Playing Hard_A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance Read online

  PLAYING HARD

  A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Novel

  Book 3

  Lisa B. Kamps

  PLAYING HARD

  Copyright © 2018 by Elizabeth Belbot Kamps

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.

  The Chesapeake Blades™ is a fictional semi-professional ice hockey team, its name and logo created for the sole use of the author and covered under protection of trademark.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names, living or dead. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any individual, place, business, or event is purely coincidental.

  Artwork and Cover Design by Jay Aheer of Simply Defined Art

  http://www.simplydefinedart.com/

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other titles by this author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  GAME MISCONDUCT preview

  PLAYING THE GAME preview

  About The Author

  Other titles by this author

  For Cat Parisi

  I can never thank you enough for everything you do!

  I was so lucky the day I met you, and will always treasure your guidance, your advice, and your friendship!

  Other titles by this author:

  THE BALTIMORE BANNERS

  Crossing the Line, Book 1

  Game Over, Book 2

  Blue Ribbon Summer, Book 3

  Body Check, Book 4

  Break Away, Book 5

  Playmaker, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella

  Delay of Game, Book 6

  Shoot Out, Book 7

  The Baltimore Banners: 1st Period Trilogy

  Books 1-3 Boxed set

  The Baltimore Banners: 2nd Period Trilogy

  Books 4-6 Boxed set

  On Thin Ice, Book 8

  Coach's Challenge, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella

  One-Timer, Book 9

  Face Off, Book 10

  First Shot At Love, A Baltimore Banners Short Story

  Game Misconduct, Book 11

  Fighting To Score, Book 12

  Matching Penalties, Book 13

  THE YORK BOMBERS

  Playing The Game, Book 1

  Playing To Win, Book 2

  Playing For Keeps, Book 3

  Playing It Up, Book 4

  Playing It Safe, Book 5

  The York Bombers Boxed Set 1

  Books 1-3

  Playing For Love, Book 6

  Playing His Part, Book 7

  THE CHESAPEAKE BLADES

  Winning Hard, Book 1

  Loving Hard, Book 2

  Playing Hard, Book 3

  FIREHOUSE FOURTEEN

  Once Burned, Book 1

  Playing With Fire, Book 2

  Breaking Protocol, Book 3

  Into the Flames, Book 4

  Second Alarm, Book 5

  Feel The Burn, Book 6

  Coming Soon

  STAND-ALONE TITLES

  Emeralds and Gold: A Treasury of Irish Short Stories (anthology)

  Finding Dr. Right

  Time To Heal

  Dangerous Passion

  Dangerous Heat

  Illicit Affair

  Coming Soon

  Be sure to sign up for Lisa's monthly newsletter, Kamps' Korner, for exciting news, sneak peeks, exclusive content, and fun, games, and giveaways! You don’t want to miss it!

  Can't wait for the newsletter? Need to get your fix of hockey, firefighters, passion and news daily? Then please join Lisa and a great group of readers and fans at Kamps Korner on Facebook!

  Chapter One

  Silence surrounded her. Empty and almost eerie. It shouldn't be this quiet, not with fifteen thousand people on the other side of those thick concrete walls painted red, white and blue.

  Shannon Wiley pushed away from the table, empty now of fliers and brochures touting the rest of the year's schedule for the Chesapeake Blades. It would have been nice if the colorful brochures had disappeared because fans had taken them, but that wasn't the case. Charles Dawson, the team's PR Director, had boxed them up ten minutes ago then disappeared with Taylor LeBlanc, the team's captain—along with everyone else.

  Shannon snorted, the indelicate sound echoing around the empty concourse. She was making it sound like something dramatic had happened when nothing could be further from the truth. Her teammates had simply gone home—or back inside to finish watching the last ten minutes of the game between the Banners and Vegas.

  Which is what she should be doing—heading home. A glance outside the large window was more than enough to show her that the weather wasn't getting any better. The flurries that had been forecast had taken on a life of their own, turning into thick, fat flakes that coated the sidewalk and the street.

  A trickle of worry crept along her neck when she thought of Sammie Reigler, one of the Blades' defensive players. Sammie hated driving in this shit. Shannon should have offered to take her home—

  No, scratch that. Shannon was pretty sure that Sammie's ex-husband, Jon, was taking care of that. Shannon seriously doubted that Jon would be Sammie's ex for much longer, not if the sparks that had been leaping between them the last couple of months meant anything.

  Good for Sammie. She deserved to be happy, and it was obvious that there was still a lot of love between Jon and her. Maybe Shannon should start a pool, get everyone to bet on how long before the couple officially reunited.

  Because yeah, that was definitely going to happen. Shannon had no doubts about that. Which was perfect, because Sammie definitely deserved to be happy.

