Fall With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 4)

I’ve got a headache, and I’m 99 percent sure it has nothing to do with the punch I took to the mouth in the third period.

“Cara says she has a new friend.”

I roll my eyes, burying my face in my hands. I don’t need Emmett to point out the obvious, which is that the girls befriended my one-night stand and the team’s new photographer during the game. But when I look up, Emmett’s still grinning at me, his phone in his hand. It pings again, and he chuckles.

“What? What’s it say?”

His eyes snap to mine, and he folds his lips into his mouth. “Nothing.” He shrugs, turns his back on me, strips his boxers off, and heads for the showers. “Not a thing.”

“You’re a fucking liar!” I shout after him. “What’d they say about me?”

“Nothing!”

I groan, yanking my shin pads off. Carter’s humming a song, staring at his phone while he shakes his hips, which only serves to piss me off more.

“Hey.” He smiles at us. “Does anyone wanna do a T⁠—”

“Nobody wants to do a fucking TikTok!”

His eyes widen, and he exchanges a look with Garrett and Adam, mouthing wow.

“Someone’s testy,” Garrett mutters, but we both know he doesn’t want to be forced into one of Carter’s dance routines right now either.

Sighing, I yank off the rest of my equipment, stuffing it out of sight. The only thing keeping me from heading straight home to curl up on the couch with my emotional support cat is the promise of an ice-cold beer or two at the bar. Maybe that’ll take this edge off, the jagged one that’s been a thorn in my side ever since Lennon Hayes strolled into my arena with her perfect fucking curls and her perfect fucking tits, just to open her perfect fucking mouth and act like she was going to vomit at the sight of me.

Also, my gran’s sent me a photo of herself sprawled out on her living room floor, one hand over her forehead, eyes closed, with a text that says, Me, post–heart attack after your fight. Her dark sense of humor never ceases to amaze me.

A shadow slides over me, and a throat clears as Adam drops down to the bench beside me, already showered and dressed.

“Hey, big guy,” he starts cautiously. “Great game tonight.”

It physically pains me to keep my eyes from rolling, but it’s almost impossible to be snippy with Adam. He might be a beast in the net, but everywhere else, he’s our gentle giant. He’s also the friendliest guy you’ll ever meet, kind to a fault, and always looking on the bright side.

But there’s no bright side to your one-night stand suddenly being at your work every damn day.

“I spent seven minutes in the penalty box,” I remind him.

His head bobs, and he cracks a teeth-gritting grin, hitting me with two finger guns. “You’ve done worse.”

I manage a tired chuckle. “Thanks.”

He clears his throat again, leaning against the cubbies and lacing his fingers together. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know.”

“Nervous?”

“With Lennon watching. It’s natural when someone you have a crush on is⁠—”

I gasp. “A crush? I don’t have a crush on Lennon. What the fuck? First of all, Adam.” I rocket to my feet, tearing my boxers down my legs, ignoring Adam’s eye roll when my dick springs free. I jab a finger in his shoulder. “I don’t get crushes.”

He grins, looking away to hide it.

I prop my fists on my hips. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

Emmett walks out from the shower, looking between Adam and me. “What’s so funny?”

“Jaxon just said he doesn’t get crushes.”

Emmett barks a laugh. “Famous last words, bud.” He points at Carter, shaking his hips again, singing “My Girl” as he pulls on his clothes. “Carter said that. Six months later, he proposed.”

“Yeah, well”—I jab a finger in Carter’s direction before stomping my way toward the showers—“I’m nothing like him.”

“You’d be so lucky!” he shouts after me.

I stay in the shower way longer than I need to, ruminating on why Lennon is here and what I ever did to deserve this misfortune. Sure, it was the best sex I ever had, and yeah, okay, she’s the hottest girl I’ve ever seen in my life. But what am I supposed to do now that I have to see her every day? Be, like . . . friends? Yuck, no thanks. I’m barely even friends with my friends.

