4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Our boy got his groove back! Or is it the influence of the new coach?
My darling Puckleberries, it seems the Renegades have more than a winning streak on their hands these days!
Shep Landon is back, and he’s got that spark in his eye we’ve been missing.
Is it just a coincidence that he’s been scoring like a mad man since a certain red-headed video coach entered the mix?
Spill the tea! We need all the details! ~Penni’s Puckleberry Tea
Shep
The rumble of my truck echoed through the practice facility parking deck the next day. Same route, same spot, same routine…
Except for the sunshine yellow wildcard standing by the player entrance. Merri Wylie, looking like spring had wandered into winter.
My tires squealed against slick pavement as I backed into my spot. My heart kicked up like pregame adrenaline flooding my veins as I headed her way.
Merri stood at the elevator, her girly dress wrapping up a lush figure I had no business noticing. She wore her shiny copper hair up today, with the ponytail slipping out the back loop of my Stallion Goorin cap.
I loved my cap. More importantly, my sister would kick my ass if I lost that cap.
But Merri Wylie looked fine as fuck wearing my cap.
She looked up, summer green eyes challenging me from under the brim. The same spark that tempted me into her Ping-Pong challenge hit me again. The need to compete, to win, to be the reason for the spark in her eyes.
Heat rolled through me like a perfect shot finding the net. Her in my jersey. Her red hair wild against my sheets. Those eyes going wide as I—
No. Bad territory.
I stopped in front of her. We stood alone in the concrete cave of the parking deck. I pointed. “Nice cap.”
She tipped her head to the side, ponytail swinging, and touched the brim. “What,” she said, fluttering her lashes in feigned surprise, “this old thing?”
“My sister gave me that cap.”
She sucked in her lower lip, nibbling the corner, worry darkening her pretty eyes, and I knew I had her. A little softy peeked through all that sass and sex appeal.
“Did you tell your sister that you carelessly wagered it in a game you had no chance of winning? Lost it in a silly bet?”
“Why would I do that?”
“When she sees you next, she’s going to be so disappointed you lost her gift.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Nah, I don’t think so.”
“You think she won’t care?”
“Oh no, my sister would care. She probably saved up for it. She was a poor college kid when she gave it to me, refusing any help from me, so buying that hat was probably a big deal.”
She whirled on her heel, stepped to the elevator and pounded the call button. “You should have been more responsible with her gift. You shouldn’t have underestimated me.”
“Never underestimated you, sunshine. I can see you’re the sort who’d be up for a challenge. But competition is like breathing. If there’s a game to win, I’m down.”
“Except you didn’t. Win, that is.”
The elevator chimed its arrival and she shot inside.
Jesus. It was gonna be a challenge to tame my reaction to her swishy skirts.
I’d seen women in the slinkiest get-ups imaginable.
Dotting hotel lobbies in sleep-with-me skirts and barely there booty shorts and everything in between.
But I’d never wanted to fuck a woman more than Merrideth Wylie in her swishy skirts.
The heart of Renegade territory spread across three levels—suits upstairs, players in the middle, ice below. I’d let her win in the parking garage, but as I moved through the inner corridors of the practice facility, I couldn’t help but stare down toward the coaches’ offices.
The old saying echoed in my head—you always want what you can’t have. One thing for sure, I wanted Merri.
She appeared like sunshine breaking through clouds, pausing in front of the office she’d be sharing with Wilson now that Sellers was out on leave.
Those summer-green eyes locked onto mine.
She curled her index finger in a “come here” gesture and my pulse kicked into overdrive. I closed the distance between us.
“So.” She drew the word out soft and slow, her pretty lips curling around the word. She pointed at her head. “I’d be willing to trade you my cap.”
“My cap, you mean?”
“Technically, it is mine now. You lost it, fair and square, transferring ownership to me. I would be willing to trade the silly cap, though. Despite the fact that you don’t deserve even an ounce of courtesy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You took my Funko Pop. I’m gonna need it back.”
Who had ratted me out? “How you figure?”
She rolled her eyes. “You took my Funko Pop. Return him and I’ll give you your hat back.”
I hooked my fingers at the top of the door frame, crowding her into her shared office space.
