Deal Breaker

Chapter 1 Ellis

Ellis

Two Years Ago

If I don’t get lucky tonight, I’m going to leave this city.

Never mind that I literally just got here this morning, ready to start a new era of my life as a—ugh—junior sports agent.

I don’t even know what possessed me to finally tell Dad that I’m going to move back to Tampa so I can finally take the job he’s been wanting me to take since I graduated college a year ago.

I mean, I know he’s the founder of one of the most prominent sports agencies in the state, but does that mean I need to follow in his footsteps?

Apparently he believes so, and since I promised him I’d give it a shot after a year of traveling the world, here I am… back where I grew up, and ready to earn an actual income.

Except that I don’t want to be here, and I’m already dreading walking into the office tomorrow to learn the ropes as Dad claims.

Point is, if I don’t find a hot guy to rail me tonight, then I’m taking it as my sign that this is a bad idea. It only makes sense. I need to get lucky tonight to at least fool myself into believing that moving back home was the right decision.

That, and I’m lonely and horny as fuck.

The gay bar I’m in is crowded, and everyone seems to be huddled in their little groups as loud music blares. I scan my surroundings, trying not to be annoyed that the bartender’s too busy to give me another shot. I’m exhausted from all the dancing and could use a drink.

I just need one cute guy to make eye contact with me. That’s all I need. Not to be too cocky, but I know I’m pretty. I’ve got the classic pretty-boy vibe, and I even wore a too-tight shirt that perfectly hugs my form.

“Jay!” says a deep voice from my left. “Another round for us, please!”

An arm pushes against mine, and I snap my attention to the guy.

The bar’s crowded, yes, but that doesn’t mean he can invade my personal space, especially when he doesn’t even seem to realize I’m right here.

Someone must push him from the other side because he makes a soft, surprised sound and stumbles a bit, almost knocking me off my stool.

“Ah, shit, sorry.” The guy places a hand on my back, steadying me.

Oh, and… all right. He’s hot. He can knock me off my stool anytime.

He’s at least a head taller than me with slicked-back hair and gray eyes.

The guy looks like an athlete, and his white button-down shirt stretches when he moves, pulling tight over his biceps.

Actually, I’m pretty sure he is. I’ve been around enough athletes—thanks, Dad—to know one when I see one.

Honestly, if I fished a bit, maybe I’d find out he was a star athlete.

An unsigned one who I could take back to my dad and ironically prove that I can actually do the job he wants me to do.

The way his eyes dart across my face, down to my mouth, then to my tight shirt, something in my head clicks—target acquired.

I guess I wasn’t wrong to think that all I needed was a cute guy to make eye contact with me, because from the way his throat bobs, I think he’d take me home right now if I asked. I don’t outright ask though, because I’m polite like that.

“Just a second, Dee!” the bartender answers. He’s already pouring the vodka into at least half-a-dozen shot glasses.

“Wow,” I say. “He’s been ignoring me and almost everyone else for the past ten minutes. You must be special.”

The guy—Dee—blinks at me slowly. He parts his lips and stares at me for a good three seconds. I know because I count. Finally, he puts a hand up to his mouth and clears his throat, looking away. “What do you want? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“So forward. At least ask my name first.”

That makes him laugh, his eyes twinkling. “What’s your name? I’m Damon.”

I give him a smile that only makes his cheeks redder. “Ellis.”

“Here you go, Dee,” the bartender interrupts as he sets down a tray in front of us. It knocks against my hand and I scowl at him, but he goes right back to ignoring me and walks away.

“He’s a friend from college,” Damon explains. He smiles at me—and, damn, he has a saccharine smile. Despite towering over me with his height and bulk, this man radiates sweetness and kindness.

I’d like to see him lose it.

I watch as he takes a shot glass from the tray and hands it to me, and I take it without a second thought. When his fingers graze mine, I swear my skin buzzes. Holy shit. “He calls me Dee because he knows how much I hate it, so ignore that.”

“Thank you,” I say. His eyes light up when I take one of the other shot glasses and hand it to him.

When I raise my drink to him, he gives me another sweet smile before knocking our glasses together. I keep my eyes on him as he downs his shot at the same time that I do. The vodka goes down surprisingly smooth and leaves a tangy aftertaste on my tongue.

I’m not subtle as I stare at his lips, glistening in the aftermath.

“Your first time here?” he asks, which is a lousy line but I’ll forgive him on account of the hotness. “I just, uh, I don’t think I’ve seen you around… and I definitely would have remembered you.”

