Triple Power Play (Obsessed Players Club #1)

1. Jackson

ONE

JACKSON

I slam the beer bottle on the bar, gesturing to the bartender. She smiles and gives me a finger wave as she settles the tab with two guys. They nudge each other, sizing me up and whispering.

Fuck, I’m too sober for this.

I don’t know why I accepted the beer when Grant handed it to me. I prefer vodka. It gets me where I need to be faster than this grassy shit. The burn is nice too.

That familiar craving claws at my insides, and I taste the poison on my tongue. I wave at the bartender again, this time with less patience.

She saunters over with desperate fuck-me eyes and a lopsided grin. I bet she thinks that’s sexy. Newsflash—it’s not.

“What can I getcha, handsome?”

When she takes the empty beer bottle, she runs her fingers over mine suggestively. Fucking vomit.

I jerk my hand away. “Vodka tonic. Double. No lemon. And don’t touch me.”

Her face falls, then hardens. Typical. “No reason to be a prick.”

“No reason for you to touch me. Do your fucking job and get my drink.”

My agent would hate me right now. My father too, but for very different reasons.

Thoughts of the asshole have me scanning the club for him. I know he’s here somewhere, kissing ass with the team’s owner, Richard or Dick or whatever the fuck his name is.

Robert.

My father, Kyle, is somewhere, most likely sucking Robert’s dick. Not literally—Kyle prefers his toys on the illegal side.

The drink crashes beside me, liquid splattering across my black button-up. If I didn’t want this vodka so badly, I’d throw it at her.

I snatch the drink. “No need to be offended. It’s not you, it’s me. I don’t fuck whores.”

Grant elbows me in the ribs. “Dude. Chill. Before you get us kicked out of our own party.”

There is no chill . This is my worst nightmare. The music is loud, bright lights flash in the dark, and bodies rub against one another. I don’t touch people. I don’t dance.

In fact, I dislike people. Period .

“Captain and alternate captain, we’re not getting kicked out.”

I down the vodka tonic in one go, temporarily easing the craving. I glance back at the bar. There’s no other bartender in sight, and I’m not ordering another drink from that bitch. I’ll have to go elsewhere.

Grant juts his chin. “Here comes the new rookie. Klawasaki? Kaluzinski? How do you pronounce his name?”

“No clue,” I mutter.

He raises the beer bottle to his lips and nearly chokes on the watered-down piss. “Oh, shit. Check out his girl.”

I have no interest in who’s dating who, but with nothing better to do, I follow Grant’s line of sight to see Rookie dragging a girl behind him. He’s pushing his way through the crowd, her hand in his, not at all paying attention to the people touching her.

What a douche.

And I swear, she mouths “Sorry” to everyone she bumps into.

A smile tugs at my lips. It’s amusing, how she doesn’t belong.

Not because of looks. No, this girl has to be the hottest in the club. Not just hot —perfect .

Despite the terrible lighting, I can see she’s stunning, with long dark hair and a warm complexion. Her dress is white, a beacon under these black lights. The top is a damn corset, the tight fit highlighting her full breasts but not obscenely. The skirt blooms at her curvy waist with teasing layers, ending mid-thigh, showing off her toned, mile-long legs.

She glances back to apologize again, and my gaze catches on the slender straps crisscrossing over her exposed back, tying off above her round ass—a gift from Heaven.

They break through the crowd and stop in front of us.

I don’t acknowledge him; I can’t take my eyes off her. She peers over at the rookie, waiting for an introduction, but he’s too busy kissing ass with Grant. Her gaze drops to her feet, timid.

I extend my hand and lean in so she can hear me over the music. “Hi. Jackson.”

She’s wearing strappy high heels, putting her at about my chin.

Placing her delicate hand in mine, she gives me a shy smile. “Aurora. Nice to meet you.” Polite, too.

Aurora . Interesting. Her name is the color of my eyes. She’s basically named after me. It’s fate.

I hold her hand far longer than socially acceptable. She has bubblegum-pink fingernails. Cute. Her hand is small in mine, and her skin is incredibly soft. I inhale her intoxicating sweet scent and groan internally. I wonder if she tastes as sweet, and my cock stirs.

Huh, I thought that part of my body was no longer functional, the same as my heart.

With reluctance, I release her before my arousal becomes obvious. Our gazes meet, and I’m enchanted by caramel eyes both innocent and wicked. I glance lower at her pouty, cherry-red lips. She’s eye candy from head to toe, and I happen to have a sweet tooth.

Dragging my eyes away from her sinful mouth, I turn to Grant. “Hey, let’s go upstairs.”

We exchange the look , and his brows nearly hit his hairline. “That’s a code violation.”

Typically, it’s the other way around. I struggle to suppress laughter at his awkward attempt to pick up some chick.

