Power Play Sneak Peak
Six years ago.
“Let’s go, Skipjacks!” I scream at the top of my lungs as I watch my brother play a grueling game against the Anaheim Sterlings.
I didn’t plan on flying to Cali for this game, but when I found out my husband was sleeping with his secretary and half of his office, my girlfriend Em made this away game a mandatory vacation. So, here I am in a sea of Sterlings fans, cheering on the Skipjacks in hopes they lock down a playoff spot.
“Your brother said something about meeting him and the team after the game… are you down?” Em shouts in my ear. She’s been my number-one support system when I found out about the bastard sleeping around.
I give her a half-buzzed smile as it is and shout back, “Beers, men, and hockey, who wouldn’t be there?”
We both laugh just as the final buzzer sounds. The Skipjacks won by one, so I know they’ll be celebrating to the fullest. We follow the rest of the crowd out as I fire off a text to my brother to tell him where to meet us.
O’Callaghan’s is a cute little dive bar not too far from the hotel the team is staying at. It provides the perfect backdrop for tonight’s celebration. It’s quiet, contained, and filled with just the Skipjacks. Well, and a few locals who don’t seem to care that we’ve taken over the place. Em and I are sitting at the bar as my brother walks in, with the top few buttons of his free shirt undone.
“Well, isn’t it my number one fans,” he says, pulling us both into side hugs. “Glad you made it to the game. I was shocked when you told me you were coming without Captain Douchebag.”
Did I forget to mention that my brother hated my husband the moment I got engaged? Well, if I haven’t before, I will now. And my brother’s just going to hate him even more when he finds out he’s been cheating on me for months.
“Well, Captain Douchebag, as you called him, won’t be attending games for a long while,” I say, taking a swig of my drink. “He cheated on me, Brooks.”
My brother’s smile fades instantly as he clutches his fists at his side. He’s big on not cheating. Tiffany made sure of that.
“It’s fine, Brooks. I’m fine.”
“The fuck you are, Syd.” His tone was furious. “Wait till I get back to Chicago. Guy’s gonna get a junk pinch from me.”
“Look… I don’t know what’s gonna happen yet between us. But I do know that right now isn’t the time to be worrying about it,” I say, gesturing to the bartender for a round of shots. “The Skipjacks are going to the playoffs, and you, Brooks Miler, have redeemed yourself once and for all. So, let’s drink and enjoy tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll worry about the other stuff.”
His shoulders visibly drop as he submits to defeat. We raise our glasses, cheering the Skipjacks and their playoff run before Brooks gets distracted by a group of girls who’ve just walked in the bar. Turns out our little dive bar isn’t so private once word gets out that the Skipjacks are holding up here.
Em ditches me when Campbell Polston, one of the Skipjacks defensemen, asks her to join him for a drink… Yeah, she’ll be surely sharing a room with him tonight instead of me. Leaving me alone to nurse my cocktail. I consider calling it a night when the stool next to me is pulled out.
I side-eye the spot next to me but quickly divert my gaze, hoping to not strike up an unwanted conversation. Where is Brooks when you need him?
“Wicked Hazy IPA.” His deep baritone rings out, catching my attention even though I wish it hadn’t. I down the rest of my cocktail just as the bartender slides his beer in front of the curious stranger. He brings his drink to his lips but before the bartender turns and walks away, he signals to me. “And whatever the Skipjacks fan here is having.”
She nods in my direction before turning to procure my drink. She places it down in front of me, and I give her my thanks, taking a sip before turning to the stranger next to me. And no stranger he is at all. He’s tall with long, dark hair. He’s sex on a stick. He’s…
Mitchell Tremblay.
My brother’s rival all through AAA Junior League. Scratch that, he’s still my brother’s rival today, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s still the same gorgeous, most attractive man I’ve ever seen.
“What makes you think I’m a Seattle fan?” I say, sipping my drink and eyeing him curiously.
Surely, he has to know who I am.
He takes another drink of his beer before turning to look at me, a hot-as-hell smirk curving at the corner of his lips. “Well, for one, you’re wearing a Miller jersey. Not my preferred cup of tea.”
“And what is your preferred cup of tea?” Surely, he’s recognized me by now.
