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  He chuckles again.

  I make my escape. Yes, I am a living clichéd walk of shame, in my short, tight party dress and heels, making my way to my car parked a couple of blocks away on Pacific Avenue. I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, it’s just an expression. Except I am a tad mortified that I succumbed to Wyatt Bell’s sexy appeal last night and let him feel my boobs and kiss me until I couldn’t breathe.

  Arrogant. Snooty. Oh my God. My teeth grind together as I stalk down the street.

  Princess Wynn. He has no idea.

  Chapter 2

  Wyatt

  “I want to see a shark!”

  I scoop up Owen as he runs to greet me. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah!”

  Owen’s mom, Heather, smiles. We’re standing in the foyer of her small Santa Monica bungalow.

  “I want to see an octopus. Do you know how many legs an octopus has?”

  “Ummm…eight!”

  “That’s right. You’re smart, my man.” I set him down on the floor. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I’m all ready!” He hops around.

  “Thanks for this,” Heather says. “He’s been so excited about it.”

  “Me too.” I grin. “Sharks are pretty exciting.” I’m taking Owen to the aquarium at Santa Monica Pier for the afternoon. We’ll probably do some other stuff too. “What are you going to do?”

  Heather makes an excited face. “Maybe have a bath? Read a book. Clean the kitchen.”

  I laugh. “That sounds exciting too.”

  “Did you go out to celebrate the New Year last night?”

  “Yeah. I went next door to Théo and Lacey’s place. They had a little party.”

  Then I took a hot chick back to my place, made out with her until she passed out, and spent the rest of the night alone in my own guest room. Not how I’d pictured the evening ending.

  Taking her back to my place, yes; sleeping alone, no. Damn.

  “Nice and close,” Heather says. “I didn’t even make it till midnight.”

  She’s not complaining, just matter-of-fact about being a single mom to a five-year-old boy.

  “Okay, my man, let’s roll.” I set my hand on top of Owen’s head and we head out.

  I buckle him into the booster seat in the back of my Land Rover SUV and make the short drive to the Pier. I find parking and we enter the aquarium. As always, Owen is full of energy and bouncing around.

  I love the kid.

  We see octopi and sharks (small ones). Owen loves the touch tanks, where he can feel starfish and sea urchins. The seahorses are really cool too, and Own stands and stares in fascination at moray eels undulating around rocks.

  And we learn about the Heal the Bay project.

  This reminds me of Everly Wynn last night, arguing so earnestly about the importance of climate change and cleaning up the oceans. I really got her going, but of course I believe in keeping our oceans and watersheds clean. She’s just so damn cute. And smart. And hot.

  Forget about her. After last night she’s never going to talk to me again, probably. She was obviously embarrassed about conking out. Not to mention feeling sick as a dog. I didn’t really think she drank that much. Not that I was watching.

  Okay, I was.

  I admit it, I can’t stop watching her.

  Could there be anyone worse for me to hook up with than the daughter of the team owner? I don’t think so.

  And yet…

  I’m all about living in the moment. I don’t worry about shit that may or may not happen. We’re only here once and I’m gonna enjoy it.

  And right now I need to focus on enjoying this time with Owen.

  After the aquarium we walk up to the Pier and stroll around. Of course Owen wants to go in the arcade, and I blow a bunch of money on games for him. I take him on the carousel, and then we get hot dogs and lemonade and sit at a picnic table near the railing, the salty ocean breeze whipping around us.

  “I want a dog,” he announces as we eat. “Mommy says no.”

  “Huh. What kind of dog?”

  “A big one.”

  I nod. I’m staying out of this one. I’d give the kid anything he wants for the rest of his life, but I get that Heather’s in charge.

  “Also, I want a brother.”

  Whoa. I give my head a shake. “Hmm. Did you tell your mom that?”

  “Yes.” He pouts. “She said no to that too. She’s no fun.”

  “Hey, your mom is lots of fun. She took you to Disneyland, right?”

  “Yes.” He frowns. “But you came too.”

  “It was your mom’s idea. Also, moms aren’t supposed to be fun. Well, not all the time. She has a job to do—making sure you grow up to be a good man.”

  He blows out a breath. “I am a good man.”

  “Yeah, you are.” I have to smile. “Okay, dude, let’s go home.”

  We start walking back to the parking lot, but Owen stops at a kiosk selling a bunch of touristy junk. I expect him to want some kind of toy, but he pauses next to a rack of gaudy jewelry. He looks up at me hopefully. “Can I buy Mommy a necklace?”

  I clear my throat. “Sure. Which one do you think she’d like?”

  “This one.” He pulls out a purple beaded necklace with a palm tree dangling from it.

  “Nice.”

  We take it to the counter to pay for it then continue on our way, me slowing my strides along the wooden planks to match his small steps, him clutching the paper-wrapped jewelry. He hops down the stairs to the beach level, where we parked, and as we stroll along the paved path, my attention is snagged by a runner coming toward us. A woman, slender and fit, dressed in tight little shorts and a long-sleeved tee, a baseball cap on her head and sunglasses shielding her face. I’m admiring the shape of her—long legs, sweet curves. I like women.

