Playing for Keeps (Hot Jocks, #1)

by Kendall Ryan

That said, when the two people who are supposed to love you unconditionally use you as nothing more than a pawn in their sick games, it warps your view on love. I wasn’t lovable—I knew that. I’d known that since I was six years old. And nothing had changed in the last twenty years. Women wanted me for my dick, and that was fine. That was really all I had to offer anyway.

Awww, Justin...

Normally—I see something I want—and I go and get it. It’s how I’ve always been. It’s how I’m wired. The one exception to that rule? Elise Parrish.

Still, despite my best efforts, she traipsed out of friend territory somewhere along the way, and into a sexy woman who made my dick ache. It was dangerous. And my best friend Owen made no apologies for the fact that his sister was very much off-limits to any member of our team.

My gaze drifts over to her again, and my breath catches. She’s beautiful, intoxicatingly so. But she’s smart too. And feisty. And she knows the game of hockey better than most of the guys, Lord knows she grew up spending just as much time at the ice rink as we did. Plus, the fact that I’m a pro hockey player doesn’t impress her in the slightest. That’s the best thing about her. I can just be myself.

I study her for just a second. Long dark hair hanging over one shoulder, grey eyes that always seem to see straight through me, along with a sassy mouth that has always called me out on my bullshit. But I never let myself notice things like that about her, and I won’t start now, so I look down at the beer bottle in my hands instead. When she’s beside me, all my nerve endings light up with a feeling I can’t explain. I feel alive. Raw. On edge.

My heart starts to beat faster as she grins up at me. Well damn, I didn’t know I still had one of those.

I know my limit, and doing shots with Justin is a hard line I shouldn’t have crossed. I know I should see him as nothing more than a disgusting manwhore, or see him as a second brother to me—but I’ve never felt anything remotely familial about Justin Brady like I should. First there’s my traitorous body—which reacts to his in a very non-sisterly way. So much so, my lady parts are tingling and I’m pretty sure there’s a tiny damp spot in my panties from when he smiled and pushed my hair behind my shoulder as he watched me drain my shot glass for the umpteenth time and suck on the lemon slice afterwards. Then there’s my heart, which pumps faster whenever he’s near and does stupid shit like ache for him when he takes a hard hit on the ice. It’s all like please don’t have broken anything adorable or important.

I’ve always been enamored with him, from his quiet confidence, to his dedication and hard work on the ice, to his hard won smiles and casual attitude.

The physical changes he went through as we aged made me fall even harder. Instead of being the boy who pulled my ponytail and hid my dolls from me, he grew from a lanky teen into a man. A man with so much sculpted muscle and iron-carved abs it made my knees weak.

When I enter, I can’t help but inhale deeply. His room smells like him. His scent hasn’t changed in all the years I’ve known him. The smell is a combination of an understanding boyfriend, clean cotton, and a bar of soap. It’s fucking amazing, and I’m in his personal space alone, so I inhale more of it than I should. What can I say? I’m greedy like that.

My mind immediately wonders if he watches porn on that tablet while in bed. I have no idea what’s wrong with me, but that downright sinful thought pops into my brain and refuses to evacuate. Geez, Elise. Get it together.

His hand slides up my thigh, and stops when it meets my hip. His grip on my hip holds me in place, but he doesn’t move any further. My entire body is tingling—because this is Justin, my brother’s best friend and roommate, and despite my many dreams and fantasies about this exact moment, he has never, not once, touched me like this.

I take a deep breath, but before I can say anything else, he’s rising to his feet, and standing at his full height, towering over me at six foot two inches and two hundred plus pounds of pure muscle. His shoulders are so broad that I feel tiny by comparison, and even more unsure about what I’m doing here. But then his hands move to my face, cupping my jawline with his big, calloused palms and I forget how to breathe all over again. “Stay,” he whispers again.

“Tell me what you need,” I whisper, placing my hands on his waist. He feels so solid beneath my palms.

“You,” he croaks out, voice raw. “On the bed.”

He’s big and muscular, and it feels so surreal to be here next to him. I’ve never even let myself imagine how this moment might feel, despite all my many fantasies about this exact moment. His brown hair is messy and his deep blue eyes are currently closed. But God, he’s gorgeous with his bulky shoulders and arms, a chest that was made for nestling close against, and eight perfectly carved abs.

