End Game (New York Stars Book 1)

𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝄠 Paris – The Chainsmokers

IN A STRATEGY that stinks of Bradley’s interference, Liam favors Kerrigan over Lewis throughout the game. Kerrigan causes three turnovers and the fans aren’t happy.

The Stars, with their new lineup, have been drawing a lot of interest and have gained some notoriety, meaning the crowd is beyond vocal as they chant their displeasure at Kerrigan’s failure to follow through.

Liam’s furious.

I can see it from here.

It wouldn’t take a mind reader to figure that out anyway, but it’s in how he stews on the bench, whacking his stick on the boards, throwing a water bottle when he never has hissy fits. And in the way his skating is aggressive rather than graceful like usual as OT hits.

We win but the score doesn’t reflect the Stars’ performance.

As always, Liam’s the first to get off the ice and down the hallway that’ll lead to the dressing room.

After all these years of knowing him, there are some stunts of his that still come as a surprise. Like, until recently, I didn’t know that he wears a St. Anthony medallion.

Before every game, he kisses it. After every game, be it a loss or a win, he polishes it.

I’m not sure what St. Anthony can do on the ice—find lost goals?

If so, that didn’t work today.

Watching him go, I don’t bother moving from the VIP box where friends and family sit as the rest of the stands start to clear.

I won’t be leaving until he does, so there’s no need to get involved in the crowd rush.

Instead, after I wave farewell to a wan Lacey, I check my notes and get some studying in after I peep at the family chat and see very few messages on there—since Kow and Liam faced off in Winnipeg, things have been all quiet.

It’s weird.

Like the calm before the storm.

When the stands are dead, with the maintenance crew working on the ice and the clean-up crew picking up the trash that people are too lazy to throw out themselves or to recycle, I drag off my PALs jacket and shove it in my purse as I head for the bowels of the stadium.

The Stars have over twelve thousand square feet of locker room—it’s massive and a way of getting my steps in as I traverse from one end to the other on the hunt for my pissed-off hockey player of a boyfriend.

On the journey, I see Greco punching the wall in fury over letting those two goals in.

If he and Liam didn’t have beef, I’d probably tell him to cut himself some slack. The goalies have it the hardest in my opinion. How they’re treated by the rest of the team, it’s almost like it’s all on them if a game goes south when that’s just not true.

Still, Liam does hate him so I decide to be loyal and leave Greco to his busted knuckles.

Because the locker room is crazy busy with the press, I sneak past them and find Liam in the rehab whirlpools which are totally off limits but… fuck it.

There are a lot of naked asses in here, but I’ve seen worse in my time so, ignoring them, I head over to the side, evading the stares from the physiotherapists who watch my progress but don’t reprimand me for being here.

When I move in behind Liam, I know he hasn’t seen me. So, resting my elbows on the edge of the water, not caring if my sweater gets wet, I call out over the whirlpool, “You did everything you could.”

He twists around in surprise, sending a wave of water over me.

Standing there, drenched, I look at myself then let out a laugh.

When I glance up, I can see that all the players are watching me, waiting for my reaction.

What do they think I’m going to do?

Curse him out?

Turn him blue this time?

Brows lifting, I dump my purse beside the tub then clamber into the water next to him.

Fully dressed.

A cheer goes up around the room that has both Liam and me chuckling and gracing them with one-fingered salutes before the surge of interest fades and Liam’s left staring at me as if he can’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed.

“You look like you’re constipated.”

That has him snickering. “Shut up.”

“I won’t,” I tease, resting my arms along the edge, mimicking his earlier position. “You really do. Maybe the tub isn’t where you need to be right now.”

He scoffs. “Gracie!”

I just smirk.

Scraping a wet hand over his head, he ducks below the water so that only his face is bobbing on the surface. “Sorry I got you wet.”

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“No.”

“You don’t have to apologize, then.”

He sighs. “Now I know I fucked up bad if you’re being so understanding.”

“Hey! I can be nice.”

“Since when?”

“Since forever.” I roll my eyes at him. “Honestly.”

“You don’t have a rep for nothing, Gracie.”

“That was years ago.”

“Years ago and yet, most of these guys know to stay away from you.”

My lips curve of their own volition as I study my nails. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Do you remember that time when you were following Kow and me and you put water in the vodka because you said we were drinking too much to score goals?”

I snicker. “And you still thought you were drunk?”

His grin is sheepish. “Kow flashed that photographer.”

“There are probably photos of that night buried away on someone’s hard drive,” I agree with a laugh. “You deserved that anyway. Plus, the Mounties owe me big time. You pulled your head out of your ass.”

“Kow didn’t.”

“Kow cherry-picks the advice he listens to. He probably wouldn’t if my water-vodka had given him cirrhosis of the liver or my green dye had made his dick fall off.”

A bubble of laughter escapes Liam. “I wish I could say otherwise.”

“But you can’t because my brother’s a moron. A very lucky moron.”

