Pucking Revenge : A Fake dating, friends to lovers, hockey romance (The Revenge Games Book 2)

THERE’S a secret bar that can only be accessed from beneath the arena and the baseball stadium down the block. Naturally, the Langfields own it. Its purpose, obviously, is to allow the players for both Boston teams a place to cut loose and relax away from the prying eyes of their fans and the media.

During the first month I lived in Boston, the guys on the team talked me into coming out with them, but since that night, I’ve rarely been here. The unspoken rule is that in order to be here, you have to be invited by a player. This is where they come to relax, so more often than not, they don’t invite guests. That fact makes it the perfect place for the Langfields to hang with Ford Hall and Lake Paige tonight.

“I can’t believe we’re really here.” Hannah is practically vibrating with excitement next to me while we wait for our drinks at the bar.

Every inch of this place is covered in sports memorabilia: Black and white images of past championships. Souvenirs from world series games played at Lang Field. Even the picture of the Bolts players on the ice with the Cup after last year’s win.

A sense of quiet respect reverberates in this space. It’s only underscored by the low din of the music, the dimmed lighting, and brick walls.

I bump her shoulder and take in the small crowd that’s gathered. “It’s incredible.”

Brooks, who disappeared along with his brothers when we arrived—probably to discuss the fight with his uncle, which was impossible to miss—is back, cool and calm as always.

Me? I’m the opposite of cool and calm. My body is on fire, and I didn’t suit up and play a hockey game. I didn’t come within inches of getting into a physical altercation. And I wasn’t forced to do one hundred push-ups on the ice in front of thousands of fans.

After all that, how is it possible that he can look so at ease? So perfectly put together and handsome? So unaffected?

Hannah grins up at him. “She looks good in your number, Brooks.”

He eyes me over the rim of his lowball glass as he sips his whiskey, the epitome of calm. When he brings the drink back down, he lifts one brow. That’s the only reaction the comment gets from him. “That she does.”

When Hannah turns to accept her drink from the bartender, I nudge Brooks with my elbow.

“Are you upset that I’m wearing your jersey?”

“Upset?” He frowns. “Not in the slightest.”

Maybe he isn’t now, but he was. Before the game, when I bumped into him outside the locker room, he went from almost possessive to aloof in the blink of an eye. I want to know why. “You just seemed…I don’t know, put off by it.”

He shakes his head and blows out a breath, moving into my space. “The last thing I am is put off by the sight of you in my jersey, Pumpkin. It’s just…” He fingers the blue fabric, pulling at the bottom of it. “I’d prefer it if you were wearing it for me.”

Confused, I tilt my head and study his resigned expression. “Who else would I be wearing it for?”

“You said you were wearing it to upset my uncle.”

Ah, that’s what this is about. The worry gnawing at me eases as my stomach does a little flip. “Oh, Brookie baby.”

He glares at me. Apparently he doesn’t like that nickname either.

“I did wear it for you. Because you want to piss your uncle off.” Pressing closer so only he can hear me, I pop up onto my toes and whisper, “This revenge isn’t for me, Brooks. I wouldn’t be doing this if not for you.”

Any feelings I had for Seb dissipated before I found out he was married. The relationship was over the second he tried to tell me who I could be friends with. I don’t need revenge. What I need is for my best friend to be happy. If revenge will do that, then so be it.

“Really?” He watches me from beneath furrowed brows. Though his tone is guarded, he gently cuffs the back of my neck and holds me in place. I’m significantly shorter than my monster of a best friend, but like this, we’re practically nose to nose, like he’s holding me up by my neck. Or maybe he’s just leaning down into my space. It’s hard to tell when all the oxygen has left my brain with his lips this close to my own.

What the hell is happening right now, and why am I licking my lips wishing that I could be licking his instead?

“It’s you and me, Brooks. You’re all that matters.”

His green eyes bounce between mine, as if he’s searching for a lie. He won’t find one. I don’t tell them. If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be. I don’t do things unless I want to, and I’m honest to a fault.

There isn’t even a hint of sugarcoating going on here. Not when I’m in this state. Right now I’m too consumed with trying to figure out why the hell I’m literally aching for him to press closer. Why I crave his heat and the feel of his hard body against mine.

“You know what’s funny?”

The sound of Hannah’s voice so close sends a jolt of shock through me. Blinking rapidly, I suck in one heady breath, then another, willing my brain to come back online.

Brooks’s grip on the back of my neck eases incrementally, but he remains focused on me for a long moment before finally releasing me and turning to face Hannah. I feel the loss instantly. It’s like the power went out just as the best part of the movie began, and it’s one that I don’t know the name of, so I can’t cue it up again to discover how it ends.

It’s silly that I feel that way, but the panic of it almost claws at me.

“What’s funny, Han?” Brooks grasps my hips and tugs me so I’m standing directly in front of him.

