Winning It All (Hometown Players Book 4) (11 page)

It’s the last thing I hear as I quickly march down the street and away from him. As I hail a cab a block away I can’t stop myself from looking back. He’s under the awning again, smiling next to one of the guys while another one takes a picture of them on his phone. He did exactly what my dad used to do. Flipped a mental switch and dropped everything that he was supposed to care about for the love and fleeting admiration of strangers. Yeah, I need to stay as far away from this guy as possible. No matter what.

Four days later I’m standing in my bedroom watching my sister as she laughs at me. Typical Steph. I frown at her and scowl, and she laughs harder so I ignore her and keep unpacking my suitcase. She thinks it’s hysterical that this dream girl—Shay—has decided I’m worse than global warming. When her laughter dies down, she says, “Poor nugget. You got wham, bammed and thank you, ma’amed.”

“Excuse me?”

She smiles and folds her arms over my Winterhawks T-shirt that she’s wearing. Steph lives outside of the city, in Renton, and works as a legal secretary. She often stays at my place when I go on road trips because it’s closer to her work in the city. I’d left for a quick road trip to western Canada the day after my rainy altercation with Shay and so Steph squatted. And brought her dirty laundry, as she always does, since her building has communal coin-operated machines and mine are state-of-the-art and free. It’s not the first time I’ve come home and found her in my T-shirt and shorts because everything she owns is in the washer or dryer. Honestly, none of it bothers me. I’m just so very glad she’s in my life because if you’d asked me when I was a kid, I’d have thought she’d be dead by now.

“Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. What guys do to women. She did it to you.”

“I don’t do that to women,” I reply and throw some dirty clothes from my suitcase into the laundry basket on the floor of my bedroom.

“Seb, your quest for love has left quite the body count.”

Is she kidding me right now? “I don’t mislead them or lie to them. Every girl I’m attracted to, that I start something with, it’s because it has potential. And then, unfortunately, the spark goes away and…it’s not like I want it to. What am I supposed to do? Stay with them even when it’s just not there anymore?”

“No. But maybe try harder to keep the potential or spark or whatever. Because a relationship is not always going to be unicorns and rainbows, Sebastian.” She gives me a small, soft smile. “And just because the flame flickers a little or there’s bumps in the road doesn’t mean it has to be over. It doesn’t mean you’ll end up like Mom and Dad or your buddy Chooch and the wicked witch of Seattle, Ainsley.”

“Wow. That’s a boatload of relationship advice from a woman who has been single since she was eighteen,” I say pointedly. Stephanie smiles and raises a perfectly manicured middle finger with a neon orange nail in my direction.

“And trust me, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one doing this whole love life thing wrong.” She takes a pair of rolled-up dirty socks out of my open suitcase and hurls them at my head.

“Did you even play on this trip?” she asks, changing the subject.

“I played one of the two games,” I reply and try not to frown. It’s irking the shit out of me that my wrist is acting up. Ever since I punched Beau Echolls it’s been sore, and the fight with Darby only aggravated it more. The trainers say it’s just a strain, which is good. If I rest it now, I’ll be fine for playoffs, which start in less than a week.

“Anyway, this Shay girl is probably just worried you’re playing her. Or that you guys moved too fast or something,” Stephanie says, and we’re back to unsolicited love life advice, apparently. “You’re a real Romeo. You make a girl feel special. You get their hopes up, whether you mean to or not. And not all girls feel the fizzle when you do, Seb.”

I digest her comments. I know she’s right, even if I don’t like to hear it. I’ve had three girlfriends in the last year—Andie, Melissa and Dawn. Dawn and I didn’t end amicably. She used to be a paralegal at Stephanie’s firm; I met her when I picked Steph up for lunch one day. Dawn was sexy and smart and I asked her out immediately. Our first date was two nights later. There was chemistry and there was good sex, but even though she was book-smart she wasn’t very witty and didn’t have a good sense of humor.

