Major Misconduct (Aces Hockey #1) (4 page)

“We could move the couch into the bedroom. I’ll get Marc—”

“No! Don’t bother him. I’ve done that enough tonight.”

“Fuck yeah, what the hell were you doing in his bedroom?”

“I told you!” She took a breath to stop from yelling. “I was worried about him.”

“Jesus, Lovey, don’t just walk into a guy’s bedroom. What if he’d been in there with some chick?”

She stared at him. Uh. Yeah. She hadn’t even thought of that. What if…
fuck.
She would not have been happy to see that. Her insides twisted.

Eh. He hadn’t been with anyone. He’d been alone, trying to get some sleep. Being the responsible, mature guy that he was.

“We should clean up.” She looked around at all the empty bottles and dirty glasses.

“Nah. Leave it till morning.”

She made a face. “Seriously? I don’t know if I can do that. This place is a mess.”

“Marc’ll clean up.”

She frowned. “You’re just going to leave it for him to do? Duncan! That’s not fair.”

Duncan shrugged. “He likes cleaning. I don’t give a shit. Sounds fair to me.”

“That sounds fucked up!”

He flinched at her language.

“I’m not sleeping out here with the stink of empty beer bottles.” She moved to the coffee table. “Help me out here, bro.”

He made a frustrated sound but followed along and helped her clean up.

“We can do the kitchen in the morning. All of us. Not just Marc. At least I have a semi-clean place to sleep. Cheese-its, I didn’t think I was moving into a frat house.”

“It’s not that bad. And you’re not moving in.”

“Where’s your dishwasher detergent?”

“Here.” Duncan opened the cupboard beneath the sink and handed her a tablet. She inserted it in the dishwasher holder, closed the door, and pushed the button to start it.

“There. Okay. Bedtime. See you tomorrow.” She paused. “Thanks for letting me stay here. I appreciate it.”

He sighed. “You’re welcome. You know you can visit anytime. But we should talk. About what the hell you’re doing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay. Fine. Maybe Sunday.”

“Yeah. We have a day off.”

He disappeared down the hall to his room. She leaned against the counter for a moment. They had a day off. That meant Marc too. Maybe she could convince Captain Codger to have some fun…hmmm…

Marc wandered into the kitchen after his shower the next morning to hunt down some breakfast. Even though the Aces organization would give them food after their skate, something he appreciated with all his heart since he wasn’t much of a cook, he always needed something in his belly before their game day skate.

He glanced at the huddle of blankets on the couch. The fall sun wasn’t even up yet so the room was still dark. Not even trying to be quiet, because, hey, Army should be up getting ready to go too, he opened cupboards and set about cracking eggs into a fry pan and microwaving himself a bowl of oatmeal. He popped four slices of bread into the big toaster, then brewed himself a cup of coffee in the Keurig.

He’d woken up with that heavy sense of failure that had been dogging him for weeks. They’d been playing crappy and no matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to get some of the guys motivated. As team captain, he felt the weight of responsibility. He’d spent hours talking to the coaching staff, going back and forth between them and the players, trying to figure out what was really wrong. It was making him nuts.

The blankets on the couch shifted. A head appeared. Long, red-gold hair shimmered on the white pillow and then big hazel eyes peered at him.

He gaped. Lovey was sleeping on the couch? What the hell?

“Morning,” she called across the big space. “What time is it?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“Oh dear God. Seriously?”

“Yup.”

She lifted her arms above her head and stretched, then pushed aside the covers and swung her legs over the side of the couch. “Is that coffee I smell?”

“Yup.”

She rose then and sauntered toward him, and his chin dropped to his chest. She wore a tiny little turquoise camisole that hugged her slender body. White lace edged the top, as well as the bottom of the matching panties. Her long hair was tousled into messy waves around her shoulders. Holy flying fuck. He snapped his mouth closed and hurriedly turned to the beeping microwave to retrieve his bowl of oatmeal.

“Mmm, what’s that?” She came up behind him and peered around his shoulder, close enough that he could feel her body heat and smell that sweet scent of cupcakes.

“Oatmeal,” he croaked. He set the bowl on the counter and slammed the microwave door shut.

“Cool. And eggs? Those all for you?”

“Yeah. Four eggs, sunny-side up.”

He spooned strawberry jam onto his oatmeal and began to eat it while his eggs cooked. Lovey moved around the kitchen with a languid, still somewhat drowsy grace, her eyelids a little heavy, her mouth curved into a slight smile. “You might need to show me how to work this machine.” She peered at the Keurig.

“Ah…you can have my coffee.” He nodded at the cup sitting in the appliance. “I’ll make myself one in a few minutes.”

“You sure?” She gave him a slow blink.

“Yeah, no problem.” He scooped up a big spoonful of oatmeal and jam. “Milk is there if you need it. Sugar in the first cupboard.”

