Lucky Score (The Hawkeyes Hockey Series Book 6)

I got a few hours of sleep last night. Not as much as I’d like, but I have a lot to do today, and I know that Silas will be up early. I’d be surprised if he slept at all last night with the storm headed straight for the hotel he manages.

By five a.m., I’m up and out of bed, making a cup of coffee and checking to see if we’ve gotten any cell reception since Brynn showed up earlier this morning.

I’ll have to order a new door for the bathroom, but I at least made it functional for now.

The minute that two bars pop up on my phone, I dial up my buddy.

“Seven, how did it go last night on your side of the beach?” Silas asks.

“The house is still standing,” I say. “Any news on the storm? I lost power last night, and I just got back to cell reception. I might lose you again here soon.”

“We lost power too. Luckily, we have generators to run everything, and the staff are following the emergency plan as well as expected,’ he says. ‘From the reports I’m getting, the storm won’t make it to the beach but we’re going to get the biggest hit tonight, and then it looks like it’s going to boomerang back out to sea and head further down the coastline. We should be out of the woods by tomorrow late morning or afternoon.”

“The winds are pushing it out then?”

“Seems as though the weather pattern is changing again but we’re not getting out of this unscathed. We’re anticipating property damage, and part of our beaches are probably going to get washed out. As long as the coastguard doesn’t make us evacuate the hotel, I’ll be happy,’ he says.

The good news is that after tomorrow, most of this should be over and Rita can come home as long as her house isn’t too damaged.

But knowing that Cancun will get hit harder than here, the thought of sending Brynn closer to it doesn’t sit all that well with me. And yet, keeping her with me isn’t an option I’m interested in entertaining.

I have to at least ask Silas if he has a spot for her.

“Do you have any available vacancies for a woman who showed up at my house last night? She booked my house on a scam website, and I need to find a place to put her until the airport starts outbound flights again.’

“Wish I did, but right now, I had to have maintenance set up our outdoor poolside cabanas inside the main lobby for stranded guests I don’t have rooms for. I literally have people sleeping in lounge chairs around the hotel. People are using towels as blankets in the hallways,” he sighs.

“Shit, man. That sucks.”

‘We’re getting through it. And anyway, your unwanted guest is safer there with you. You’re not going to get hit as hard as us. I’d keep her there.”

“I can’t,” I say, though I know he’s right. “I’ll see if Rita can take her in at her apartment.”

“You can’t keep her for a couple of days? She’s one person, right? Is she really all that bad that she can’t stay while this storm blows over?”

I have a room for her and I stocked more than enough food to easily feed us both for at least two weeks, maybe longer, but that’s not the point.

There’s no reason she can’t stay. None, except for the fact that her staying could be a problem for me. And if I try to explain that to Silas, he’ll laugh his ass off.

“She can’t stay,” I say simply.

“Why not? Does she have some incurable disease you might catch?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“Okay, well, what’s the problem?”

The problem is that Brynn is the kind of temptation I’ve been avoiding for years. I barely know her but I’m smart enough to see that if I keep her around for long enough, I’ll regret it.

I hear a woman’s voice on the other side of the line.

It’s an employee asking Silas what to do about the buffet line this morning and if they have enough food for the extra guests.

He has bigger things to worry about than my one house guest.

“Nothing. There’s no problem. I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Si. I’ll let you get back to the hotel. Be careful out there and let me know if you need anything.”

“You too. Beers and a game of pool at Scallywag’s after this hell is over?” he asks.

“I’ll be there.”

We both hang up and I set my phone back down on the counter.

Rita is a night owl, so I don’t want to wake her this early to see if she was able to get more sleep than I did last night.

It’s still not even six in the morning yet.

I’ll give her a little more time before I call her up and try to unload my unwelcome guest on her.

My phone starts to chime with text messages.

Probably ones that didn’t come through last night after I lost reception.

The first one I see has me already pissed off.

Josslin: I’m worried about you.

Josslin: I just saw the weather report. Please tell me you’re getting out of there.

Josslin: Are you at least safe?

Josslin: Are you just going to ignore me forever?

She must have sent these last night and I’m just now getting them.

I consider not responding, but ignoring her obviously doesn’t get the point across.

Seven: The last eighteen years suggest that I might.

A text back comes in quickly.

Josslin: Finally. A response after the last two weeks of texting you.

Seven: You only get responses that have to do with Cammy. You know this.

Josslin: Your niece isn’t the only family you have. The rest of us would like to talk to you, too. Your mom says you haven’t returned her calls in over six years.