  Everyone did.

  "Abso-fucking-lutely," Shannon murmured under her breath then grabbed her gear bag and tossed it over her shoulder. She glanced around, looking for her stick, then rolled her eyes at her forgetfulness. Her stick wasn't here because she had given it to the young girl who had come up to the table and asked for her autograph.

  Right after telling Shannon that she wanted to be a goalie, just like her.

  Shannon blinked against the odd film of moisture burning her eyes then shook her head. Anyone watching her would think she was definitely losing it, the way she was standing there with a ghost of a smile teasing her lips as she swiped at her eyes.

  Fuck them if they did. Wouldn't be the first time people thought she was weird, and it certain
ly wouldn't be the last.

  And she didn't care anymore now than she did when she was growing up.

  She gave herself a mental shake then headed along the concourse toward the main doors. The concession stands were already closed, their staff paying no attention to her as they cleaned off counters and swept floors, probably anxious to get home. Shannon didn't blame them, not when she felt the same. People drove like idiots in weather like this.

  She rounded the last curve of the concourse then veered left, heading for the exit, when someone called her name. She hesitated, wondering if maybe she was imagining things, then heard it again.

  "Shannon! Hey, Wiley. Wait up."

  No, that voice definitely wasn't her imagination. Deep, rich, warm. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was, not when that same voice had caused an embarrassing blush to creep into her face fifteen minutes ago.

  Kind of like it was doing right now.

  She froze, torn between turning around and acting bored—or running for the door like the hounds of hell were after her. And shit, could she be any lamer than that? So what if Caleb Johnson was a star winger for the Banners? So what if he was six-feet four-inches of pure masculine deliciousness? He was just a hockey player.

  Just like her.

  Just like her teammates.

  Except none of her teammates had ever made her skin prickle and dance with awareness as they raked her with their gazes.

  "Get a grip, Wiley." She muttered the words under her breath then winced as they echoed around her. Shit, they came out louder than she had planned. Had he heard her?

  She took a deep breath then turned, her sigh of relief almost as loud as her muttered words when she saw that he was still several feet away—definitely not within hearing distance. The staccato rhythm of each crutch against the shiny tile floor was another point in her favor, the sound helping to mask whatever idiocy decided to fall from her mouth.

  Shannon adjusted the grip on her gear bag, swinging it from her right shoulder to her left, then watched him with as nonchalant an expression as she could manage. It was harder to manage than she thought it would be, considering all she wanted to do was rake his body with her eyes, from the thick black hair hanging over his forehead all the way down to the soft cast covering his left ankle—and everywhere in between.

  No, not with her eyes—with her hands. With her mouth. With—

  She swallowed back a groan of frustration and looked away, cursing the blush heating her face. What the hell was wrong with her? She didn't act this way over guys. Ever. So why now? Why with him?

  She had no idea but she needed to get over. Now.

  Caleb came to a stop less than two feet away, his weight braced on the crutches as he leaned toward her. No, he wasn't leaning—that was just her imagination.

  Or maybe wishful thinking.

  She pushed a few strands of hair from her face and tried to act nonchalant like sexy, gorgeous men came up to her all the time instead of running away the first time she opened her mouth. "Hey. What's up?"

  "You heading out?"

  Shannon almost rolled her eyes and said, Duh. Almost. She stopped herself at the last second, practically biting her tongue to keep the word from spilling from her mouth. "Yeah, pretty much."

  Did he hear the sarcasm in her voice? She hoped not. If he did, he did a good job of hiding it.

  "Are you heading home or going out?"

  Shannon frowned. What kind of question was that? Of course, she was going home. Where else would she be going in this kind of weather? "Just home."

  "Feel like grabbing a quick bite?"

  And dammit, there went her face, heating up again at all the different images popping into her squirrel brain at his last word. Or maybe it wasn't the word—maybe it was the way he was watching her, those sparkling green eyes entirely too intense as they focused on her.

  And holy shit, was he actually flirting with her? No. No way.

  But what if he was?

  Taylor LeBlanc's words came back to her in a flash of startling clarity: Do not go there. Caleb is a nice guy but he's the biggest player ever. The. Biggest. So just don't go there.

  Is that what he was doing? Setting up nothing more than a quick play, looking to add Shannon's name to his list of conquests?

  She narrowed her eyes at him, doing her best to ignore the way her heart skipped and danced in her chest at the sight of that dimple peeking out from his right cheek. "I'm not sleeping with you, Johnson, so just forget it."

  If the words surprised him, he didn't show it. He actually leaned a little closer, his grin widening, causing that damn dimple to deepen in his cheek. "Fair enough. But the offer still stands: feel like grabbing a bite to eat?"