My life has had some really stressful moments and seriously bad things in it, and levity is all that got me through. I need a woman who can make a quip and not cry when something doesn’t go her way. Dawn was a crier. She cried when I was injured in a game and lost my front tooth. Cried like I had just lost a limb or something. Within two days I had a fake tooth implanted, but she cried for a week afterward whenever it was brought up. She cried when she didn’t get the promotion she was hoping for. She cried all the time. Within two months the spark between us had turned to ash.

Unfortunately, Dawn didn’t seem to see it. When I broke up with her, the day before I met Shay, she was shocked and devastated. And then she was angry. She texted me and called me for weeks insisting we “talk it out” and that we were “worth saving.” The morning of this most recent road trip, I got a new phone number. Now she was texting Stephanie about me, which my sister was less than impressed with. I know it made it awkward for her because she worked with Dawn, but I didn’t know how to fix it. I certainly wasn’t going to date her again.

“If women came with warning labels, I’d have steered clear from Dawn before anything ever started,” I tell Stephanie, and she laughs.

“Nah, you wouldn’t,” she snarks back. “Your dick doesn’t know how to read.”

“Ha-ha,” I deadpan and lean over and give her a tiny shove. She slips off the corner of the bed she’s sitting on and hits the floor with a thump. She throws the socks, which were still on the floor, at me again. “Can we get back on track? What am I going to do about Shay?”

“You’re going to drive your ass over to her work and confront her. Make her tell you what the problem is. Did she already get her heart broken by one of you lugs, or does she just hate athletes in general, or what? And then, whatever her excuse is, talk her out of it.”

She says it so matter-of-factly that it actually sounds simple. But it’s not.

“Won’t I look like a stalker? And it’s late. She might not even be working tonight or the gym might be closed when I get there,” I say, and then I realize it’s pointless. Steph’s right, no matter how illogical it is. I have to see Shay. When playoffs start I won’t have time to be running all over town at night looking for her. And I won’t be out late at bars where I might stumble into her. And the last thing I need is to be distracted by her—by not having her—while we fight for the Cup.

Stephanie knows me well enough to ignore my argument. Instead she simply points to the master bath. “Go shower. I’ll unpack the rest of your junk and head back home. Text me and let me know how it goes!”

She disappears down the hall toward the laundry room with the dirty clothes still left in my suitcase.

Twenty-two minutes later I pull my car into the parking lot for Elevate Fitness. The weather is typical Seattle weather—damp and on the verge of raining. That abnormally warm spring weather front we had when Audrey and Josh hosted the barbeque is long gone and our usual rainy spring is back. I check my watch because I don’t even know if the place is still open, but I have to try.

I reach the double glass doors and exhale in relief as it opens in my hand. But is she here? The first person I see as I walk down the empty front entrance toward the lobby with the juice bar is Sara.

“We’re just about to close.” Her voice is flat and unfriendly. I guess she wasn’t impressed by finding me banging an employee that wasn’t her in the laundry room.

“That’s okay. I’m just looking for Shay. Is she here?”

“Who?”

Right. She must not have been lying when she says no one calls her that. “Shayne.”

“Right.” She makes a face at that, which almost makes me smirk. I mean, come on, no need to be bitter. “She’s around here somewhere. I’m leaving, and I’m supposed to make sure the customers are gone, so…”

She makes a vague hand gesture in the direction toward the front door like she’s shooing me. I head that way, unsure how I can try to convince her to let me stay. I pass Trey’s office. The door is ajar and I can see him inside. Perfect. I pop my head in and smile. “Hey, Trey! Do you have a minute to chat before you close?”

He looks up from some papers on his desk, and I realize he’s scowling. But it’s wiped off his face and replaced with a friendly smile when he realizes it’s me. “Sebastian! Hey. Yeah, sure. Come in.”

I glance back at Sara, who looks annoyed. Trey glances over at her. “You can go, Sara. I’ll see Seb out later. I have to wait for Shayne anyway.”

