Playing To Win (The York Bombers Book 2) Read online

  Why Haley didn’t find him attractive was beyond her. With his tousled gleaming black hair and those intense glacier-blue eyes…yeah, he did more than just catch her attention. There was something about him, something that more than sparked her attraction.

  She expected a sliver of jealousy to slice through her, especially since he was sitting there with another girl draped all over him. But instead of jealousy, she felt…sadness. Pity. A sense of being lost, drifting.

  Not from within her, but from him.

  Great. Not only was she mentally indulging Haley’s unspoken plan, but she was also feeling emotions that weren’t even there. Seeing things that didn’t exist, like the way Jason seemed to hold himself apart from the other four. Or the way his mouth curved into something that could either be a vacant smile—or a grimace. And if it was a smile…well, she was glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of it because it looked too forced and phony and didn’t even come close to touching his eyes.

  Yup. She was definitely losing her mind because she turned back to Haley and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’d surprise both of us by actually going for it.”

  Now it was Haley’s turn to step back. “Going for what?”

  “A one-night stand.”

  “Are you completely insane?”

  “Hey, this was your little game, not mine. I’m just playing along.”

  “Do you think you’d actually do it?”

  Megan couldn’t be sure if Haley was asking more from curiosity or from surprise. And it didn’t matter, not really, not when the thought suddenly took hold somewhere deep in the back of her mind.

  She looked over her shoulder once more without really seeing the small group. No, she was seeing something else entirely. Her and Jason, locked in a tight embrace. Jason’s eyes, glowing with an inner flame that singed her bare skin. Her hands, tracing his broad shoulders and wide chest. Her fingers, trailing down washboard abs and lower, curling around—

  Megan’s breath left in a loud hiss and she looked away, feeling her face heat in embarrassment. Yeah, she had definitely lost her mind. No doubt about it.

  “Well? Would you?” Haley’s gaze held her in place, watching her, seeing too much.

  Would she?

  Could she?

  Megan looked behind her one last time, a million disjointed thoughts running through her fractured mind. The answer didn’t matter because she’d never get the chance. Haley knew that as much as she did. So she turned back to her friend and gave her a small smile, hoping it didn’t look as sad as it felt.

  “Maybe I would. Just because. But it doesn’t matter because we both know that would never happen.”

  A slow smile spread across Haley’s face, a smile that filled Megan with sudden dread. And it wasn’t just her smile: it was the accompanying calculating gleam that lit her eyes.

  Haley wrapped one arm around Megan’s shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze.

  “Wanna bet?”

  Chapter Two

  “Get in there you stupid fucker!” Jason muttered the words around his mouthpiece as his eyes followed the puck. It slid down the ice, its path heading directly for the net. Too clean, not quite fast enough. If the fucking goalie missed blocking that one, then the stupid bastard should be pulled from the net.

  Jason picked up speed, struggling to get into position as the puck moved closer…closer. The red light flashed behind the net, the sound of the horn not quite drowned out by the cheers of the crowd. And holy shit, how the fuck did the goalie even miss that one?

  He didn’t know and didn’t care, not when the goal brought them one point closer to tying the game. Jason nodded, not quite able to hide his grin as he skated back to the bench.

  Coach Torresi nodded in his direction, the only congratulations he’d get from the man. It didn’t matter: he’d done his job, put one on the board. So what if the shot should have been blocked? That wasn’t his problem.

  He grabbed a towel and ran it across his face, then wiped the inside of his visor. He sat on the edge of the bench, his eyes focused on center ice as play was getting ready to start. They were playing Rochester tonight, should beat them with no problem. Should. Sometimes things didn’t work out the way you thought they would because right now, the Bombers were behind by two. They had four minutes left in the second plus the entire third left to go. Yeah, they could win this one. They had to win this one.

  Because Jason fucking hated losing.

  He glanced around, his gaze raking over his teammates. Aaron, Zach, Dustin, Travis. Fuck, none of them liked losing. Who did? Not even Harland, who was in the worse fucking slump Jason had ever seen. He’d never say it out loud, especially not within hearing distance of Harland, but Jason hoped to hell whatever fucking jinx Harland had wasn’t contagious.

  No, it wasn’t. At least, not yet.

  Shit, if Jason’s luck ever went the way of Harland’s, he’d seriously consider an exorcism.

  Or quitting.

  No, fuck that shit. Jason didn’t quit. Ever. He liked winning too much. Hell, who didn’t?

  A tangle of players whizzed by the players’ bench, their movement blurred by speed. Jason leaned forward with everyone else, watching as play moved down the ice. Fuck. One shot, two. One more.

  Tyler blocked them all, finally covering the puck on the last one. The whistle blew, stopping the play. Jason sat back on the bench, his hand tightening around the stick. Aaron nudged him, glanced down at the stick, then raised one dark brow.

  “A little antsy?”

  “What? No, I’m fine.” And he was. So what if he was antsy? He always got this way during games, everyone knew that. But he loosened his grip anyway, just a little.

  Aaron grunted but didn’t say anything else as the puck dropped. Their center, Nathan Shaw, fought for it, sent it back to the neutral zone just as the horn signaled the end of the period.