  I’m smiling as she nears us, because hey, I’m a friendly guy, and then something about her ticks over in my brain. Something familiar…that shape…that mouth.

  Everly Wynn.

  Her steps slow as she recognizes me, but I can’t see her eyes. She sets her hands on her hips and walks the last few paces toward us. I stop, my smile broadening. “Hey. Feeling better, I see.”

  I can tell she rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I’m feeling better. I thought maybe a run would get rid of the toxins in my system.”

  I chuckle. “Good plan.” I gotta give her credit for pushing herself.

  I sense her attention on Owen, and he’s looking at her curiously.

  “This is Owen,” I tell Everly. “Owen, this is my friend Everly Wynn.”

  “Hi,” he says.

  “Hi, Owen.” I feel the curiosity crackling around Everly. She takes off her sunglasses and perches them on her hat. “Nice to meet you.”

  “We went to the ’quarium,” he says. “And I touched a starfish.”

  “Cool.” She lifts her gaze to mine. I know she has questions, but she merely says, “Well, nice to see you both. I better keep running. I’m on my way home.”

  “You live close to here?”

  “Eh, not too far.”

  I nod. “Guess you don’t want a ride.”

  She laughs. “That would defeat the purpose of going for a run.”

  “True enough.” I’m reluctant to end the conversation, but I have to get Owen home too, or Heather will start freaking out. “Nice to see you too.”

  Lame.

  She waves and set off again. I watch her from behind this time, enjoying the view of a firm, rounded ass.

  Owen tugs on my hand. “Wyatt. Let’s go.”

  “Yep, yep.” With a shake of my head, I grab him, pick him up, and start running, which makes him giggle.

  When we get home, he dashes inside to give his mom her present.

  “It’s bea
utiful!” Her eyes meet mine and she gives the briefest of winks. “Thank you!”

  It’s tacky but I can tell she’s actually touched. “It was Owen’s idea.”

  She hugs him.

  “Mommy, did you know starfish aren’t really fish?”

  “Um. I guess I didn’t.”

  “Why do they call them fish, then?” Owen’s little forehead creases.

  “Maybe because they live in water.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks for taking him.” Heather looks up at me again. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?”

  I almost agree, because I have no plans for tonight and I pretty much hate hanging out at home alone. But I say, “Yeah, I have stuff to do at home. Game tomorrow.”

  She nods, understanding, and I give Owen a goodbye hug and head out.

  Sure, I have stuff to do. Watch TV. Play video games. Can’t really use cleaning or laundry as an excuse, since I have someone come in once a week to do that. Linda is a goddess.

  The sun is low over the ocean as I drive back to my condo in Marina del Rey. January first. Lots of people make resolutions to start the new year—things they want to change. Things they want to do better at. I don’t do that. Anything I want to change is in the past and that’s impossible. And like I said, I try not to think of the future. Right now is what matters. And since going home doesn’t appeal to me and everyone else is probably nursing hangovers and writing down their resolutions, I drive to a bar near my place.

  Sure enough, Abby is working behind the bar tonight and she greets me with a big smile. “Hey! Happy New Year!”

  I slide onto a stool. “Happy New Year to you too. How’d you get stuck working today?”

  “I had last night off.” She wrinkles her nose. “For once I got to go out and celebrate.”

  “Good for you.”

  She pulls a draft beer for me and slides the glass across the smooth wooden bar without even asking what I want.

  “Thanks.” I lift the glass in a toast. “Cheers.”

  Happy New Year. What a joke. I’m not happy. But that’s okay, because I don’t deserve to be happy. I just fake it, because nobody wants a sad sack wet blanket hanging around. So I’m the life of the party, always laughing, cracking jokes, flirting with women.

  And that’s what I do now.

  * * *

  —

  We’ve just finished our game day skate and a couple of short special teams meetings. I’m looking forward to lunch, laid out for us in the players’ lounge by the team. They change things up but there are always healthy options. Today I go for a piece of grilled salmon, along with some brown rice and asparagus. All the veggies on a game day are green; you won’t find carrots or corn on the buffet table. I sit with my buddies Jimmy Bertelski, the captain of the team; Arvid Bergström (we call him Bergie); and Derek Jablonski (Jabber).

  We talk about New Year’s parties. Jimmy, Jabber, and Bergie all went to some swanky party at a fancy L.A. hotel with lots of hot women hitting on them all night. My party at Théo’s seems tame in comparison, but they give me shit about it.

  “Not all of us get invited to party with the GM,” Jimmy says.

  “Yeah, be careful what you say around him,” Bergie adds with a smirk.

  They’re yanking my chain; I live next door to Théo and we’re sort of friends, but he’s definitely not talking shop to me and telling me who he plans to trade or who’s not getting a contract renewal. I ignore them and eat my meal. I for sure don’t tell them about taking a five-year-old to the aquarium yesterday. Not many people here know about Owen, and that’s fine with me.

  I’ve just finished my meal when Everly Wynn strides into the lounge.

  Whoa.

  Sometimes I see her around the arena; the office of the Condors Foundation is there too. But she doesn’t usually come down here.