Of all people in my family, Josslin should know exactly why that is. She’s half of the duo who drove that wedge into the middle of it, causing the fallout. And six years is exaggerating. I call my mom once a year—not more, not less.

Seven: Cammy is the only one who hasn’t stabbed me in the back. She’s the only one I like. Deal with it.

I shouldn’t even bother to engage with Josslin. We’ve had this same conversation over and over again.

Now that Cammy is going into her sophomore year of college at Washington University and she’s lived in Seattle for the last year, our relationship has gotten stronger and I don’t have to go through Josslin to have a relationship with my niece.

Half the reason Cammy picked WU was to get away from her mom and I don’t blame her for it. Cammy still wanted family close wherever she decided to go to school, so when she told me she was thinking about attending WU her freshman year instead of the colleges near home, she asked if I would be okay with it. I told her that I would support her decision and help her move into her dorm.

She got a full-ride volleyball scholarship anyway, so it wasn’t like she needed my permission to attend.

Josslin: I don’t think Cammy should come out to Mexico next week with this storm.

Seven: It will be over by then, and she’s an adult. She can make that decision on her own. I’d never let her come out here if it wasn’t safe.

Josslin: Maybe I should come out too. I’m worried about her.

Seven: Don’t even think about it.

As of last year, Josslin’s been making every excuse she can to come out to Seattle. There’s not much I can do about her showing up to see her daughter, but I draw the line when it comes to her showing up here.

She won’t be allowed to enter this house and since Cammy stays with me when she comes down for vacation, Josslin shouldn’t waste her time.

Josslin: You can’t cut me out forever.

Seven: Are you sure about that? At my age, I’ve only got another thirty-five to forty years before I leave this earth. I think I’m up for the challenge.

Josslin: We need to talk, and it would be better if we did it in person.

Seven: Then, was your plan to invite yourself on your daughter’s vacation so you could spend time with her? Or was your real plan to ambush me?

Josslin: I’m not trying to ambush you. And why can’t I want to spend time with my daughter and get to talk to you in person?

I back out of the text conversation.

Josslin is a world-class manipulator, but lucky for me, she opened my eyes to that years ago.

I have a long list of things to do today.

One of which is to ensure that both my house and Rita’s are ready for the storm to hit tonight. The other is to keep busy and ignore the woman asleep in my guest room until she’s safely tucked away at Scallywag’s upstairs apartment with Rita.

Brynn

Last night could easily go down as the most humiliating night of my life.

Between showing up on some strange man’s door, accusing him of squatting in a home he owns, and then screaming bloody murder loud enough that he breaks through his bathroom door in an attempt to rescue a woman who’s afraid of the dark, I’m regretting not taking my chances out on the porch last night.

My eyes clamp down at the mortification of it all as I lay in bed this morning.

I’d just as soon march into the ocean until it swallows me whole, then head down the hall and face him today.

But what other option do I have?

All night long, I lay awake listening to the sounds of palm tree fronds thrashing around in the gale-force winds while loose pieces of debris smacked against the sides of the house. The memory of listening to the howling of the wind on that fateful day in Oklahoma while hunkered down in the belly of the three-story brick dorm building on campus came swirling back to torment me.

The sounds of the buildings around us getting ripped apart with no way for us to escape our apartment basement.

Toss in the crushing blow to my ego, watching Seven rush out of the bathroom as fast as he could to get away from me, and my first night in paradise could be considered an epic fail.

The one thing I was grateful for last night is that Seven is a loud sleeper. I may have slept alone last night without the comfort of Daniel lying next to me, but at least the sounds of Seven’s heavy breathing reminded me that I wasn’t alone.

I have no motivation to write today since I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, though I know that my deadline won’t wait for the weather to clear up. Even now, I can still hear the storm winds raging outside my boarded-up window. Oddly enough, the thick sheet of plywood protecting anything from breaking through my window last night brought me more comfort than I would have imagined. I felt safer than I would have without it.

I glance over at the closed guest bedroom door and wonder if Seven is up yet. With the windows boarded up and the alarm clock in this room still not illuminated from the loss of power last night, the only thing I have to go on is my cell phone’s time which says it’s a little after seven am.

Is he dreading seeing me as much as I am to see him?

Probably not.

I doubt he’s lost much sleep over the five-foot-four woman sleeping in his guest bedroom who’s afraid of the dark.

He’s a fearless NHL goalie who gets in fistfights with other large and angry players out on the ice as part of his occupation. And the man is definitely built for it.

