Shutout: Rules of the Game Book 2

TYLER

Edging via audiobook. That’s a new one.

After I got my raging hard-on under control—no small feat after seeing Seraphina so turned on she was literally squirming in her seat—it was a quick stop to pick up my Audi because I’d already paid for the service online. By then, it was well past five and we were both starving, so I offered to order takeout when we got back.

Half an hour later, we haven’t settled on any food yet. We’ve been too busy talking… and flirting. It’s risky to be hanging out alone with her like this, but at least Chase is crashing at Bailey’s for the night, so he won’t randomly walk in. I’m not sure where the hell Dallas is. He’s going to have some serious questions if he comes home.

From the couch beside me, Seraphina nudges my foot with hers. Since we’ve gotten home, we’ve crept progressively closer and closer. Between playing twenty-one questions over the weekend and getting horned up listening to her spicy book earlier, I have no idea what the fuck we’re doing. I don’t even care. There’s no one else I’d rather have sitting next to me right now.

“You don’t have to buy me dinner.” She grabs her iced tea, smiling around her clear glass straw as she takes a sip.

“We don’t have any groceries,” I remind her. Not surprisingly, food doesn’t last long with three athletes under one roof. The cupboards are either totally stocked or depressingly barren.

“True.” She sighs, ice cubes rattling as she stirs her drink. “You guys demolished every scrap of food we had. The fridge is pretty empty, and the freezer is even worse. Someone must’ve gotten desperate because even the frozen vegetables are gone. I was going to place an order with FoodSave for delivery later. How the hell do you survive?”

“We eat at school a lot.” One major perk of playing for Boyd is that the hockey team has a rotation of chefs on staff who prepare healthy breakfasts, lunches, and dinners Monday through Friday, plus pre-game dinners on Saturdays. Things like protein pancakes and turkey sausage; grilled chicken wraps and raw vegetables; roasted sweet potatoes and seared steak. Being able to grab a meal or snack any time I need is a lifesaver, especially when you eat as much as I do.

“Plus, constant grocery shopping,” I add. Except one of us doesn’t keep up their end of the shopping bargain and by one of us, I mean her brother. “We take turns cooking when there’s food.”

“I like to cook, but I’m terrible at cleaning as I go, and I always end up making a huge mess. You can add me to the rotation as long as someone else is on dish duty.” She wriggles out of her black cardigan to reveal a pale blue blouse with a deep V-neck. A delicate gold chain drapes around her neck, a teardrop crystal pendant hanging from it. She’s dressed up more than usual. I think it’s because she was nervous for her first day of classes at Boyd, but I suspect she’d never admit it.

“Sold. You cook, and I’ll clean.”

“Maybe one of us should think about joining Costco,” she adds, pushing her half-empty iced tea aside. “You guys eat in bulk so we might as well shop that way. I don’t understand how we went through three bags of chips in one afternoon.”

“Ask Carter and Ward. They eat junk like it’s going out of style.” Reaching over the coffee table, I pass her another stack of menus. Our fingers touch ever so slightly, and I try to ignore the effect it has on me because I’m a grown ass man who definitely shouldn’t be excited by something as minor as playing handsies.

“And the entire package of cheese tortellini?”

“That one’s on me,” I admit. “In my defense, goalie gear is heavy. I burn a lot of calories in the ice.”

Seraphina rolls her eyes, but she’s fighting a smile. “Not to mention whatever happened to the cheese strings, one dozen apples, two loaves of bread, the variety pack of Greek yogurt, and, most upsettingly, my emergency pint of strawberry cheesecake ice cream.” She holds up a hand, ticking the items off on her slender fingers.

Shit.

“Er… it was my cheat day, and I didn’t know that ice cream was yours. Sorry, Tink.”

Her eyes widen at my confession, and she smacks my hand. “That was Haagen Dazs, Hades. The good stuff. If you mess with my stash of pink Starburst, our friendship is officially over.”