Look, I know how this goes. I’ve been down this road before. We hook up, I rock her world (obviously), she wants to be friends, and I reluctantly agree just to get her to stop talking. She winds up in love, and I wind up being the bad guy when she finds out I’ve been sleeping with whoever caught my eye that weekend. I once had to dump a girl I wasn’t even dating because she showed up at my door on a Sunday morning with coffee and bagels, wanting to go to the market for some fucking reason, and the woman I’d been with the night before strolled out of my bedroom ass-naked. Ellen snotted all over my shoulder while I held her in my living room, consoling her as my date slinked back into my room to give us a moment.

Was it Ellen? No . . . Ella? Yeah, it was Ella.

You know what? It was Ellen. I remember her clarifying for the barista at Starbucks the morning after we hooked up, after I “sneezed” at the same time I said her name. Damn allergies …

Anyway, if Lennon came here hoping for more, I don’t have more. Not for her, not for anyone.

If I were being honest with myself—which I’m not, and rarely ever am—I’d say I barely have enough for me.

Still, I drag this out a little longer, having to come face-to-face with the one woman my dick hasn’t forgotten as I peek into the hallway, watching as she snaps a few last-minute photos of my teammates as they leave, smiling and laughing with them like they’re all longtime fucking friends. When she finally takes off, I heave a sigh of relief, turning to my friends, waiting behind me with exhausted and unimpressed expressions.

“She’s gone.” I wave them through the door. “We can go now.”

“We could’ve gone at literally any moment,” Adam mutters.

“Yeah,” Garrett grumbles. “It’s not like she’s gonna bite you.”

“Actually.” I chuckle. “She did this thing—” I swipe a hand through the air. “Forget it. The important thing is I don’t have to see her again until tomorrow night. I get to relax, have a beer at the bar, and don’t have to worry about running into her.”

I see her the second I walk into the bar.

Chestnut spirals piled on top of her head, a few spilling free and framing her face, highlighting sharp copper cheekbones. I’m so fucking irritated when my gaze dips to her heart-shaped mouth, perfect ruby-painted lips turning up in the corners before pulling wide. Her head falls backward as laughter falls from her mouth, and my jaw tics when the rest of the table joins in.

In the center of our table—my table—Lennon Hayes sits and laughs with my friends.

“Uh, hey, so . . .” Emmett gives me a gritty grin. “Care invited Lennon.”

“I’m gonna kill your wife,” I mutter, feet cemented in place.

He snorts a laugh, and it takes no time at all for it to spiral out of control. Soon he’s wiping a tear from his eye. He claps my back and sighs. “That was a good one, buddy. You make me laugh.” He steps toward the table, where Carter, Garrett, and Adam have already raced ahead, pulling their girls from their seats, wrapping them in holds that teeter on the edge of suffocation. “C’mon, Riley. Your fate is waiting.”

Rolling my eyes, I stuff my hands in the pockets of my coat and follow along. It’d be awkward if I left now, and Lennon will think I’m scared of her or something. Which is totally and definitely not the case. I just don’t want to give her the wrong idea. I’ll stay for one beer, then head home to Mittens. He doesn’t like when I stay out longer than necessary anyway, not when I’m away from home so much in the first place.

“Jaxon!” Cara pins me with her brightest smile. I see right through it, all those perfect, straight white teeth, the sparkle in her eyes. She might be fooling Lennon, but she’s not fooling me. Her picture is in the dictionary next to conniving for a reason. “So glad you’re here!”

“I’m not staying long,” I mumble, gaze fixed on a spot on the far side of the bar. “Gotta get home to Mitts. He’s been pretty miserable since I got home from Cabo.” I scuff the floor with my shoe. “Missed me a lot.”

“He was fine when we watched him,” Garrett chimes in. “And he loves staying with Jennie when we’re on the road.”

“Yeah, well, who knows if Jennie treats him right.”

The table goes quiet, and my gaze rises to Jennie’s. Her blue eyes are already narrowed on me, and when she arches a brow, I flinch.

“You wanna try that again, Riley?” The quiet way her words carry across the air makes the hair on the back of my neck stand. Fuck, why are all the girls so scary?