  She scans the room and her gaze falls on me. She crosses the room with purposeful steps and stops near our table. “Hey. Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”

  The other guys eye us curiously, but this isn’t really that out of the regular. I’m the one who feels like it is, though, because of our smokin’ hot make-out sesh the other night. Maybe she wants more of that. Maybe she wants to finish what we started.

  She looks all business, though, in a gray-and-white tweedy dress that fits her curves, and high-heeled gray shoes. She’s always perfect—hair, makeup, clothes. Posture, even.

  She wasn’t perfect yesterday morning when she woke up in my bed. Heh.

  I toss down my paper napkin and rise from my chair. “Sure.” I follow her out of the lounge and into the corridor. “What’s up?”

  She walks around a corner, where we’re mostly alone except for assistant coach Stanislov Petrov crossing the hall to the equipment room. “Why aren’t you coming to the Birds’ Banquet on the eighteenth?”

  I frown. This is what she wants to talk about? “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” She holds my gaze with authority. “It’s expected that all the Condors will be there.”

  “I can’t make it. I have a conflict.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You’re popular with the fans. Especially the female fans. You need to be there.”

  I sigh and rub the back of my neck. “Look, I would if I could.”

  “What’s the conflict?”

  I study her and my own eyes narrow at her demand. “That is none of your business.”

  She jerks back, eyes flickering. Her lips tighten.

  She may be the boss of the Foundation, but she’s not the boss of me.

  Christ, I sound like Owen.

  Some of the guys come out of the dressing room, yakking.

  Everly looks around, then opens the door to a media room, which is empty right now. She flicks on the lights and waves me in.

  My muscles tense and my blood heats. I step into the room and close the door behind me. We’re alone in a silent box with chairs set up in rows and a dais at the far end. I move closer to her, and she steps back into the wall. “Who put you in charge of the team?” I ask quietly.

  Her eyes flash. “I’m not in charge of the team. I’m in charge of the banquet. The team commits to working with the Foundation to raise money for the community, and one player isn’t above everyone else.”

  I grit my teeth. “That’s not what this is.”

  “I know you’re relatively new here.”

  I tip my head in acknowledgment. Last season, I had quietly requested a trade to one of the California teams, and I’m grateful that the management of the Red Wings made it work right at the trade deadline. So, yeah, I wasn’t around last year when they did this big banquet, an annual event that apparently raises a shit ton of money for the Foundation.

  “I’ve got nothing against community service; I know the expectations of the team and I do my part. But I can’t do this.”

  She meets my eyes. We’re not touching, but we’re close enough that I can see all her long eyelashes fanned out above her crystal blue eyes, the shiny pink gloss on her lips, and the pulse fluttering in her throat.

  I remember kissing her throat…sliding my tongue over it, sucking gently on the thin skin there. I remember her moaning, her fingers in my hair…My dick thickens and my skin heats.

  The air around us changes, pulsating. My heart picks up speed.

  Our eyes are locked together.

  “Can I tell you what takes place at the banquet?” she asks, her voice husky.

  “I know.” My own voice is low and raspy too. I bend my head closer to her.

  Heat shimmers between us. I study her mouth, so shiny and pretty.

  “It’s not that bad,” she says. “You don’t even have to stay long. Just make an appearance.”

  I close my eyes and let out a breath. “What time does
it start?”

  “Six. That’s the cocktail reception. The dinner starts at seven.”

  I open my eyes. “I can’t be there at six.” I’m thinking. “Let me see what I can do.”

  She nods slowly, her lips parted, showing a hint of teeth. I breathe in her scent…some kind of expensive spicy, sexy perfume. I inhaled the hell out of it the other night in my bed and now I want to bury my face in the side of her neck and breathe her in.

  Her father is Bob Wynn. Owner of the team. The king of hockey. Jesus.

  I take a step back. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that. And more importantly, all the kids who are helped by our contributions will appreciate it.”

  I yank open the door and step out. It swings shut behind me, which is a good thing, because Bergie and Jimmy are just passing by, walking down the corridor. They eyeball me.

  “What the hell were you doing in there?” Jimmy asks.

  “Nothing.” I join them in a brisk pace, praying that Everly doesn’t fling open the door and shoot out of there. “Going home for naps?”

  “Yeah.”

  Luckily Everly’s a smart cookie. We round the bend and head to the exit before she does that.

  “See you later.” In the parking garage, I reach my vehicle first and hold my fob at the door to unlock it. “Later, dudes.” Jimmy waves and he and Bergie continue to their own cars.

  Shit. I sit with my hands curved around the steering wheel for a moment. January eighteenth is Owen’s birthday. It’s a Friday night, and I offered to take Owen and nine of his closest friends to Monkey Biz, a big indoor playground. It’s already booked for six o’clock. There’s no way I can bail; Heather can’t handle ten five- and six-year-olds on her own. And I can’t let down Owen. Besides, I want to be there.

  When I get home, I pick up the phone to call Heather. She’s at work; she’s a business analyst at a big healthcare company. Luckily, she’s at her desk and she answers.

  After some chitchat, I tell her, “I’ve got a bit of a scheduling conflict the day of Owen’s birthday party.”