“Noted. I’ll replace the Haagen Dazs, and I won’t fuck with the Starburst. Promise.”

“I’m going to start keeping food in my room,” she grumbles, but her foot is still resting against mine. “Maybe get a mini fridge with a lock on it.”

“As long as it’s pink.”

“Obviously.” A smile plays on her lips. “I hope you realize you owe me now.”

“Name it, and it’s yours.” It comes out before I can stop myself, and it sounds even more suggestive than I intended.

She reaches across the couch and playfully boops me on the nose. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Goaltending hones your patience, and right now, that’s a good thing. Seraphina has been leafing through the menus for various local restaurants for over twenty minutes, flipping back and forth like it’s a life-or-death decision. I’m trying not to rush her, but my stomach is growling so loudly it sounds like there’s an angry rottweiler in the room and I’m going to gnaw off my own arm if I don’t get something to eat soon. I’d happily take food from any or all of these restaurants at this point. Hell, we can hit up three or four places if that’s easier.

She scrunches up her mouth, inclining her head as she studies a yellow-printed leaflet for Thai Boat.

“What do you want to order, Tink?” I ask.

Her head snaps up, her dark eyes wide. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen so many menus in my life. There are too many options.” She waves a hand at the list, growing frantic. “Whenever I go to restaurants, I always check online ahead of time because I’m indecisive and I freeze on the spot. And now there are like fifty restaurants to choose from.”

“I can give you some suggestions to help narrow it down if you want.”

“Can you just pick a place and order a few things for us to share? I’m not picky.”

“Any dealbreakers?” I ask, gently prying the stack of leaflets from her hands. I’m beginning to see that she isn’t quite as easygoing as she tries to make everyone else think. And I don’t mind that—at all. I’m just not sure why she puts on a front.

“Mushrooms and olives.” Pausing, she shudders. “No organ meats, either.”

It’s not a lot of direction to go off, so I verify the order with her before I submit it online to make sure we’ve got things she’ll eat. An hour later, we’re surrounded by a sea of nearly empty takeout containers.

“Guess how I know you were the last one to empty the dishwasher?” I offer her the last samosa, then take it for myself when she declines.

“How?” She sets down her fork, cocking her head.

“Because you left half the cupboards open.” This isn’t an exaggeration. It might have been more than half.

Seraphina bursts out laughing. “That isn’t my fault,” she protests, gesturing with a piece of coconut naan. “That’s an ADHD thing. I can’t help it. It’s like I legitimately don’t see them.”

“Honestly, I think it’s cute. It’s your calling card, like a reminder Tinker Bell was here.” It made me smile when I saw it this morning. She leaves a little trail of destruction everywhere she goes, and I find it oddly endearing.

Don’t get me started on our shared bathroom. Between the jars, vials, and tubes, there’s zero counter space to be had. The entire room smells delicious 24/7, so I can’t complain too much. I’d never live it down if anyone else knew I secretly sniffed her coconut shampoo every time I’m in the shower.

“Shut up, Ty.” She shakes her head, still giggling.

“Question fifteen,” I say, leaning my forearms on my thighs. “What are you taking in school?”

It’s the wrong use of a question. Her mouth pulls into a frown, and she looks away before answering. “I…don’t know yet. I need to decide soon, but I haven’t found the right fit.”

“That’s okay. There’s no rush.”

“Well, there kind of is.” She fidgets with her napkin, refusing to meet my eyes. “I have to declare my major before the end of the semester. But like I said, I get analysis paralysis and have trouble making decisions. What about you?”

“Biochemistry.”

Her brows tug, eyes shining with curiosity. “You’re smart, huh?”

“I don’t know about that. I just like science. It explains the way things work.”

“On that note, what would your career be if you didn’t play hockey?” she asks, immediately catching herself. “Oops. Question sixteen. I forgot to add that.”