  Jason got to his feet with everyone else, waited to pat Tyler on the back as they moved toward the locker room. Zach moved in behind him then took a seat on the bench next to him as Coach lectured them. They needed to focus, needed to give Tyler more protection, they weren’t playing their game.

  Jason listened to the coach’s words, nodding his agreement. Zach nudged him again but Jason waved him off, ignoring him. As soon as the coaching staff turned away, Zach stood up and started running his hands over Jason’s head. He reached up and batted his hands away, frowning.

  “What is your problem, Mummert?”

  “Nothing. I was just wondering when the fuck you turned into a puppet. Your damn head was bobbing so much, I wanted to see where the strings were.” The comment drew a few laughs from the guys near them. Jason shot them all a frown then slid away from Zach and inspected the blade of his stick.

  “Yeah, you’re so fucking funny. Ha ha. I was just agreeing, that was all. We’re better than those guys. We shouldn’t be trailing them.”

  “No shit. We’ll get it back in the third.” Zach stood up and started doing stretches, twisting and bending. A few minutes went by before he straightened then fixed Jason with a curious stare. “So what happened with you the other day? You never said.”

  “When?”

  “The other day at Mystics. That girl was a sure thing. I figured sure as shit you’d leave with her.”

  Jason shrugged and kept his gaze averted. “Eh. Wasn’t interested.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I wasn’t. She wasn’t doing it for me.”

  “Only because you didn’t let her. She was hot for you, man. All you had to do was crook your finger and she would have done your bidding.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” No maybe about it. If the girl had had her way, she’d have gone down on him right there under the table. A few months ago, just the image would have been enough to get him off. But that was a few months ago and something had changed.

  He just wasn’t interested anymore. But damn if he’d tell Zach—or anyone else—that. Fuck, he’d never hear the end of it.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in sex—he was. Hell, he was more than interested. But lately he’d been content with nothing more than his own fucking hand. It was quicker, safer, cheaper.

  And a hundred times more interesting than the harem of girls that seemed to follow Zach around.

  That was what he couldn’t share with anyone. He couldn’t just come out and say no thanks, I’d rather jerk off myself than go home with any of the harem. Because seriously, how the fuck could he expect anyone else to understand that when he didn’t understand it himself?

  It had been fun for a while, just standing there and smiling, waiting for this girl or that to come to him. To chase him. But the novelty had worn off. Fast. Which fucking sucked because he liked sex. No, scratch that. He fucking loved sex.

  What he didn’t love was feeling like nothing was a challenge anymore. Not that he wanted to play stupid coy games of chase and come-hither—he’d never been into that stupid shit. But he wanted—

  Fuck. He didn’t know what he wanted. Someone he could talk to, someone he shared some interests with. Or at least someone who could pretend to share interests. Was that too much to ask for?

  Yeah, apparently.

  Or maybe he just needed to stop hanging around Zach, since that was the kind of girl his friend seemed to attract.

  Hell, that wasn’t even fair. Zach was just taking advantage of what was being offered—freely and eagerly. And yeah, maybe Jason had been guilty of the same thing. But it wasn’t what he wanted now.

  He didn’t know what the fuck he wanted.

  “Did you hear a single damn thing I just said?”

  Jason looked over, noticed Zach watching him. He looked around, even though he knew Zach was talking to him and nobody else. “Uh, guess not.”

  “No shit.” Zach reached down to tighten his laces, straightened back up with a grin. “There’s this new club I heard about, supposed to be pretty cool. Want to check it out with me Tuesday night?”

  “Tuesday? Why Tuesday?”

  “Because we don’t have practice on Wednesday, that’s why.”

  “What’s wrong with Mystics?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to check out the new place.”

  “And you really think there’ll be anyone there on a weeknight?”

  “That’s what I want to check out. You in or not?”

  Did he have a choice? Yeah, he could say he’d pass, but then Zach would give him the third degree. Nonstop. And it wasn’t like Jason could just come out and tell him why he wasn’t interested.

  Not only would Zach not understand, he’d never stop hounding Jason until he got an answer. And since Jason couldn’t give him an answer—at least not one that would satisfy him—he’d never hear the end of it.

  The easiest thing to do would be to just say yeah, he’d go. So that’s exactly what he did. Except Zach kept staring at him, like he was waiting for the punchline to a joke.

  “What?”

  Zach shook his head but that expectant expression didn’t leave his face. “Nothing.”

  “Then why are you staring at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Like you’re waiting for the rest of the answer or something.”

  “Maybe because you looked like you wanted to say something else.”

  “No, nothing else.”

  “If you don’t want to go, just say so. You don’t have to.”

  “I said I’d go, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah. At least, that’s what your mouth said. Looks like your face wanted to say something else.”

  “Do you have any idea how ridiculous that even sounds?” Or how close to the truth? Jason looked away, just in case his face really was giving him away.

  “Maybe.” Zach grabbed his helmet and stick but didn’t move, just kept watching Jason. “Are you sure everything’s cool?”

  “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I don’t know. You just seem—I don’t know. Off or something. First, the other day with that girl. Then just now.”

