Power Play (D.C. Stars #2)

10. Liam

TEN

LIAM

I stretch out 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 about her .

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 my guard down. I can take a second to breathe after 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.

Piper is 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.

Scrubbing a hand over my face and groaning, I stand and head for the door. Unlocking the deadbolt, I lean against the frame and stare at the short blonde.

She jumps back like she wasn’t expecting me and lets out a soft laugh.

“Was your pink jacket not enough stomach medicine for you?” I ask.

“Liam.” She blinks and smiles. Laughs again. “Hi.”

“Hi. Please don’t tell me this is an interview.”

“No. I’m here on personal business.” Piper tugs on her pencil skirt. My eyes bounce to her hips and linger there for a second—maybe it’s two—before moving back to her face. “Can I come in?”

“Uh.” I rub the back of my neck. I’m thrust back to when my fingers were in the belt loop of her jeans. Her gasp when our chests collided and how close I was to doing something really fucking stupid, like kissing her. “Sure.”

Piper slides past me, and I close the door behind her. She walks down the hall, her heels clicking and clacking on the hardwood floor. There’s a pep in her step and I follow behind her, still unsure of what the hell is going on.

“Wow.” She looks around my living room. Walks to the floor-to-ceiling windows and presses her nose against the glass. “Look at this view.”

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“Do you mind if I sit?”

“Wherever you’re comfortable. Want something to drink?”

Piper takes a spot on the couch, sitting on the edge of the cushions and running her palms down her thighs then back up. “Do you have any alcohol?”

“Beer? Wine? Something stronger? All three?”

“Whiskey, please. Neat.”

I nod and open the liquor cabinet I keep stocked for the offseason. I grab a glass and pour her a finger of the amber liquid, handing it her way. “There you go.”

“Thank you.” Piper brings the glass to her mouth and finishes the drink in two gulps. “That’s better.”

I’ve seen her drink before.

At the western bar.

At a team fundraiser last season.

On a night when I reluctantly went to a club with the team during an away game. I hated every second of it, but the evening ended up better than it started: with Piper at a burger joint and ketchup on her nose.

She was drunk as hell.

Giggling uncontrollably and nearly falling off her stool. From anyone else, I would’ve been annoyed. With her, I thought it was cute. Endearing, almost, to see her let go for a while. She’s normally so buttoned up. Professional and poised and someone who follows the rules. Watching her walls come down was the highlight of that road trip.

The whole damn season, probably.

I doubt she remembers it, but I do.

The dress she was wearing. The way she looped her arm through mine when we shuffled down the sidewalk and avoided piles of snow. How she stuck her tongue out when I said I didn’t want anything to eat and the tipsy grin she tossed my way when I gave in and ordered a milkshake, just to make her happy.

It was the most I’d laughed in years.

When I tucked her into bed at the hotel and stayed an extra hour after she fell asleep to make sure she didn’t throw up, I wondered what it would be like to laugh like that every damn day.

“So, Mitchell. Are you on the run?” I ask.

Her face softens. She drags her thumb over her bottom lip and sinks her teeth into the lipstick she’s wearing. “Would you help me if I was?”

“Depends on the situation. Probably.”

“You’re sweet. I, um, wanted to talk to you about something.” Piper sets down her glass and wrings her hands together. Gives me a nervous smile that’s tight around the corners of her mouth, and I’m on edge. “But I think I’m going to need another drink first.”

I fill her glass again and sit in the chair across from her. “Have you had anything to eat today?”

“A sandwich at lunch. Nothing for dinner, but the night is young.”

“Young? It’s eight o’clock and time for bed.”

“Didn’t know you were an old man.”

“I didn’t choose the lifestyle. The lifestyle chose me. No more alcohol until you get some food in your system.”

“Fine.” She downs the second drink faster than the first, and I’m wondering if I should get her some water. “Okay. I have, uh, a proposition for you.”

“If it has anything to do with the media, the answer is no,” I say sharply. “I’m not interested.”

“It doesn’t. It’s about your sister’s wedding.”

That catches me off guard. “What about it?”

“I thought I could go as your date. Or your pretend date, like I explained the other night. We act like we’re together so your family doesn’t bust your balls about showing up alone. It’s still technically a lie, but it’ll be harmless.”

“Why would you ever agree to come with me?”

“Because, in turn, you could help me with something.”

“What kind of something?”

“It’s about what I mentioned the other night at the bar. About, um, needing help in the bedroom?” Her voice squeaks, and blood rushes in my ears. “You probably forgot all about it, but I thought… you know what? I think I read the whole situation wrong. This was a terrible idea. Forget it.”

She stands and heads for the door, practically running down the hall. I give her a head start before I stand and follow her. When I get close enough to touch her, I wrap my fingers around her wrist to stop her from leaving. I give her a gentle tug and she spins to face me.

Her cheeks are flushed. Her pupils are blown wide and she’s staring at me. I take a step toward her and she moves backward, her shoulder blades pressing against the wall behind her.

“I didn’t forget anything.” I put a hand by her right ear, almost caging her in. I can hear her breathing. Can see the freckles across her nose and catch a glimpse of the hint of green in her eyes mixed in with the blue. “Let’s try that again.”

“I wasn’t kidding about wanting someone to… to teach me what to do in bed. It felt like you might be the tiniest bit interested in sleeping with me after that comment of yours, and I figured…” she trails off, looking at the floor. “I trust you. I know you have more experience than me, and we could both get something out of it, but now I’m realizing this is all silly. So incredibly stupid, and probably cause for me to get fired. Please forget I ever asked.”

She pushes away from the wall and walks past me, heading back to the living room. I let her get some distance before I follow her again like a lost fucking dog.

My head is spinning. I have no clue if this is a joke. If this is for real or if she’s fucking with me to prove a point about how men are trash.

With the things I’m thinking about—her on top of me. My name on her tongue. Twisted sheets and my hand running up the inside of her thigh until I found out how wet she could get—I’d tell her she’s right.

I’m an animal, and I hate myself for it.

I also hate myself because I’m more than a tiny bit interested.

I’m really fucking interested.

When she said all that stuff at the bar, my brain just about short-circuited. All I could hear were words like barely intimate . Not good . No strings attached .

I can’t believe she was with someone for an entire fucking decade and he never took care of her. Never worshiped her and never made her feel like she was important.

Her ex-husband is a piece of shit.

When I get to the living room, she’s pacing. Doing laps around the couch and tapping her fingers on her forearms.

“Hey,” I say, and she looks up. “Want to order a pizza?”

“A pizza?”

“If we’re going to talk about fucking each other, you need to eat some food so you’re level-headed. Especially after those drinks.”

A blush creeps up her neck. The crimson color settles on her cheeks. “Did I really ask you to fuck me?”

“A little more eloquently than that, but, yeah. You did.”

“And you’re not kicking me out?”

“I’m not.”

“Does that mean you’re… you’re open to the idea?”

“What kind of pizza do you like?” I grab my phone off the coffee table. “Pepperoni? Veggie? Supreme?”

“Um.” Piper sits on the couch again and covers her face with a pillow. Her voice comes out muffled when she says, “Pepperoni with veggies, please.”

“Get comfortable, Piper. You’re going to be here a while, and you’re not going to hide from me again.”