For the Win Read online

  I don’t move back. I want this. I want him closer. Closer. I tip my head to meet his eyes, as he’s so much taller than me. “Thank you. I had a lot of fun.”

  “I always have fun with you,” he murmurs, moving another strand of hair off my face. Then he gathers my hair into a tail and holds it in one hand at the nape of my neck. I feel his body heat, waves of male warmth, smell his cologne….

  “Me too.”

  His eyes meet mine again, and he slowly lowers his face toward mine, keeping the eye contact. He gives me lots of time to back away or say no…but I don’t. My eyelashes flutter down just as his lips touch mine.

  Ohhhhh. Lush heat fills me, pooling down low. I fall into a haze of sweet, hot desire, quivery sensation rippling through me. I slide my hands up his chest and then over his shoulders. Our bodies press together, chest to thigh. I love how he feels, strong and solid. His hand twists my hair then cups the back of my head, tilting it for a deeper angle, while his other hand slides around my hip, pulling me closer still.

  I don’t want this to end.

  We kiss and kiss and kiss, until I’m breathless and aching. My breasts feel full and heavy, my pussy squeezing with need.

  Then he pulls back and smiles. His eyes have darkened, his lids heavy with arousal. “Wow.”

  I can only give a tiny nod.

  “See you Monday,” he says softly.

  I’m lost for a few seconds, then I nod again quickly. “Yes. Right. Monday.”

  “We can talk about delivering your donations.”

  “Yes.” I try to breathe.

  He kisses my forehead, and slowly releases my hair. “Good night.”

  “G’night.”

  He walks me back to the door, then lifts his hand and strides down the sidewalk to where he parked his car.

  I can’t move. I stand, fingers pressed to my lips, my body pulsing, wishing he wasn’t leaving, or wishing he wasn’t leaving without me.

  I drift back into the bar like I’m full of helium, and glide onto my stool. I pick up my empty glass, peer at it, then set it down.

  “You okay, Ari?”

  I turn to Taj. “Mmm. Yeah.”

  “You look like you were just kissed into next week.”

  A smile pulls at my lips. “Pretty much.”

  “You really like this guy, huh?”

  I regard him contemplatively. “I do.”

  He nods.

  “What do you think?” I lean in earnestly. “I need to know, Taj.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “I know, but first impressions are important.”

  Annoyingly, Taj hedges. “He seems like a good guy.”

  “I know that!”

  He lowers his head, then looks up. “I’m not going to be your trust-o-meter when it comes to men.”

  My mouth drops open. “What?”

  He gives me a look like someone’s pulling his toenails out. “I get that you’re cautious.”

  “I have to be!”

  “I know, I know. But you also have to learn to make decisions on your own.”

  My bottom lip tries to push out. I suck it back in, but my chest fills with hurt. “I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am your friend. That’s why I’m not going to tell you whether to fuck this guy or not.”

  I gasp. “That’s not what this is about!”

  “Isn’t it? You two were practically setting the air in here on fire.”

  I shove a fingernail between my teeth and bite down. “Um…we were?”

  “Fuck, yeah. You two have chemistry. I’ll weigh in on that.”

  “But…” I don’t know what to say. I was counting on Taj to either tell me Harrison’s a good guy or an asshole. Heat flushes through me and my heart speeds up. I narrow my eyes at him. “Well, thanks for that.” I jump off the stool and grab my purse. “Ready to go?”

  He sighs. “Yeah. Sure. Let me find Ziggy and tell him we’re out.”

  Chapter 14

  Harrison

  “My balls are sagging.”

  I freeze and stare at my locker instead of looking at Scotty. “I don’t want to hear about your balls while I’m naked.” I finish drying off and grab my boxers from my locker. “In fact, I don’t want to hear about your balls, ever.”

  “But, like, really,” Scotty says. “Is it normal?”

  “Of course it’s normal,” Nicky replies. “Your testicles need to stay cool.”

  “Probably because you’re getting old,” Jimmy adds. “Everything sags when you get old.”

  Scotty snorts. He’s twenty-one. “You should know.”

  “There’s surgery for that,” Nicky adds. “You can get a scrotal lift.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Jabber gapes at him.

  “No shit.” Nicky shrugs and rubs his hair with a towel. “It’s a thing.”

  “Huh.” Scotty purses his lips.

  “Jesus. The idea of having the skin around my ’nads sliced open is terrifying,” Jabber says. “Who would do that?”

  “Lots of people,” Nicky replies. “But you can’t have sex for six weeks after.”

  “How the hell do you know so much about it?” Jabber demands.

  I’m dressed now. “This conversation is done. If you’re really worried, Scotty, go to a doctor.”

  I play with a lot of young guys in Pasadena; for some reason I didn’t expect to be having stupid conversations like this in Santa Monica.

  “I guess you don’t want to hear about my manscaping accident,” Jabber jokes.

  I wince. “Nope. Come on, let’s grab lunch.”

  We just finished practice Monday morning, after Arya’s yoga class. I feel really good. I had a bit of a hammie strain after the last game, but it feels fine now. I’m going to give Arya the credit for it not being worse…all those stretches probably helped.