“Any sweetener? I don’t do sugar.”

“Uh…no.”

She smiled. “Guess not, huh. Well, I suppose a spoonful of sugar won’t kill me.”

She doctored the coffee and cupped the mug in both hands, leaning against the counter. After a sip, she said, “Ah. That’s good.”

He shoveled in more oatmeal, trying not to look at her body in the skimpy cami and panties, which she seemed completely unconcerned about. The thin fabric hugged her breasts, the panties left her long legs bare. He gulped. Then his toast popped and he moved over to pull it out and butter it.

“That was fun last night,” she chatted. “Sorry about disturbing your sleep.”

“Don’t worry about it. I got back to sleep right away.” That wasn’t entirely true. For some reason he’d kept thinking about Lovey. Then he’d fucking dreamt about her. This was not good.

“So what time is the game? How do I get my ticket?”

Oh right. He’d said he’d get her a ticket. But then he’d decided it should be Duncan who did it. Whatever. He sighed. “I’ll arrange for you to pick it up at the will call. You want two tickets?”

A cute little crease appeared between her eyebrows. “I don’t know. Going alone isn’t much fun, but I don’t really know anyone else to invite. Oh wait…I do know someone in Chicago. I was planning to contact her.” She set the mug down and pushed away. “I’ll try to get hold of her and see if she wants to go.”

“Great.”

He watched her stroll to the closet near the door and pull out a laptop case. He slid a spatula under his eggs and lifted them onto the plate with the buttered toast and moved to a stool at the counter. She set her laptop near him and opened it up.

“Facebook,” she murmured. “I’ll message her. Oh wow. Lots of updates.” She leaned forward, elbows on the counter. Marc’s eyes dropped to the cleavage revealed in this pose. And his dick stiffened. He almost groaned out loud at the picture she made. She might as well have been naked, her nipples clearly outlined through the thin, stretchy fabric. He dragged his gaze up to her face, her eyes focused intently on the screen, her white teeth sunk into that plush bottom lip. She released the lip to smile at something she read, then nodded.

Fuck, she was cute.

Marc closed his eyes and then reopened them to look at his eggs and toast. He needed to eat and get the hell out of there. He finished his breakfast, then rose and moved toward the dishwasher, going the long way around the island so he didn’t have to move past Lovey. He still wanted coffee, so he pulled out another mug.

“Oh, show me how to do that!” Lovey straightened and moved toward him.

He backed up.

“So I know for next time,” she said, taking in the stupid way he’d retreated as if she was coming at him with the butt end of a hockey stick. Her eyes flickered. The corners of her mouth tipped up ever so slightly. “So…turn it on here…”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, praying she didn’t look down to where his hard-on bulged. “Water goes in here…there’s enough right now for another cup…put the K-cup in here…press this button. Wait until it stops.”

“Awesome. So easy. I have to get one of these things. Trips to Starbucks add up to a lot of money.”

“I guess.”

She shifted closer, tossed her hair behind her shoulder, and smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

He stared down at her, taking in the pretty flecks of gold and brown in eyes that were really green, the faint freckles scattered over her small nose and high cheekbones, her long gold eyelashes.

“Uh…what’s going on?”

They both jerked around at the sound of Duncan’s voice behind them, bumping into each other. Marc steadied her smaller body with his hands on her hips, slender but soft, curvy hips…Jesus. He released her and backed away, bashing into the counter and smacking his head on an open cabinet door.
Ow.

“Nothing.” He slammed the door shut. “Just showing Lovey how to make coffee.”

“I like that thing.” She smiled at her brother. “Morning, Dunc.”

She moved again, retrieving her mug of coffee, then brushed past Marc to get back to her laptop to resume her Facebook perusal. “Hopefully Jillian can come with me to the game tonight.”

“Game starts at seven.” Marc choked out the words.

“Oh, we’ll come before that,” she said. “I like to watch the warm-up. Thanks, Marc.”

“We gotta get going.” Duncan set something on the counter. “Here’s an extra key for you, Lovey, if you want to go out.”

“Perfect! Thanks. Gonna take a shower now.”

“Okay. What are you doing today? Maybe we’ll see you after our skate.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure. I might be here. So maybe I’ll see you later.”

“If not, I’ll text you after the game. We’ll probably go out for something to eat, if you want to come with us.”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

It was impossible not to watch her walk down the hallway, two cheeks to the wind in those cheeky panties. Those firm, round globes just begged to be grabbed and squeezed and…

“Get your fucking eyes off my sister’s ass,” Army growled. Then his fist drilled Marc’s shoulder.

“Ow! What the fuck, man!” Marc glared at Army, rubbing his shoulder.

“Don’t look at her. Don’t even
think
about looking at her. Stay the fuck away from her.”

