Dirty Game (Renegades Hockey #5)

Chapter 1

Sully

“You look surprised to see me. Didn’t Zane tell you I was coming over?

” I hear the words and am slowly processing them in front of my long-time crush.

The words are coming from a veritable giant.

I’ve been around Pax before, but never like this.

Never one on one. I never realized how tall he was.

How broad his shoulders were. Trust me, I’ve known for a long time how hot the guy is, but up close and all to myself, he’s otherworldly.

I kick aside the bags of lingerie my friends recently made me buy. He cannot see those.

“Sully?”

“Uh…” I clamp my mouth shut in a feeble attempt to redeem myself. “Ya. Totally. Come on in.” I make a sweeping gesture like a butler would do. Why? I don’t know. I’d ask my brain, but it left the premises. The bitch.

“So?” Like a good Canadian, he kicks off his shoes before walking into my kitchen. Then he claps his hands together and smirks at me.

Still a bit dumbfounded, I stare right back. Yes, I knew he was coming over for…research purposes…but honestly now that he’s here I can’t believe I agreed to this. In the flesh he’s just so damn masculine. And huge. Every part of him. That I can see. And probably the parts that I can’t see.

“Oh hey, look, you even bought me dinner?” His head swivels to the Korean BBQ on the table with place settings for two. I have no idea what an I’m a virgin romance author and need to pick your brain about sex meal looks like, but this is what I settled on. “I love Korean food.”

“Cool. Me too,” I mumble and awkwardly take a seat. The silence is killing me, so I put on my favorite playlist thinking it’ll calm me down.

When Blank Space kicks off through the speakers, Pax eyes me. Just like everyone else, he sees the baggy black T-shirt and baggy jeans. “Didn’t peg you for a Swiftie,” he says.

“You know what a Swiftie is?” I cock my brow up.

“Fuck ya.” And then he starts singing the song, which is super ironic because he may as well be singing about himself, given the lyrics.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious.” But then he scarfs down some cheese fries.

“Mmm…this is good.” The dude’s eaten like eight chicken wings to my one and he’s pounded back more than half of the fries.

I probably should have ordered more, but I’ve never had to feed an NHL player on my own.

Usually my dad, the coach, is in charge of that.

I just hang back and observe. Tonight that all changes.

When we’ve demolished—and by we I mostly mean him—the food, he pushes his chair back and stretches.

“Should we move this into the living room?”

“Sure.” Ya. One of us should be taking charge and it’s not gonna be me. Yet.

I wander into the living room where the TV screen paused the show I was watching before Pax showed up.

“Hell no, you are not watching Diagnosis Murder.”

“What? Why the hell not? It’s awesome.”

He looks to me. Stunned. “I fucking know it’s awesome. I used to watch reruns of this with my parents when I was a kid.”

“Me too,” I mumble but am cut off as he walks closer to the screen.

“Where did you find these?”

My toe makes a circle in the carpet. “They’re just recorded on VHS.”

“Shit. That’s dedication.”

I just nod.

“I might need to borrow these from you. I can’t find this show anywhere.”

Honestly. My brain is better off gone. I’m in too much shock to think straight.

In under an hour, Pax has blasted into my apartment and connected with me over some of my favorite things.

The dude’s ripped. Six three, one hundred and ninety five pounds.

He’s one of the top D-men in the league and plays for my dad’s team, the Edmonton Renegades, and apparently we have my favorite things in common. This is way too bizarre.

Then again…he is a player.

Maybe this is just his game.

“So how do you wanna do this?”

“Right.” This. The whole reason he’s here. The reason I’m sweating buckets right now. “Okay. Well…”

“Do you want me to start?”

“Uh…sure. That could work.” I don’t know how he’s going to start off questioning himself. I’m the author. I’m the one with the questions, but—

“First of all,” —he clicks off the TV— “I’d turn this off.” Now he’s in front of me, sweeping a strand of hair behind my ear.

Ok. That’s pretty normal. TV would for sure be distracting. And obviously he can see I’m nervous. So—

“And then I’d ask you if I could kiss you.”

What now?

“And after you say yes, I’d taste your lips.” He’s leaning in and my body is an absolute DEFCON 1 mode. Like, what the hell is happening right now? “And then I’d kiss my way down your body until I got to your p—”

“Whoa.” It comes out way more breathless than I anticipated. “Umm…” I shake my head. “You know what you’re here for, right?”

Pax shrugs. “Sex.”

I backpedal. In every possible way. My calves hit the couch causing me to fall on my ass. Thankfully I land in a heap on the sofa.

Pax reaches out his hands. “You okay?”

“Shit. Ya.” I pull my T-shirt down even though I’m not showing anything.

“We can slow it down—”

“Fuck ya, we can slow it all the way down. Be kind, rewind.”

He chuckles. Thank God he got my joke. Most people don’t.

“We don’t have to have sex.” He shrugs again and says it so casually that my head can’t fully comprehend him.

There’s a small part of my brain that understand this hunk of a hockey player is willing to have sex with me, and that small part of my brain is lit all the way up—and is also connected to a throbbing sensation between my legs.

I’m a virgin. For many little reasons. All of them amount to: not the right guy + not the right time.

Now I’m twenty six and open to sex, but I was definitely not planning on it tonight. Not with Pax. Hottest guy in the NHL. Hottest guy I know.