Power Play (D.C. Stars #2)

9. Piper

NINE

PIPER

“I can’t wait to yee and haw all night. How do we not have one of these in DC? Talk about a missed opportunity.” Lexi holds my hand as we maneuver to the bar through throngs of people. “I think I want to be a cowgirl.”

“The fact that you had boots in your suitcase without knowing we were going to end up at a western bar in Edmonton is a sign you have a new calling in life,” I say, narrowly avoiding a spilled drink. “Forget being an athletic trainer.”

“Maybe I can be a trainer on a rodeo circuit. Emmy mentioned some distant cousin of hers has a ranch out west. That might be my next stop after hockey.” She looks the boys up and down and grins. “It would only be for the jeans and boots, if we’re being honest. I need to offer up some praise to the patron god of denim. You know I would never do anything with anyone on the team, but damn do the guys look good tonight in something other than their hockey gear.”

I laugh and watch the team take up the entire floor space of Back Porch, the small and dimly lit dive bar we barged into ten minutes ago. Almost everyone came out tonight—even Coach Saunders—and they’re decked out in everything from plaid shirts rolled to their elbows and frayed Levi’s.

Grant has on a pair of boots and Ethan is wearing a cowboy hat he didn’t have on when we left the hotel. There’s a bandana tied around Maverick’s neck, but he looks more like a sad bank robber who’s never been in a heist in his life than someone who lives out west.

A for effort, though.

It’s nice to see them all letting loose. They can be goofballs at practice, messing around and pranking each other with silly string and whoopee cushions like they’re in middle school, but the second the puck drops and the clock starts for a game, they’re professional. Men who know they have a job to do and are being watched by twenty thousand fans making sure they don’t mess up.

The boys are definitely acting like they’re off the clock now. From the way they’re smiling for photos, signing shirts, and ordering trays of beer like they are cups of water, I think it’s safe to say they’re about to enter party mode.

“If we can get through the night without anyone getting arrested or lighting something on fire, it’ll be a win.” I lean my elbows on the counter and smile at the bartender. “Could I get a gin and tonic, please?”

“Make that two, please. Where’s Maven?” Lexi yells over the growing noise. More people are piling into the already cramped building, and I’m willing to bet the Stars’ whereabouts got shared to social media. We might be in enemy territory, but everyone loves NHL teams. “I thought she’d be here.”

“She said she wasn’t feeling well. Mentioned a headache and wanting to have an early night.”

“I’ll have to record the boys trying to ride the mechanical bull for her to watch on the flight home tomorrow. Ten bucks says one of them breaks an arm.”

“Coach will kill them if that happens, but you know one of them is going to try.”

The bartender sets a pair of glasses in front of us. When I pull out my wallet to pay, he shakes his head.

“Already taken care of.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder, and I lean to my left to see where he’s pointing. “The guy in the blue shirt down there wanted to send them your way.”

“Oh.” I smile politely at the man. He’s half the size of the hockey guys and dressed totally different with a tie, pens shoved in his shirt pocket, and a tweed jacket. He looks like he might be an accountant or engineer, and I lift the gifted glass in appreciation. “That was nice of him.”

“Poor dude probably thinks his chances of getting lucky went downhill when the team got here, and now he’s pulling out all the stops.” Lexi knocks her glass against mine. “How will he ever survive?”

“Maybe his left hand will help.”

“Piper Mitchell is feisty , folks, and she hasn’t had a sip of alcohol yet.” She grins and spins, surveying the scene in front of us. “Are you doing okay? You were phenomenal on the mic tonight, but it seems like you’re holding something back. Like you don’t want to celebrate this huge milestone of yours. One of the players didn’t give you shit, did they? I’ll put them through hell if they did.”

I stir my drink and watch Riley pull out a roll of quarters from his pocket for the jukebox in the corner of the bar. The song changes from George Strait to Johnny Cash, the opening lines of “Walk the Line” blaring through the speakers, and I hesitate before answering.

I haven’t told the girls about everything that’s happened this last week. It’s too powerful of a conversation to have over the phone, and to be honest, I’m still processing all the intense highs and lows I’ve gone through.

I do want to celebrate this huge milestone of mine because it should be celebrated, but I don’t want it clouded by misogynistic assholes. The comments I still hear in my head and the way my confidence has taken a nosedive straight to hell.

