Behind the Net: a grumpy sunshine hockey romance

WE STEP INSIDE to a wall of sound—thumping music, laughter, conversation. The door guy checks our names off on a list before a woman takes my coat.

A ripple of curiosity moves throughout the dim space and my skin prickles under the weight of interested gazes. My pulse whooshes in my ears as I glance around, giving a tight smile to a few people I recognize. On the second floor, more people gather, and there’s someone at the top of the stairs letting people in and out. That would be the VIP section.

A flash of pale blond hair catches my attention up there, and my stomach freezes. In the dim lighting, I can just make her out, laughing and tossing her hair over her shoulder. Zach will be nearby, no doubt.

Jamie’s warm hand lands on my lower back.

“How about a drink?” he murmurs in my ear, and I nod. He leads me over to the bar and orders a whiskey sour for me and a beer for himself.

“I’m just going to have one.” His eyes flick to my hair. “I’ll be fine to drive.”

“I know.” I laugh quietly. “You’re Mr. Responsible.”

His gaze drops to my mouth, and my blood spikes with electricity. “Not always,” he mutters, taking his beer from the bartender before thanking her.

“Pippa!” Alissa shrieks, and I flinch as she throws her arms around my neck. “You made it.”

I force a smile. “Of course.”

She turns to Jamie, staring at him like he’s a piece of cheesecake she’s about to devour. “Hi.”

“This is Jamie,” I tell her.

He shakes her hand, and she’s practically drooling. There’s a crackle of pleasure in my chest, but when she bats her lashes at him, the back of my neck prickles with irritation.

“How do you two know each other?” she asks, still gazing at him.

His hand returns to my lower back. “I’m her boyfriend.”

My thoughts drop off a cliff. His hand slides up my back, over the bare skin of my shoulders, before it rests on the part where my shoulder meets my neck. It’s a possessive gesture that makes my heart beat harder, and every brain cell in my head stumbles.

“Yeah,” I say stupidly, staring at him.

He winks at me. He winks at me. His mouth curves up on one side, and I’m fascinated by the movement.

“Wow.” Alissa tilts her head at me, blinking. “So soon.” She glances up at the VIP section, and we all know exactly what she’s implying.

Anger drips into my blood, but I don’t let it show. I bet no one fucking said wow, so soon to Zach and his new friend.

Jamie tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. I can’t breathe. I just stare at him in disbelief and awe. He’s so good at this.

“With the right person,” he says, holding my gaze, “you just know.”

I could kiss him right here. In one sentence, he’s solidified the impression I make tonight as well as implied that Zach wasn’t the right guy for me. Give this guy an Academy Award.

More people from the tour swarm us, and Alissa introduces Jamie to everyone as my boyfriend. One of the tour electricians is a hockey fan, and that sets off another round of questions and curious but impressed glances at me.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the hockey fan asks Jamie.

His hand slips down, taking mine. “Thank you, but I’m driving us home.”

His hand is huge, warm, and calloused, and I lean against the bar counter for support. This is a lot, pretending with him like this, and I’m starting to like it too much.

“We live in Gastown.” His eyes meet mine and there’s a flash of humor in his gaze just for me.

“You live together,” one of the makeup artists repeats, and she stares at one of the hair stylists with meaning.

Every woman knows this look. It’s the one I shoot Hazel sometimes that means we will gossip about this later. My chest squeezes and I tamp down my smile.

A few minutes later, a staff member for the event appears at my side.

“You’ve been invited upstairs,” he says imperiously, like I’ve been summoned by a king.

Jamie’s mouth is by my ear again. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he murmurs, and his breath tickles my neck. It’s hard to think when he does that. I can smell his aftershave, and it makes me feel like pulling him down a dark hallway and reliving our kiss.

He pulls back to look down at me, and mischief sparks in his eyes. I’m so intrigued by this version of the surly goalie. “Or we can have some fun,” he whispers, glancing at my mouth.

I wilt out of pure horniness. Jamie Streicher is going to kill me tonight.

