End Game (New York Stars Book 1)

“MS. BUKOWSKI!” Coach yells.

“Bradley, if you think these jerk-offs have something I’ve never seen before, you’re mistaken.”

Facing the door, I watch as she storms toward me. I know I’m in for the Gracie Bukowski special—the finger wag—but I don’t have it in me to care when I notice her notice I’m naked.

Apart from a towel.

Is it my imagination or does she not even glance at any of the other guys who are all in middling states of undress?

Maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

She’s been acting like a cat on a hot tin roof ever since that day in my kitchen when I kissed her pulse, so it’s nice to see her back to normal.

Even if ‘normal’ involves her snarling at me: “Liam Donnghal.” Her finger is out and wagging in my face. It’d be inappropriate to snag it in my hold and suck on it, right? “What the hell were you thinking?!” she demands, prompting me to tune back into the conversation.

Some guys wouldn’t appreciate this going down in front of the team, but they’re clearly not comfortable with their masculinity. I, on the other hand, just grin at her. “Gracie, what was I supposed to do when Condon was throwing out slurs?”

“He what?” she screeches, focus shifting.

“You heard me.”

“I’m not gay,” Lewis grumbles, but he’s watching Gracie like the unexploded hand grenade she is.

Most of the guys are.

Which means her rep from the early days, a rep that’s ten years old, is still making the rounds.

What, with the ‘green dye’ incident and how she knocked Kow out that one time, it’s no wonder she’s famous behind the scenes.

“Would it matter if you were gay? Just you wait until I tell that piece of shit what I think of him. I know his sister Lorie. As if he can judge anyone with a name like that. I’ll show that Condom—”

“Ms. Bukowski,” Bradley snaps. “You will leave this to the appropriate channels—”

“Why would I do that when you never get anything done? One word to his sister and it’ll pass back to his mom. His mom,” she repeats. “Have you met Jessica Condon?”

Bradley squints at her. “I’ve had the pleasure, yes.”

“Then you’ll know that she’s more terrifying than the NHL Player Safety Committee,” she retorts with a sniff. To me, she snipes, “I’ll see you outside. Leave this with me.”

That’s when Lewis slips in, “Hey, I’m Kyle—”

The fact he tried to talk to her in this state tells me where his mind is at—his dick.

Jealousy whips through my veins, making my fists ball at my sides and my nostrils flare with agitation. I can’t help the visceral reaction, not when my teammate wants to get it on with my Gracie.

But of course, she never disappoints.

And as much as my blood pressure surged, she works on it better than a beta blocker by scowling at him like he’s plankton when he tries to snag a hold of her hand—the dude’s got a death wish.

“I know who you are.”

In fact, no, her stare tells the locker room that, to her, he’s worse than plankton. He’s the mold on a grilled cheese sandwich that’s been forgotten on the countertop, which just so happens to be the only kind of cheese she’ll never eat…

Unaffected, Lewis slides in with a grin he probably thinks is charming. “That’s good you know who I am. I’m—”

“—getting in my way?” she grates out.

Lewis blinks. “I just wanted to—”

“—get in my way?”

I cough to hide my laugh. Instantly, that draws her attention. As she pins me with a glower, I raise my hands in surrender.

That’s how she’d look if I accidentally made her gag on my dick.

I just fucking know it.

Outraged but hot as hell.

She sniffs at me and waves a hand at Lewis, who needs to get better at reading the room.

“Kyle, get out of her way, dude,” I insert quickly.

Gracie dips her chin. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I grin at her. “Didn’t want to presume that you couldn’t defend yourself, Gracie.”

“We both know I can and we also know that I can’t afford the lawsuit if I knee Lewis in the balls for touching me without my permission.” Instantly, he rears back, grabbing his junk. That has her shooting him a pleasant smile. “That’s right. Just consider me a contagion. No touching!”

The Arrested Development reference has me snickering as, feathers well and truly ruffled, she storms off.

With a final glance at my chest.

That was not a figment of my imagination.

“You need to make sure that doesn’t happen again, Donnghal,” Bradley snaps.