It’s hard to focus on their words when his thumb has slipped just inside the waistband of my jeans. It’s not even moving, and I’m acutely aware of every indent in that damn piece of flesh. I have to focus on each breath in and back out to remain conscious of the conversation.

Hannah shakes her head. “For months, you’ve been getting texts from SL, so I assumed the man you were dating had those initials. But all along, it was Brooks. I never put the pieces together.”

My stomach knots, and I cough out an uncomfortable laugh. “Oh, that is funny.”

“It’s because I was her secret lover,” Brooks says without pause.

Fuck, he’s so good at thinking on his feet. Goalies really do work best under pressure, I guess. But I’m more impressed by the BS he just pulled out of thin air than I am by any of his saves tonight. Quite frankly, it’s tied with the moment he almost knocked Seb out in the middle of the game, and that’s saying something.

Hannah smacks my arm and grins. “Oh my God. You two are so adorable. Seriously, the cutest!”

For a moment, guilt over the lie swamps me. In general, I have little issue with what we’re doing because it makes Brooks happy. But watching as Hannah, a woman I consider a friend, turns practically giddy over our 100-percent fabricated romance sends a streak of unease down my spine.

And yet…as I burn up beneath my best friend’s thumb like this, I’m not sure I’ve felt more right in a long, long time.

“You guys want to play pool?” Hannah tips her head at the group behind us.

The Halls are here. They’ve settled in with Beckett and Gavin. Liv is stationed on a bar chair with a water in her hand. Beckett is hovering beside her, as if he’s protecting her from the crush of a mosh pit rather than the two dozen chill patrons in the not so crowded bar.

I nudge Brooks and nod in their direction so he can see what I’m seeing. His brother really can be so damn adorable when it comes to Liv. I can’t wait to see how much more aggressive that protectiveness becomes as her pregnancy progresses.

Brooks nudges me back gently. “Maybe in a bit. My body is kinda beat from the game. I might sit for a minute, but you should go play.”

Hannah’s brows are high on her forehead as she watches me, waiting for my response.

Though she’s probably silently hoping I’ll be her wing woman, I’m desperate to get back to the conversation Brooks and I were having. I want to get the power turned back on and cross my fingers that the movie from earlier will pick up right where it left off. Ya know, in that moment when Brooks almost kind of maybe might have been thinking about kissing me.

“I’m gonna hang too,” I tell my friend. “Go play.”

Hannah doesn’t put up a fight, and a moment later, she wanders over to Liv. She’s really itching to hang out with Daniel Hall, and if I wasn’t so invested in finding out what’s going through Brooks’s head, I’d be searching for a bag of popcorn to snack on while I watched that interaction play out.

At this moment, though, I want nothing more than to focus solely on the man who’s settling in a seat at the bar beside me.

The slow way he lowers himself and the grimace that flashes across his face make it obvious he’s in pain.

I hop up onto the stool beside him and drop one elbow to the lacquered bar top as I swivel to face him. “You always this sore after a game?”

Brooks sips his whiskey and shrugs, his attention fixed on the variety of bottles behind the bar. “It’s nothing.”

Lips pursed, I eye him. “Maybe your girlfriend should give you a rubdown when you get home.”

That makes Brooks choke on his whiskey. “Fuck, Pumpkin.” He pounds his chest with a fist and gasps for air.

I giggle, bringing my drink to my mouth. It’s a pumpkin martini that seemed to magically appear when I turned around. Brooks is always seeing to my needs in that way. “This is delicious.”

Lips tugged up on one side, he shakes his head and turns away.

“So are we going to talk about earlier, secret lover?”

Brooks hums, still studying the fascinating bottles of liquor behind the bar, it seems.

Commotion from the entrance has me turning, and when I catch sight of Sebastian walking in with his nephew Vin, I scowl.

“Seriously?”

Brooks follows my line of sight and stiffens. On instinct, I scoot closer to him, and he surprises me by turning until he’s facing me and widening his thick thighs. Then he pulls my stool so I’m wedged between his legs. His heavy hand lands on mine, and he tugs my fingers into his and squeezes.

I’m not sure if his natural inclination is to protect me from Seb, or if he’s doing this for show. Knowing Brooks, he’s being protective.

The thought sends a wave of relief over me. I lean my head against his chest and sigh, letting my shoulders ease a bit lower.

Still holding tight to my hand, he drapes his free arm over my shoulder and pulls me even closer, if that’s possible. The feel of his strong chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat, and the smell of him—all man and musk from his shower gel—coax my body to soften against him further. I’ve never been quite as comfortable as I am when I’m in his arms. His thumb scrapes softly against my shoulder as he whispers “I got you, Pumpkin” into the top of my head.

What he doesn’t understand is that I don’t need protection. What I’m doing here, and what I did at the game tonight, is all for him. But if it makes him feel better, then I’m okay with letting him believe he’s my superhero. For now, at least.