I’ve never seen a human in that great of shape up close before. Let alone felt his hard chest against my bare body when he caught me from slipping on the wet floor.

All six-plus feet of muscle, brute strength, and sex appeal were hard to miss the moment he opened the front door in the dim lighting of the porch light. I’m starting to better understand women’s fascination with professional athletes, though I won’t be sporting a Wrenley jersey anytime soon.

The funny thing is, I’ve written about these types of men in my books.

My regency novels are chock-full of sturdy-built men with bodies to salivate over and my new contemporary books won’t be any different.

I’ve written the intricate details of their imaginary six-pack abs and deep V cut of their pelvis. I create fantasies about the way they take the main female character passionately and protectively in the bedroom… and even outside of it.

I’ve written about the grumpy “misunderstood” demeanor of the hunky protagonist who shields his broken heart from the world, finally willing to shed his armor for the one woman he can’t live without.

This is the first time I’ve actually been faced with the real-life situation of falling at the mercy of a grumpy adonis, and admittedly, it’s not as sexy as the books portray these characters to be.

The idea that Seven is anything like the heartbroken male lead in my books is laughable. He’s more likely breaking hearts than needing to mend his own with the number of women throwing themselves at him.

He’s adored by the city of Seattle as the starting goalie for the beloved Seattle Hawkeyes Hockey team.

If this is really what my heroines are actually faced with in my books, I might need to rethink my meet-cutes going forward. How could they possibly fall for a guy like this?

Male athletes are well known for their promiscuity, and I can’t imagine Seven is any different.

Tack on his permanent scowl, and I don’t see how a single one of my female characters would ever fall for his nonsense.

I wish reality was as simple as rewriting a chapter in a book that you’re not happy with. I’d love to delete the way my body reacted to him last night.

With the spike of pure adrenaline from being taken off guard by the loss of electricity, followed by the feeling of his warm skin against mine, my nipples reacted on their own accord—hardening against him with unconscious arousal.

Maybe the fact that it’s been almost eight months since Daniel left, and it’s been that long since I’ve been skin-to-skin with a man, had a small part to play. Not to mention the surprise of seeing Seven break through a door to get to me, and the feeling of his large bulge against my belly as he held me against him.

Is it possible that he unlocked new fantasies in me that I didn’t even know existed? Or is this all stemming from the fact that I haven’t had sex in months?

Am I just projecting my sexual frustration on Seven just because he’s the closest man in my vicinity?

That has to be the reason for it because I’m still madly in love with Daniel.

How could I want to be with anyone else?

How could I consciously want to sleep with a grouchy hockey player who’s known for being standoffish and rude to the media and hasn’t shown me so much as a smirk since I got here?

In one month’s time, Daniel will be back and all of this will be a distant nightmare.

My safe and steady, Daniel.

He might not be in as good of shape as Seven with his leaner body build, but he plays on a men’s league basketball team a couple of days a week and is conscious about eating healthy. Seven, on the other hand, has well-defined muscle mass, and I wouldn’t doubt for a second that he could bench-press me without even breaking a sweat if he wanted to.

The physical difference between Daniel and Seven is significant.

Neither Daniel nor I watch professional hockey, but I’ve caught plenty of Hawkeyes games in the local pubs and sports bars where I’ve met Daniel for happy-hour drinks before. You’d be hard-pressed to find any bar downtown that doesn’t play a Hawkeyes game during the NHL season. It’s on everywhere in the city and is almost impossible to miss.

I’ve seen Seven move across the ice on a flat-screen TV while I sip on a glass of Pinot Grigio and nibble on fried cheese curds and pita chips that Daniel likes to order when he wants to celebrate a courtroom victory at the bar across from his office. I’ve just never wondered how much muscle was underneath all of those layers of padding before.

I, on the other hand, am still holding on to my freshman fifteen from college. And besides the occasional hot yoga sessions that Sheridan guilt trips me into attending with her, I don’t do much physical fitness, unless the laps I do around our apartment building when I need to work out a scene I’m struggling with in the book I’m writing counts.

Let’s just say that I’m a little softer than the man I clung to last night to keep myself upright. He must have noticed that I’m not in as great shape as his female fans that he’s used to taking home.

As much as I’d like to hide out in here all day, Seven said that he would find me a new place to stay today, and really, the sooner I get moved over to a resort hotel room, the better for both of us.

I slide my sleep-deprived body out of bed, hoping for the sounds of Seven somewhere in the house so that we can discuss what arrangements he might have found for me, but I hear nothing.

I pull on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts and then grab a brush from my bag.