Marc scowled. “Jesus.” Pressure rose up inside him. He didn’t know whether to be pissed the hell off that Army would order him around like that, or protest that he wasn’t looking at her, which would be a total lie, or tell Army he had no intention of getting anywhere near Lovey. Which he didn’t. So why did he have to even say it? “Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m not gonna touch your sister.”

Army gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Damn right you’re not.”

“Maybe you should tell her to put some clothes on.”

Army gave a heavy sigh. “I knew this was a bad idea, letting her stay here.”

Marc slid off the stool. “Gonna get my stuff, then let’s go.”

Army wanted to take his new vehicle so he drove to the Moens Center. They talked about the team they were playing that night, who was going to be back in the lineup, and who was out, carefully avoiding any mention of Lovey.

At the arena, Marc changed into shorts and a T-shirt. Some guys were of the opinion that game day skates weren’t really necessary. Probably, the practice had started years ago to stop guys from staying out all night carousing before a game, giving them a reason to drag their asses out of bed, get their bodies moving and blood flowing before a game. Marc approved of that. Yeah, he knew his reputation as a killjoy—like last night when he’d kicked everyone out—but this was his career and he wanted to win. It was important to be ready for every single game. It was early in the season, but you didn’t know which game was going to be the one that made the difference between making the playoffs or not, or having home ice advantage, so every game was important. The way things had been going lately, they desperately needed a win.

He thought the game day skate was good for getting everyone together, having a look at stats, going over plans for the game, checking out injuries and how everyone was feeling. They needed to get their stuff together, make sure new sticks were right and skates didn’t need a blade replaced or something.

This morning, he headed first to the stick room. He had a few new sticks he wanted to make sure were just right. Then he climbed on a bike and pedaled to Imagine Dragons’ “Radioactive,” the music pumping through the dressing room. His teammates arrived, some of them working out like him, others getting checked by the trainers, some with nagging small injuries, strains, and pulled muscles from the game the other night, or longer-term things they were still working on. Then they all changed and hit the ice for the skate.

He was always the first one on the ice and the last one off. He set an example for the rest of the team. He worked hard and expected the rest of his teammates to work hard too. Right now on this losing streak, he was working extra hard, trying to motivate everyone.

This wasn’t an intense practice like other days, just a good way to get the blood flowing and work on a few things. Today, Coach had them working on their power play, then Assistant Coach Al Bosco worked with him on face-offs, dropping pucks in front of him in rapid succession, over and over again.

The stands were mostly empty. A group of media people had congregated in a bunch of seats near center ice. Some of the Aces staff were wandering in and out, working on various things in preparation for game night. The scratch of skate blades and the crack of the puck on sticks echoed among the calls between players and coaching staff on the ice. The team skated around now, taking shots at both goalies, one at either end. Marc lined up a shot and drilled the puck at Stoykers in the net, and grinned when it sailed past his glove hand top shelf. Beauty.

Brent shook his head, but the truth was, he liked it when Marc challenged him. With Marc having one of the best shots in the NHL, Brent liked getting tested like that. It made him better.

Marc skated until everyone else had left the ice, then followed them to the dressing room and stripped off his jersey and helmet, replacing it with an Aces ball cap. Still wearing the Aces performance shirt he wore beneath his jersey, he met with the media in the dressing room to talk about the game that night and their crappy start to the season and what they were expecting from the Boston Bruins. He was pretty sick of talking about why they were losing games but had to hold in his annoyance and be patient with the media.

“Yeah, they’re a good team,” he said into the numerous microphones and phones in front of his face. “They’re well coached and they defend well. It’s gonna be a good game.” He listened to another question, thought about it, and responded. “Sure, they’re a good skating team. We have to be ready to skate and take our game to them, and not get caught in their style. We just have to be patient and confident in our system. We know that when it works, we win games.”

The only question was, why wasn’t it working?

Then the team met to look at some videos and go over a few things in preparation for the game that night. They focused again on power play videos, since they’d been struggling on the power play lately. By the time they were done, it was noon and lunch had been set up in the players’ lounge for them.

Marc loaded his plate with a huge pile of pasta with tomato sauce, a couple of grilled chicken breasts, and some salad. He’d always had trouble keeping his weight up where he liked it, and tried to eat five or six thousand calories a day during the season. When he’d been drafted by the Aces eight years ago, he’d worked with a nutritionist who’d given him advice about things he should and shouldn’t eat, and he followed that to this day.

“Is your sister just here for the weekend?” Rupper asked Army as they ate.

“She says she’s moving here.” Army gave a heavy sigh. “I gotta talk to her about that.”

“Oh yeah?” Rupper’s eyes lit up and Marc noticed several of the other guys perk up.

“Your sister?” Hughie Land, a big defenseman, asked. “Cute little redhead, right?”

Marc frowned. So did Army.

“Forget it,” Army growled at Hughie. “All of you.” He looked around the room. “My sister is off-limits. You know the rule.”