Secret or Shutout (D.C. Eagles Hockey #4)

Prologue

brUCE

Will I meet the love of my life in this dive bar? No. But sitting at home watching 2000s romcoms wasn’t accomplishing the task, either.

I should be on top of the world tonight. I just got back from a stint of away games on the West Coast, I’m one of the top goaltenders in the NHL, I’m young, good looking—at least that’s what women tell me—and I’m single.

I try to remind myself how awesome my life is as I nurse an old fashioned and look around my favorite bar, which seems a little darker and more soulless than usual. I can’t shake the feeling of melancholy as I take in the wood floor and wood-paneled walls. I love this place because it feels like a cabin, but tonight it’s just dull brown.

My best friends—my D.C. Eagles’ teammates—no doubt went straight home to spend the weekend with their wives. They’re probably canoodling by the fire or telling them about the goals and assists they racked up the past few games. Meanwhile, I’m alone. This single and ready to mingle thing really isn’t doing it for me anymore. Being at home in front of the fireplace on this cold December evening, curled up with a woman who loves me. Sounds pretty damn good right now.

I’m on my second old fashioned when movement on the barstool a few down from mine catches my attention. I glance over at a woman with long, dark hair—my kryptonite. She fills out her black leggings and light-blue sweater very nicely with a curvy body I would worship.

Wait, what was I feeling melancholy about? The light but pleasant buzz has me thinking life isn’t so bad after all. I’ll meet the love of my life, eventually. Hell, maybe she’s sitting right next to me.

I snicker to myself, only it must’ve been louder than I thought because the woman a few barstools down whips her head in my direction. A cascade of dark, shiny hair falls over her shoulder with the movement.

“What so funny?” she asks, her tone more annoyed than amused.

If I were a betting man, I’d bet she had a really crappy day.

I smirk, but she doesn’t smile back. “I was just thinking I could meet the love of my life any moment. Isn’t that wild to think about?”

The woman studies me with her dark blue eyes. There’s something vaguely familiar about her…have I hooked up with this woman before? No. I’d remember those eyes.

“The idea of love seems great, but you’re probably better off alone. Trust me.” She turns away from me as the bartender places a Long Island iced tea in front of her.

I whistle. “Careful there, those are dangerous.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” her tone is snappy.

I smirk because I like a woman who can bite. “Just trying to help. I learned the hard way how powerful a Long Island iced tea can be.”

“Good,” she says dryly, bringing the straw to her pretty pink lips and sucking down half of the cocktail in two seconds flat. She lifts her hand, signaling the bartender for another one. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You might want to slow down a bit…”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I’m here tonight to have some fun, okay? If you’re going to be the fun police, I’ll move to a table.” She points a finger in the direction of a corner booth across the room. I notice her glossy, pink nail polish and wonder if her toes are painted the same color.

I hold my hands up. “Sorry. I’m not interested in policing your fun. I’m here for all the fun, actually.” I wink, and her shoulders relax.

“Okay, good.” The bartender places another drink in front of her, and she thanks him, then sips through the straw. “These barstools are super uncomfortable.” The woman arches her back and rubs a spot right on her lower back. “They are not made for people in their thirties.”

“You’re thirty?” I ask, genuinely surprised. I would’ve guessed she was a little younger than me.

She sighs. “Thirty-one.”

“You look younger,” I admit.

“So do you. Twenty-two?” Blue Eyes asks.

“Twenty-six.” I finish my drink, and she mirrors my movement, taking a large gulp of hers as well.

The woman’s eyes graze over my face. I’m wearing a black baseball cap and some blue light blocking glasses. I don’t need glasses; I just find it keeps me from being recognized.

“There’s something familiar about you,” she finally says.

“I thought the same about you.” I smile. “Maybe we met in a past life.”

She hums to herself then wiggles on the barstool. “Would you want to move to a booth?”

“Absolutely.” I bring my hand up, gesturing for the bar tender to come over to let him know we’re moving.

The woman sighs in relief.

“George, bring us some wings to the corner booth, eh?” I yell across the bar. This woman will need some food to offset the alcohol at this rate. George nods and continues wiping off the bar.

Grabbing my old fashioned, I turn and follow her to the booth. It’s one of those rounded booths with a circular table, so we both scoot in toward the center—close enough to where we can talk, but not quite touching.

Blue Eyes spins her near-empty Long Island iced tea between her hands showcasing an empty ring finger.

She sips her drink through her straw, but nothing comes up but spluttery air. She stares at her umbrellaed glass and frowns.

“You want some water?” I ask, and she pouts for a moment before she nods. I raise my hand in the air again. “George! The lady needs some water!”

George nods and wipes his hands on a towel. When I turn back to the woman, I’m met with the most breathtaking smile I’ve ever seen. It’s enough to light up this dimly lit, rustic bar. What on earth is a woman like her doing in a grungy bar like this?

Then again, I could ask myself the same question.

“Wow.”

“Wow, what?”

“You have a beautiful smile.”

She blushes and toys with her straw. “I’m not here trying to pick up a man. I just want to…” She trails off, like she can’t find the right word.