“Tremblay Number 77 on the Sterlings,” he says, now full-blown smiling at me. “Mitchell. Mitchell Tremblay, and you are?”
Really? He seriously doesn’t recognize me. I’ve been at every single game Brooks has played up until he made it in the NHL. Surely, he’d recognize me. I haven’t changed that much… have I?
Okay, so I changed my hair. It was once dark brown and short; now, it’s blonde and long. Okay, that’s not all that changed. So, I lost the glasses and braces, and the acne finally cleared. But surely, I haven’t changed that much.
I sip my drink cautiously, eyeing Mitchell from over the brim of my glass. He’s clearly waiting for me to answer. Do I tell him who I am, or do I keep my identity a complete secret? Clearly, he doesn’t know who I am. So, what’s the harm in having a little fun?
“Em,” I say, extending my hand toward him.
Sorry, Em. Forgive me for using your name.
He takes my hand and shakes it. The contact sends a warmth up my arm as my eyes lock with his. He quickly releases my arm before turning back to his beer.
“So, Em… you a resident here in good ole sunny California, or are you here for just the game?” he asks, finishing off the rest of his beer before gesturing for another one.
I take another sip of my drink, finishing it off before doing the same. “I’m on a girls trip actually. My friend… Sydney and I were here to watch the Skipjacks kick your team’s ass,” I say, smirking a little.
“Is that so?”
“Yup,” I say, popping the P before taking a sip of my fresh drink.
He eyes me again more curiously before continuing his onslaught of questioning. “So, if it’s a girls trip, where’s your friend?”
“She went off with Campbell Polston a half hour ago, leaving me here to drink my pain away,” I say, not making eye contact with him.
“Ah, so, you and I are in the same boat then,” he says, brows furrowing.
“You mean your husband has been cheating on you for months and got one of his mistresses pregnant? Wow, we really are in the same boat tonight,” I say, on a chuckle before downing more of my drink.
He sucks in a breath before eyeing me a little more closely. As if he’s looking for a reason as to why my husband cheated on me. Truth be told, I don’t even know, but what I do know is that we tried for a baby for over two years and have failed. Even with IVF. Infertility can take a toll on a marriage. Sex with us became more of job rather than pleasure and fun. Maybe that’s why he cheated. I guess I won’t know unless he chooses to follow through with marriage counseling like I suggested before I discovered his affairs.
Mitchell makes a noise that sounds like he’s in pain as he signals for the bartender. “Two shots of the best tequila you have,” he says, before looking at me. “And here I thought my pain was more than yours. Losing a playoff spot is nothing compared to losing a marriage,” he says, as two shots are placed in front of us. “Guy’s a fool for letting a woman as fine as you go. So, here’s to missed chances and new opportunities.”
I raise my glass and throw it back as I wonder what new opportunities are coming my way. A divorce. Well, that’s a definite. Hot hookup with a seriously hot-as-hell hockey player… Well, that’s a maybe, but I can’t get myself too excited. He could just be playing nice since I was ditched and well… cheated on.
I slam my glass back on the bar and shift to look at him. His eyes move from mine to my lips every so often. Just as I’m about to say something, he leans in, crashing his lips to mine in a hot, heated kiss. My thighs squeeze together tight as I feel a need growing within me.
Just as I’m about to deepen the kiss more, he pulls away, looking into my eyes. “Sorry, I don’t usually do this, but I just couldn’t resist myself,” he says, as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ears. “Would you be interested in coming back to my place for a little while?”
I bite my lip as I contemplate leaving with the one person my brother would kill if he caught me with him. I search the bar for my brother or Em and come up empty. Turning back to Mitchell, I take his hand in mine and stand from the barstool. He tosses a hundred-dollar bill onto the bar before walking with me toward the exit.
Mitchell
I know from the moment I walk into the bar and lay eyes on her, I’m fucked. She’s sitting alone at the bar, stirring her drink like she has the world’s worst luck. Well, lucky for me, she and I are about to turn her night all around.
Do I usually pick women up when I’m at the bar? No. Not by a long shot. I learned a long time ago that puck bunnies only want one thing.
Fame.
And as much as I’d love to help make it happen, especially when I’ve been sporting the biggest case blue balls for who knows how long now, I’m not down for the random hookups and the ramifications that come along with them.