After Seven left the bathroom last time, I made it safely to my room and was able to towel dry off. Thankfully, I wasn’t as soapy as I thought. The shower had rinsed away most of the suds before the power went out.

A nice thorough spray down of the leave-in conditioner from my overnight bag saved my hair from yet another terrible hair day.

I look in the mirror while I comb through my strands and decide against trying with makeup.

I just don’t feel like putting in the effort. Not that Seven would have any interest in me with or without makeup. I think that was made pretty obvious based on the fact that he couldn’t get away from me fast enough last night.

I set my hairbrush down and then took my toothbrush to the bathroom. I may skip my makeup routine but I won’t gross either of us out with morning breath.

Once I have a clean, minty mouth, I open the bathroom door and listen for him. I hear the faint sound of pots and pans clinking together over the loud wind still pushing against the house. He’s up, and it’s time to face the music.

The sooner we’re rid of each other, the sooner I can resume the reason for why I’m here.

To write.

“Morning,” I say as I step out of the hallway and into the kitchen.

Seven is standing in front of a gas range stove, flipping over a pan full of over-easy eggs and slices of ham in a second skillet. He’s dressed in thick canvas cargo pants and a t-shirt donning the logo of a bar called Scallywag’s, with a cartoon Basset Hound stretched tight across his back.

I don’t know why seeing Seven wearing a cartoon dog on his shirt makes me grin, but it’s not what I expected to see on him. Maybe it’s because I’m not used to seeing him in much clothing at all.

I bet it’s hard for him to find clothes that fit his broad shoulders and trim waist.

I shake the thought.

The last thing I need is to be thinking about Seven’s body and what he wears or doesn’t wear.

I survey the scene in front of me as Seven continues to work diligently over the hot stove.

In a third pan, a massive mountain of hashbrowns that could feed a small village is crisping up and popping in the oil he’s frying them in.

Seven’s honey-brown eyes settle onto mine when he finally decides to acknowledge my existence. He watches me over his shoulder for a brief second while I lift myself onto the bar stool sitting at the kitchen countertop across from him.

“Do you want eggs and ham?” he asks.

My stomach starts to rumble at the smell of the delicious breakfast. I haven’t eaten since LAX, after hearing about the storm getting closer. It unsettled my stomach, and then I couldn’t eat the sandwich that I bought at the coffee shop in between my connecting flights.

“That would be great, thanks. The generator must be working?” I ask.

“It’s enough to run a few things. I have solar panels on the roof that help, but there isn’t much power coming in since it’s overcast today from the storm rolling in.”

From the storm rolling in…. I hate the sound of that.

I watch as he tentatively stirs the hashbrowns to get an even crisp on all sides, my mouth watering at the smell of everything he’s making.

“Have you heard anything about the weather? Is the storm getting closer?” I ask.

“Tonight should be the worst of it. The hurricane is rolling in closer but it still won’t touch land. We’ll be okay as long as we stay here. It’s going to hit Cancun harder.”

My heart sinks at his update.

I had hoped to get a hotel room in one of the resorts but now I’m not so sure I want to be closer to the eye of the storm.

Do I have any choice anyway?

It’s not as if he wants me to stay here with him for any longer than necessary.

“Have you heard if there is any availability at any of the hotels?”

“My phone got reception earlier this morning for a few minutes. Silas, one of the managers at the biggest hotel in Cancun, said that there are no openings in any of the hotels near there. People are sleeping in the hallways at this point. You’re going to be safer around here. I have one more call to make after breakfast. My neighbor might have a spot for you above her bar.”

My ears perk up at the idea of staying with his neighbor. I feel bad barging in on someone else but staying with her above her bar sounds promising.

A large bang makes me jump out of my seat and clutch my chest. Seven didn’t even flinch.

Nothing seems to phase this man.

“The wind is picking up. It’s going to get worse before it gets better, but it should be past us by tomorrow afternoon,” he assures me.

He seems so calm about it all.

As if it’s just wind and not a category-four hurricane about to hit nearby.

I release the grip on my shirt and settle back into my chair.

One more day… I can do this.

“Thanks for asking around,” I say to him.

He doesn’t have to do any of this. He could just as easily kick me out. And let me fend for myself. “Did you say that you got reception?”

A little hope sparks in me that maybe my texts got through last night.

“Yeah, a couple hours ago. It’s hit and miss, but you might be able to make a call out if you keep an eye on it.”

“I’ll be right back,” I say, slipping off the bar stool and heading for my room to retrieve my phone.

