FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Read online

  But that was the kind of shit guys just don’t talk about with each other. Instead, I punched him in the arm. “You weren’t friendly. You were an asshole.” I took a sip of my beer and continued. “You are an asshole. And you always will be an asshole.”

  My best friend raised his pint glass. “And cheers to you, too, buddy," he said, then downed a third of it in one great gulp.

  “Can’t blame a man for trying,” Jake piped up. He had just joined the team three months ago, and seemed to have decided that Bradley and I were his new best friends. He hung around us like some annoying kid brother, and neither Brad nor I could work up the energy to tell him to fuck off. Besides, he played a hell of a good defense, and—whatever; team camaraderie, sportsmanship, all that crap came into play whenever we thought about ditching him.

  So we drank with him. The beer helped make him slightly tolerable.

  “Strike that, you are both assholes,” I clarified.

  “Since when is Ian Carter the paragon of gentlemanly virtue?” Brad asked pointedly.

  “Don’t blow out your entire vocabulary in one sentence,” I growled at him from over the top of my glass. “You’ll use up all your words and have to start grunting.”

  He gave me the finger. Then all at once, the whole bar erupted in cheers.

  “Shit, what’d I miss?” I asked, straining to see the television from behind all the bobbing heads.

  “Penguins made a goal!” Brandon clapped.

  “I can’t believe you convinced me to do this on our off night,” I shouted at him over the noise of the bar. “I should be at home, thinking of anything but hockey right now.”

  “There’s nothing but hockey!” he yelled into my ear. “You know that!”

  It was true. Nothing but hockey, not since he and I had made a solemn pact that we would go all the way together. Now we had both achieved our dreams, playing for the Blackhawks.

  And things were looking really, really good this year.

  Enforcer is an unofficial role, not really sanctioned by the NHL. But every team had one. Their job is to keep the other team in line. The second someone tries to pull something dirty, the enforcer is on him.

  Sure, enforcers have a bad rep. Usually they're not good scorers, and are looked down on by other players as little more than goons and thugs.

  But not me. I'm a fighter, and I'm a scorer.

  Over the past four years, I had pulled off the Gordie Howe hat trick on three separate occasions; scoring a goal, assisting on a goal and getting into a fight all in the same game. I had earned my reputation as the "Blackhawks' Bully" for my down and dirty fighting style, willingness to play rough, and my absolute refusal to allow my team to get fucked with.

  The fans fucking loved me. My teammates fucking loved me. And this year we were going to take the Stanley Cup for the second time in a row.

  I was sure of it.

  I leaned back and tried to ignore the sound of Jake rambling on with excuses about the assist he had missed last game. Just when my irritation had reached critical mass, I saw something flutter out in the crowd, like a bird in a forest, flitting between the trees.

  It was the woman in the blue dress. And it looked like she was in trouble.

  Her date had her by the wrist, holding her fast when she clearly wanted to leave. “What the shit is this?” I wondered aloud.

  Brad looked in the direction I was glaring. “Date gone bad, I guess. That’s why I don’t mess with that shit.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’s precisely why you haven’t been out with a chick in months. Because of your aversion to the dating scene.” I rolled my eyes. Inwardly, I counted backwards from ten, reminding myself once again of Coach Randall’s warning. Don’t lose your temper, Ian. You don’t need any more distractions.

  “Stop it!” I heard the girl shout.

  In an instant I was off my stool and moving, all warnings forgotten. Brad’s shouts to keep calm and stay out of it were lost in the rush of blood thundering in my ears.

  The two seconds it took me to get to the table was all it took for me to get my blood up. I felt that eerie clarity, the slowed-down centeredness that comes right before I throw a punch. I relished the taste of bright copper in my mouth and the flush of heat in my face.

  This was going to be fun. More fun than I’d had in a while. My reputation had spread to the point where very few teams would mess with me now. It had been forever since this enforcer last had to enforce anything.

  I was ready and eager for a fight.

  And then she caught me in her gaze.

  If time had slowed before, now it came to a dead stop. She looked at me and she saw me. Not the guy I was, the shithead spoiling for an easy fight, but the guy I should be. The one Coach Randall tried to berate me into becoming. The one my mom always sighed and shook her head over. This girl saw him.

  And her mouth softened just a little bit, like she knew I’d do the right thing. She had faith in me.

  The blood that pumped through my muscles slowed until it was thick and heavy. I didn’t want to fight anymore. Now I wanted to get this asshole over and done with so I could figure out who this girl was.

  What she saw in me. Who she saw in me.

  And how I could get him out.

  Already anxious to get her alone, I got right down in the guy’s face and growled some arbitrary threat. He was a fan. That much was clear. I didn’t even have to roll up my sleeves and get in it with him, because he knew who I was on sight. Just like on the ice these days.

  Which was good, because my mind was already a million miles from here.

  He dropped her arm the second he realized who I was. I’m not really sure why that pissed me off. It’s not like I should expect my fans to be well-behaved when I had a well deserved reputation for bad behavior myself. But here was this guy, this asshole getting all handsy with a beautiful woman, a fucking special woman, and the fact that he clearly was a Blackhawks fan made his assholery somehow even worse.