“Want to what?”

Her mouth pulls to the side. “Forget. Just for tonight.”

I chuckle. “Perfect, I’m great at forgetting.”

She looks at me in confusion, so I explain, “I’ve had one too many concussions.”

Her dark eyebrows raise. “Really? You must have a dangerous job.”

I grin. “You could say that.” I mean, I do have pucks flying at my face at a hundred miles per hour on the daily.

A waitress stops in front of our table with a tray of chicken wings, a glass of water, and another old fashioned. I guess George noticed my drink was empty. I look over at him and he gives me a salute.

I thank the waitress, and she scurries off to her next table, the place is busier tonight than it is most nights.

Blue Eyes takes a wing and begins to nibble on it. She’s trying so hard not to make a mess. I grab one and rip it apart, sure that there’s barbecue sauce all over my face. I swallow my bite and give the woman next to me a sloppy grin.

She bursts into laugher. “You’re disgusting.”

I gasp. “Rude! There’s no elegant way to eat a chicken wing. Just go for it. What happens at George’s stays at George’s.”

She considers my words for a moment before grabbing another wing and devouring it unabashedly.

“Exactly. You’re a quick learner.”

She snorts a laugh, and I laugh with her. She’s quite the sight with her messy face.

An hour later, we’ve finished the wings and drinks, and we’re pretty much best friends. We’ve talked about everything under the sun, except for two things—our names and why she’s here.

“So,” I say, draping an arm across the back of the booth. The woman stares at it like it’s a puma that might jump out and attack her. “What are you trying to forget?”

She blows a raspberry. “Everything. I don’t want to talk about it.” Blue Eyes leans in closer to me, staring at me with those gorgeous eyes. We’re both tipsy enough to throw any awkwardness out the window. We just met tonight, but the alcohol has helped us get past any defenses we might’ve had up… except for those involving whatever it is she wants to forget.

“Okay. I’m here to distract myself,” I say, leaning in the same way she just did. “And you’ve been a beautiful distraction.”

She snorts, her head falling back as she laughs. “Wow. Does that line usually work for you?”

My surprise at her outburst quickly changes to humor. “Well, yeah. Honestly.”

She purses her lips, looking me over. Her hand comes up and removes my hat; then she pulls off my glasses. She squints as she studies me without the hat and glasses hindering her view. First, she looks at my hair, then my face, then my arms and chest. The rest of me is hidden by the table. Which is unfortunate, because the rest of me includes all my best parts.

“I believe you. You’re very handsome.” She says it so matter-of-factly, it almost doesn’t even seem like a compliment.

“You think so?”

She rolls her eyes. “You have the swagger of someone who knows how good looking they are. Don’t play coy.”

I chuckle. “I think you’re attractive too. Gorgeous, actually. That was my first thought when you sat at the bar.”

Her eyes widen. “Is that why you agreed to share wings with me?”

“No.” I shrug. “I was hungry.”

She giggles and swats my chest playfully. I have a feeling when she’s not drinking, she’s not this giggly. But it’s a really cute giggle.

“But the company was a nice perk,” I say with a wink.

She laughs again and places her elbows on the table, then rests her chin in her palms. “Why did you need a distraction tonight?”

A strand of dark hair falls into her eye, blocking my view from the pretty blue. I’m pleasantly buzzed, as is she. Cautiously, I bring a hand up, allowing her time to swat it away if she wants. But she doesn’t, so I sweep the strand out of her face, then gently tuck it behind her ear.

“Because I’m all alone,” I admit. I probably wouldn’t have told anyone that if I hadn’t had two old fashioneds…or was it three?

She brings her arms back down, folding them in her lap. “You’re not alone now.” She leans in just a little more, her eyes slowly fluttering closed.

I know when a woman wants to be kissed, and this is a sure sign. I’m anxious to kiss her, too. But first I take a moment to appreciate her beautiful face up close. She has slightly tanned skin, like she’s bronze year-round—perhaps a Mediterranean heritage. Her eyelashes are long and thick, and I can tell she’s not wearing much makeup. Her lips are pink, the same color as her cheeks when she blushed earlier, and they’re plump and pouty.

I lean my mouth closer to hers, bringing my hand up to her face and then stopping myself. “Is it okay if I touch you?” I ask, my voice barely loud enough to hear.

“Please do,” she whispers back. “Help me forget.”

With that, my hand comes to rest on her jaw, cradling her face. I have an overwhelming sense of peace as my hand meets her skin, like my body knows on a deeper level what an honor it is to touch her.

Her lips part, and I close the distance. Blue Eyes kisses me with so much unreserved passion, I get a distinct feeling this woman is always a force of nature to those around her. Passionate, strong willed, determined. The thought turns my blood hotter and our kiss deeper. I taste her sweet cocktail on her lips, as I savor the exploration of our mouths. Our lips entangle, getting acclimated to one another. Her hands come to my chest, and she squeezes my pecs with a light touch, appreciating the muscle there. At least I hope she is.

She hums. “How’d you get so strong?” she asks, her eyes still closed.

