Game Misconduct (Boston Grizzlies Hockey Club #4)

Chapter 1

one

. . .

Bex

one year ago

What. The. Fuck.

The last thing I expected to find on this Caribbean island was my one-night stand from two years ago.

Even worse?

I know him. Or well, I know of him.

Nick fucking Mitchell. Infamous playboy. Notorious panty dropper.

If you ask my best friend, though, he’s just Mitch. Her precious college bestie.

Also known as Mitchell—the guy my brother’s hated for fourteen years.

Way to go, Rebecca Lynn. When you mess up, you do it epically.

Nick stares back at me with poorly disguised horror. I guess that answers one question—he didn’t know of our connection, either.

“Everything okay, B?” Wyatt asks, his arm around my shoulders. “You don’t look so good.”

“Too much fun in the sun.” I wave his concern away, trying to hide that my stomach is twisted into knots. “I drank too much alcohol at the party, not enough water. I’m going back to my room and hydrating.”

“Do you want company?” Elsy asks. She’s been my ride or die since grad school, and now she’s engaged to my brother, so he’s her top priority, not me.

I don’t resent Wyatt for falling for her, but I do miss my best friend sometimes.

As comforting as it is that she would come hang out with me, I don’t want to intrude on their engagement-party glow.

“I’m good. Just need some time to myself. Alone.”

Unable to control myself, I allow my eyes to rove hungrily over Nick’s broad, muscular form, hating every glimpse I get of him.

He’s as gorgeous as ever, with his dark hair, scruffy beard, and those piercing green eyes.

The simple navy T-shirt and tan shorts he’s wearing are perfect for our island vacation.

He’s watching me, wary. Good. He should be. I still haven’t ruled out punching him in the face.

Not that he really deserves it. I’m the one who should be punched. I was a total asshole to him, especially at the end. He caught me on a vulnerable day and my insecurities got the best of me.

Fuck. He’s going to be here, on vacation, for who knows how many days. There are about twenty hockey players and their partners here, in theory to celebrate Elsy and Wyatt’s engagement, and also to enjoy the start of the offseason.

Maybe I can avoid him for the rest of the week.

Hang out with some of the other couples.

I wince at the reminder that almost everyone here is coupled up.

I’m one of the only single people on this trip—aside from guys waaaay too young for me.

At thirty, I’m not interested in hooking up with a guy in his early twenties. No matter how pretty Luke Henry is.

Elsy squeezes my arm. “Just call if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

Ducking out of Wyatt’s grasp, I walk past Nick on my way to my room. His scent burns into my nose, rich and woodsy. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten laid. That’s the only reason I’m noticing.

We met in a bar. He introduced himself as Nick, a hockey player, and we never talked about last names.

I certainly didn’t give him mine. We also didn’t exchange numbers.

Sure, I could’ve looked up the New Orleans roster to find him, but that felt like an invasion of privacy.

Especially when we knew it was never going further than one night only.

I make it back to my bungalow and close the door, sagging against it. Tears prick at my eyelids, and I squeeze them shut, trying to keep the waterworks at bay.

Today was a good day. Swimming in the pool, reading on the beach, and Elsy and Wyatt’s engagement party. There will be a more formal party in our hometown, with both sets of parents, but this was just for them. Friends, former teammates. The people they care most about.

Until this happened…

A knock raps on my door, and I know it’s him without opening it. As much as I don’t want to do this, maybe it’s better to rip the Band-Aid off and deal with this like an adult. With a sigh, I force myself off the floor and square my shoulders.

Even when all I want is to fall face-first into a container of white chocolate macadamia nut cookie dough.

When I wrench open the door, it’s to find Nick on the other side. He’s slouching, his hands in his pockets, his gaze averted.

“Can we talk?” His voice is pitched low, as if he’s afraid of being overheard.

“Why would I want to talk to you?”

“Bex. Please.” Wide eyes full of alarm dart up to mine, before settling somewhere south of my face.

He’s not staring at my chest, but he’s not not staring at it. I get the feeling he isn’t actually seeing anything. Disassociating.

“Fine.” I open the door wider and then retreat into the bungalow.

My skin feels tight, sticky with sweat from dancing at the party.

Grabbing a bottle of water off the small dining table, I wrench the top open and gulp it down to avoid looking at him.

I force myself to be impolite and not offer him one.

He doesn’t get a gracious, perfect hostess. No, he doesn’t get anything from me.

The door clicks shut, and then he puts his back to it, almost in the same position as I was only moments ago. Except he doesn’t crumple into a ball.

“Well? You wanted to talk.”

The sound of him swallowing is loud. “I didn’t know.” His dark green eyes meet mine, intense. “I swear, I didn’t know you were Whitney’s sister.”