My lungs stop working as his palm slides upward, over my breastbone until his fingertips touch my throat. Then his hand moves back down, down past my belly button until he stops over my pubic bone. My pussy feels so hot and tender, and oh-my-God, I want his hand to move lower so badly. But he doesn’t move any lower. His hand rests on my belly and I turn my face toward his.

His kiss is so soft at first, then his fingers thread into the hair at the back of my neck as he turns my face toward his and deepens our connection.

My lips part for his, and Justin takes full advantage, sliding his tongue against mine. His kisses are everything I imagined they would be—hungry, hot, hard. A flicker of lust curls inside me. His mouth moves over mine and when my tongue eagerly tangles with his, a low rumbling sound vibrates in his chest. All of my muscles clench at once. He tastes like lemons, and vodka, and every sinful pleasure imaginable, and dear God, I don’t ever want to stop kissing him.

I look over my shoulder and see that a very naked Justin Brady is still asleep beside me. His broad back with its lightly tanned skin slopes down to the most mouth-watering naked ass I’ve ever seen on a man. Firm. Muscled. Delectable.

I'm a gal who appreciates a nice ass.

A thousand vivid mental images crash into my brain at once. My hands on that firm, rounded ass as he thrust into me. Those trim hips snapping between my parted thighs.

My leggings are nowhere to be found. I can’t exactly sneak out of here pantless. Fuck me. What had I been thinking? I’d always lusted after Justin, but secretly lusting after him and sleeping with him are two very, very different things.

We’d been kissing on his bed, and I’d been the one to take off my shirt and then his hands traveled along my waist, my ribs, my shoulders. His touch had been my undoing —I’d been the first one to stick my hand down his pants. It was like throwing accelerant onto the fire quietly burning between us.

I’d been so hot, so ready for him. I remember practically attacking his belt-buckle with gusto in my efforts to free his erection. Oh my God. His dick. Now that I’ve pictured it, I can’t unsee it. The memory of his steely shaft and heavy balls are not details I’m supposed to be in possession of. The helpless plea he’d made when my fist curled around him for the first time, testing the weight of him against my palm… I’d dragged my hand up slowly as he released a shuddering exhale, his whole body shivering.

My heartrate triples with the memory. I squeeze my eyes shut and pull a deep, shaky breath into my lungs. Focus, Elise. You cannot think about his dick right now. You certainly can’t think about the way it tasted, or how it felt …

Justin shifts at the movement, rolling up on his elbow to see who’s woken him. His dark hair is messy from sleep, but his blue eyes are bright and alert. A five o’clock shadow dusts his strong jaw and his chest muscles are immaculate. I don’t think I’ve ever used the word immaculate to describe someone before, but trust me, it fits him.

Realizing he’s naked, Justin sits up, tugging the sheet up to cover his lap, like he’s suddenly self-conscious—like he wasn’t inside me a few hours ago.

Some part of me needs him to acknowledge this mountain between us. Needs him to laugh and make some joke that we’ve really cemented our friendship now— or any lighthearted remark that will make last night mean something more than just being a colossal mistake, a huge dark mark on our friendship. I need him to say something that will make it all better. Anything but silence. But he stays quiet, as if he’s trying to piece together what happened between us. The silence stretches on and on, and I start to grow uneasy. If he doesn’t remember last night, I’m going to die of humiliation. Was I that unmemorable?

My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. Does he really not remember?

His phone chirps from the bedside table, but Justin makes no move to grab it. He’s still watching me. He’s still naked. And he doesn’t look nearly as worried as I feel. Does he seriously not remember last night? Any of it? The soft grunts he made into my neck as he thrust above me will be forever burned into my brain. The feel of his body moving over mine is a memory I’ll never be able to erase. The ache in my thighs and the tingle of my lady parts will fade, but I have a feeling my tattered heart will take much longer to recover.

His gaze cuts over toward Justin’s bedroom door, which is still closed. “I think Brady had an overnight guest too. I heard them going at it. But yeah, I’ll clear everyone out by the time you get back.” My heart hammers wildly in my chest. My own brother heard me fucking his friend last night. And Justin doesn’t even remember it. Welcome to the worst best day of my life. It doesn’t get much worse than this, folks.

He does, actually. Quite well in fact.

I need alcohol. She replies when I’m sitting in the back of the Uber. She doesn’t bother pointing out it’s only ten in the morning. What happened? Justin Fucking Brady. She knows how I feel about him. My stupid, secret crush wasn’t a secret I could ever keep from her. We have very few of those between us, if any. Oh girl.