  We take advantage of the team lunch with some healthy options they’ve set out on the buffet in the players’ lounge. I pause at the tortellini with pesto sauce.

  “What?” Jabber says. “What’s wrong with the pasta?”

  “Major garlic. I’ll pass.” I move on to the chicken parm.

  “You don’t want the Caesar salad then either, I guess.”

  “That’s a no.”

  “Hot date?” Jabber smirks, loading his plate with tortellini.

  “Sort of.”

  “The future missus?”

  “Yep.”

  “She know about this yet?”

  “The date or the wedding?” I grin as I ladle vinaigrette over the salad which has nutritious avocado, dried cranberries, and pine nuts.

  “Ha ha. Either.”

  “She knows about the date. Not the wedding. Too soon.”

  “Well, at least you know that.”

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  “Hmmm.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t you believe in love at first sight?”

  “No.”

  Bellsy joins us at a table, his plate also filled with garlicky goodness.

  “Did you fall in love with Everly the first time you met her?” I ask him.

  He squints, pops a tortellini in his mouth, and chews. “No. She annoyed the hell out of me. I wanted to argue with everything she said.”

  I grin. “I can relate to that. She is an annoying sister.”

  “I think it’s a little different,” Jabber points out. “I think by ‘argue,’ he means ‘bang.’ ”

  “Ugh.”

  “Fact,” Bellsy agrees with a smirk. “What’s up with you and the yoga teacher?”

  “I’m helping her take some donations to a women’s shelter this afternoon.”

  They go silent and stare at me.

  “What?”

/>   “Jesus. You really are going to marry her,” Jabber says.

  I shrug and spear a chunk of avocado. “You’ll see.”

  Today, I’m meeting her at Prana. Once again, I don’t get to see where she lives. I’m starting to wonder if she’s in a kinky threesome with Taj and his boyfriend. Nah. I didn’t get that vibe when we were all together at the Golden Fish the other night. The important thing is that she got home safely.

  They seemed protective of her, but it felt more like they were big brothers. I definitely felt they were checking me out. Hopefully I passed whatever their test was. I can only be myself, though, and if that kiss was anything to go on, pretty sure Arya likes me.

  Not kiss. Kisses. Plural. Scorching-hot, mind-scrambling kisses. Christ, it was hard to walk away from her that night. I wanted to pick her up, throw her in my car, and take her home with me.

  I feel impatient, but I have to remind myself we haven’t known each other that long and have actually only been on a few dates. Not sure if this afternoon counts, but maybe she’ll let me buy her dinner after, or something.

  There’s a loading zone in front of Prana, so I park there and put my flashers on before I head inside. Arya’s there with a few other women who all appear to also work there, about her age, all pretty and wearing exercise clothes.

  “Hi!” Arya greets me with a luminous smile. She’s wearing a pair of cropped black leggings and a neon-pink tank top. Her hair is in a long, thick, messy braid that hangs over one shoulder.

  “Hi.” I return the smile.

  “We got things packed up.” She waves a hand at the cartons piled on the floor.

  “Great.” I bend and pick one up. “I’ll get these out to the vehicle.”

  “We’ll help,” Arya says.

  “Eh. How heavy are they?”

  “Only a couple are heavy.”

  The girls pick up boxes and follow me outside. We load them into the back of my SUV. I make a couple extra trips with the heaviest containers.

  “Thank you so much for doing this,” one woman says to me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I should introduce you all,” Arya says. “Ivy, Hazel, Willow—this is Harrison Wynn.”

  “Great to meet you, ladies.” I flash them a grin and dust my hands off. “This is a great thing to do.”

  “All Arya’s idea,” Ivy says. “She organized it.”

  Arya smiles diffidently, lifting her shoulders. “It wasn’t that much. I guess we have everything?”

  She and I climb into my vehicle and she pulls out her phone to give me directions to the women’s shelter.

  “Is it a homeless shelter?” I ask.

  “It’s for women who are victims of abuse, who need somewhere to go to get away from their abuser.”

  “Ah.” I frown. A knot forms in my chest. “That’s, uh, good they have a safe place to go.”

  “And they can bring their children,” she adds. “Hence the big packages of Huggies. Aurora House offers other services too…counseling, a crisis line, support groups. It’s hard for women to leave an abusive relationship if they don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  I fucking hate thinking about women being abused.

  “How do you know so much about it?”

  “I did some research.”

  I frown and tighten my hands on the steering wheel. “Were you…?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I haven’t used a shelter myself. But…” She trails off. After a short pause, she says, “It’s an important service.”

  “Yeah.” I like it that she’s doing something like this. It impresses me that she got the idea and did the research and made it happen.

  When we get there, they’re expecting us, and a few people come out to help unload the boxes. We carry things inside. It’s homey—a living room, kitchen, dining room with a long table. I can see into an office, and a hallway leads to what I assume are sleeping rooms or bedrooms. Kids are playing in a corner of the big living space with a bunch of toys there.

  Arya makes another introduction, this time to one of the women helping. “Harrison, this is Karen King, the executive director of Aurora House. Karen, Harrison Wynn.”