“You take the most amazing care of him when I’m on the road and he loves you so much that he cries the entire drive home,” I whisper, wide eyes hooked on hers.

Jennie checks her nails. “Yeah, I know.”

My gaze doesn’t flick to Lennon.

Okay, I glance at her, and what the fuck? She’s acting like I don’t even exist, looking far too at home snuggled between Cara and Olivia. But this is my home. My friends. If they’re going to be anyone’s family, they’re going to be mine.

I don’t know whether to stay and fight for that spot, or call it a night—turn around and go home, accept what was always bound to happen at one point or another. That I’d be replaced.

Because there’s always someone better. Someone funnier, someone smarter, someone kinder. Someone who just fits, and every time I think that someone is going to be me, I’m wrong. I’m already the odd man out, the one trying to fill the minuscule spaces left in their group. But what if Lennon can do it better?

A finger prods my neck, and I glare down at Cara’s amused eyes peeking up at me.

“Why, Jaxon,” she murmurs. “This vein right here looks like it may pop.”

I swat her hand away, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her in for what looks like a hug. “You sneaky son of a bitch,” I mutter in her ear. “I’m gonna⁠—”

“You’re gonna what, Jaxon?” Her eerie whisper sends a shiver scattering down my spine, even as I stand here at six foot five, with seven inches on this fierce woman. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna slide your cute little butt in the booth, have a drink, and behave.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She wraps her hand around my elbow, pulling me close once more. “Relax, Jaxon. We’re not replacing you.”

The tension stacked in my shoulders eases as Cara shoves me into the booth, beside the nicest and least scary of the girls.

“How are your balls?” Rosie asks, offering me a deep-fried pickle from her plate.

“Thank you for asking. Nobody ever does.”

“Because if you’d just sleep with underwear on, you’d eliminate the problem of your cat using your balls for batting practice,” Adam mutters, and when the fuck did he get such an attitude?

“Free-ballin’ it is the only way to live.” I crunch a pickle between my teeth. “You’re just mad ’cause you got a toddler at home that prevents you from sleeping with your dick out.”

“Not me,” Carter boasts. “I sleep naked.”

“Ireland is still in a crib,” Olivia reminds him. “She can’t very well walk into our room at the crack of dawn and find us having sex.”

Carter tears at a chicken wing. “So we keep her in da cwib fo-eba.” He swallows, chucking the cleaned bone to his plate. “Problem solved.”

“I’m not even going to entertain that with an answer, Carter.”

“Message received.” He winks at her. “You’ll entertain me later.”

Olivia rolls her eyes, turning her attention to her other side. “So, Lennon, you said you just moved here?”

Rosie reaches for a pickle, but I yank the plate away from her, staring down at it as I shove the deep-fried goodness into my mouth, not even bothering with the sauce, which is my favorite part. She gasps, looking up at me with wide, betrayed eyes, and I roll mine, handing her a pickle as I tune Lennon out.

“Just got in a couple of days ago,” she says, and I distinctly remember her voice being ten thousand times more annoying when she was yelling at me from her villa.

“Where from?” Olivia cocks her head. “You’ve got a bit of an accent, and I can’t place it. Southern, almost.”

I tilt my head, angling my ear toward the conversation. I’m positive I remember that accent, slight and barely there, a few drawn-out words and this throaty rasp that made my cock jump when she paired it with my name.

“I grew up in Georgia, but I was born in Toronto. I always say my Canadian dims my Southern. My dad took a job in Georgia, where he was born, so we relocated to Augusta when I was a kid to be close to family.”

“Oh, wow,” Adam says. “A big move, Georgia to British Columbia. What made you want to come out here?”

“Yeah,” I murmur, and why am I speaking? My gaze collides with Lennon’s, and my mouth opens again. “Have a thing for hockey players?”