“In another life, I would’ve been pre-med with the intent to go into medical research or something surgery related. Guess that’s my backup plan should I ever get injured.”

“Do you worry about that?” her voice softens.

I pause, pushing the last grains of saffron rice around my plate while I debate how to respond. “Sometimes.” This is something I rarely admit even to myself. Denial is a powerful drug. “There are no guarantees I’ll ever set foot on the ice in a single professional game.”

That’s a difficult truth to digest when you consider how much of my existence revolves around hockey. It’s more than a little sickening to think I’ve devoted the better part of my life to pursuing something that may never come to fruition. I’m betting big on myself and praying it pays off.

Seraphina shifts to face me. “I see how hard you work, Ty. And you’re crazy talented to begin with. That’s coming from a girl who knows her hockey. There’s no question you’ll be out there someday.”

“Thanks, Tink.”

Thing is, only half of the players who are drafted actually make it to the pros.

My worst fear is being one of the ones that don’t.

Around ten, we finally stop talking long enough to clean up the empty takeout boxes and bring our dirty dishes into the kitchen. Setting our plates and cutlery on the counter, I turn and open the dishwasher. Even though it’s completely empty, one side of the sink is filled with dishes someone didn’t bother to load. Fucking Chase.

“I can help with that,” Seraphina offers.

I glance at her. “Have you ever heard of the internet meme that says, ‘In every partnership, there’s a person who stacks the dishwasher like a Scandinavian architect and a person who stacks the dishwasher like a raccoon on meth’?”

She narrows her eyes. “No…”

“I mean this in the nicest possible way, Ser, but you’re the meth raccoon in this scenario.”

Rather than get offended by my teasing, she smirks and swats me with a yellow dishtowel. “I’ll take that as your offer to assume my dish-loading duties permanently.”

“Not gonna lie.” I laugh. “That might be for the best.”

I load our plates as Seraphina turns away to refill her glass. As she flips on the tap, a stream of water shoots from the faucet at warp speed, splashing all over the front of her blue blouse. She lets out the cutest fucking squeal I’ve ever heard and leaps back, fumbling with the chrome handle to it shut off.

Behind her, I try to hide a snort of laughter. I already know what happened. Someone left it switched to spray mode—otherwise known as “firehose.” It’s been like this for a couple of weeks. Since Dallas’s parents own our place, Dallas was supposed to arrange for someone to come take a look at it. He’s been slacking on his landlord duties.

Seraphina dabs at her chest with a clean yellow dish towel, her face pulled into a scowl. Another snicker escapes me. I can’t help it; she’s cute when she’s pissed. Sexy too, but I’m trying not to go down that particular rabbit hole.

“You think that’s funny, huh?” She grabs the pull-out sprayer and wields it menacingly.

I cock a brow. “Go ahead, Ser. See where it gets you.”

Unfortunately for both of us, Carters never back down from a challenge—even when they should.

Looking me straight in the eye, she pulls the trigger. A deluge of ice-cold water hits me in the chest, soaking through my black T-shirt. A yelp of nervous laughter slips through her lips, and she immediately releases the button. I drop my chin for a beat, assessing the extent of the damage. I’m drenched.

When I look back up, Seraphina is giggling like a schoolgirl. “Oops.”

Goalie reflexes kicking in, I cover the ground between us in two long strides and step behind her. I wrap an arm around her waist lightning-quick and haul her into me before she can react. My large frame surrounds hers, hard muscle against soft curves.

“Rookie error, Tink.” My voice is low; raspier than normal. “Don’t pick fights you can’t win.” I pry the sprayer from my hand, aiming it directly at her cleavage. Her shirt has a few splotches of water, but it isn’t soaked like mine. “What do you think? Should I even the score?”

“No!” she says between peals of laughter. “Don’t, please!”

Still pinning her in place to me, I return the faucet to its holder. I’ve got over half a foot on her in height, and from my vantage point above, the stiff peaks of her nipples are evident through the thin fabric of her shirt. All I can think of is running my tongue along each one, and the little sounds she’d make in response.

