Game Changer
Game Changer
Kelly Jamieson
Contents
Praise for Kelly Jamieson
The Wynn Dynasty
1. Jax
2. Molly
3. Molly
4. Jax
5. Jax
6. Molly
7. Jax
8. Molly
9. Jax
10. Molly
11. Jax
12. Molly
13. Jax
14. Molly
15. Jax
16. Molly
17. Molly
18. Jax
19. Molly
20. Jax
21. Molly
22. Jax
23. Jax
24. Molly
25. Jax
26. Jax
27. Molly
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Kelly Jamieson
Game Changer is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Kelly Jamieson
* * *
Cover by Wicked Smart Designs
Digital Formatting by Stacey Price
Editing by Deborah Nemeth and Sarah Pesce
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Praise for Kelly Jamieson
“Kelly Jamieson delivers a blazing passionate read that tugs at the heartstrings!”
~ Carly Phillips, New York Times Bestselling Author
“seductive and bewitching from the very start… Softly romantic and wickedly provocative”
~ RT Book Reviews on Rule of Three
“Kelly Jamieson now has a permanent place on my keeper shelf and I can’t wait to see what she writes next.”
~ Joyfully Reviewed
“…I love Kelly Jamieson’s books and the way that she depicts her characters…”
~ Sizzling Hot Book Reviews
The Wynn Dynasty
Bob Wynn, owner of the California Condors. Originally married to Grace Rogers (deceased), parents to Mark and Matthew with Grace. Parents to Everly, Asher, Harrison, and Noah with Chelsea Wynn. Grandfather to Jean Paul (JP), Théo, Jackson, and Riley.
Chelsea Wynn (formerly Clark), married to Bob Wynn, mother of Everly, Asher, Harrison, and Noah.
Matthew Wynn, owner of the Long Beach Golden Eagles. Son of Bob Wynn. Married to Aline Gagnon. Father of Théo and Jean Paul (JP).
Mark Wynn, coach of the Long Beach Golden Eagles. Son of Bob Wynn. Divorced from Victoria (Tori) Kendall. Father of Jackson and Riley.
Théo Wynn, general manager of the California Condors. Son of Matthew Wynn and Aline Gagnon. Grandson of Bob Wynn (with Grace).
Jean Paul (JP) Wynn, son of Matthew Wynn and Aline Gagnon. Grandson of Bob Wynn (with Grace). Plays for the Long Beach Golden Eagles.
Jackson Wynn, son of Mark Wynn and Victoria (Tori) Kendall. Grandson of Bob Wynn (with Grace). Plays for the Chicago Aces.
Riley Wynn, daughter of Mark Wynn and Victoria (Tori) Kendall. Granddaughter of Bob Wynn (with Grace). Goalie coach for the San Diego Hawks, affiliate team of the Long Beach Golden Eagles.
Everly Wynn, daughter of Bob and Chelsea Wynn. Executive director of the Condors Foundation.
Asher Wynn, son of Bob and Chelsea Wynn. Sports reporter for Playmaker (hockey blog).
Harrison Wynn, son of Bob and Chelsea Wynn. Plays for the Pasadena Condors, affiliate team of the California Condors.
Noah Wynn, son of Bob and Chelsea Wynn. Plays for the San Diego Hawks.
1
Jax
“What are you looking for in a relationship?”
I eye the woman across the table from me in the restaurant where we just had dinner. I’m pretty sure “a way out” is not the correct answer here.
It’s the honest one, though.
I met Kiera at a club the other night and asked her out. I keep doing that. I just want to have fun. And hot sex. Is that too much to ask? I don’t want commitment or—Jesus!—the M word.
“I’m not looking for a relationship,” I say, smiling to soften the message.
Why are we even talking about a relationship the first time we’ve ever gone out?
Her bottom lip pushes out and she gives me sad eyes, but then smiles. “You just haven’t met the right woman.”
“You could be right.” And I still haven’t.
I repress a sigh. Kiera’s beautiful—tall, great rack, fantastic legs. All male eyes…no, let’s go with all eyes in the restaurant turned to her when we walked in. She’s wearing a dress that’s wrapped around her like an ACE bandage and heels that could cause a serious ankle injury if she falls off them. She picked this uber trendy restaurant, with dim lighting probably designed to hide the tiny portions of mystifying food. They can’t fool me, though, because I’m still hungry. Her conversation has been limited to how much she hates her job at the bank, what a dick her ex is, and how much money hockey players make. (I’m a hockey player—that didn’t just come up out of the blue.) And the biggest turnoff? She talks to the waiter as if he’s her personal servant. I fucking hate that.
“I’d love to be your date for your friend’s wedding this weekend.”
Sweet buttery Jesus on a breadstick. That is not happening.
“I’m sorry.” I smile again. “I RSVPed a long time ago and I didn’t include a date. It would be rude to show up with one at the last minute.”
“The groom is a hockey player. I’m sure they can afford one more dinner.”