I see it, for a fleeting moment. The race of the pulse in her neck, the flare of her eyes. And then it’s gone. She picks up her glass, swirls the pink cocktail, holds my gaze. “Never met a single one that did a thing for me. I find most of them entirely . . .” Her eyes move over me. “Underwhelming.” She tosses her drink back with a single gulp, then places her hand on Cara’s arm. “Excuse me, Cara. I’m going to grab another drink.”

I’m on my feet the second her ass graces my vision, bouncing side to side as she strolls across the bar.

“Sit the fuck down,” Adam mutters.

“I’m just getting a drink,” I lie, yanking at the tie still around my neck.

“I say go for it,” Carter offers. “I like her.”

“I’m not going for anything.” Right? I don’t think so. No, of course not. I don’t need to hear that she’s lying to save face, that I actually rocked her world. I definitely don’t need to remind her how good it was.

. . . Do I?

“I’m just getting a drink,” I lie again.

Garrett crunches a nacho chip. “You’re a bad liar.”

“Horrible,” Emmett agrees, then points at Carter with his beer. “But—and it pains me to say this—I agree with him.”

Carter woops a fist through the air. “I always have amazing ideas!”

“Not at all what I said.” Emmett looks at me, lifting his brows. “Tell me you’re not going for it again, and I’ll point out that you pulled off your tie, popped the first three buttons on your shirt, and are currently running your fingers through your hair.”

“What? No, I’m—” I grip my hair in my fist, my tie dangling from the other one. Buttons? One, two, three, popped. Shit. Smashing my tie on the table, I point to the bar. “I’m going to get a drink. Then I’m gonna find someone hot, take them home, and enjoy the fuck out of my night. And you know who it’s not gonna be?”

“Lemme guess,” Adam drawls, uninterested, or maybe it’s exhausted. “Len⁠—”

“Lennon.” Standing, I tug at my shirt. It feels too tight, and I want it off. “Now sit back and watch me work.”

“Have fun with Mittens,” Cara calls after me, and fuck her, because nobody cuddles like Mittens does.

I prop myself up at one end of the bar, as far from Lennon as possible. Her eyes narrow on mine, and I swear to God the little shit lifts her hand, scratching her nose with only her middle finger.

“Hi,” someone breathes on my neck. It’s hot and moist and I hate that word so I automatically hate them. The pretty redhead swings around me, seating herself on the stool that’s practically between my legs. “You’re Jaxon Riley.”

I see Lennon’s eyes roll from across the bar, so I turn the charm on, grinning down at my new friend. “The one and only.”

“I’m Theresa. And you’re my favorite player.”

“You’re a hockey fan? Gorgeous girl like you?” I brush a strand of hair off her cheek as she bats her lashes. “How about that second inning, huh? Did you see when I scored from the fifty-yard line?”

“Yes, oh my gosh!” She leans into me, squeezing my forearm. “That was amazing!”

I close my eyes so I can safely roll them straight to heaven, and Lennon’s snort of laughter is unmistakable. It makes me want this so much more, even if I’ll have to swallow a fuckton of pride to take home someone who’s just confused hockey, baseball, and football in a single minute.

“You must not have been at the game,” I murmur, tracing the infinity symbol on her bracelet. It’s clunky and silver, like I could hook it to my bed post while I fucked her and it wouldn’t budge. Nothing like the delicate gold chain Lennon’s allergy alert hung from. I had to twine my fingers through hers just to keep from accidentally ripping it off. “I’d never miss such a stunning creature.”

Another giggle, and Tessa beckons me closer, bringing her lips to my ear as my gaze locks with Lennon’s. “You should see me naked.”

My brows skyrocket. Lennon’s pull down.

I grin. Lennon scowls.

Trisha grips my biceps, pulling back to look me in the eyes while she licks her lower lip. “Sixty-nine is my favorite number.”

I look back to Lennon to gauge her reaction, because she suffocated me with her pussy while I fed her my cock in Cabo, but she’s not listening anymore. She’s turned away, looking through a menu, and what the fucking fuck, I want her attention.

I pry off the hand wrapped around my arm. “Not interested, Terry.”

“It’s fucking Theresa, you asshole,” she growls after me. “And I don’t even watch hockey!”