  “You play for the Condors,” Karen says immediately, taking my hand and shaking it. “Thank you so much for helping today.”

  “My pleasure.”

  A lot of hockey players do various community work. Everly manages the Condors Community Foundation, so her job is probably similar to this woman’s. I’ve helped Everly out with fundraisers, and I’ve been involved with Big Brothers in Pasadena for a few years, but this season I was getting called up more and I haven’t actually been mentoring a little brother for a while. I forgot how good it feels to do something like this.

  Karen gets one of the other staff to take a picture of her, Arya, and me in front of some of the boxes. “For our blog and newsletter,” she says. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Sure.”

  We chat with the people there a bit as they start unpacking things. Karen holds up a package of diapers to show a woman cradling a tiny baby, and she gives a small smile of gratitude, though her face is tired and drawn. My chest tightens.

  I catch Arya’s eye and I can tell she’s moved too. I move over to her and slide my hand up her back as she talks to Karen.

  “Okay, I guess we’re done,” she eventually says to me.

  “Thank you again,” Karen says.

  “We’ll be back,” Arya replies. “Everyone at Prana was eager to help out. We gathered all these things in only a couple of weeks.”

  “It’s greatly appreciated.”

  Back in my vehicle, I turn to Arya as she fastens her seatbelt. “Thanks for letting me help.”

  “Thank you for helping.”

  “Do you have classes to teach today?”

  “Nope. I’m done for the day.”

  “Me too. Want to do something?”

  She tilts her head. “Like what?”

  “Make out?”

  She chokes on a laugh.

  “Just kidding. I really do want to kiss you right now, though.”

  In the small, enclosed space we eye each other. The air around us vibrates. She’s so goddamn beautiful, her eyes liquid, her lips parted. A fierce ache burns from my belly to my balls.

  “I want to kiss you too,” she whispers.

  I lean over and press my lips softly against hers. Once. Twice…then more firmly, opening my mouth, opening her to me, licking over her bottom lip.

  My dick thickens, heat sliding through my veins. She lets out a little moan.

  I lift a hand to slide it over her cheek, her jaw, her neck, cupping it as our mouths move together, and she curls a hand over my forearm. I want to touch her everywhere. Taste her everywhere. I can’t get enough of her.

  I draw back. We’re parked on the street in a public place so we should probably stop. I’m still close enough to see every one of her long eyelashes—some of them coated with dark mascara but tiny ones at the corners still a pale gold—close enough to see the flecks of silver in her blue eyes, the texture of her plump lips; I breathe in her fresh floral-citrusy scent.

  “We could go for a walk on the beach.” I suggest, contrary to what I really want to do. “Or we could go to my place and I could, um, make us mojitos on the patio.”

  I await her response. I know what I want her to say. She’s been so guarded with me at times, I expect her to opt for the beach.

  Finally, she answers. “Let’s go to your place.”

  Perfect.

  My heart leaps into a galloping rhythm.

  I want to break all the speed limits on the way home, but I force myself to act casual and drive appropriately. My insides are jumping around like popcorn.

  I park on the street. I have no idea what Ash’s schedule is
like. He works from home a lot, but he’s covering the Dodgers this summer and he’s been going to a lot of games.

  Luck is with me, and we’re home alone. The alarm beeps when we walk in and I enter the code to disarm it.

  “I share this place with my brother,” I tell her. “I guess he’s out.”

  “You haven’t said a lot about the rest of your family.” She follows me in, looking around. “Nice place, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” I’m uncomfortably aware it’s messy—books, magazines, newspapers, and golf equipment litter the living room on our left. The dining room on the right is tidier. She peers up the oak stairs with the wrought iron railing, then moves into the living room.

  “Love the fireplace.” She trails her hand over the oak mantel.

  “Yeah. I’ll show you around.” I lead her past the stairs and down the hall. “Ash’s office is that room, and my bedroom is the next one. He has the whole upstairs—the master suite is really nice.”

  “How come he gets it?” she asks teasingly.

  “Because he lives here all the time, and I’m only here part-time. I have an apartment in Pasadena too, that I share with a teammate.”

  “Ah.”

  I turn into the kitchen, cringing at what it might look like. I left early to get to the arena.

  Luckily, Ash must have put the dishes in the dishwasher and it’s not bad. “Kitchen,” I announce unnecessarily. “A little out-of-date, but okay. Now for mojitos. We need mint.”

  I open the back door, which leads out into our tiny yard. There’s a patch of mint growing like crazy right near the door. I pluck a few sprigs and step back in.

  “Can you grab two glasses from that cupboard?” I nod.

  Arya gets the glasses while I rise off the mint then muddle it in the glasses with sugar. I retrieve a couple of limes from the bowl on the counter, the bottle of rum from another cupboard, and the club soda from the refrigerator, and soon we have our drinks.

  Arya sips hers. “Yum. Good job.”

  “Thanks. Let’s take them outside.”

  It’s a nice warm day, the sun shining right on the seating area out back.

  “Oh, pretty,” she says, following me.

  The yard is tiny and there’s no grass, but curved red brick outlines a few flower beds containing shrubs, and the red brick patio holds modular patio furniture with thick, gray cushions. We sit on the couch.