Maybe I can start by enjoying tonight. Accepting drinks from men I don’t know. Line dancing to loud music and riding a mechanical bull. There’s not a better place in the world to welcome this new part of my life than with the team I love and one of my best friends.

I exhale. The weight I’ve been carrying around slowly slips out of my grasp as my smile turns from hesitant to bold, coming to life under the house lights and the smell of cheap beer.

“I’m okay. I needed some time to process some things, but I’m on the up now and excited to be here.” I rest my head on Lexi’s shoulder. “And please don’t punish any of the guys. They’ve been nothing but nice to me. That lineup before the game? I had to hold back the tears so my mascara didn’t run.”

“We have a good group with them, don’t we?”

“Yeah. We do.”

I scan the rest of the crowded room, and that’s when I see him.

Liam Sullivan.

Standing exactly where I thought he’d be—in a corner, drink in his hand, and the ghost of a scowl on his face. His white T-shirt hugs his chest and biceps, proudly showing off the tattoos on his arms. The jeans he’s wearing are almost fitted to the curves of his legs I don’t normally see.

My breath tangles in my chest when I move from his high-top Converse back to his face, because he’s staring at me.

Looking my way with a dark and dangerous gaze that’s tinted with a hint of trouble I’m not sure I should be getting myself into, but I can’t look away. He tips his head to the side, an invitation there, and I’ve never been so curious about someone in my life.

“Will you give me a second?” I throw my drink back, needing liquid courage, and set my empty glass on the bar. “I’m going to run to the restroom.”

“Go.” She waves me off and bites on her straw. “I’ll be fine. The guy who sent the drinks over looks like he has experience in the accounting field, and I need some advice about my 401k.”

“I always thought the words Roth and IRA were sexy.” I kiss her cheek and wipe my hands on my jeans. “I’ll be back soon.”

Pushing through the sea of bodies is difficult. I have to elbow my way past a group of women flirting with Grant and Ethan until I’m on the other side of the bar and free from the smell of sweat and stale beer.

“Piper,” Liam says when I get close.

“Liam. Why are you standing all alone?”

“Prefer it that way.” He brings his beer to his mouth, throat bobbing around a swallow while his eyes never leave mine. I pull my shirt away from my chest, the temperature suddenly stifling. “Having a good night?”

“Can’t complain. What about you?”

He shrugs. Kicks a foot up on the wall behind him and crosses his arms over his chest, a vision of unbothered laziness. “I’m not exactly having the time of my life, but I could think of worse places to be.”

“Ah. Guess that means you’re not going to do that scene from Dirty Dancing then, are you?”

“Never.”

“Have you seen it?”

“I have a sister, Pipsqueak. I’ve watched every romcom movie you can think of.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“ Four Weddings and a Funeral . But you can’t go wrong with anything featuring Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks.”

“Wow. I never thought I’d be standing here talking about romcoms with you. Pretty shocking turn of events.”

“It’s after nine p.m. and I’m at a bar where they’ve played Dolly Parton six times in thirty minutes. Are you sure the movie thing is the most shocking part?”

“You make a fair point, Sullivan.” I mirror his pose, resting up against the wall and dropping my head back. “I always wanted to reenact the part where Patrick Swayze lifts Jennifer Grey over his head. Among other things.”

“Like?”

“Dancing in the kitchen. Kissing in the rain. Getting matching tattoos with the person I’m in love with and being a total idiot.” I sigh, the one drink making my tongue loose. My inhibitions lowered. “Stupid stuff.”

“If it’s important to you, it’s not stupid.”

“Very insightful.”

“Call it bar wisdom.” He sips his beer and holds the beer bottle by the neck with his large palm. “You didn’t want to talk to the guy who sent you and Lexi that drink?”

“How did you know someone sent us a drink?”

“I’m paid millions of dollars to be aware of my surroundings. I see everything.” He pauses before adding, “including the guy who was looking at you two like you were his last meal.”

“Oh please.” I laugh again. “Lexi, maybe. But not me. The attention was nice, though. I’ve never had someone hit on me before.”

“That dude at the bar was staring at you, Piper. The drink for Lexi was him being polite so he’d seem like a nice guy and get her support when he tried to ask you out. You didn’t recognize the game he was playing?”

“ Game he was playing? Uh, no . There are so many attractive women in here. Why would he pay attention to me?”