A rueful smile twists onto my mouth as I nod at him. “Okay.”

Alone, this would be god-awful and terrifying. With Jamie, though, it feels like we’re in it together. Like we’re at a costume party where our costumes are so good, no one can recognize us. Playing a couple feels like a shield, a private joke just for us.

With him by my side, I’m okay. I’ve got this.

The staff member leads us up the stairs to the VIP section, and I feel eyes on us the entire way. Jamie’s hand is on my arm, helping me in these tottering heels. Halfway up, my steps falter as hesitation claws up my throat.

Panic begins to pound in my chest and I can’t take a full breath. I’m back at the airport, crying in the terminal after I was thrown out like yesterday’s trash.

“Hey.” Jamie looks down at me, concern crossing over his expression. “Remember what I said.”

Right. Outside. I’m your goalie tonight. I’ll block all your shots.

I nod at him. Meeting his eyes settles my racing heart. “You won’t let him get between my crease?” I whisper, smiling. It’s a phrase I heard one of the commentators say while I watched one of Jamie’s away games. It means to score a goal, and it sounds dirty as hell. I’m trying to make him smile.

His lip curls like he’s disgusted, and I laugh.

“In your crease,” he mutters. “And no, I fucking won’t.”

He says it sharp, with jealousy, but maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part. As I step onto the landing at the top of the steps, I lean my weight onto his arm.

“Why’d you wear these ridiculous shoes?”

I shrug. “Because they’re hot.”

His gaze lingers on my legs. “Yeah” is all he says.

The staff member unhooks the velvet rope, and I try not to roll my eyes. Did this stuff ever impress me? I hate that the party is so divided. Zach wouldn’t even have a tour if not for all the people on the main floor who bust their asses every night, racing to fix last-minute audio issues or hunt for replacement equipment. He has no clue how half their jobs even work.

“Pippa.”

Zach’s in my face, wrapping me in a hug. His scent is in my nose, and my heart lodges in my throat. My skin crawls as he embraces me and our ears brush. A repulsed shiver rolls down my back. This is nothing like when I touch Jamie. It’s cold and stiff, and the second Zach lets me go, I back away—straight into Jamie.

His arm locks around my waist, pinning me to his side, and I breathe a sigh of relief. That’s so much better.

Zach’s staring at me with a surprised smile, blinking with a tiny frown like I’m someone he can’t place. “Look at you.”

“Hi.” I still can’t really breathe, but Jamie gives my waist a squeeze before he drags his nails over the velvet fabric. I wonder if he likes that sensation, because I sure do.

Pippa. Focus. I force a smile at Zach.

He’s wearing a fluorescent yellow hoodie with reflective strips, what people on construction sites wear as safety gear, and I kind of hate him for it. A few months ago, he told me he needed to start dressing to set trends, because he was a celebrity now. He’s trying to be fashionable, but it feels insincere, like he’s trying too hard.

He swallows, still staring at me in that funny way, before gesturing at my dress with appreciation. “You look amazing.”

I can’t lie, I’m pleased. This look on Zach’s face? It’s satisfying as hell.

Just like everyone downstairs, Zach turns to Jamie and balks.

“Jamie Streicher.” Jamie holds his hand out. He’s way taller than Zach, and I stifle the urge to laugh. “Pippa’s boyfriend.”

Zach’s hand freezes mid-air before he recovers and shakes Jamie’s. “Yeah, we went to the same high school,” he says, and the words are toneless.

“Right.” I nod.

When Zach looks back at me, there are knives in his gaze. He gestures behind him, and his platinum blond appears, gliding forward like she’s been summoned. “Have you met Layla?”

Jamie’s hand tightens on my waist. No, I have not fucking met her, and Zach knows that.

I hate pretending to be okay with something. I hate how everyone’s playing their little roles, including me and Jamie, and I hate that I ever felt the need to show these people up.

Zach doesn’t matter, and these people aren’t my friends. I realize that now. I knew it before, but it’s smacking me in the face tonight.

