Down and Dirty (Hot Jocks #5)
Kendall Ryan
1
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Cheers
Landon
“Buck up, soldier,” my friend Owen, star goalie for the Seattle Ice Hawks, says as he thumps one hand on my shoulder.
Easy for him to say. He’s engaged to the woman he loves, and is loved by adoring fans across the country. Basically, he’s got the world by the balls.
In comparison, my life feels like it’s on the brink of falling apart. But no one wants to hear me complain about that right now, because we all just flew in by private jet to celebrate Owen and Becca’s joint bachelor/bachelorette party in Sin City.
Yay.
Cue the sarcasm.
“I’m fine,” I say, tipping my chin toward the packed dance floor. “Go dance with your soon-to-be wife and quit bugging me.”
Owen’s gaze strays over to where his fiancée, Becca, is on the dance floor, moving her hips beside a couple of our female friends, one of them being Aubree Derrick. Aubree, the petite brunette with the killer curves and fiery attitude who captured my attention the second I met her. She’s a total smoke show. But I try not to let myself notice things like that about her, because the minute I do, I need to go on boner patrol.
My drink arrives as Aubree dances, or rather shimmies her ass in one direction and flails her arms in another. As I watch, I laugh for the first time all night, because dancing is clearly not her strong suit. But she’s still hot as fuck, and I can’t take my eyes off her.
The club is loud, almost deafening. Deep, sultry bass thumps around me, and the room is dim except for the flashing blue and purple lights. It’s been easy to go unnoticed, tucked inside the curved booth while the rest of our group makes good use of the dance floor.
I take a sip of the stiff drink in front of me, hoping it will calm some of the pent-up energy stewing inside me. From the outside, my life seems great . . . I’m a twenty-three-year-old rookie on one of the best hockey teams in the country, earning close to seven figures. But I didn’t get much ice time this season, and now I’m not sure where I stand with the team.
My future feels like it’s on the brink of collapsing, and all I can picture is having to move back home to live with my dad, and get a minimum-wage job at the shoe store I worked at in high school, while some other asshole is living my dream. I signed an entry-level contract, which means there are no guarantees. Next year could be it for me. If I don’t get more playing time, why the hell would Coach keep me? I’m an overpriced bench warmer. A bearded cheerleader.
I rub one hand across my stubbled jaw, remembering that I shaved a few days ago. Scratch that—I’m a sulky cheerleader minus the beard.
A few seconds later, the gorgeous Aubree slides into the booth next to me, and I scoot over to give her more space. “Why aren’t you dancing?” she asks, bringing the straw in her vodka soda to her lips to take a long drink.
Her pulse thrums steadily in her neck. She’s flushed and slightly breathless. My gaze strays to her lips before I can look away.
I shrug. “Don’t really feel like it.”
“You don’t have to babysit tonight, Covington. You can get drunk and make bad decisions along with the rest of us.” She smirks, watching me closely as she leans in and sucks on her straw again.
She’s referring to the fact that I usually abstain from drinking, happy to play the role of designated driver when the team goes out.
“This isn’t water,” I say, swirling the clear tequila in my glass, lifting a brow in her direction.
“Good.” She pulls a tube of lip gloss from her purse and runs it over her lips. Seriously, is she trying to taunt me? “For the record, I never thought that was fair that they made you play DD as the rookie on the team.”
I turn and glance at her. God, she’s like a cookie I want to bite into. “They didn’t make me. I choose not to drink during the season.”
“Oh.” Her mouth parts in surprise, and her eyes twinkle. “So you mean to say that you guarded our drinks while we danced, drove people home, and even humored drunken requests for burritos at all hours because of the kindness in your heart?”
I chuckle. “Something like that.”
“You’re one of the good guys, aren’t you, Covey?” She pats me on the thigh with one slender hand, and my groin tightens.
Aubree and I met for the first time earlier this year at a charity event. As the director of the team’s charity organization, she’s friendly with most of the players and their girlfriends, and has been a frequent member of this new crew I’ve found myself pulled into. But she’s never once expressed any interest in me. Never looked at me like I’m anything more than just the rookie on the team.
I’ve told myself it’s a good thing—that I don’t have time for distractions this season. But now she’s giving me a hungry, desire-filled look, and I’m weak as fuck.
Aubree slowly pulls her hand away and adjusts the spaghetti strap of her little black dress, calling attention to her cleavage.
I shift in my seat, trying to alleviate the sudden pressure I’m experiencing below my belt. “I mean, I pay my taxes on time and I haven’t murdered anyone, but let’s not get carried away.”