“This doesn’t count.”

I’d break Bro Code for this girl even if she was dating Grant. Shit, she could be dating the coach for all I care. I’d still go after her.

He guzzles the rest of his drink and sets the bottle on the bar. “Lead the way.”

I lift my chin to get the asshole’s attention. “Hey, Rookie. You wanna take this up to VIP?”

He holds her hand, leading her up the stairs, and I hate it. I want to tear them apart, but I remain behind her, hands itching to grasp her waist and prevent her from falling in those heels.

I’m rewarded with the sway of her hips and a view of her glorious ass.

We find a booth in the VIP area, and I hang back to ensure I sit across from her. Grant and Rookie go to the bar for drinks, and I waste no time getting to know her.

“Aurora, where are you from?”

“LA,” she says with a touch of sass.

“What part of LA?” I smirk, fully enjoying myself.

“San Fernando Valley. Yes, I’m Hispanic. No, I won’t speak Spanish for you, and no, I don’t cook. Is that what you want to know?”

No, I’m obsessed. I want your location in case I need to find you.

“That’s disappointing. I love eating.”

She shakes her head and giggles, the sound infectious, and I can’t help but laugh along with her.

“Since we’re discussing stereotypes, do you live on the beach, drive a Jeep, and surf?”

She’s talking about my dirty blond hair, green eyes, and summer tan.

Then, it hits me: she has no idea who I am . It’s liberating.

“I live on the beach when I’m not working. No to the Jeep, but that sounds fun. I’ll get one if you want.”

She rolls her eyes at my attempt at flirting, but it’s not an exaggeration. I’ll buy a fleet of Jeeps if it gets her to go on a date with me.

“And I surf a few times a year. I used to surf a lot growing up.”

“What do you do for work?”

I’m tempted to lie, but I want to know her beyond tonight. “I play on the same hockey team as the rookie you came with.”

Pink flushes her cheeks, and she lets out an adorable chuckle. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“I’m glad you don’t know me.”

She tilts her head. “Why?”

“Stereotypes.” I grin.

“Ah, yes. You poor thing. Those horrible hockey player stereotypes. At least you have all your teeth.”

Her sarcasm has me laughing again. It’s weird not having that constant agitation in my chest, the one that helps me pop off whenever needed, the wall protecting me from giving a fuck.

Grant and Rookie return, ruining our playful banter. Rookie hands Aurora a glass of champagne, but she politely thanks him and sets the drink aside, her fingers tracing through the condensation.

She doesn’t trust the drink or him, which tells me everything I need to know.

“Aurora,” Grant says, handing me another fruity beer I’m not interested in, “I hear your best friend is dating our goalie, Killian.”

She flashes him a friendly smile. “Emily. Yes.”

“So why are you here with him?” I nod toward the rookie.

She opens her pretty mouth to respond, but he rudely interrupts. “She’s my date.”

I shoot him a glare. “I didn’t ask you.” I turn back to Aurora. “What are you doing here with him?”

“I’m his date,” she mimics with a hint of teasing.

“You’re his date, or you’re dating ?”

“Is there a difference?” Fuckface asks, far too cocky for someone so recently drafted.

“There’s a clear distinction. Maybe you should’ve gone to college instead of declaring for the draft.”

“Fuck off, O’Reilly.”

I ignore him. “How long have you been together?”

All humor drops from her face, and I fear I’ve embarrassed her or pushed too hard.

Before she can reply, he stands, seizing her arm and tugging. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She gapes at him, her eyes wide with shock, and I see red.

This kid just signed his death warrant.

Violence surges in my veins, and I relish the sensation.

A deranged grin stretches across my lips.

“Fuck,” Grant curses.

My dickhead fuse is short, and my tolerance is miniscule. People who know me don’t touch me. They only fuck around and find out once.

And for whatever reason, this girl feels like an extension of myself.

I reach over the table and snatch his hand from her arm, twisting and squeezing at the wrist. “I’ll break your fucking hand if you ever touch her again. Then your wrist. Then your shoulder. And if you open your mouth one more time, I’ll knock your fucking teeth out. You’ll be watching games from a hospital bed while sipping meals through a straw.”

His nostrils flare, and a deep shade of red spreads over his face and neck. “Come on, man. We’re on the same team here.” All bravado is gone from his tone. Pathetic.

I release his hand, and he sits back down.

“Don’t sit. You’re not staying.”

He lingers at the front of the booth, jaw clenched tight. “If I leave, she’s going with me.”

The balls on this guy. I’d rather be skinned alive than see her leave with this prick.

A massive body appears beside Rookie. “What’s up, fuckers?” Kill singsongs before he cuffs the back of Grant’s head.