Yet here I am in the back of an Uber with a girl I just met at the bar. A girl I just kissed without any cause in the middle of a crowded bar. My hands itching to get another feel. My mouth dying for another taste.
Yeah, I’m stupid.
“So, you say you don’t do this often. I find that very hard to believe,” she says, not looking at me as she fires off a quick text, no question notifying her friend where she’ll be.
I can’t help but smirk as I take in the slight pink tone of her cheeks as she asked the question. Her piercing blue eyes darken almost instantly upon kissing her.
“Why do you find that so hard to believe?”
“Look at you,” she says, gesturing to my body. “You look like a male model. And we can’t forget you’re a hockey player. There’s no way you don’t have a line of puck bunnies waiting to get into your bed.”
“You have experience with puck bunnies?” I ask as she bites her bottom lip in attempt to hide her smile.
“Something like that,” she says, turning to look out the window. “I’m friends with a few Skipjacks players, so I know the M.O.”
The Uber driver pulls up to the curb of my house, and I quickly get out, making my way around to open the door for her. Usually, I wouldn’t bring hookups back to my house. Yet something about Em has me throwing all my rules out the window.
We enter my brownstone in a comfortable silence. She follows me toward the kitchen before taking a seat at the kitchen island. She watches my every move as I grab two beers from the fridge and pop the tops on them.
“Figured you were more of a beer girl than wine,” I say, as I slide it across to her. Her eyes sparkle with mischief.
“You guessed right. Though you can’t beat a good Riesling on a hot summer day,” she says, taking a sip of her beer.
I move around the kitchen island, taking a spot in front of her, caging her in as she spreads her legs for me to step in between. The smell of coconut and vanilla fills my senses as I run my nose along the soft skin of her neck.
“You know,” she says, breathless with her head lulling to the side. “If we’re going to hang out tonight, it can’t be anything physical.”
That’s what she thinks. But I have a feeling she’s not serious. This is part of a cat and mouse game she’s playing. Yet little does she know, she’s the mouse, and I’m the cat, ready to claim my prey.
I peer down into her eyes as I rub my thumb along the bottom of her lips. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”
Just as quick as the words leave my mouth, her lips meet mine in a kiss so passionate and lust filled that I can’t help the burning desire within me to not lose control.
My hand grips the back of her thighs as I lift her from the stool, sitting her ass on the marble countertop. It’s the perfect height if you know what I mean. I inwardly groan as I kiss my way down her neck, gripping the hem of the sweater she’s wearing before pulling it over her head to reveal more than two handfuls of tits.
Fuck me. They’re perfect.
She’s perfect.
“So fucking gorgeous,” I grit out as I kiss my way between her breasts, down her stomach to the end of her black leather mini skirt.
I slowly lift the material up around her waist and place soft kisses against the already wet material of her panties. She’s soaked and by the way she arches her back, thrusting her wet pussy toward my mouth, I’d say she’s more than ready for me. Gripping the thin material of her panties, I slide them down her legs before licking her wet slit.
Yeah, I’m about to embarrass myself. I feel like I’m back in high school, getting my dick wet for the first time. You could say I’m a born-again virgin with the drought I’ve been going through recently. About a year ago, the appeal and ruse of having a random hookup with a puck bunny wore off. I began thinking that I needed something more in life… or someone. I became a unsociable, miserable fuck during that time too. Basically, biding the rest of my time here in Anaheim before my trade to the new expansion team in Atlanta went through. Yet, something about her just brought out the side I had tucked away.
I thrust two fingers inside her soaking core as a moan falls from her full pink lips. I slowly work them in and out before adding a third and increasing the pace. I feel the walls of her pussy clench tightly around then as she arches her back. Her core tightens as my name falls from her lips in a loud moan. I move my finger in and out a few more times before bringing them to my lips, sucking her sweet juices off them.
“So fucking sweet,” I growl as she wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me close to her.
“That’s not the only thing that’s sweet with me,” she says, in a lust-filled tone.
My cock grows harder in my slacks as I unbuckle my belt. Her hands move to the button of my slacks, popping it open before lowering the zipper. My mouth moves to hers as I thrust the material down my legs, my black boxer briefs quickly following. Her tiny hands grip the shaft of my cock and slowly stroke it. Lining my shaft up at her slick entrance, I thrust forward, entering her wet folds. Advancing slowly with each thrust till she’s filled to the hilt.