Sure enough, my heart leaps when I see that a text finally came through from Daniel this morning, as well as one from my mom, my dad, and a couple from Sheridan.

I open up Daniel’s and read it as I head back towards the kitchen for breakfast.

Fiance: Have a safe flight. Keep in touch.

Then nothing else after that.

Maybe I had hoped there would have been a follow-up text today, but he’s probably asleep with the time difference.

I back out of his message and check the ones from my mom and dad.

Mom: I haven’t heard from you. Are you okay?

Mom: Call as soon as you can. I’m worried.

Mom: The Cancun airport is shut down. Did you make it there? Are you safe? CALL ME!

My dad’s texts were a little less intense.

Dad: I don’t like the look of this storm. I think you should come home.  Does Daniel know about the hurricane?

Of course, my dad would bring up Daniel. And since my parents still don’t know that we’re on a break, I’m sure my dad is wondering why Daniel didn’t try to stop me from going. If it were up to my dad, Daniel and I would already be married.

I walk back through the kitchen after drafting up a text to all three of them and send them off, hoping that as soon as we get reception, they’ll get it.

I sent the same text to each of them.

Brynn: I’m safe and in the rental house, though it wasn’t a rental. Luckily the owner is letting me stay with him. The storm should pass by tomorrow and I’ll see about getting a flight home.

“Is this enough food for you? There’s plenty more if you want,” Seven says, placing a plate and fork in front of me.

I didn’t see it right away as I read through Sheridan’s texts that arrived early this morning.

Sheridan: Oh my God! Are you serious? The reservation was fake? I can’t believe this. I’ll call my credit card company immediately.

Sheridan: Wait… how would the smoking hot goalie for the Hawkeyes be responsible for your disappearance?

Sheridan: Answer me back this instance! I need more information!

Sheridan: Okay, your phone is off, so you must not have reception, but at least I know that you’re safe in the house. Please send another text as soon as possible, preferably with a photo as proof of life. Be careful out there.

Sheridan: I called the airline. I can’t rebook you a flight until they resume operation out of Cancun. Call me!

When I look up, my eyes widen at the stack of food sitting in front of me. It’s more than I’d eat in an entire day, let alone in one sitting.

“No, that won’t be necessary. This is more than enough. Thank you.”

I glance over to compare his portion size to find that Seven has two plates stacked with food for himself, along with a few pieces of toast.

I guess I never considered how much food an athlete eats. No wonder my gigantic plate of food doesn’t seem like enough to him. My portion size would barely be a snack for his appetite.

He forks a piece of ham, egg, and then some hashbrowns and stuffs it into his mouth.

“I had a few texts come through this morning,” I tell him, drafting up a quick text to Sheridan.

He just nods as he chews and then scoops up another bite.

Brynn: Seven Wrenley owns the house. He let me stay here last night but he has a friend who has an apartment. I might be moving over there today. I’ll keep you posted. I’m only getting reception occasionally so I’m not sure when you’ll get this text.

I send off the text, grab my fork, and start on the eggs.

“I’ll probably be out all day working on preparing the houses for the storm tonight. I’ll call Rita as soon as I get reception and see if she has room for you.”

He’ll be out all day?

In this storm?

And what more can he do? He’s boarded up all the windows and has the generators running.

I’m not going to question him, though. Having the house to myself without any distractions is something I could use to try to clear my mind and finish the rest of the outline for my book.

Though I want to curl up in a ball with the storm raging outside, I can’t make any excuses anymore. Otherwise, I’ll be returning my advance for this book along with any other losses that the publishing house endures due to PR and advertising losses. Not to mention that I’ll let down my readers who are counting on this book to be released on time.

I can’t let them down.

“I should write anyway. My book has a deadline in a couple of weeks. Hopefully, my laptop still has enough power to get me through today.”

He takes another bite of his food, which he has practically inhaled up to this point, and then walks towards a closet in the kitchen. I watch as he opens the door and pulls out a small black square.

The second he walks back over and sets the item down next to me, I know what it is.

“I charged this battery bank a few days ago. It should have enough power for your cell phone and laptop today. Is there anything else you need before I leave?”

I shake my head and stare down at the item Seven brought me.

The man is prepared and thinks of everything.

He takes the last couple of bites and then puts his dirty dishes in the sink.

“Thanks for this,” I say. “For everything, really.”

He just looks over at me without a nod or smile.

“I’ll see you later,’ he says.

I watch him head out of the kitchen and then see him turn towards the front door.

I listen as the door opens, and the wind whips through the house before he closes it behind him.

And just like that, he’s gone and I’m in his house alone.