“It’s part of my job,” I tell her, appreciating that she noticed.

Blue Eyes dives back into our kiss, my pecs forgotten—as well as whatever was bothering her when she walked into this bar.

The next morning, I grab a peppermint mocha latte—don’t judge, they’re amazing—at the Starbuck’s drive thru. I’m nursing a headache from one too many old fashioneds last night, but even my headache can’t keep me from smiling every time I think about that kiss. Wow.

I’m a good kisser. I know because I’ve been told that by every woman I’ve ever kissed. But until last night, I don’t think I’d ever kissed anyone who did it as passionately and unreservedly as I do. I always give one hundred and ten percent in the kissing department—I’m a certified lip to lip over achiever. But last night made me realize that all the other women I’ve kissed were just half-assing it.

And I never even got her name. Or number. I’m a freaking idiot. We both called Ubers and went our separate ways, and I was too intoxicated—by the woman and the drinks—to ask for her name.

Tired of dwelling on my moronic mistake—possibly the biggest mistake of my life—I pull out my phone to text my team captain—Ford Remington to the D.C. Eagles fandom, and Remy to everyone else. This Starbucks is close to his house, and he has the best in-home gym I’ve ever seen. A good workout with my man will rid me of this hangover.

Bruce

Hey, man. You working out today? And can I join you?

He replies quickly, like he already had his phone in his hand.

Remy

Sure, I just got out here. The side door to the garage is unlocked.

Bruce

Great! See you in a few, Cap’n.

When I arrive, Remy greets me at the side garage door, dressed and ready to workout. He’s big, almost as tall as me, but my opposite in every other way. His eyes and hair are dark, and even his personality is different than mine. Where he’s calm and serious, I’m chaos on blades…ready for fun, or shenanigans. Wherever the wind might take me.

He gestures for me to follow him into the gym, and the color of his hair makes me think of the woman from last night and how dark her hair was. And soft. And shiny. So freaking shiny.

Sheesh. Even looking at my team captain makes me think of her. Get yourself together man.

We get started working out, silently doing our own thing, until he interrupts my thoughts of blue eyes as I’m doing squats. Wonder what she’s doing right now? Does she have a hangover?

“So, how’s it going? You still looking for a wife?” He teases.

Well, I’m never telling him anything again. Actually, that’s not true. I couldn’t keep my thoughts to myself even if I tried.

Instead, I laugh. It’s not often Ford Remington makes a joke. “I was doing okay until I heard you all went lingerie shopping for your wives and didn’t invite me.”

The man blushes. Remy just got married—rather suddenly, I might add—which shocked all of us. But he seems smitten with his wife, Amber, who happens to be his childhood best friend.

He quickly changes the subject.

After an hour, we’re done with our workout and I’m preparing to head back home to my cavernous penthouse suite—much too big for just myself, but I used to like it—when Remy surprises me by inviting me inside for coffee. Remy likes his alone time, and I assumed he’d be anxious to spend the rest of the day alone with just his wife. But I quickly accept because I haven’t met his wife yet, and I hear she has a really cute baby. I love babies. Who doesn’t?

I follow him inside and into his spacious kitchen. The smell of sugar and flour and freshly baked goodies makes me inhale long and deep. My mouth is watering, and that’s before I see the very nice backside of a woman in his kitchen. Her back is to us as she removes muffins from the oven, but I know it’s not Amber because Amber has red hair, and this woman has dark hair piled high in a messy bun on her head.

Dark hair.

Impossibly shiny hair.

My breath gets caught in my lungs as I wait for her to turn around. I think Remy is speaking to me, but I can’t hear anything. My senses are focused on the dark-haired woman with the gorgeous hair and a backside so amazing even her pink flannel pajama pants can’t hide it.

It feels like everything is happening in slow motion when she finally turns and smiles at us. Familiar blue eyes, and a smile that’s been etched into my brain.

Seeing me, she smiles kindly before the smile freezes and her eyes go round and wide.

I half notice Remy’s wife, Amber, ambling into the kitchen, arms full of an adorable baby girl with the same red hair. Remy introduces me to his wife, and I manage to mutter a greeting to her, my gaze fixed on Blue Eyes.

“Bruce, I’d like you to—” I can hear Remy speaking, but everything fades to a dull roar, the only point of clarity is the dark-haired woman standing in front of me.

“Bruce? Earth to Bruce,” Remy says, waving a hand in front of my face, and I shake my head.

“Sorry, what?” With an effort, I pull my attention away from Blue Eyes and turn toward my friend’s wife.

I must ask to hold the cute baby, because Amber hands her to me. I glance down and the baby gives me a gummy smile. With the baby in my arms, I step closer to last night’s mystery woman.

The woman smirks at me as I walk toward her, everything about her feeling familiar, and yet strange, at the same time.

“And what’s your name?” I ask. “I’m Bruce. Starting goalie for the D.C. Eagles.”

The pretty smirk stays firmly planted on her face. I want to kiss it off her.

“That’s my very married sister, Farrah,” Remy responds for her.