DIRTY SECRET: A Slayers Hockey Novel Page 3

  Breathing easier, I take a long swallow of my beer. A really long swallow.

  She’s off track. She doesn’t know anything.

  “So I get it, anyway. You want to spend time with this new guy, but not where Greg is going to catch wind of it. You’re entitled to your private life.” Julia flashes a wink at me. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”

  At that I raise a disbelieving brow. “Really?”

  “Okay, not unless he asks me. But seriously. He’s not going to ask me. So dish. What’s his name? Where did you meet? Does he like hockey or have you finally managed to find that one elusive unicorn who isn’t into your favorite sport, but doesn’t bore you to tears?”

  Cutting a sidelong look at Julia, I realize there’s no way I’m going to get out of here without telling her something. So I settle on the truth, but a stripped-down version that won’t get anyone into hot water.

  “Okay, there was a guy from a while back that sort of resurfaced lately, but it’s not going anywhere. Heck, it didn’t really go anywhere the first time either. But definitely not now.”

  “Definitely?” And great, why did I think Julia would let that go?

  “And you’re right, this isn’t really something I want Greg to know about. For real.” I tear my eyes away from where Vaughn is stretching out his legs, talking with O’Brian. He turns his head, looking out over the crowd, and my heart stalls… until he skips right past me. “He’s not my type. At least not for anything long term.”

  Julia turns in her seat. “And in the short term?”

  The short term was beyond any fantasy I could have conjured. It was so perfectly incredible, it physically hurt to walk away.

  Reluctantly, my attention drifts back to Vaughn. Powerful and focused. That firm mouth and strong jaw. The eyes that look harder and colder than the ice beneath him.

  Only I’ve seen them melt. I’ve seen them burn.

  I remember what is was like having all that intensity focused on me. Those powerful muscles holding me like I weighed nothing. His mouth at my ear. “Allie, I need to hear you come.” Lower. “I need to taste it.”

  I blink and suddenly it’s there. Eye contact. Vaughn’s impenetrable stare meeting mine like somehow he heard my thoughts.

  My belly dips, hard, my breath shallowing out as my hand starts coming up in a wave before I think to stop it. Before I notice my brother cutting into my line of sight, wearing a goofy kind of confused expression as he looks back toward the pile of guys from his team. To where Vaughn’s suddenly engaged with Doug Shore, one of the older guys on the team with a solid rep for playmaking, and a wife, Dee, who I adore almost as much as he does. Greg skates up to the glass, hits it with his gloved fist and points to the two of us, a wide grin stretched around his mouthguard.

  My heart’s beating so hard I wonder if Julia can feel it where our shoulders meet. But the look in her eyes as she watches Greg take another lap says she’s not seeing anything but him.

  The game starts, and the Slayers take an early lead in the first.

  We talk about the players, the stats, and Rux’s shot we both thought was going in. Between periods we grab a couple more beers and laugh about my mother’s less-than-subtle hints to Julia and Greg about starting a family. But too soon, Julia circles back to the guy I don’t want my brother to know about. And even though I try to keep my answers short and vague, I end up giving away more than I mean to.

  “He’s not even from Chicago. And trust me, he’s probably less interested in anything happening between us again than I am.”

  Her lips purse as we watch center ice where a few fans have been pulled from the audience for a shootout to win five hundred bucks. “But he looked you up when he got here?”

  I shake my head. “We bumped into each other. We made a little conversation, but nobody’s getting the wrong idea.”

  “What, is he just in town for business?”

  “Exactly,” I say, thinking that’ll be the end of an awkward conversation. But less than five minutes into the second she leans in.

  “So you won’t be seeing him again, huh?” When I don’t answer right away—because what can I say when I’m literally watching him right now—she gives me a smug smile. “I had a guy like that once, where I knew going in it didn’t have a chance.”

  “Yeah, what happened?”

  Taking a drink, she shrugs. “I married him.”