  Shannon was speechless. Not just from his smile or his offer, but because he was still standing there instead of slinking away with his tail between his legs. That's what usually happened when she struck down an offer—which was fine by her, because the last thing she wanted was to be with a guy who was intimidated by her.

  But Caleb didn't turn to leave, didn't act like he was intimated by her at all. He just stood there, watching her with those deep green eyes. Waiting. Like he really wanted nothing more than to grab a bite to eat. With her.

  No fucking way.

  She glanced over her shoulder, at the snow that seemed to be getting heavier, then turned back to Caleb. If she were smart, she'd tell him she couldn't. If she were smart, she'd tell him she needed to head home before her trusty car decided not to be so trusty in this shitty weather. "Aren't you supposed to hang out after the game for a meeting or something?"

  "Yeah, but it won't take long."

  Shannon chewed on her lip, torn by indecision. She should say no, she really should.

  Caleb leaned forward and nudged her with his elbow, like she was just one of the guys he was trying to talk into doing something. "It won't be long, really. I'll even treat."

  "Um—" She stepped back, trying to ignore the flare of heat caressing the skin where he'd touched her. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

  "Great. How about I meet you in the garage in—" He glanced at the watch on his wrist, an expensive timepiece that probably cost more than what she made in one season with the Blades—which really wasn't saying much. "Fifteen, twenty minutes?"

  "Why the garage?"

  "Isn't that where you parked?"

  "Would I really be heading outside in this shit if I was?"

  Confusion flashed across his face. Had she been too sarcastic? Probably—because everything that came out of her mouth ended up sounding that way. Perfect. Just perfect. Now he'd change his mind, suddenly remember something else he had to do.

  "Why aren't you parked in the garage?"

  "Because I was told we couldn't park there." She adjusted her grip on the bag, waiting for him to rescind his offer. "The garage is for season ticket holders and players and staff."

  "They seriously told you guys not to park there?"

  "Yeah, seriously." Shannon stepped back, wondering why he hadn't changed his mind yet, then decided to take pity on him and give him an out. "I should probably get going—"

  "You're still going to meet me, right?"

  "Um—" Okay, she hadn't expected that. At all. She started to open her mouth, to ask him why, then snapped it shut when he moved closer.

  "We're heading to The Maypole. Do you know where it is?"

  "Not a clue."

  "It's not far from here." Caleb gave her directions, his gaze barely leaving hers as people started streaming into the concourse. He glanced around, wincing as a few people called out to him, then turned back to her. "So I'll meet you there?"

  "Um, yeah. Sure."

  "Great. Give me about thirty minutes." He winked—yes, he actually winked at her!—then started hobbling away on his crutches, weaving through the crowd like a fish swimming upstream.

  Shannon waited until he disappeared from sight, then let the crowd push her toward the exit and outside. She shouldn't go, she rea
lly shouldn't. This was some kind of set-up. Or maybe some kind of weird hazing or something. She'd get to the bar—if it even existed—then sit there and wait. And wait some more. Meanwhile, Mr. Entirely-Too-Sexy-For-His-Own-Good would be having a laugh about the whole thing.

  If she were smart, she'd just go home.

  But what the hell. She was hungry, and bar food beat a frozen dinner any day. She'd go to the bar—if it existed—grab a bite to eat by herself, then head home. And if it turned out the bar was nothing more than a ruse, no big deal. She'd find somewhere else to eat then go home.

  And call herself every name in the book for being so stupid and naïve.

  Chapter Two

  It wasn't a ruse. At least as far as the place existing. Whether or not Caleb showed up remained to be seen.

  Shannon stepped inside the bar, brushing snow from her hair and jacket as she looked around. Rich, dark wood. Lots of open space. Tables and booths were arranged in seating areas instead of lined up like little soldiers, creating an atmosphere of intimacy. One section near the back was roped off, marked with a sign that said Reserved. Large screen televisions were placed around the walls and over the huge bar, each one showing a different channel. Large vases of flowers were scattered here and there, freshening the warm air with subtle fragrance.

  Not exactly what she had been expecting from a sports bar.

  Or maybe that was part of the joke.

  Yeah, that had to be it, because the waitstaff consisted mostly of men and every single one of them could be labeled "man-candy". No way could this be a hangout for Caleb and his buddies.

  A sports bar? Shannon had her doubts—a lot of them, even if the walls were decorated with sports memorabilia. She looked closer, surprised to see a lot of Banners items: pictures, jerseys, sticks. Some recent, some dating back more than a decade. There were even old pictures of the team holding the Stanley Cup, wide smiles on faces of long-ago players she didn't recognize.

  She moved toward one, trying to read the inscription on the small metal plate attached at the bottom. A waiter—or maybe he was the host—approached her with a stack of menus, a smile on his rugged, lined face.