She simply nods, gives me one last quick unimpressed stare and continues to the door.

I smile at Trey, but I know it looks weak. I’m not sure what the hell I’m going to say to him. I just wanted an excuse to stick around. “So how’s business?”

Trey shrugs. “The start is bound to be slow. It’s a brand-new business and, you know, there’s a gym almost every couple of blocks in this town so…we’re doing almost as well as I expected, so I’m not panicking or anything.”

That was not the answer I expected. It’s honest, but it makes me a little nervous for him. I’ve only met him that one time, but he seemed like a great guy, and Avery has mentioned him on and off for years and it’s always been positive. I want his business to succeed. He scratches his head and stands up. “I just have to figure out an advertising angle. I put money away for a fairly big campaign and asked Avery to do a celebrity endorsement–type deal, but he’s taking forever to get back to me.”

He glances past me, probably looking for Shayne. As much as I want to see Shay, that Avery comment has my attention. Avery had been talking about his college teammate Trey and his new gym for months. He was excited for him and happy for him, and I can’t believe he wouldn’t give the guy an endorsement. My shock must read on my face, because Trey shrugs. “He says he needs to check with his management.”

“You mean his dad?” Avery’s father is hockey’s version of a raging stage mom. Ever since Avery was a kid, he has managed every aspect of the Westwood “brand,” as Don Westwood calls it. Who the fuck calls their eight-year-old a brand? He did and still does. “His dad is a bit of a…”

Trey smirks. “Oh, I know.”

“He’s just stressed with the playoffs coming up. Let me talk to him.”

Trey blinks. “Really?”

“Yeah. Sure. No big deal, really.”

Trey looks relieved—and excited. I’m happy I could help him, but I also have a feeling this will get me more face-time with Shay. Speaking of…“So you’re waiting for Shayne?”

“Yeah. Her piece-of-shit car is still at the mechanic, so I said I’d drive her.” He glances up at the clock on the wall of his office. “But she’s taking forever, and I have a pregnant wife waiting at home for ice cream I’m supposed to pick up.”

“Let me give Shay…Shayne a lift home.”

He looks skeptical. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea. She expects me to do it.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. We’re friends,” I reply, trying to make it sound as casual as possible, because as nice as I think Trey is, I’m pretty sure I can’t say,
Yeah I’ve seen her naked a couple of times now.

“You don’t mind?” I can still see he’s not convinced it’s a good idea. “She lives in kind of a shitty area or else I’d just let her bus it. My parents offered to help her with a down payment on a better place, but she’s the most stubborn woman in the world.”

“Your parents?”

“Shayne is my sister,” Trey says with a look on his face that says he thinks I’m an idiot for not knowing that. But Avery never mentioned Trey’s family, and Shay never made that connection clear. Now I definitely can’t mention seeing her naked. Although I wonder if the skepticism on his features is because he already knows. Oh God.

I smile through the awkwardness. “Oh! Wow. Well, your sister is in good hands, I promise. I’ll get her home safely; just go take care of your pregnant wife. And congrats on the baby.”

“Thanks, man.” Trey squeezes my shoulder, obviously willing to give in to my idea. “Make sure she locks up. And if she’s pissed you’re her chauffeur, make it clear it was your decision, okay? I don’t wanna deal with her wrath.”

I follow him out into the lobby and wave as he walks through the front doors and out into the parking lot.

My last class of the night was a simple Bikram-based yoga class. It was full, and I managed to concentrate on teaching without getting distracted by thoughts of Sebastian. The class flew by, though, and after saying good-bye to everyone as they filtered out and doing a sweep of the other fitness rooms with Sara, I was left with nothing but my thoughts. I wondered what he was doing right now. I hadn’t heard from him since the groping and kissing outside Audrey’s bar, but that’s what I wanted. I wanted him—and our little…whatever it was—to be left in the past. Audrey, on the other hand, didn’t. She brought him up every time I saw her this week. “I think he’s good for you, Shaynie. He’s got you flustered and off balance and you’re different with him. You’re not so…uptight.”