  The fact that I didn’t see that coming is seriously disappointing, but before I can beat myself up too badly, Vaughn’s off the bench, launching himself in the play. My skin starts to tingle as he picks up a pass from Popov and carries it down the ice.

  O’Brian is open, and Vaughn fires between the legs of an opposing defenseman. A cut, a dodge, and when it comes back, he’s in position to bury the puck with a one-timer that has the entire arena on their feet, jumping up and down with me.

  I’m watching for that instant when he’s in his own head, wanting to see it live and this close, but instead his eyes cut unerringly to mine and hold for the single beat that leaves my breath stalled in my throat before the guys are on him, knocking shoulders, bumping fists and slapping pads as he rounds the bench.

  Julia cocks her head my way. “Damn, that guy is good. Too bad he’s such a total asshole.”

  Chapter 4

  Vaughn

  “Jesus, is that what you’re doing here?” O’Brian scowls across the crowded bar to where Natalie is standing between her brother and Rux, talking a mile a minute. Her cheeks are pink, eyes bright, and her smile—damn, it lights up the whole room.

  “Give me a break. My agent wants more of an effort to bond with the team.” Technically, it’s true. Travis Haybourn has been pushing me to make nice from the start. But if I hadn’t overheard Baxter telling Rux that Julia and Natalie were meeting him at the Five Hole with the team after the game, no fucking way I’d be dicking around here dodging bunnies and ignoring nervous glances and too-loud whispers about my temper from fans.

  “You sure about that, because the way you were looking at Baxter’s sister…” O’Brian rubs a hand behind his neck and looks up at the ceiling like he might be praying. “Dude’s going to tear my arms off if he finds out I told you where she lives.”

  Quinn O’Brian isn’t a pussy. The guy’s almost as tall as I am, a little leaner through the shoulders maybe, but I’ve seen what he can do to an opposing player who crosses him wrong. He doesn’t want to get on Baxter’s bad side, and he really doesn’t like the position I’ve put him in. I get it.

  “There’s nothing to find out.” This is the only player who gives me the time of day off the ice, so I don’t want to make him sweat. “And even if there was, it’s not coming back on you.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod and change the subject. “Sweet win tonight, yeah?”

  The guy relaxes some, propping an elbow on the repurposed air hockey high-top between us. “Hell, yeah it was.” He takes a pull from his longneck and scans the crowd. Probably making a mental plan for who he’s taking home. Guaranteed it’s someone. “Surprised you got away from the press at all.”

  I grunt. Fucking media. One goal and two assists, but the first thing they wanted to know was what fucking Baxter thought of my game and whether the bad blood between us was impacting the team… If it bothered me that fans weren’t embracing me, despite my play.

  I’d have to care for it to bother me, and I learned long ago it pays not to.

  We talk some more about the game. About a couple players we know from the other team. A call that didn’t go our way and will be fodder for debate for the rest of the season. But all the while, I’ve got my eye across the room.

  On the girl with the dark ponytail, black leggings, and Chucks. With the exception of the Slayers jersey with her brother’s number on it, Natalie is looking all too much like the girl from that night in Vancouver.

  I keep asking myself what it is about her that’s got me so tied up, that had me searching the crowd from the ti
me I walked out of the tunnel tonight until the second I spotted her next to Baxter’s wife.

  Like she can feel me watching, her eyes come up and meet mine. That smile I can’t get enough of falters, making me feel like a shit for ruining something so sweet. I expect her to look away, to blush maybe, or try to pretend she didn’t see me. But she doesn’t. For a quiet beat, there’s just her and me and this pull I can’t explain.

  O’Brian is talking about a trip he took to South America in the off-season last year, and I keep up my side of the conversation with the requisite grunts. But what I’m really thinking about is cutting through the crowd and pulling her away to a quiet corner… just like that first night.