Seraphina squirms in my grip, pretending to resist, but it’s a half-assed attempt and we both know it. Suddenly, I’m hyperaware of her round ass rubbing against my rapidly hardening dick. My cock protests with need, way more turned on than I should be standing in the middle of the kitchen. I want to place her on the counter, spread her legs, and eat her for dessert.

She falls still, and I know I’m not the only one trying to repress the risqué mental movie playing through my mind. I can’t even blame the audiobook from earlier. This isn’t happening because listening to a racy scene got me worked up. This is because I want her. I’ve wanted her since the first time I saw her at XS—since the day she moved in.

With one foot in the present moment and the other firmly planted in the memory of our night together, it’s impossible to think straight.

“You’re getting me wet,” she breathes.

My chuckle echoes between us. “Good to know.”

“From your shirt, I mean.” A flush creeps up her chest.

“Right,” I say. “From my shirt.”

My palms land on her hips and I spin her around to face me, reveling in the way she fits perfectly beneath my hands. While my intention is to let her go, my body has other ideas and before I know it, I’ve backed her up against the cupboard.

We look at one another, our soft inhales and exhales the only sound in the room. Every nerve in my body lights up as my fingertips brush the soft bit of exposed skin above the waist of her jeans. Goddamn. I know I’m playing with fire, but I can’t seem to put away the matches.

“Question seventeen,” Seraphina murmurs. “Do you ever think about that night?”

“All the fucking time.” I’m not a big believer in sugarcoating the truth. Plus, I think it’s pretty obvious.

“Me too.” Her throat bobs, her warm brown eyes searching mine. “Do you regret it? I mean, it’s made things kind of complicated now.”

Complicated is an understatement. Ever since she moved in, it’s been like navigating a minefield. The more time we spend together, the closer I come to doing something I shouldn’t.

“No, Tink. I could never regret you.”

Her pupils dilate as she peers up at me expectantly, her breaths shallow. My gaze lingers on her mouth as the tenuous hold on my restraint slips through my fingers. I still remember how every inch of her body felt beneath my hands. How those perfect, full lips taste. And the exact whimper she made when my hand dipped between her legs for the first time.

I would do anything to hear her whimper like that again.

Fuck.

My self-control hangs in the balance, my jaw tight as I fight to steady my breath. I can’t. I shouldn’t. I won’t…

All of the reasons I need to keep my ass in line flash before my eyes. Her brother. The fact she’s living with us. Hockey. This season is critical; one that could make or break my career. After working this hard for this long, I can’t afford to derail my focus with a chick. Casual hookups are one thing—there are no emotions involved. But something tells me I can’t be casual with Sera. When I’m not thinking with my dick, I know she deserves more than that, too.

That doesn’t make doing the right thing any easier.

Even though I know I should, I can’t bring myself to pull away. Instead, I wrap my arms around Seraphina’s small frame to draw her in for a hug. She freezes for a split-second before she melts against me and loops her arms around my back, nestling closer. All of the chatter in my brain falls quiet as I press my cheek to the top of her head, breathing in her scent.

“You’re soaked,” Sera says, but she doesn’t let me go.

“Sorry.”

An indeterminate length of time passes, and neither of us moves. Her chest presses into mine with each inhale, her breaths slow and even. I’m not normally a touchy-feely person, which is why I can’t make sense of how good holding her feels. Why is it so different?

Suddenly, a car door slams in the distance, and I snap out of my Tinker Bell-induced trance. I’m not sure whether it’s Dallas or the neighbors but it’s a good reminder to wrap it up before something else happens.

“It’s late, Ser. We should get to bed.” Letting my hands fall to my sides, I reluctantly release her. Hurt flashes across her face, and I hate myself for it.

“Yeah.” She looks away, wrapping her arms around her torso tightly. “We should.”