The Winning Score (The Playmakers #4)

Chapter 1

Slapshot

Quinn Hadley’s primary goal when he strolled into the Denver ChopHouse was to get a good buzz going.

He needed to let loose. Hell, he’d needed to every day since his home life had been knocked on its ass a month ago.

At twenty-five, up to his eyeballs in money and downtime distractions, he’d never expected to be living with a mother who’d always found him lacking.

Second best. If he’d had another sibling, third best. Technically, though, she’d moved in with him, but the end result was the same: an epic crimp in his free-wheeling bachelor lifestyle.

One he’d enjoyed immensely and now missed the hell out of.

Radar tuned for his Colorado Blizzard teammates, he caught sight of a hand waving from a dark corner amid a cluster of noisy guys.

“Hadley!” Quinn squinted against the gloom, trying to make out which of his buddies had hollered his name as he threaded his way toward them.

They’d commandeered a large booth and a few smaller ones, though the boys were mostly standing as they talked, drank, and cut up.

“You assholes started the party without me,” he joked, trying to zen himself into casual mode and lighten his mood.

The guys greeted him boisterously—even Hunter McMurphy, who hooked an arm around his neck. “That’s what you get for being fashionably late, dickhead.”

“Couldn’t be helped.” Quinn brushed it off, belying the unyielding knot in his stomach—a knot of endless complications more twisted than an unwound roll of hockey tape, brought on by his latest frustrating argument with his mother. But hey, he was going to leave all that behind tonight, wasn’t he?

Time to get my Quinn on.

Hunter tapped the side of Quinn’s head before releasing him. “Don’t worry. We left you some.”

“Booze or women?”

Hunter guffawed. “Booze, of course. Get your own women.” He shot a glance over his shoulder.

Quinn followed his gaze, landing on a few babes snuggled up in a booth with Wyatt, the team’s temperamental goalie. “Looks like Wyatt’s taking more than his fair share, as usual.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Hads. There’s plenty more where those two came from.”

Hunter jerked his head toward the front door, where a fresh gaggle of hotties blocked the entrance. They zeroed in on the team and wiggled their fingers in girlie waves. Hunter pounded Quinn’s shoulder. “What’d I tell you, Hads? Stick with me, and you’ll never be without.”

Quinn chuffed in response. He’d never completely shaken off his dislike for Hunter, though he’d tried his damnedest. Great hockey player, but the cocky son of a bitch just rubbed him the wrong way.

Maybe because Hunter was always gunning for whatever Quinn had.

They seemed to be locked in a competition Quinn hadn’t signed up for, whether it was on the ice, in the locker room, or in social settings—not unlike the competition his older brother, Ronan, constantly goaded him into.

One asshole at a time was more than enough, thank you very much.

Quinn joined a small cluster of teammates where a waitress was trying to nudge her way in, balancing a tray loaded with longnecks, pints, and cocktails.

As the guys swarmed her, she did her best to hand them their drinks.

Someone grabbed her ass, and she snapped her head up and glowered at Quinn. “Jerk,” she muttered.

He threw up his hands in surrender and mustered one of his trademark lady-killer smiles—the one that showed off his dimples. “Wasn’t me, sweetheart.” Making a show of dipping his eyes to her cute tush, he added, “But I wish it had been.”

“Ha!” she shot back. “Funny man.”

“Just wanted to get you to smile, sweetheart—although I totally meant the part about your very fine, uh, asset.” She glared, and he shrugged. “Obviously, my attempt at humor is an epic fail.”

“Obviously,” she said dryly.

He kept the fake smile plastered on his face and let his mouth gallop away from him. “What have you got against someone trying to coax a smile from you? I’ll bet it’s pretty.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Charmers are smarmers. You’re all alike.”

Brushing off her barb, he slid a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and placed it on her tray.

“I can see you’re busy, but when you have a minute, I’d love a rum and Coke.

” He’d found that coating everything with honey—no matter how thick—usually got him what he wanted, so he used charm liberally on a regular basis, even if at times he turned his own stomach.

He grabbed one of the pints. “And in the meantime, may I?” Without waiting for an answer, he took a sip of the beer that wasn’t his and sent her a wink. “Not all alike, sweetheart.”

Though she gave him the expected eye-roll, one side of her mouth curved up and a telltale blush colored her cheeks.

This always baffled him. Was it the money, the bullshit, or the fact he was a pro athlete?

