.

Her lips move back to my ear, her long hair blanketing my face. “I’m going to ride you until your eyes roll back in your pretty little head.”

This girl. Fuck.

Before I can unscramble my brain enough to give her a snarky answer, she’s sliding over my shaft and I am lost. Lost in the feel of her and the way she makes me feel. She’s got her head tipped back and her spine is slightly arched and her naked body is on display and I have never seen anything more spectacular in my whole life. This woman, her spirit, her body, her smart fucking mouth is it for me. I know this. And I suddenly need her to know it. I reach for her arm and I push up into her and try to tug her down. She resists. Her eyes flutter down to mine. “I’m in charge.”