“Or Elsy’s best friend.”

“Yeah. That too.” He winces, then runs a hand through his short hair, the color a deep brown, nearly black. It was longer two years ago, the perfect length to run my fingers through. “I should have called.”

“How? I never gave you my number.” Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “Let’s not pretend it was anything more than it was. One night only. That was the deal.”

His face falls. “That’s it?”

“What, you want me to fall to my knees, begging you to love me?” My laugh is short and bitter. “That’s not me, honey. That will never be me.”

Guys like him aren’t interested in women like me.

Plus-size. Full-figured. Call it what it is: fat.

I’m fat, and I own it. Men don’t like that.

They’ve tried to make me doubt myself over what I look like, and I played that game for a while, but I won’t do it again.

It’s taken a lot of therapy to love myself, and I’m still not all the way there yet, but I don’t have time to assuage the fragile egos of insecure men.

On top of that, I’m smart as fuck. While I may be a novice at romantic relationships, I have two master’s degrees and a PhD, and I’ve yet to meet a man who isn’t intimidated by that. Even men entrenched in academia don’t like smart, ambitious women.

It’s my lot in life to be alone, and I’m fine with that. I stick to one-night-only situations, guys I meet on apps or in bars, and that works for me. They see up front what I look like, so there’s no misunderstanding. And there are no repeats.

I don’t know what Nick is looking for, but if it’s sex, he’s barking up the wrong tree.

“I’m certainly not about to beg,” he huffs.

“Whatever. Can you leave now?” I make a shooing motion with my hands.

Everything about him sets my teeth on edge. How dare he show up here and ruin my vacation? How dare he barge into my room? How dare he make me feel seen, and wanted, and cherished?

It was a one-night stand. It was never supposed to be more than that.

Doesn’t keep me from feeling like crap over the way I walked out. I treated him like shit, and I’ve never been able to forget it.

He pushes off the door, taking two steps toward me, then stops in his tracks and shakes his head.

“Are we cool? Can we coexist for the next five days?”

“You know, they’re getting married. It’ll be a lot longer than five days.” There’s the wedding to consider. Elsy’s already said Mitch—Nick—will be her man of honor, and I’m Wyatt’s best woman.

Oh, fuck. We’ll have to deal with each other for much more than the rest of this trip. There will probably be more trips like this, and holidays, and—

My breath comes faster now, and I have to consciously unclench my jaw and regulate my breathing. I can’t let him see any weakness. I can’t be weak.

Can I do this? I honestly don’t know.

“We’ll deal with it as we have to,” Nick says. “I promise, I didn’t know you were Whitney’s little sister.”

I bristle at the little. Even though I’m three years younger than them, nothing about me is little.

“That’s what you said earlier.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“So you didn’t use me to get back at him?”

The thought has been niggling in the back of my brain for the last hour, an insidious intrusive thought.

They’ve hated each other since World Juniors, when Wyatt and Elsy hooked up, my boneheaded brother said something he shouldn’t have, and then Nick broke his nose.

It took thirteen years for Elsy to forgive Wyatt, but now they’re engaged, and it’s all behind them.

Nick’s eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see the pain he’s carrying. “I had no idea.”

With that final confirmation, I swallow my fears. “We can coexist. I guess.”

His easy grin makes my pulse throb with want, and I have to tamp it down. There’s no way I’m repeating the same mistakes with him of all people.

“Thanks, babe. Maybe we can hang out while we’re here.”

Instantly, I’m overcome by rage so intense it makes my eyes burn with unshed tears. Babe. That’s what he called me that day. When my name didn’t matter and I was just an easy lay. Someone convenient. A means to get off.

It’s the word gorgeous, successful men use to encourage women like me into dropping their guard and falling into bed. They don’t have to remember her name. They don’t have to pretend they care. Because they don’t remember. They don’t care.

At one point, I fell for it. I was so desperate for any scrap of affection, I let men use me for their own agenda. Put my wants and needs aside for the sake of theirs. I wasn’t important—to them, or to myself.

But I’m not that girl anymore. I don’t hang out with my brother’s enemy, and I definitely don’t get naked and let my guard down around men who have the power to destroy me.

Let’s be clear: I consented. I was one hundred and ten percent willing to fall into bed with him, and for it to end there. But I can’t deny the toll it took on me. Or that I’ve been held hostage to the memories.

My voice was quieter back then. Softer. I’m stronger now. I know who I am and what I won’t stand for.

And I won’t be his vacation plaything, only to be discarded at the end of the week.

“Get out.”

Nick blinks at me, bewildered. “But—”

“Get the fuck out, and don’t come back.”