“I am not uptight,” I had argued back.

“You’re wound tighter than a country singer at the opera.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Look, you’re uptight. All the time, which is insane for a yoga teacher,” she told me frankly. “And I swear you’re a better yoga instructor since he started giving you orgasms.”

I gasped when she said that. “What was wrong with my yoga before?”

“Nothing, but you’re more chill out there now. More Zen, less drill sergeant.”

Ouch. “Well, maybe I’ll find someone else to give me orgasms.”

She raised a light brown eyebrow at me. “Yeah? How’s that been working out for you the past two and a half years?”

I hate that she was right but she was, and my body knew it. Sex is a glorious thing and because of some sick cosmic joke this hockey player had not only ended my drought, he was supplying earth-shattering ones every damn time. I could go back to supplying myself with orgasms but…just like making a sandwich, it’s always better when someone else does it for you.

I’ve been under the hot shower spray longer than I should be, considering Trey is waiting for me, but it feels glorious. My shower at home is hit-or-miss when it comes to pressure and hot water. This morning there’d been neither, and I didn’t want to risk that tonight. I’m feeling tense, despite having just taught a class, and I want the water to relax me. There are four private shower stalls against one of the walls, and normally I use one of those because I’m kind of a prude, to be honest. I don’t get the whole public nudity thing, even if it’s just in front of other women. But when I’m alone in the gym I always think of
Psycho
’s shower scene, so I just use one of the showers in the large open room.

I’m tipping my head back, rinsing my hair one final time, when the voice echoes in the cavernous tiled room.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

I scream and grab my towel off the hook, jumping out of the spray of the water and almost slipping in the soap suds still sliding off me. My heart rate has jumped so quickly and so high that I feel faint. But then my eyes land on Seb.

He’s standing in the opening of the shower room, leaning against the wall. He’s wearing jeans and a black Henley with charcoal gray sleeves, the two buttons at his neck unbuttoned. His hair is tousled and the scar on his eyebrow is just a pink line now, no stitches.

I’m panting with fear even though there’s relief at seeing him and not some serial killer or rapist. His baby blue eyes are running up and down my body greedily so I hug the towel tighter, praying it’s covering all my essentials.

“You can’t be in here!” I hiss, even though I don’t want him to go anywhere.

“Trey’s gone,” Sebastian explains, trying to soothe me. “He wanted to get home to his wife, so I volunteered to make sure you got home safe and sound.”

I’m shivering a little now, because I’m standing soaking wet with only a small towel pressed to my front. “What did you tell him? ‘Don’t worry, Trey. I’ll go watch your sister shower and then take her home’?”

“What’s the big deal? I’ve seen you naked before. I like you naked,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. His eyes look like sapphires in the overhead fluorescent lights. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” The word comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.

“Do you want me to wash your back?” A slow, sexy smile spreads across his face.

“Yes.”

Again, it’s like I have no control over my mouth. Damn it! If it’s just going to verbalize every single thing I think, I’m going to be in trouble. Big trouble.

He smiles at that, and it’s like a blowtorch to my feeble willpower. No man has ever looked at me the way Sebastian Deveau does. I can’t even explain it—but the desire and genuine pleasure reflected in his eyes as he looks at me, not just now but every time, is exhilarating. He peels off his shirt and unbuttons his jeans, pulling something out of the back pocket before letting them drop to the tile floor. He holds up the foil packet. “Do you want me to do more than wash your back?”

“Yes.”
Stupid mouth, could you at least try and play hard to get?!

He drops his underwear a second later, as he’s rolling the condom over his dick, I tell myself that maybe Audrey’s right. I do him a couple more times and gradually work him out of my system. Maybe I will stop thinking about him and stop feeling that warm happiness when he looks at me. Maybe I just need to overindulge. Like the time I was eleven and ate all my Halloween candy in one sitting and then got a stomach ache so fierce I didn’t want to eat chocolate for months afterward. That’s the theory I decide to believe as he kicks off his shoes and steps out of his pants. I drop my towel and walk back to the stream of water. He meets me under it, pushing his strong hands into my wet hair and attacking my mouth. Neither of us is playing the tough guy this time, and we both groan right into the kiss.