“Hi.” I smile at her and shake her hand. Her hand is so tiny, like a child’s, and I try not to roll my eyes. “Pippa.”

She nods with wide eyes. “Layla.”

The way she smiles at me, though, it’s kind and shy, and I pause. I thought she’d be this Cruella type, cackling in victory that she stole my man, but she seems young, small, and quiet. Zach takes a step forward, and her eyelashes flutter as she backs up.

Oh. Pity, or maybe empathy, rises in my stomach at the way she’s dismissed. I know how that feels.

Zach waves us over to the group. I recognize a few people from TV shows and movies, a couple guys from a band I like. Jamie takes a seat, and before I can sit beside him, he pulls me into his lap.

He’s so warm and solid, and his hands settle on my waist like they belong there. I know this is just for show, but my face heats with shyness. I think back to standing outside Jamie’s building for the first time, psyching myself up to go in. How intimidating he was at first. How handsome I thought he was—and still do. Sitting in his lap is not how I thought this would go.

I’m not complaining, though.

Zach’s eyes snag on me sitting there, but I turn away like I don’t care.

“When you make a deal,” I tell Jamie quietly, “you really deliver.”

His gaze drops to my mouth, and I wonder how far he’ll take it tonight. Heat moves over my skin, and even though my legs, shoulders, and arms are bare tonight, I don’t feel cold.

The server brings me another drink and a water for Jamie, and he gets pulled into a conversation about hockey with the guitarist on Zach’s tour. I pretend to listen, but really, my attention is on Zach and Layla.

She sits beside him, listening to him talk to the group. He doesn’t address her once, and she wears a forced smile. No one talks to her.

I feel bad for her.

I also wonder, was that me? I think back to these parties and how I felt lucky to be there, lucky to have Zach’s attention on me. Layla glances over at me and smiles, and I feel the urge to hug her. It’d be weird if I did, I know that, but it looks like she needs one. I showed up here tonight, ready to hate her, but now I just want to drag her with me when we leave.

The guy Jamie was talking to gets up to greet someone, and Jamie’s hand slides from my waist to my hip. His gaze is on Zach.

“So that’s the kind of guy you go for.” His tone is flat and unhappy.

I watch Zach regale the group with a story. He’s thriving as the center of attention, and as he says something and everyone laughs, I catch him glancing around to gauge their reactions.

He wants them to like him so badly.

“Not anymore,” I tell Jamie.

Our eyes meet, and the chill in his gaze fades a fraction. Is he thinking about when I told him he was gorgeous, or the kiss in the hallway?

“And all this.” His fingers squeeze my hip and his gaze roams my face, my hair, my dress. “It’s not for him?”

I laugh in disbelief. “What? Jamie,” I murmur. “Of course it’s not for him.”

His nostrils flare, and I have the urge to stroke my finger down his strong nose.

“What the fuck am I supposed to think, Pippa?” His green eyes flash and he grips my hip harder.

Oh. I like that feeling.

“You pulled out all the stops for this guy.” He runs his free hand back through his hair, messing it up. “It’s the ultimate revenge, isn’t it? To make him want you back?” His teeth clench. “To make him beg to fuck you?”

I’m speechless, blinking, jaw dropping to the floor in shock.

“Jamie,” I say, but I have no follow-up. I try to turn on his lap, but his big hands anchor me in place.

“Stop moving,” he bites out, and a moment later, I feel it—the hard press of his erection into my backside.

My eyes go wide.

I know tonight is fake, and this is probably just his body’s reaction to me sitting in his lap. This unsettled, angry side of Jamie is lighting me up, though, sending heat through my blood, and I’m hyperaware of his stiff length against me, his hands on my hips, the way his fingers brush the soft fabric, how they tense when he looks at my mouth.

It feels good to be someone more than the girl who got stepped on.

“That’s not the ultimate revenge,” I say softly.

His dark eyes meet mine, pinning me. His jaw ticks.

My mouth curves into a smile, and I don’t even recognize myself right now. “The ultimate revenge would be fucking you.”