Page 32 of Power Play

I selfishly hope they’re of me.

“I should go before one of us does something that will get us in trouble,” he says gruffly, still avoiding my eyes.

“What if I want a little bit of trouble?” I whisper, wondering if I’m reading this entire situation wrong.

I bet am.

Liam probably likes confident women. Gorgeous bombshells who can walk into a bar and command the attention of everyone in the room. They’re not nervous or shy or inexperienced.

There’s no way someone like him would ever want someone like me.

“Then you know where to find me,” he answers, and a jolt of electricity zips up my spine.

He walks away, the muscles in his back tense as his shoulders curl in and he drops his head low. He brushes past me, the graze of his shirt against my arm a phantom touch. I watch him slip through the exit door, disappearing into the night and leaving me hopelessly curious and more turned on than I’ve been in goddamn years.

TEN

LIAM

I stretchout on my couch and groan.

It’s been a long week and a half with road games. Sleeping in different time zones and thousands of miles of travel.

The loss in Texas sucked. I played well until the last two minutes when I let a slap shot get past me. It was a stupid play, one I’ve blocked hundreds of times. I don’t know why I was caught off guard by the left wing coming at me, but I was.

Edmonton helped with the sting of defeat.

The victory was nice, but the icing on the cake was the few minutes I spent with Piper in the hallway at the bar away from the team. Touching her and feeling the warmth radiating from her skin has occupied every corner of my mind, and I’m glad for a night in. A chance to block out the outside world and do something other than think abouther.

My phone is off so I won’t get dragged into any annoying group messages. Pico de Gato, my rescue tabby cat, is curled up next to me, and there’s jack shit on the agenda before I plan to head to bed.

It’s nice to have an evening like this. I don’t have to be laser focused. I don’t have to be a professional athlete. I can let myguard down. I can take a second tobreatheafter finishing the first three weeks of the season.

I stroke Pico’s fur and grab the remote, scrolling through the TV guide and trying to find something to watch. Before I can get too far, there’s a knock on my front door.

Pico jerks awake and darts away at the noise, taking off for my bedroom and the spot in my closet where he likes to hide. I frown and wait, assuming it’s someone at the wrong apartment. Someone who’s stumbling home after having a few too many cocktails at happy hour, and I’m hoping if I ignore them, they’ll go away.

Another knock comes, louder this time. I curse under my breath and turn on my phone, pulling up my doorbell camera.

I almost fall off the couch.

Piperis at my door.

She’s standing in the hallway and studying her phone, her black high heel tapping on the floor.

What the fuck?

How the hell did she get my address?

She’s never been here before, and that shit isn’t posted on the internet.

I stare at her in the camera, then close the app.

I could not answer.

I could lock myself in the bathroom so she can’t hear me breathing on the other side of the door.

That would probably make me an asshole though, and as someone who’s going to disappoint his family in the next few months with a string of lies about his personal life, I need all the good karma I can get.

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