  I debated clocking him across the jaw, just enough to teach him a lesson. But Coach Randall told me I had to work on keeping my temper in check, and wasn’t this just the perfect test of my newfound resolve?

  Besides…there was this girl…

  “Were you headed out?” I asked her.

  And god damn it, I got nervous.

  I haven’t been nervous around a woman since I was seventeen years old.

  She was beautiful. And that was not a word I use lightly. Other chicks I’ve been with, they’ve been cute, sexy, hot, whatever. This woman? She was beautiful in the way that paintings in the museum are beautiful. In a way that professional ballerinas are beautiful, that Victorian gardens are beautiful. She was…composed, her whole body made of graceful curves and sloping arcs

  Basically, she was about as far from my typical hanger-on as you could get.

  And what’s more, she had seen me.

  “It hasn’t been too safe in this neighborhood. Do you have a car here?” I asked, silently praying she’d say no.

  “No,” she shook her head, moving through the crowd, picking her way with these little graceful swoops and ducks, like she was conducting her own private dance. “It felt so nice to be able to walk that I decided to do just that.” She smiled at me for a moment, and it was like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud. “January thaws are the worst kind of tease, and I fall for them every time.”

  “Um,” I hummed, completely at a loss for words for the first time in my life.

  “It’s okay,” she reassured me. “I’m not too far from here.”

  I mentally filed that little tidbit of info away, even as I was shaking my head. “Walking in Chicago hasn’t been the safest hobby lately,” I told her. “I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me walk you home.”

  That’s the kind of line that I would have pulled on one of my other chicks—hell, I probably already have used it before. But this was the first time I actually meant it.

  The side of her mouth curv
ed up slightly, and she looked up at me from underneath a curtain of heavy, dark lashes. “Sure,” she said softly.

  Something about the way she agreed tugged at my heart. Here she was, just coming away from a bad date, and she was ready, and willing, to trust another guy. It made me protective in a way I hadn’t felt like for a long while. Not since…

  But I’m not going to think about her.

  We stepped out together into the mild January air. She immediately hunched adorably into her woolen jacket and pulled her scarf up higher under her chin. I realized I was staring at her, and awkwardly tried to cover it with conversation. “So, uh, did you catch the game?”

  She looked up quickly, confused, then dawning realization took over her clear blue eyes. “Oh, because we were at the bar?”

  I started backtracking instantly. “I take it Duff’s wasn’t your first choice for a date?”

  She shook her head and sighed, a little puff of breath wreathing her face like a cloud. “No, not really. Dennis...” She gestured behind her, back to the bar, towards the asshole. “He gave me the address, and I have to say, when I saw what kind of place it was—”

  “Not a very good place to sit down and get to know a person, hmm?”

  She shook her head. “Well, I guess I did get to know something important about him,” she sighed grimly. Then she brightened. “But I don’t really want to talk about him anymore.”

  I shook my head, mentally chastising myself for even bringing it up. What the hell? I usually have way more game than this. Ian Carter, smooth talking playboy was nowhere to be found when it came to this, this girl…what was her name?

  “Holy shit, Ian,” I muttered.

  She looked at me alarmed.

  “I haven’t even asked your name,” I sighed, rolling my eyes.

  She laughed. “Candace,” she smiled. “And thank you for helping me out back there, uh—wait, what’s yours?” She laughed again. “Wow, we’re both really bad at this, aren’t we?”

  I laughed out loud, completely charmed. “Ian,” I told her. And then waited.

  There was no sign she had any idea who I was. She just smiled and ducked her head.

  Then she turned red and hid her face in her hands.

  “What?”

  She peeked out at me from between her fingers. “You didn’t hear that?”

  “It’s a little loud out here,” I pointed out. The mild weather had brought out the crowds and the endless noise of traffic made me feel like I should be shouting.

  She colored further. “Then I shouldn’t have said anything. I was sure you must have heard my stomach.”

  I grinned. “You hungry?”

  “Starving.” She rolled her eyes. “I skipped lunch, anticipating a fancy dinner.”

  I reached out and took her hand. It was only after a moment that I realized what I had done, just gone ahead and taken her hand like we were already together. It felt right to do it, but I felt wrong for it feeling so right.

  Good God, what is happening to me?

  “I don’t know about fancy,” I said quickly, trying to smooth over the fact that her hand in mine was making my head spin. “But I do know fast. And delicious. Come on, it’s the next block over.”

  She let me lead her, and once again was I struck with her willingness to trust me.

  It felt almost precious.

  “Hot dogs?” she asked, when we reached the corner of Jackson and State.

  “Best in the city,” I promised. The crowd was five deep around the yellow food truck, but Jimmy spotted me and waved us ahead of the line.

  “Ian, how’s it going?”

  “Not too bad,” I replied. “Hungry, though.”

  “Lemme fix that for ya.” He disappeared for a second, then stuck his head back out and looked Candace up and down. “She with you, too?”

  “She’s with me,” I confirmed. I hoped I didn’t sound too pleased with myself.

  “Oh thank God,” Candace breathed, once I handed her the steaming dog. “Please don’t watch me while I eat this.”

  “Why not?”