Shifting my attention from her ass to his beet-red face, I arch a brow at him. “You try and stop her, Coach. No one gets in the way of the Bukowskis. They make Jessica Condon seem cool, calm, and collected.”

He grimaces but doesn’t reply—he knows I’m right. He’s dealt with the family many times as coach of Canada’s Olympic team. Though, admittedly, it’s Fryd who’s the nightmare parent on their side.

Lewis whistles. “Your assistant is terrifying.”

“What the fuck was that about?” I demand, slapping him upside the head because I can hear him drooling over her.

“She’s hot.”

“You don’t fuck with a teammate’s PA, bruh.”

“I like a woman with a fiery temper.”

“Yeah, well, that fiery temper is mine. Got it?”

“You put a ring on it?” Gagné surprises me by asking.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just curious,” he says blandly. “Gracie is as terrifying as ever, by the way.”

“Nah, not really.”

“Didn’t you notice? No one hooted or catcalled while she was in here,” Lewis points out, his tone practically dreamy.

“They wouldn’t dare.” Fuck if that isn’t hot.

The irony is that she’s a sweetheart. I’ve never known anyone more genuine or with a bigger heart than her.

“Exactly,” Lewis enthuses. “Is it true she stormed into the locker room at the World Junior Championships?”

My mind trickles back to that day. She always managed to get in where she wasn’t supposed to and though Kow and I didn’t have the clout we do now, it didn’t stop her.

Nor did it stop her from making herself heard.

“Yeah, she did. She doesn’t understand ‘No Entry’ signs,” I answer as I pull on a pair of boxer briefs that Kara’s trying to get me to be the spokesperson for.

They’re comfortable but tight in the glutes.

“What made her storm the barricades?”

“She said Kow was skating like he was high. The funny thing is, they argued loud enough for the Russians to hear in their locker room, but he started skating better afterward. She’s a good influence on him.”

He just doesn’t want to admit it and, in two years, he’ll be five grand lighter and Gracie will be giving him advice on the best orthopedic surgeon in his area.

Lewis hums under his breath as he draws on a tee shirt. “Wanna go for a drink?”

The offer comes out of the blue, in the middle of a conversation about Gracie… Is he going to ask me to set him up with her?

Getting ahead of that bullshit, I growl, “I’m not setting you up with her.”

Lewis’s grin is sheepish. “I never hooked up with an older woman before.”

Gagné muses, “Which part of ‘mine,’ tu ne comprends pas?”

With my eyes narrowed upon him, Lewis shrugs. “If she’s off limits because she’s a Bukowski, how about we hit up a club together? There are puck bunnies just waiting to meet—”

“It has nothing to do with her last name,” I interrupt, dragging on my chinos. “Public spaces aren’t for me. Thanks for the offer, though.”

Lewis blinks, and I can tell he doesn’t understand my refusal. Our rapport is great. We should be closer than we are, but I’m so shut off outside of the rink that we only meet here.

It takes him a few minutes, probably with help from Gagné who, from my peripheral, looks like he’s having some kind of episode with how hard his brows are wriggling, before he nods his understanding.

“No problem.” He clears his throat. “If you change your, er, mind, you know where I am.”

“I do.” My smile is tight. “Leave Gracie alone, you hear me?”

Nodding, he coughs. ‘Anyway, I heard about something called the ‘green dye affair.’ Is that true?’

‘Where the hell have you been, Lewis? Everyone heard about that. She turned ’em into four-leaf clovers,” Gagné jokes. ‘Saw them myself.’

‘Fuck off.”

“We had no chance of winning that game with him on the ice. Why do you think his name went from Peter Pan to Leprechaun?”

Even I chuckle at that.

When Lewis’s cell rings, he strides off to take it elsewhere.

“You dating her?”

Gagné’s question has me growing tense. “Why?”

“Like that, huh?”

“Like what?” I retort, trying and probably failing to sound nonchalant.

Gagné claps me on the shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, the only ass she was studying was yours.”

Because he’s been married since high school, I don’t get pissed at him for looking at her.

I scrape a hand over my jaw. “Really?”

“Really. I get you, bro. We both like ‘em crazy.”

We share a grin and bump fists.

Fuck if that doesn’t improve my mood for the rest of the day.