“Fuck,” I say, my forehead falling to hers as I continue thrusting in and out. “Where the hell have you been all my life?”
She releases a breathy moan as her fingers dig into my back. “Right here waiting for you to notice me,” she says, before crashing her mouth to mine.
I don’t even process what she just said as my hands grip the back of her thighs, carrying her to my bedroom. We don’t even make it two steps into the room before I have her back against the door, thrusting in her like this is the last time I’ll ever have sex. Her hands frantically run through the ends of my hair as her mouth meets mine, our lips fighting for dominance. Something I can totally get behind in the bedroom. My cock rubs against her clit as I thrust harder into her, her head falling back in a moan so loud, I know she’s close. Her walls tighten around my length as my grip on her thighs tightens. My legs feel like they’re about to give out from suicides on the ice, but I keep going. Working her up till she explodes. I thrust harder and deeper, giving it my all as she screams out my name, her juices coating my cock. I give it a few more thrusts before I follow her over the edge, coming harder than I ever had before.
If I didn’t know this would be a one-time thing, I’d be completely gone for this woman. Tonight will be a night I will forever think about for years to come. I collapse against her chest, still propping her up against the wall. I should thank her for her time and see her on her way, but I don’t. I gather my strength and carry her over to the bed, gently dropping her on the mattress before collapsing beside her. Our breaths rise and fall in sync as we stare at the ceiling, neither one of us moving. Mustering whatever strength I have, I move to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth to clean us up. After tossing the washcloth in the hamper, I lie back in bed, turning my head to study the woman next to me.
Her chest rises and falls at a steady pace, and her eyes are gently closed. Alarm bells should be going off in my head that she’s most likely trying to stay the night, but I ignore them. I want her to stay and right now, my mind is only thinking about ways to prolong this night from ending.
Slowly, her eyes open, and she turns her head toward me, a small smile filling those full, luscious lips. “Please tell me we’ll be doing that again?”
My cock springs to life at the sound of her voice, ready to go again in an instant. I should be urging her to leave, yet I do the complete opposite. Rolling toward her, my hands snake around her waist, pulling her naked body flush against mine. “Baby, I’ll go as many times tonight as you’d like.”
A warm stream of light dances across my bed as my eyes carefully open. My head is throbbing from the alcohol I consumed last night, not enough to not remember what happened but enough to know I overdid it. Speaking of what happened, I reach over to the opposite side of the bed and find it empty and cold. I know she fell asleep here last night, but I don’t remember her leaving.
I get out of bed and throw on a pair of gray sweatpants before walking to the kitchen. The open concept of my house allows me to have full sight into the living. The panoramic windows overlooking the lake in the backyard is what sold me on the place. I search a few other rooms in the house for her, but my hope slowly fades when I see that she isn’t here. I move over to the coffeemaker to start a pot as the sour mood I’m constantly in returns.
Last night was one of the best nights of my life, and my dumbass didn’t think to get her last name. Or her number for that matter. Who are you, Em, and will I ever get to see you again?
Sydney
Nine weeks later
Two pink lines stare back at me as I sit in the bathroom of what is soon to be no longer my house. Divorce mediation wrapped up this week, and everything has been agreed upon. I plan to stay in Chicago, but staring at the test on the bathroom counter, I know I can’t.
I’m pregnant.
One would think I’m happy. It’s what I wanted for so long. Yet, I couldn’t be more terrified. Dwight isn’t the father, if that’s what you’re thinking. No, no way in hell could he be the father. We haven’t had sex in over three months. I haven’t had sex at all except for the one-night stand I had with none other than Mitchell Tremblay.
The guy I gave a fake name to. The guy whose house I snuck out of the moment I knew he was fast asleep. My brother was blowing up my phone and demanding my location, and there was no way in hell I was about to give that up. I slept with my brother’s biggest rival, the guy I”ve had a crush on for most of my life. Heck, I still do. I could never tell my brother about that. Oh fuck. I could never tell him who the true father of my baby is.
Fuck.
I’m pregnant with Mitchell Tremblay’s baby, and I can never tell him.