“I slept with Justin last night.” It feels so weird to say that out loud. Becca’s hand flies up to her mouth. “Oh my God. Like …?” “Yeah.”

One second I was standing in his room, and the next I was on his bed with my hands in his hair as he kissed the daylights out of me.

“This morning we woke up beside each other, and he didn’t even remember last night. I don’t know what he thinks happened.” I take a deep breath, holding it in my lungs. I release the breath slowly, my heart aching. “He took my v-card, Becca, and he doesn’t even know it.”

She squeezes my shoulder. Then she grins. “Well... was he at least good in the sack?” I laugh for the first time all day. “Oh my God, Becca!” She chuckles, smiling at me. “What? I just want to know if the rumors are true.”

I know exactly which rumors she’s referring to. That his dick is huge. That he’s a giver in bed. That his stamina rivals that of the Energizer Bunny. They are all true. All except for one. From whispered conversations I’d overheard at various events over the years, I thought he didn’t like kissing. That one was proven false since we spent a long time making out on his bed. And I can say with certainty that the man is a damn good kisser. Passionate, but not sloppy.

“Today, tears,” she says, patting my back. “Tomorrow, we plot his murder and take over the world.”

I skate past Owen and he gives me a one-finger salute. “This fucking blows, dude,” he groans, huffing after me. I force a smile and nod at him. He wouldn’t be skating beside me, casually shooting the shit if he knew what I did to his baby sister Saturday night. My stomach tightens and I swallow down a wave of remorse, then push myself harder. My lungs burn and my thigh muscles ache with the effort, but the cut of my skates against the ice is the only thing keeping me grounded at the moment.

Plus, more downtime means more time to think. And thinking about my night with Elise is the last thing I can let myself do. I can barely look at Owen without feeling sick to my stomach over what I did. Waves of nausea hit me—out of fear he’ll find out, or over regret over what happened, I’m not sure.

It doesn’t matter that that night was the best night of my life. It doesn’t matter that in the morning, I wanted to hold her, wanted to kiss her, talk with her, ask what she was thinking, how she was feeling. Because the second I opened my eyes, I saw the regret written all over her face. From head to toe, she looked so uncomfortable. I let her believe I didn’t remember any of it. What else could I do?

But I’m so distracted by thoughts of Elise, I can barely focus. The memory of her in my bed, kneeling in front of me as she reached one hand out and rubbed my hard length through my jeans. Her lips on the sensitive skin at the base of my throat. Her breath sending goosebumps down the back of my neck. The hungry sound she made when I touched between her legs. God, she’d been so wet for me. It had been so easy between us. Felt so fucking right.

And I’d been enthralled with her. With every tiny whimper, with every stuttered breath as my lips moved over her chest, taking one perfect nipple in my mouth.

Then I’d laid her down on the pillow and knelt between her thighs… pushing into the tightest heat I’d ever felt … my balls ache at the memory. Nothing had ever felt better. Yeah I’d been drunk, but I couldn’t blame the alcohol. I knew exactly what I was doing. And besides, I’d been more drunk on her, on the phero...

But the look of hurt on her face the next morning was unmistakable. The way her lips trembled as she met my eyes. The way her hands curled into tense fists at her sides, and her mad rush to get away from me …that’s what fucking killed me. She got us coffee and food, and put on an Oscar-worthy performance of pretending the night before meant nothing. I didn’t know what else to do besides fo...

And then later that day when I changed my sheets and found a few coin-sized spots of blood on the bedding... a fresh wave of confusion and emotion, and finally realization had gutted me all over again. I swallow down my anger, nostrils flaring even now. I still can’t believe I let it get that far between us. That I to...

I know I should apologize, or call her, or do something, but it’s better if she just thinks I...

She was the one girl I could just be myself around. And now I’ve gone and fucked that up too. But what else could I do? I can’t exactly apologize for sticking my dick in her, and taking something that wasn’t mine to take.

Letting her believe I was too drunk to remember what happened is the safer alternative for everyone involved. Because dealing with the fallout? It’s not something I can handle. Owen’s my best friend. My roommate. My teammate. And Elise is way too good for me. Nothing good could come from admitting we slept together.

Inside the locker room, I strip down out of my equipment and take a lengthy shower. The hot water feels good on my aching muscles and I’m in no rush to leave the shower stall. I don’t know how long it’s going to take for the memories of Elise in my bed to fade, but I hope for my sake they do. The feel of her hands on my chest, memories of her huge blue-gray eyes peering up at mine as our bodies moved together …