  I want to ask her what she was doing at the Canucks game all those months ago. I want to hear what she thought of the game tonight and know if she was watching me the way I watched her. I want her to give me one of those shy smiles that does shit to my insides I don’t know how to handle. And then I want the smile that isn’t so shy at all, the one I’m half hard just thinking about.

  But none of that can happen, because she’s standing next to her brother, and I’m trying to hold on to my career.

  Fuck.

  Rolling out my shoulder, I make a few noncommittal noises in O’Brian’s direction before scanning back to Natalie… who’s watching the motion of my arm with a look that’s suddenly way less tentative and way, way less subtle. It’s a look that could get both of us in trouble if anyone caught it… one I shouldn’t encourage.

  But hell.

  It takes everything I’ve got not to lose the scowl in lieu of a shit-eating grin, but I manage. Just like I keep my focus off her directly as I switch arms to stretch out the other shoulder. Too slowly.

  Thoroughly.

  Natalie

  Oh. My. God. Vaughn’s rolling out his shoulder and I’m pretty sure my panties are about to combust. I can’t look away. I can’t stop the hammering in my chest or the sudden dryness in my throat. I can’t tear my eyes off of him as, bringing one hand behind his head, he talks with his teammate.

  Cripes. It’s a Tumblr-worthy stance that shows off the bulging muscles of his bicep, his powerful shoulders and broad chest beneath a custom suit shirt pulled so tight nothing is left to the imagination. Slowly his other hand comes up, rubbing a firm path across his pecs.

  A sigh slips past my lips.

  “Nat, what are you looking at?” Greg asks, cutting into my thoughts and making me choke.

  I sputter to make something up, but he’s already followed my stare.

  No way. After all the games I’ve avoided and excuses I’ve made trying to protect my secret, my brother is going to bust me ogling Vaughn Vassar in this freaking bar? Only when I look back to where number forty-eight had been striking that criminally hot pose the moment before, my blood turns to ice. Vaughn’s not stretching out his shoulders or talking to Quinn anymore. He’s halfway across the bar on his way to us.

  The air charges as my brother tenses at my left. At my right, Rux’s head drops forward and he lets out a low groan. “What the fuck is with this guy?”

  Greg cuts me a look. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  I’m definitely worried.

  What is Vaughn doing coming over here?

  Rux’s big hand wraps around my elbow, gently tugging me back. Like he thinks somehow he’s going to keep me out of whatever trouble’s about to go down. I take a last look around one of my favorite bars, mentally calculating the damage about to happen. The authentic boards around the walls will be fine, but that scoreboard above the bar won’t survive whichever two hundred-pound body hits it first. And the mini jumbotron replicas hung from the high ceilings… totally within the overhead arc of a barstool. And that’s before the rest of the team joins the melee.

  Goodbye, Five Hole.

  Breath held, I brace for impact.

  An impact that doesn’t come. Because Vaughn barely even slows as he walks past us, jutting his chin at my brother and Rux with less than a glance for me. “Good game tonight.”

  I wait for the inevitable explosion, but the guys beside me are as shocked as I am. And then Vaughn is gone, disappearing into the crowd behind us. The breath rushes from my lungs, leaving me lightheaded as Greg shakes his head. “What the hell was that?”

  “Fuck if I know.” Rux pats my shoulder reassuringly. Like I can relax. It’s over. The big bad monster is gone. “Probably just trying to stir shit up.”

  “Seriously?” I ask, looking from one to the other with enough disappointment in my tone they both cringe. “That’s your takeaway from what just happened? The guy compliments your game and you think he’s looking for a brawl?”

  Greg’s arms cross and Rux is suddenly interested in his phone.

  Just then, Julia comes sashaying over. A couple longnecks in each hand. Her smile bright and wide. “What’d I miss?” she asks, pushing up to her toes to kiss Greg’s stubborn jaw.

  “Nothing.” I clink my beer against all of theirs and take a long swallow.

  Nothing except Vaughn Vassar being underestimated again and his quick thinking saving my butt.