My eyebrows rise. “I don’t think that’s the issue.”
“Oh, come on.” She leans forward and actually bats her eyelashes at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that done before. “I’m sure they don’t expect you to go alone.”
“I’m sure they do, since that’s what I told them I’d be doing.”
My teammate, Steve Shevchuk, is getting married this weekend. I’m going stag to this event. I absolutely could have replied to the invitation saying I was bringing a plus one; I’d have no trouble getting a date. Does that sound douchey? Don’t mean it to, it’s just the truth. Anyway, taking a woman to a wedding is the worst idea. They get all emotional and damp-eyed and start thinking about their own wedding, which leads to hurt feelings when I tell them I’m never getting married. Also, when you bring a date to a wedding, only about a hundred people will ask “When are you two getting married?” It makes me nuts.
A few of the other guys are also going solo, and we’ll have fun at the open bar generously provided by Steve and Molly.
“Would you like to see the dessert menu?” Our server pauses at the table.
“Ugh, no,” Kiera say dismissively.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Just the check, please,” I say with a smile for the server.
“Are we going somewhere else for a drink?” Kiera asks. “Maybe dancing?”
“Sorry.” I tilt my head. “I have an early meeting with my agent tomorrow.”
“I thought your season is done.”
“It is.” We were knocked out of the playoffs a few weeks ago. “But I’m a restricted free agent and we need to talk about my next contract.”
“Oh.” She blinks.
I take care of the check, adding a generous tip to make up for having to deal with Kiera, and I usher her out of the restaurant and onto North Lasalle Drive. It’s a beautiful June evening in Chicago, the sun setting and twinkling lights coming on around us.
She’s persistent. I’m starting to feel like a jerk for turning her down. “Sorry. Can’t. I’ll take you home.”
I parked in a parking garage a couple of blocks away, so we set off down the sidewalk. I keep talking, mostly so Kiera can’t suggest something else for us to do that I don’t want to.
Once I’ve dropped her off at her apartment in River West, I let out a sigh of relief. I like women in general and I’m usually a helluva lot better at picking someone to have a fun evening with.
I know it’s a dick move, but instead of going straight home, I stop by the Irish pub where I know my buddies Heart, Rico and Gander are having beers. Just for one. I really do have a meeting with Paul in the morning.
“Hey! Jax!” they all great me as I approach the table.
“Hey.” I pull out a wooden chair and drop into it. “How’s it going?”
“Excellent. Where’s your hot date?”
“Just dropped her off at home.” I grimace and shove a hand through my hair.
They all make a low sound of understanding.
“Welp, have a beer,” Rico says, lifting a hand to attract the waitress’s attention. She speeds over with a big smile, and I order a Goose Island Belgian Ale.
The White Sox are playing the Royals on the big screen TV I’m facing. I check out the score—White Sox leading five-three.
“Ready for the wedding this weekend?” Heart asks. His name is Brian Erhardt, but we call him Heart or Hearts.
We all groan.
“I’d rather stay home with a case of beer, a bag of Doritos and the remote control in my hand,” Rico says.
“I’d rather rotate my tires,” Gander says.
We all laugh.
Rico sighs. “Flowers, decorations, finger foods, frilly female clothing, missing sports on Saturday afternoon. So much fun.”
“Women love weddings,” I say. “This girl I was out with tonight was trying to get me to bring her as my date.”
“Jesus. She doesn’t even know Chucky and Molly.”
“I know.” I shrug. “I don’t get it.”
“She’d get to buy a new dress and shoes and cry during the ceremony,” Rico says.
“We’re so cynical.”
“Yep.”
“If men planned weddings…” I rub my chin. “They’d be different.”
“Oh hell yeah! We’d wear sweats and our old T-shirts and sneakers.”
“Serve beers and pizza,” I add.
“We’d crack open cold ones as soon as the minister pronounces them husband and wife,” Rico says.
“We’d walk down the aisle to Led Zeppelin,” I add, grinning. “ ‘All My Love!’ ”
“Yeah! Perfect!” Rico and I bump fists.
“And the reception would be a big party with beer pong and boat racing.” I lift my ale in a toast as we all guffaw in delight at planning our dream wedding. “No speeches,” I add.
“Hell, no.”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s what’s happening this weekend,” Rico says with a sigh.
“Nope. But you know, Molly’s pretty down to earth. It probably won’t be crazy over the top with doves flying around and fireworks and a rose petal cannon.” I nod.
“Rose petal cannon? Is that a real thing?” Rico’s mouth hangs open.
“Yeah, I went to a wedding last summer that had that.”
“Jesus. But, yeah, I agree, that’s not Molly’s style.”
Molly Flynn, the fiancée of our teammate Chucky, is a sweetheart. She and Chucky have been dating for a couple of years so we’ve all gotten to know her pretty well. I feel like I know her better than most, because we discovered a mutual love of trivia one night at a bar. We ended up on the same team, and we were goddamn unbeatable. She’s a schoolteacher, so she’s smart and she knows a lot, as do I, so we started going to trivia nights together since Chucky hates it.