  She paused, then flushed and bit her lip.

  “Ahem.” I turned and pretended to study the menu on the side of the cart, even though every muscle in my body was straining to turn back and watch this gorgeous woman close her mouth around that…

  I pinched myself hard in the thigh and ignored her little moans of pleasure by running offensive maneuvers in my head and picturing Coach Randall’s craggy red face turning purple as he shouted at us from the sidelines.

  It was surprisingly effective.

  I heard her smack her lips and turned to smile as she licked the last bit of mustard from her fingers. “Good, huh?”

  “I need a cigarette and a cold shower,” she exhaled, then pinkened. “Oh God, I sound like Olivia.”

  “Friend of yours?”

  “My best friend. She has a very dirty mind.”

  “She sounds like fun,” I found myself saying before I could stop myself.

  “She is,” Candace agreed as we strolled away from Jimmy’s truck. “She keeps me from taking myself too seriously. Do you have someone who does that for you?”

  I thought for a second. “Bradley, my best friend. But he’s less of a fun sidekick and more of a cautionary tale.”

  She laughed. It was a bright, sunshiney sound that was completely at odds with the darkness of the evening. The wind was starting to pick up, and I noticed she had quickened her pace. I usually love winter, but right now, I was resenting the hell out of it for cutting my time with Candace short.

  “I always wondered what the heck this big place was,” she pointed out.

  Startled, I stumbled a little and did this odd little two-step to keep from losing my footing.

  We were passing Johnny’s Icehouse.

  She really has no idea?

  “It’s a rink,” I told her, cautiously watching her face for any signs of realization.

  But she just nodded. “Oh, cool.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. Not being recognized was doing strange things to my composure. For so long now, I barely needed to say a thing to a woman. My face, my name—they did the talking for me.

  “I’ve always wanted to skate,” Candace said dreamily, cutting in to my confusion. “Ever since I was a little girl watching the Winter Olympics. In my mind, the figure skaters were just like princesses.”

  You’re just like a princess, I didn’t say. Instead, I tried to hide my amused smile. “Well, if we ever run into each other again, I’d be happy to teach you.”

  She looked at me, completely wide-eyed. “You know how to skate?”

  She was serious. She really had no idea who I was.

  Once more, I flashed back to that moment in the bar. The one where she saw me.

  With her, I could be anyone.

  Even…myself.

  “A little,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets.

  Her hands fluttered in front of her. “You’re like, seven feet tall,” she pointed out.

  “Six four,” I corrected gently.

  She waved her hands some more. “Whatever. You’re huge. How the heck do you know how to skate?”

  I was seriously trying not to laugh, for fear she’d get offended and run away. She was just too charming, though. “You think big guys can’t be graceful?” I laughed. We were rounding the park square, and I jumped up the three-foot wall that edged the bare bed where the tulips would be in three months. She gave a little gasp, then an even bigger one when I leaped back down to the other side of her. “You think big guys are all clumsy?”

  “I did,” she said demurely. “But I’m starting to rethink my stance.”

  I was starting to rethink a few things myself. About women, and the types of women I had been with before. The type of woman I let myself get tangled up in.

  “This is my building, Ian. Thanks for walking me home,” she said, impulsively grabbing my hand and pumping it enthusiastically up and down. “And thanks
again for saving me from Dennis.” She swallowed, and the shadow across her throat moved. I had the strangest urge to taste it. She looked up at me like she knew what I was thinking, and her voice dropped lower so that I had to lean in to hear.

  “You’re a really nice guy, Ian.”

  I froze.

  Ice water poured into my chest.

  Of all the things she could say...

  You're wrong, about me, Candace. I'm the complete opposite of a Nice Guy. I'm the worst guy, the kind of guy your mom warns you about. I will hurt you, break you and why? Because when everything was over, when the screaming and shouting was done with and I sat in Brad’s apartment, doing shot after shot with him, I made him a promise. Made myself a promise.

  No more Mr. Nice Guy, I told him. Told myself. Cause Nice Guys fucking finish last.

  Didn’t they?

  I'm not a Nice Guy and yet here I was, taking her hand just like a nice guy would. “Candace," I heard myself say, as sweet and nice as can be. "May I have your number?”

  Chapter Three

  Candace

  Olivia plopped the box of cookies right in my lap. “I’m switching Romeo’s vet today,” she informed me. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, he was an ass, but it wasn’t a total loss, Liv!” I couldn’t help but grin like an idiot.

  She plopped herself in her chair and wheeled across the aisle to my desk. Then she took the box of cookies, opened it, and helped herself to one, cramming the entire thing in her mouth. “You’re smiling like a girl who just got laid. Spill it,” she ordered though a mouthful of cookie crumbs.

  “I didn’t get laid,” I protested. “But—I did meet someone.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He was, “ I thought for a second. “Really nice,” I finally concluded.

  Nice seemed like such an insufficient word. Ian had flat out rescued me, then bought me dinner, and then walked me home like some kind of modern Victorian gentleman. Nice didn’t even begin to describe him.

  “A nice guy, hmm? That sounds both promising and ominous at the same time,” Olivia declared through a second mouthful of crumbs.