Liam shakes his head. “Wow. Your ex did a real number on your confidence, which is a damn shame. He fucked you up, didn’t he?”

I take a step away from him, mortified and ignoring what might’ve been a compliment buried under his observation. “Will you excuse me?”

I move for the hallway to the right, wanting some space. Needing some air, even if it’s hovering around forty-five degrees outside.

“Piper.” Liam’s voice follows me as I head for the bar’s service door. “Hang on.”

Before I can tell him I need a minute, his palm lands on my waist, heavy and warm. Fingers curl in the belt loop of my jeans and he tugs me toward him. I spin, my chest colliding with his, and I let out a startled gasp.

“I don’t need your opinions about the poor decisions I’ve made in my love life,” I say. “Yes, he did take away my confidence. Many times, by cheating on me. By diminishing my self-worth. By making me feel small and unimportant. I’m working on getting that confidence back, which is why I’m going to march over to the bar, tell that guy I’m interested, and see if he wants to sleep with me.”

Liam’s eyes widen. His grip falters slightly, fingers drifting to the small of my back. If anyone walked back here, they’d think they were interrupting an intimate moment. Something sensual between two lovers, and I can’t help but drop my gaze to his mouth for the briefest of seconds.

“You want to sleep with Collar McCollarson? Khakis are that much of a turn on?” he asks.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I huff, irritated. Frustrated and confused. Humored by the nickname and obvious disdain for the guy he doesn’t know. “Yes because I’ve only slept with one man in my life and want to have some fun. No because I don’t know what I’m doing in the bedroom.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing in the bedroom? What the fuck does that mean?”

“What do you think it means? My ex and I were barely intimate with each other, and I’m so inexperienced. As much as I want to be the woman who can do a one-night stand with a guy I don’t know, I have no clue how to even approach the topic because I’m clueless about sex. I wish I could find someone who could… could teach me what to do without judging me. A no strings attached agreement that didn’t mean anything, because I’m tired of being the only one in my friend group who isn’t exploring her sexuality. I’m single, and I want to have fun. But I can’t have it because I’m scared of ending up on Reddit in a worst sex ever thread.”

My raised tone surprises me.

I run my tongue over my lips and snap my mouth shut. I want to crawl in a hole after admitting all that to the man that probably sleeps with everything that moves. The man that could have anyone he wants. One look at a woman and she’s taking off her clothes.

Liam Sullivan doesn’t need a sex coach.

“Define barely intimate,” he says in a voice so low, I swear I might obliterate on the spot from the heat behind his words.

Each syllable is rough. Each vowel is sexy. It sounds like something he’d whisper in my ear when I’m on the precipice of an orgasm, and I’m not sure I can ever make eye contact with him again.

“Um.” I clear my throat. My head is swimming, and I know it’s not from the drink. “We rarely had sex. When we did, it was not good. Boring. I never—he didn’t—” I drop my head back and stare at the ceiling instead of him. “I don’t want to meet the man of my dreams and constantly wonder if we’re not sexually compatible and he’s too nice to say anything to me.”

“Maybe you can find someone. Someone who could help. But you said hockey guys aren’t your type, so it seems like everyone in the bar is out of the question.”

I swear the earth stops moving at his implication.

I swear he steps closer to me, until the tips of his shoes knock against mine.

I swear his touch moves an inch lower, to the top of my ass, and I shudder in anticipation of something that’ll never happen.

It feels like it could happen though, and I like the thought more than I should.

Where else could he touch me? How good would it be? How would it feel to have those hands moving up my legs? Unzipping my jeans and pulling my underwear to the side?

I raise my chin a fraction of an inch and find him looking down at me. Impossibly close. Wickedly attractive. So goddamn good looking, my heart leaps to my throat and bangs like a drum.

I’ve always thought Liam was hot, but now I know he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Chiseled jaw. Sharp features. Eyes that track my every movement. I have his unwavering attention, and holy hell is that a shock to my system.

No one has ever looked at me like this.

“I could be into hockey players,” I blurt out, desperate to play whatever game this is. It’s mindless flirting, words that have no weight and meaning, but I want to keep it going. “If they knew what they were doing.”

A loud cheer from down the hall snaps us out of the trance we’ve fallen into. Liam drops me from his hold as if he was burned, stepping back until there is a few feet of distance between us. He runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head once, clearing the cobweb of thoughts I’m aching to be privy to.

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.