“I trust there will be no crapping doves,” I say again. “To Molly.” I lift my beer, and we all toast the bride even though we all want to go to this wedding as much as we want to have our butt cracks waxed.
2
Molly
I am seriously going to vomit.
All over this gorgeous dress that cost me a fucking fortune.
I’m standing in the Metropolitan, on the sixty-seventh floor of the Sears Tower. Well, Willis Tower, but I don’t know anyone who calls it that.
I’m in a curtained-off area behind guests seated in rows facing the big windows at the far end of the room. A pale runner lines the patterned carpet up the middle of the rows of chairs, candles and flowers bordering the runner.
My mom and dad are with me, their faces lined with concern.
“Are you okay, honey?” Mom whispers to me.
“Fine.” I grit my teeth and straighten my shoulders.
Music wafts from the front of the room, the songs I carefully chose months ago for this occasion. Right now, it’s “Don’t Stop Believin’ ” played by Vitamin String Quartet.
Yeah, I stopped believin’ last night.
I press a hand to my stomach. I can do this.
Steve’s best man, James, appears, ready to take Mom down the aisle. She gives me a shaky smile and a kiss on the cheek, then takes James’ arm.
I turn to Dad. Our eyes meet. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I say inexplicably.
His forehead furrows.
The song changes to the “Glasgow Love Theme” from the movie Love, Actually. I’ve always loved that movie. Yes, I’m a total romantic. Or, I used to be.
The music is beautiful and evocative. Dad takes my arm, and we move into the opening. The crowd stands, all heads turning toward us, beaming.
A shaky breath lifts my breasts beneath the off-the-shoulder dress. I raise my chin and stare straight ahead at my fiancé as Dad and I slowly walk down the aisle.
Steve smiles, standing next to his groomsmen. My three bridesmaids are on the other side of the aisle in their champagne-colored sequined dresses, holding small bouquets of white peonies. My own bouquet is bigger, with soft pink roses and peonies among the white ones, and sprays of pale greenery.
Steve’s so handsome. Clean cut, with short, dark blond hair, his athletic body perfect in the black tuxedo, he stands with his hands loosely clasped in front of him, his eyes focused on me.
My heart hammers against my breastbone and my knees wobble with every step I take. I feel like this isn’t real.
The music reaches a crescendo as we arrive at the front of the room. The officiant we’ve hired for the ceremony smiles benevolently at me as Dad releases my arm, kisses my cheek, and steps away. I swallow and stand next to Steve.
Damn, this song! Pressure builds behind my eyes and cheekbones. Why couldn’t this be the moment I’d imagined when I chose this beautiful music that I love so much? The piece ends with tinkling piano notes and soaring violins, and I nearly lose it.
I catch my best friend’s eye. Grace’s mouth is tight, her eyes shadowed. She gives me a tiny nod, and I know she’s telling me she’s with me whatever I do.
“Friends, we have been invited here today to share with Molly and Steven a very important moment in their lives. In the years they have been together, their love and understanding of each other has grown and matured, and now they have decided to live their lives together as wife and husband.”
I don’t hear much more over the buzzing in my ears. My hands are sweaty, my skin clammy. Then I’m called on to say my vows.
Grace hands me my phone.
With shaky fingers, I unlock it and reveal the screen ready for me to read. Facing Steve, I begin. “I’m supposed to say something now about our love and the promises we make to each other.” I suck in a breath. “But I’m not going to do that. Instead, I’m going to read the text messages that Steve has been exchanging with a woman named Claire.”
Stunned silence falls over the room. I feel Steve tense, and I flic
k my eyes up to his. He stares at me, his eyebrows pulled together, his mouth open. I lift my own eyebrows then resume my reading. “ ‘I can’t wait to be with you again. After the wedding, things will settle down to normal and we can be together again.’ ” I scroll up. “ ‘Your body is incredible. I love making you come.’ ” Another one…‘I love you. I can’t stop thinking about fucking you.’ ”
Shocked gasps fill the air.
“What are you doing?” Steve whispers, trying to grab my phone.
I step back, set my jaw and keep going. “ ‘I only w-wish Molly could give a blow job like you do.’ ” I pause. “This one’s from Claire. ‘Baby, you know I love your big cock.’ Then there are the pictures. A selfie of the two of them. A topless photo of Claire. And a lovely dick pic from Steve. Also from Steve: ‘I want to smack your ass and fuck you hard from behind.’ ”
I’m really shaking now. Grace steps closer and slides her arm around my waist.
I look up at Steve again. “Obviously, I can’t marry you today.” I turn my head toward the guests. “I’m sorry, everyone, there isn’t going to be a w-wedding.”
Pandemonium breaks out, a muted roar rising as everyone starts talking, some rising from their seats.
I turn to my parents, who had no idea this was coming. “I’m sorry.”
The shocked expression on their faces nearly takes my knees out.