Lovers, past and present, said it was the hair, while others fawned over the bod.

He wasn’t sure. He was never sure. And sadly, none had ever mentioned his articulation prowess or juggling acumen, two skills he himself was immensely proud of.

Still, there was a tiny triumph in the waitress’s softened expression, and he’d take what he could get.

Not that getting a woman to smile—and then some—was a challenge anymore, not since he’d been playing at an elite level.

And since he’d signed the big contract? Like shooting fish in a barrel.

These days, he just opened his mouth and let the words fly without a second thought.

He was an automaton, like a parking lot entry machine that expelled identical ticket after identical ticket.

Here’s your ticket. Place it on your dash and have a nice day.

And it got him the same response every damn time.

No matter how ridiculous his spiel sounded, some sweet thing was always willing—sometimes without him having to reel out a line.

While he had a healthy ego, he wasn’t stupid enough to believe they wanted him.

They wanted to screw him to say they’d screwed a hockey player.

He got that. And that was okay by him because he was only after guilt-free sex.

An even bargain where no one got hurt. And over the years, he’d taken advantage plenty and had enjoyed the hell out of himself.

Lately, though, the luster had come off—or was it in need of a good buffing to bring it back?

Whether he was in a funk caused by his mother or just downright bored, he didn’t know.

And right now he didn’t give a flying fuck.

“Hey, Hads.”

Quinn glanced toward the voice, pleasantly surprised to see his favorite teammate, Gage Nelson.

One of his favorite people, actually. Nelson rarely joined them socially, especially now that he was with his girlfriend, Lily, and had taken on the role of dad to Lily’s little girl.

The guy had better things to do than hang out with this bunch of dumbasses, as he often reminded them.

But Nelson wasn’t alone, and the woman with him wasn’t Lily.

Quinn hid his surprise and held up his pilfered beer in greeting. “What inspired you to slum with the boys today, Nelsy?”

“Lily took Daisy to the dentist a few blocks over, so I thought we’d grab some brewskis with the boys and hang for a bit while we kill time.” He tilted his head toward the woman. “I think you’ve met my sister, Sarah, before?”

Quinn’s inner light bulb blinked on. “Oh, hey! The engineer from Seattle, right?” He’d met her a year ago at a team dinner, and they’d started talking as soon as they discovered they had engineering in common.

But a warning glance from Nelson that night had made Quinn back the hell away—not that he’d considered tapping Nelson’s sister.

Not only was she so not his type, but he would never pull that bullshit on a teammate.

Sisters, significant others, mothers, aunts, grandmothers, and women who belonged to someone else were strictly off-limits.

Even so, his inner rate-o-meter went to work, quickly taking in Sarah Nelson.

Short, hot pink hair framed a heart-shaped face.

Medium height—about a half foot shorter than he—with a lean, athletic build in jeans and a body-hugging long-sleeved T-shirt that read, “My Eyes Are Up Here” with an arrow pointing north.

His eyes immediately jumped back to hers—she didn’t seem to have noticed they’d wandered to her chest, thank God—and caught on a tiny twinkle on her nostril.

Other than the nose jewelry, she was without any other adornment, including makeup.

The fresh-scrubbed look suited her. Wide, intense eyes now studied him over the rim of her pint glass, though he couldn’t make out their color in the dimness.

She lowered her glass and gave him a half-smile. “Good memory.”

“How did you know she’s an engineer?” Nelson asked.

“Because I’m one too, and that’s what got us talking. Right, Little Sis?” He turned on a high-wattage smile. Though Sarah’s face was blank, his imagination had him seeing a hint of disgust flit through her eyes, which threw him for an instant.

Nelson’s eyebrows hugged his hairline. “You’re an engineer? No way.”

Quinn laughed. “Way. I got my degree from DU before I went pro.”

“DU? As in University of Denver?”

“One and the same. I grew up not too far from here.”

“Huh. You think you know a guy …”

“Yeah. I get that a lot,” Quinn said. Sarah’s eyes had been bouncing between the two of them, and he felt a twinge of guilt, even though they hadn’t purposely left her out of the conversation.

“It’s nice to see you again, Sarah. We fellow engineers gotta stick together. So what brings you to Denver?”

She tipped back her half-full glass and emptied it in one swallow. “I moved here.”

“Like, two hours ago,” Nelson added.