My heart is beating wildly again as we make out like crazy under the water. We might both drown, but it would be completely worth it. And hey, if I’m dead I don’t have to deal with the fact I’m going back on my own self-imposed rules. He pushes me so my back is up against the tile wall and leans right into me. His skin is wet and warm, and he feels so heavy and good against me. His dick is rock hard and pressed firmly against my belly.

His hands travel down my shoulders, down my sides, over my hips and around to my ass. “I’m going to lift you up. Hold on.”

I pant my response and wrap my arms around his neck. His hands slide down my ass. He curls his fingers toward the inside of my thighs and they graze my pussy, making me shudder. He smiles into my neck and I bite his shoulder.

Finally his hands reach the back of my thighs, and in one fluid, strong motion he lifts me off the ground. My ankles hook behind his lower back, and he pushes me harder into the wall. He pulls back just a little so we’re looking at each other and slowly lowers me onto his cock. He swears in French under his breath; I bite my lip and sigh heavily.

Why does he feel so good? Why do I want this, even though I know it’s not right for me? What the hell is wrong with me? The questions filter through my head at rapid speed, but I don’t attempt to figure out the answers. I don’t care right now. All I care about is that he’s here and we’re doing this again. And it’s perfect.
Again
.

Using the wall to hold me up and his hands under my ass to bounce me, he starts to fuck me.

“Oh God. This is always so good,” he hisses as he lifts me and lowers me. “Shay, you’re perfect.”

“Perfect with you.” Why the fuck would I say that?

He smiles at that, so I cover his mouth with my own to get rid of it. He keeps bouncing me, thrusting into me at the same time, and my back is sliding up and down on the tile. His eyes keep slipping to my chest as my tits bounce up and down, and I’m not self-conscious in the least. In fact, I cup them and push them up toward his mouth. He takes the hint, dips his head and traces my nipple with his tongue before sucking greedily on it. He bites down and I moan. I push my hands into his thick, wet hair and twist it between my fingers. God, I love doing that—and he likes the feel of it too, because he grunts and slams me harder against the tiles with his thrust.

He moves back to my mouth and kisses me hard. As the kiss starts to break, he uses his teeth to pull on my bottom lip and then lets go and moves to nip my earlobe.

“Touch yourself,” he begs me, his accent thick, his breath tickling my ear, sending delightful shivers down my spine. “I want you to come with me. I’m close.”

I move one hand from around his neck and slip it between us. His head dips to watch me as I my fingers find my clit and begin to move, creating glorious friction. The friction I’m creating for myself is almost unnecessary. I was already on the verge thanks to his solid, gifted dick and the look on his stunning face as he’s overtaken by the pleasure. But the friction, along with watching him watching me touch myself, sends me catapulting toward the blissful abyss.

“Sebastian…I’m going to…”

“
Moi aussi, ma belle
…”

He yells and I whimper as we both come.

I’m dizzy and weak and I can’t imagine how he’s still holding me up. Then I realize his hands are barely doing the work. Instead he’s crushed me into the wall using his body weight to pin me there as he struggles for breath. A few minutes later his arms flex back to life and he lifts me and carefully slides out of me. I unhook my feet and shakily find the tile floor beneath us.

We smile at each other, and I step back under the direct spray of the shower. He turns away from me to remove the condom. A second later he’s beside me holding the shower gel.

“Time for that back scrubbing I promised,” he says, turning me to face the wall. “I’ve got mad skills.”

Yes. Yes, you do.

I want to fight him. To just tell him to get out, but that orgasm blew my brain, and my common sense, to oblivion. So I simply close my eyes and let him push my wet hair over my shoulder and slide a soapy washcloth across my bare back.