  “I’m good. Just worried about this damn game. That’s all.”

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Your game is fine.” Zach glanced over his shoulder. Jason followed his gaze, noticed that he was watching Harland. Yeah, his game was fine, especially compared to Day-glo’s. But Harland was going through some personal shit now, all that stuff with his ex, learning he had a son.

  Not to mention whatever the hell happened last year when the Banners kicked him back down. Yeah, compared to Day-glo, his game was just fine.

  Zach looked back, another grin on his face. “Like I said, your game is fine. At least on the ice. I’m starting to worry about your game off the ice, though.”

  “My game is fine. Both places.” Jason grabbed his own stick and stood, ready to head out for the third period. “I told you, that girl just wasn’t doing it for me the other day.”

  “Then we’ll make sure we fix that Tuesday night, right?”

  “Yeah. No problem.” Did his lack of enthusiasm echo in his voice? Maybe, if the look Zach tossed his way meant anything. It didn’t matter, not now.

  He’d worry about making excuses Tuesday night. For now, all he wanted to do was focus on winning this game.

  Chapter Three

  Megan blinked against the pulsing lights as the bass line of the music throbbed at the base of her skull. Just two more hours. That was all she had to do: wait two more hours and then she could leave.

  Never mind the fact that if she really wanted to go home, all she had to do was let her mom or dad know she wasn’t feeling good. They were both here tonight, working the restaurant side and mingling with the crowd. Either one of them would tell her not to worry about it, that she should leave, that taking care of herself was more important.

  Except she didn’t want to leave. No, it was much more fun staying here, torturing herself.

  Again.

  At least they were busy enough tonight that she could actually stay busy—instead of staring at the group in the far corner. Not that she didn’t manage a few sneak peeks here and there. What was the point in torturing herself if she didn’t actually look? At least the group in the corner consisted of just a few of the players tonight, instead of the girls that usually flocked around them.

  Probably because the Bombers had lost tonight. She’d overheard that much before the handful of players came in and headed straight for the back corner. That probably explained why they were staying to themselves, huddled together and talking over the loud music.

  For now, anyway. Megan had no doubt that in thirty minutes—tops—the group would stop feeling sorry for themselves and finally notice the inviting looks they were getting.

  Debbie Firth, one of the weekend bartenders, rushed over to her. The ends of her streaked hair curled around her flushed face as she leaned closer. “Megan, can you run to the back cooler and bring out another case of Yuengling? We’re almost out.”

  Megan almost asked her why she seemed so frazzled then thought better of it. It was a Friday night, that was answer enough. Megan wrung out the rag she had been using to clean behind the bar and tossed it to the side. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

  If Debbie noticed the impatience in her voice, she didn’t let on. Why would she, when she was already hurrying back to make more drinks? She still didn’t understand why her parents didn’t want her behind the bar on weekend nights. So what if she wasn’t as experienced? She was learning, getting better each time and more than capable of handling the basic stuff. An extra pair of hands would help out.

  Instead, she was either in the back, going through paperwork and modernizing the ancient filing system, or relegated to the position of runner, fetching this and grabbing that for whoever needed it. Part of her wondered if that was her parents’ subtle way of discouraging her from working here on the weekends. She knew both of them would prefer her to have more of a social life, to go out and have more fun. Didn’t they know she had more
fun here? She liked the pace, liked meeting new people. At least, she liked the people-watching part.

  And she didn’t mean just watching Jason Emory and his teammates. She really did enjoy people-watching. She figured if she ever decided to go into psychology, she’d already have a big advantage over everyone else, just from watching the interactions around her.

  She pushed her way to the back and hurried through the large storage area, stepping into the walk-in cooler where they kept the extra cases of beer. She grabbed the clipboard, adjusted the case count and noted the date and time, then hefted the case of beer over her shoulder and carried it back out. If nothing else, at least working as a runner on the weekends kept her in shape.

  Mostly.

  She made her way back to the floor and pushed through the swinging door to the bar. The edge of her shirt caught on the latch, stopping her midstride and nearly causing her to trip and fall. The case slid from her shoulder and she gasped, scrambling to keep it from hitting the floor while she stood there, stuck.

  Two large hands reached around her, grabbing the heavy case just before she completely lost her grip. Megan jumped, startled, then turned to say thanks. The word died in her throat when she found herself looking into the dark eyes of Tyler Bowie, the Bomber’s goalie.

  He smiled at her, his lopsided grin relaxed and easy as he cradled the case in his arms. “I got it. Go ahead and unhook yourself.”

  “Um—” Megan swallowed and looked around, wondering if any of the other players—like Jason—were nearby. But Tyler was by himself. Duh. Of course he was. He was probably on the way back to the restrooms.

  She looked away, reached down for the hem of the shirt and tried to yank it from the latch. She must have been too nervous, or pulled too hard, or something, because the flannel material ripped instead of just easily pulling away. She looked down at the tear then rolled her eyes and muttered to herself.

  Tyler was still watching her, amusement dancing in his eyes. He glanced down at the torn edge of the flannel shirt then back up at her. “You didn’t have to hurry, I wasn’t in a rush.”