And while I’m a girl who likes to stand on her own two feet, even I can admit that it’s nice being taken care of for once.

“Thought only Bolts and Revs players could come in here,” I mutter.

I don’t know why I’m surprised that, once again, Seb is breaking the rules. The man has zero moral compass. Why would a little hockey code mean anything to him?

“And our friends and family. Vin is Seb’s family.” Brooks’s tone is dark and resigned. Obviously he doesn’t love that fact, and who could blame him? Vincent Lukov is an asshole.

When the two men stop to say hello to Gavin and Beckett, I consider pushing Brooks up so that we can disappear before we have to deal with an awkward encounter, but I swear that as the guys step farther into the room, the arm draped over me gets heavier, holding me in place. Like Brooks wants this awkward interaction. Like he’s claiming me.

The prospect is thrilling. And to be honest, it’s fucking hot.

It’s like standing beside a bomb and watching the seconds tick down. Anxiety plagues me as the guys turn toward the bar. The feeling is so visceral it forces my leg to bounce while simultaneously causing my stomach to sink. They head in our direction in what feels like slow motion. Seb raises his head slowly as he comes closer. It’s like we’ve been transported into one of those movies full of aliens with laser eyes. Any second now, I expect him to start shooting us.

“Dammit, where’s Will Smith when we need him?” I mumble.

Brooks snorts, the reaction jostling me. “What are you going on about?”

With a squeeze of his hand, I will my nerves to steady. “Ya know,” I squeak out. “Men in Black.”

Seb’s attention is fixed on me as he slides his hand into his pocket.

My brain must malfunction in that moment, because that little move has me pushing myself against Brooks and screaming “bomb!”

The bar is loud. It’s full of people, and music filters through speakers throughout the space. But it’s not that loud.

The second the word is out of my mouth, every eye is locked on me, so, naturally, that’s when the stool beneath me slips. As I’m going down, I grab for the first thing I can find.

“Oh my God, Brooks!” I gasp at the appendage I’m clinging to. “Your dick is hard!”

Why am I talking so loudly? And why am I gripping my best friend’s dick?

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He’s looming above me, his tone frantic and his face a mask of confusion. He wiggles his thumb, tugging at my hand and garnering my attention.

Ohh. My hand is wrapped around his thumb. So not his dick, after all. With a grunt, he hauls me onto his lap. The movement sends my stool clattering to the ground.

Through the whole debacle, the rest of the man’s body doesn’t move. His damn thumb muscle lifted my entire body. What in the hell are they feeding these hockey players?

“Is that your wallet, or are you just happy to see me?” The tease escapes from one side of my mouth.

His expression is dark as he bands his arms around me and pulls me close. “You’ve lost your ever-loving mind, Sar. Fucking gone.”

Maybe he’s right, because over the course of the last two days, I’ve developed an unhealthy obsession with Brooks’s dick. Maybe if he let me take a quick peek at it, this fascination would end. I shift on his lap and suck in a breath, ready to suggest just that, but before I can, Seb and Vin appear beside us. Vin is wearing a grin, but Seb is scowling.

“Your girl all right?” New York’s asshole asks the question, but there isn’t a hint of concern on his face. No, it’s all pompous amusement.

When Brooks replies, his tone is eerily calm, but he doesn’t look away from me. “My girl is perfect. Right, Pumpkin?”

I nod like a bobblehead. I’m still all over the fucking place, but I figure the silent response is better than talking at this point. God only knows what would come out of my mouth if I did.

Seb snorts. “She’s certainly flexible.”

“Excuse you.” I push off Brooks, despite the way he’s clinging to me, and press into Seb’s space, head held high and shoulders back. “Who do you think you are?”

Seb’s bored expression only irritates me more. “I was only commenting on how gracefully you landed that fall.”

Vin turns to the bar to order his drink, but Seb keeps his smarmy smile fixed on me.

“And you’re good at bouncing from one man to the next.”

I raise my hand, ready to slap the smirk off my ex’s face, but before I can, Brooks is beside me, looming over his uncle, his fist prepared to do the heavy lifting.

Suddenly, Tyler is here too, with one hand on Brooks’s arm, he stops things from escalating. “Whoa, buddy. Let’s go for a walk.”

I suck in a breath as I watch Tyler drag Brooks out the door. Then my lungs seize as I realize we’re in public. My eyes scan every inch of the bar. Fortunately, not a soul is looking in our direction. It appears that no one but Tyler saw what happened.

I let out a long breath then, only to hold it again when I realize I’m still standing next to the jerk who’s still acting all smug, like Brooks is the one in the wrong.

I’d love to smack that cockiness right off him, but I quickly remember that the best revenge is happiness. Mine and Brooks.

With my chin held high once more, I snatch my purse from the bar and shoot him a glare. “You’re not worth it, but I sure as hell found someone who is.” Then I stomp off with my dignity in tow.