But I guessed she wouldn’t want to back up.
Wouldn’t want to cede any ground to me. She’d see it as me “winning”, and I got the idea Merri didn’t like to lose any more than I did.
“The thing is, the little dude is sitting in my locker.”
She popped her hands on her hips, drawing my eyes places they shouldn’t go. The neckline of her dress didn’t show even a hint of cleavage, but it did follow the contour of her shape. The shape of her full, round tits.
She snapped her fingers five inches from my nose. “Eyes up, Landon.”
Heat burned the back of my neck. Was I a twelve year old standing in front of Wonder Woman? I’d deck a man for looking at my sister the way I’d just looked at Merri. “My bad. Won’t happen again.”
She nodded. “I’m surprised you admit to having my Pop. But since you have, bring him back. Now.”
Not happening. The little blue-haired devil had brought my scoring touch back.
A challenge. I loved a good challenge. My sister expected me for dinner this weekend. Four days to reclaim my cap. Four days to recover the little blue-haired dude. Doable. “How about this,” I said with sudden inspiration. “How about another bet?”
“Fine, let’s go. I’m up for morning Ping-Pong.”
She dipped under my outstretched arm, taking several steps down the corridor toward the player’s lounge. She paused, looking back when I didn’t follow. No way was I betting on beating her at Ping-Pong. She’d crushed me like a bug the first time. Only a fool repeats a pointless task.
“New game. Meet me at Rails n’ Ales tonight at seven. We’ll hash this out with a game of air hockey. I win, you return my cap. You win, you get your little dude back.”
She wagged her head, but the corner of her lips kicked up in a half smile. “You’re a piece of work. Making a bet to return something you stole. Pathetic.”
I shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”
“Air hockey, tonight at seven. I’ll be there. Be ready to cry.”
Air hockey and Merri. Adrenaline surged through my veins in anticipation.
With a grin stretching across my lips, I pushed through the door to the player lounge.
The air buzzed with the usual pre-practice energy—a steady hum of trash talk, the distant clatter of weights from the room next door, and the ESPN soccer highlights reel blaring from one of the massive flat screens.
Zacha slumped in one of the plush leather chairs dotting the center of the room, his gaze glued to the soccer clips flashing across the screen.
I sprawled out in the chair beside him. “How’s the soccer?”
“Football.” He didn’t look away.
“Nah. No sign of Mahomes or Kelcie. And they’re in those weird little shorts. Definitely soccer.”
He turned, his eyes narrowing. “What has you looking like you’re about to spontaneously combust?”
I adjusted my sprawl in the leather chair, too amped up to find a comfortable position. “Air hockey showdown tonight! At Rails n’ Ales, seven o’clock. High stakes, my friend, high stakes.”
Boh’s brow shot up. I had his attention now, soccer forgotten. “High stakes? You finally convince Santiago to accept a challenge? Or is that cretin Johanson in town for some reason and down for a rematch?”
“Cretin? Solid addition to your English, my friend. Sounds like Novy.”
“I am a cretin who leaves dishes in the sink.”
I nodded. “That would do it. But no!” I laughed. “This showdown involves a certain red-headed video coach, a stolen cap and a little blue-haired dude.”
Zacha turned his gaze back to the soccer highlights. “This about getting your hat back, or is it really about getting the girl?”
“What can I say? I’m all about multitasking. I like my hat and I love a good challenge.”
Boh faced me again, his expression serious. “Nebu? debil.” He shook his head, the repeated in English. “Don’t be an idiot, brother. You know the team has a policy about fraternization.”
“Just a friendly competition.” But my words rang hollow. The heat of her green eyes, the swing of those skirts—nothing friendly about what I wanted.
Zacha’s gaze lingered on me long enough, I couldn’t avoid meeting his gaze. “Don’t let your competitive streak get you scratched. We need you on the ice now that you’re out of your slump.”
My gut clenched. The blue-haired dude tucked in my locker kept the puck luck flowing. But Merri’s challenge sparked through my veins like a perfect one-timer.
As Boh returned to his soccer, I leaned back, pretending interest while anticipation coiled tight. Team policies? Rules? They didn’t stand a chance against the promise in Merri’s dimpled smile.