The slender blonde with him must be Aurora’s friend, Emily. She’s bleach-blonde and plastic—your typical puck bunny or jersey chaser.

She slides into the booth beside Aurora, glancing between us. “What’s going on?”

Aurora peers over at me helplessly.

“Fuckface put hands on Aurora, and now he’s leaving,” I say, more than willing to be her voice.

Brows furrowed, Emily scans her best friend. “Hands on her how ?”

“He grabbed my arm. That’s all.” Aurora’s tone is quiet yet rushed, her gaze nervously flitting around the table. She doesn’t enjoy the attention.

Her anxiety calls out to me. I want to wrap her in my arms and protect her from this harsh world, keep her to myself and hide her where no one can find her.

Okay, that’s a little unhinged, but what the hell do I know? I’ve never given a fuck about anyone before.

Except for my mother, who’s dead, and I deliberately avoid thinking about.

Emily murmurs something, and Aurora quickly shakes her head.

“She’s not leaving with you.” Emily gives Rookie a dismissive nod. “Go find someone else.”

This girl’s BBE, Big Bitch Energy, is solid. I don’t hate it.

His dark eyes flick between me, Killian, and Grant as if he’s contemplating the consequences of arguing before he storms off.

I shoot him a smug smile and a childish wave. “See ya on the ice, Rookie.”

He tosses me the middle finger, and I’m almost giddy as I face the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. “Okay, where were we? Oh, right. You were saying you wanted to leave.” I pull out my phone and check the time. “If we hurry, I know a fantastic place to eat.”

“She’s not leaving with you, O’Reilly.”

That BBE focuses on me, but Emily is in for a fight. I never give up. I always get what I want—always—and I want Aurora. I don’t understand it, but I’m not letting her slip through my fingers while I figure it out.

“I think she can make her own decisions.”

“She doesn’t know you.”

“And you do? This is the first time I’ve met you.”

“That you know of—you’re always drunk, which is why Aurora isn’t leaving with you.”

I turn to the girl I’m already obsessed with. “I’ve had three drinks. We’ll take an Uber, and I won’t drink the rest of the night. I swear.”

Unfortunately, Emily can’t resist intervening. “She’s not your type.”

“That’s hilarious. What’s my type?”

Only Grant has seen me leave with a girl, which was a mistake I haven’t repeated. I admit, that night, I was far beyond intoxicated and unable to do anything besides black out. When I woke, all my shit was gone, including my favorite pair of boots. I miss them far more than I miss wasting time chasing tail.

Ain’t no piece of ass worth risking a pair of broken-in Iron Ranger Red Wings.

Emily points across the room, and at first, I’m confused. I don’t see any girls I’d be even remotely interested in. Then, I see him, his beady eyes staring in this direction.

Shit. The last thing I need right now is my father’s attention.

He’s sitting with a group of middle-aged men, his flavor of the night beside him. My skin burns as that familiar agitation returns to my chest, rage twisting in the pit of my stomach. I fucking hate him, and I hate being compared to him.

I clench my jaw, struggling not to lose it on Aurora’s friend.

Thankfully, Grant steps in. “You’re wrong. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You need to go back to your table and mind your own fucking business.”

Kill shifts on his feet. “Emily, come on.”

She leans in, ignoring him. I’ll give this girl props; she doesn’t back down. “I know exactly what I’m talking about. I worked for that agency. I know the girl who’s with your father.”

My head spins, putting the pieces together. Panic sets in, but one thing’s for sure. “Have you ever seen me touch a girl? Any girl at all?”

“Not while I was there,” she grumbles.

“I don’t do that shit.” That’s the truth. I’d rather take a rusty butter knife to my balls than follow in my father’s footsteps. “If I did, don’t you think I’d be over there?”

Her lip twists in disdain, and she glares at me, not believing a word I say.

I don’t blame her. He’s still my father, whose connections I benefit from, right?

If I get popped for a drug test, he’ll make it disappear. I’m untouchable—the entire organization fears him. No cop in LA would dare give me a problem. As long as I provide my father with money and notoriety, I can get away with murder.

But I’d never lay hands on a woman, nor do I mess with prostitutes or underage girls or whatever sick shit he’s into.

“We got to go, Emily,” Kill insists. “Come on. Let it be.”

Emily narrows her eyes at me in warning before whispering something to Aurora, who nods. Then, thank fuck, she leaves.

Grant follows, and I’m finally alone with the girl whose warm caramel eyes don’t look at me like I’m a piece of shit.

Aurora picks at her nails, a slight tremble in her voice. “I’m sorry. She’s protective.”

“I don’t blame her. I’d be protective of you too.”

Fuck, I already am. I was prepared to break a teammate’s hand for touching her, and I’d do it again.

“You wanna get out of here?” I ask.

Her face lights up with a grin. “Yes, please.”