“Yeah, this place wasn’t here the last time I was in town.” He takes my empty glass from me, his fingers trailing lightly against my palm when he does. “I grew up here but I’ve been away for a bit.”

“What brings you back, then?”

“Starting a new job tomorrow.” I make a face and pretend to gag, and Damon lets out the deepest rumble of a laugh.

“What’s the job?” he asks.

“Nothing interesting. I didn’t want to take it, but my dad’s been hounding me to at least give it a shot, so here I am.” He hands me another shot, and I grin at him as it goes down.

From the corner of my eye, I can see a table of guys watching us—I assume they’re with Damon, but not a single one of them makes a fuss about how I’m stealing their drinks. One of them even winks at Damon.

“You’ve got a lot of friends,” I quip, smirking.

“Old hockey teammates from college. We get together now and then.”

Hah. So he is an athlete. A hockey player no less, which happens to be Donlan Sports Agency’s forte. What are the chances?

“Do you still play?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nope. Broke my collarbone during my last season and lost my chances of going pro.”

“That sucks. What do you do now?”

“Nothing interesting,” he says, mimicking my answer. I smirk. Fair enough.

“I guess talking about our work is off-limits, huh?” I ask.

He gives me an amused look. “I suppose so. Not that I hate my job, but it’s not as fascinating as my pro hockey friends, and I’m scared you’ll go talk to one of them instead.”

“Why? Are they hotter?” Laughing, I break eye contact with him for the first time in our conversation to get a better look at his friends. The blond guy sitting near the end of their booth looks very familiar. Very.

“Wait. Is that Westley Harrison from the Rockets?” I ask, startled.

“Yep. One of the best goalies in the minors.”

“I heard he doesn’t want to move up, despite a lot of teams trying to get him.”

“That’s correct.” His mouth quirks up. “Didn’t realize you were a hockey fan.”

“I’m not,” I counter, because it’s the truth. However, I have been researching local players because if Dad’s going to make me work for him, I’m going to show him I can. I’m competitive like that.

Damon steps away once more—ugh—and he gives me a slight smile. He crosses his arms, his shirt tightening across his thick biceps once again, and yeah… Definitely a hockey player, even if former. He’s still got the body to prove it.

“You want me to introduce you to my friends? You could join our table, if you’d like.” Not sure if I’m imagining it, but I swear there’s a hardness in his otherwise very kind voice. Jealousy. It makes me grin.

God, I’ve got this guy right where I want him and he doesn’t even know it.

I smile at him. “I prefer to have you all to myself, actually.”

Damon’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. I don’t think he’s even aware he’s doing it. He has no idea what it does to me. I hold his gaze for a few seconds, running scenarios in my head.

And the slight pause in conversation snaps something within me.

I’m here to shoot my shot, and I’m done wasting my time. It’s time to lay out exactly what I want. And, honestly? If he shoots me down, then too bad, but at least we wouldn’t be wasting any more of each other’s time.

I really hope he says yes, though.

“Listen, Damon,” I say. He watches with a curious stare as I put my hand firmly on his collar, tugging him closer.

He steps into me, letting me pull him down to level my mouth against his ear.

“This is kind of forward, but I’d much rather get it out in the open sooner than later.

I’m horny and lonely, and I really want to hook up with someone tonight. Are you up for it?”

He stiffens and pulls away.

Shit.

Damon’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open. “I-I… I don’t usually do that.”

“Hook up with someone you just met?”

He nods.

Oh. Well.

I try not to let my face fall, though I’m pretty sure it does anyway.

At least I asked, I guess.

Damon’s eyebrows furrow. “I thought we were only talking, then maybe going home with each other’s numbers.”

“What would you do with my number?”

“Ask you out on a date,” he says matter-of-factly.

Honestly, he’s so hot I almost take him up on the offer, but… I can’t. Going on dates isn’t my forte. One-night stands, though? Hooking up with a hot stranger to let out some stress? That I’m good at. I’m perfect at it, actually. It’s too bad that’s not what he’s looking for.

I smile at him, not missing how his eyes track my fingers as I let go of his collar. “I don’t do dates,” I say. “Sorry. That’s my deal breaker.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “What if we hook up tonight and you find me irresistible enough to give me your number anyway?”

Hm.

Extremely tempting, honestly.

I shake my head. Sighing dramatically, I say, “I’m going to regret this because you’re hot as fuck, but no.”

“Right…”