“Shocking,” I mutter, stopping behind Lennon, tugging the menu out of her hand. “Hi, honey. I’ve missed you.”

“Jesus—” Her hands curl into tight fists, eyes squeezed shut. Then she spins around, shoving my arms away from her, and those same eyes zero in on me.

They’re exactly how I remember them. Deep and rich, cinnamon and spice. Intoxicating then, fucking intoxicating now.

I hate it.

She flings her arms across her chest and arches a brow. “Can I help you?”

“Now, honey. Is that any way to greet your husband after you slipped out of bed in the middle of the night? I’ve been worried sick about you.” I catch the bartender’s eye. “Two Bahama Mamas, please. They’re her favorite.”

Lennon’s jaw tightens, nostrils flaring. She clears her throat. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Jason, was it?”

My mouth dips to her ear. “You and I both know you know what my name is. Your throat was raw from screaming it all night.”

“Hm. Nope. Couldn’t be me.” Her gaze moves down, then back up, top lip curling with what must be disinterest. It certainly couldn’t be disgust. “Fuckboy isn’t my type.”

“No?” I slide a twenty to the bartender when he drops our drinks in front of us. “Weird. It was your type when my cock was down your throat and my tongue was buried in your sweet cunt.”

Her eyes widen, and the way she chokes on her slushy drink is so damn similar to the way she choked on my cock. “Jaxon.” Her gaze darts around the bar. “Shut up or I’ll shut you up.”

I grin, stepping behind her when she twists away, focusing on her drink. With my arms on either side of her, I drop my chin to her shoulder. “Don’t tempt me, honey. I like the way you shut me up, and you know you do too. Don’t you, Lennon?”

“Oh my God.” Her curls whip me in the face when she spins around. “You can’t remember the name of the date you took on vacation with you, but you remember mine? Come on.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her brows jump. “You’re welcome?”

“It’s a compliment, isn’t it?”

She chuckles, the sound so dark I wonder if Cara taught her. “You really think you’re all that and a bag of chips, don’t you?”

“I—” I drop my face, cackling. “‘All that and a bag of chips?’ Who are you, my gran?”

“If your gran also thinks you’re an egotistical ass, then yes.”

“My gran thinks the sun shines outta my ass, Len, and I think it just might.”

She rolls her eyes, gulping down her drink, flicking that tongue across her lower lip. She misses the sugar from the rim, and when I reach forward, dragging my thumb across that plump lip, gathering the sugar and sucking it off, her breath hitches, eyes glossing over.

“Did you come here for me, Lennon?”

“For fuck’s sake,” she mutters, spell broken as she shoves at my chest. “If you’re good at two things in this life, it’s picking fights on the ice and eating pussy; I’ll give you that.”

I run my palm over my proud chest. “Thanks.”

She sticks her finger in my face. “I needed this job. If I’d known it would, somehow in this godforsaken world, lead me back to you a second time, I would’ve run the other way.” She finishes her drink, slams the glass down, and picks up the menu I threw down earlier. “Mmm, that sounds good,” she murmurs to herself, tapping on my favorite raspberry lemon cheesecake.

“It’s delicious,” I say, pulling the menu away again, because I want her attention. “But you can’t have it. There are almonds in the crust.”

“I—” She blinks up at me for a quiet moment, then shakes her head. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’d rather be wine-drunk and trying to read Swedish instructions right now.”

“Huh?”

She hooks her purse over her arm, pushing by me. “Bye, Jason. It’s been a time.”

“Wait,” I call after her, and I don’t know why. I scratch my head, because this isn’t . . . I mean, I thought . . . Well, to be honest, I thought this was gonna go in a totally different direction. “But, like . . . you don’t wanna be . . . friends?”

Her face twists in—motherfucker, again?—disgust. “I’d rather get my period while wearing white pants and not have a single tampon on hand.”

She turns to leave again, but pauses, hitting me with a patronizing smile over her shoulder.

“In case that wasn’t clear enough, that’s a fuck no, fuckboy.”