  It’s almost two a.m. and I’ve been home for fifteen minutes, but even the familiar lull of NHL Tonight isn’t having its usual calming effect.

  I’m reaching for the remote when there’s a knock at my door. My heart stumbles, picking up a beat. It’s him. Who else would it be?

  Pushing up from the couch, I smooth my hands over my T-shirt, telling myself to be calm, that the jump in my pulse isn’t because I’m relieved he’s here. Telling myself that I wasn’t waiting for him. Right, because I always watch TV this late when I have to be at work at seven.

  I’m such a liar.

  Vaughn’s waiting on my front stoop when I open the door, his arms braced on the frame in a stance nearly identical to the one from the other night. Only the energy coming off him now is different. Still intense, but where last time he was agitated, defensive almost… tonight he’s friendly. In a scowly, so-hot-it-hurts kind of way.

  “Your brother give you any flak?” he asks, pushing off the frame and walking into my apartment before I can invite him. It ought to offend me, but I find myself smiling instead, the butterflies in my belly doing a nervous little dance.

  “No one was paying attention to me or how I was acting around you,” I say, following him down to the recessed living area. “I’m actually kind of embarrassed I thought they would.”

  Hands shoved in his pockets, he pulls his chin back with a frown. “Why’s that?”

  Really? “Umm, because in a room full of professional hockey players, the last person anyone is going to notice is me.” Heck, my own parents barely notice me in a room with just one player.

  He makes a scoffing sound and drops onto my couch. “People notice you plenty.” And oh man, he’s doing that thing with his shoulder again and I’m a little nervous I might start to drool.

  Swallow, Nat!

  He rubs at his left pec with the heel of his hand, dragging it back in one of those mysteriously masculine moves potent enough to leave me breathless.

  The corner of his mouth climbs perilously higher. “I notice you.”

  There’s something in his tone—something taunting and amused—that has my eyes snapping up to meet his, and the whole shoulder-and-chest-porn business clicks. My mouth drops into a gape, and my cheeks start to flame. “You were doing it… on purpose?”

  And then he’s laughing, those granite-hard eyes crinkling at the corners. “Come on, can you really blame me? Having not just any beautiful woman’s eyes on me but—”

  “Greg Baxter’s sister’s?” I offer, maybe just to remind myself of who this man is and why I’ve always known I couldn’t actually have him.

  He shakes his head, any trace of laughter gone. “No, the girl who left me in a hotel room in Vancouver. The one who turned me inside out and then was gone so fast, all I had left was the memory of how sweet she tasted coming on my tongue.”

/>   On. His. Tongue.

  Geez. I’m not sure whether I’m more embarrassed or turned on, but that clench between my legs and hitch in my breath says I might be lying again. Because I remember what it was like having his mouth on me too. The feel of that sexy mess of overlong hair sliding through my fingers and against my thighs. My back to the wall and one leg thrown over his shoulder. How he devoured me like he couldn’t get enough and then how he slowly came to his feet and kissed me again. His tongue slicking against my own.

  “Vaughn.” I can barely hear my own voice. His eyes meet mine and hold for one awful moment when I realize that if he comes to me, if he says my name, it’s over. I won’t be able to resist. I won’t walk away.

  I won’t stop to think about what’s at stake for either of us.

  But then, as if he hadn’t just casually referenced one of the dirtiest, most intimate, incredible moments of my life, Vaughn leans forward and swipes my phone off the coffee table. Grumbling about how I ought to have a lock screen, he thumbs across the glass. “In case your brother manages to look past his own ego long enough to notice you staring at the one guy you shouldn’t, you’ve got my number now.” He pushes up from the couch and stretches again. No eye contact. No drool-worthy chest rubbing. Just the unconscious actions of a man whose body takes a relentless beating and needs some rest. It’s still breathtaking to watch.

  Crossing to me, he places the phone in my hand, his long fingers wrapping around so he’s holding my hand for a beat as well. “Call if you need to.”