“Some of it’s skill.”

“Most of it isn’t. Don’t get me wrong. I know he’s good at what he does, but if he truly applied himself, he’d be a thousand times better. That’s why you’ve got the clout to be a franchise player and he doesn’t.”

“Better than the Stanley Cup winner he already is?”

I hum. “You know it too. Twenty-three men win the cup. Only some of them become legends.”

He pulls a face, aware that I’m including him under that banner—legend. “Maybe.”

He bobs in the water again before coming to the decision to not be annoyed about what went down on the ice, though I know Bradley will have shifted most of the blame onto him.

When he moves over to my side, letting his hand slip around my waist, he murmurs, “I’d drag you onto my lap, but I think the physios would call Coach in and he’d shit a brick.”

“Sounds painful.”

“Yeah, probably is. They’ll be leaving soon. Bradley wanted us all in here so we can get some relief before early practice tomorrow.”

“That wasn’t on the schedule.”

“No, he amended it after our ‘horrendous’ performance. We need to work on playing together ‘more cohesively.’”

I can’t disagree. “He’ll never get that level of cohesion he’s after when there are so many grudges between the lot of you.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Rarely am.”

His lips twitch. “You okay?”

“I’m okay if you are. You did great out there. He told you to bypass Lewis, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” His hand scrapes through his hair. “I listened. Shouldn’t have. Kerrigan’s more of a nightmare than usual.”

“I know you’re cutting him some slack but Lacey just told me her prognosis is… She doesn’t even have six months, Liam. That’s a lot of pressure.”

He heaves a sigh. “Don’t make me be kind to him.”

“I won’t make you do anything,” I drawl, but I slide my hand over his head and rub the back of his neck.

“Less than six months?”

Sorrow fills me when I think about Lacey—she was coughing like crazy earlier. “Yeah.”

“Fuck.” He shoves a hand over his hair. “I’ll try to get Lewis on board.”

My fingers don’t stop massaging the back of his neck. “I think that’d be a good idea. Just FYI, Greco’s knuckles are going to be busted tomorrow.”

He frowns. “How do you know that? I didn’t see him get injured on the ice.”

“He was just punching the wall when I was coming to find you.”

“Punching the wall?” he repeats, tone dubious. “Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he’s a masochist.” I hitch a shoulder, then, seeing the physios finally leave, I wade my way onto his lap.

Maybe the green-dye incident remains as notorious as ever in hockey circles because no one catcalls or says dick when I take the best seat in the house. Nor do they when he curls his arm around me.

“You guys need to not hate each other so much. You’re stuck together until the end of the season, at least.”

Especially now that the trade deadline has gone the way of the dodo.

“Greco’s a jerk.”

“Sure he is. Lots of hockey players are.” My brothers included. “It’s a common trait among you Neanderthals.”

“I think I should be offended.”

“You probably should be. You used to be a jerk too.” I tap the tip of his nose with my finger. “You’re not anymore though. Good job on being a better person.”

A burst of laughter escapes him. “You’ll always keep my feet on the ground, won’t you, Gracie?”

I wink at him. “I’ll do my best.”

“How was class today? I didn’t know if you’d make it to the game.”

“Finals are coming up so shit’s getting more intense.” I yawn. “I’m tired, to be honest.”

“We’ll head back home soon.”

I like how that sounds, but I rest my head on his shoulder and mutter, “I should go to my apartment. School is nearer to my place and I have an early class tomorrow.”

When my next yawn makes my jaw creak, he asks, “Am I working you too hard?”

A laugh combines with a yawn. “Nope. You’re a pushover boss, Liam.”

“Glad to hear it,” he teases, but I know he means it.

“It’s just things are heating up in class, you know?” I yawn again. “Lots to prepare for, ton of shit to reread.”

Do I tell him that it’s less fun than it used to be?

“Everything okay?”

“It’s weird how well you can read me.”

He smiles. “You study for your MBA, and I study you.”

I huff. “Smooth.”

“That’s me. Smoother than peanut butter.”

“You’re only saying that because you know I hate the crunchy variety.”

“Which makes no sense considering you eat nothing but nuts all day.”

“You just want me to eat nothing but your nut all day.”

His eyes flare wide before the most massive laugh booms from him. Honestly, it’s a wonder it didn’t pop a blood vessel.

Smug from making him laugh like that, I look around to see if anyone witnessed the earthquake-like laughter only to find that we’re alone.

All alone.

Huh.

“You doing all right there, Liam?” I jeer, amused that he is so amused.

He rubs his watering eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. But you’re right. About the nut.”

“Of course I am.”

“But you didn’t distract me from what we were talking about earlier. You can tell me what’s going on, Gracie, you know.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Not if it’s important to you.” He sits up. “Why are you always okay with talking about me but never yourself?”

“I’m not interesting.”

“Since when?”

Since forever.

“Liam—”

“No, Gracie. Seriously. I don’t think you’re interesting—” Ouch. “I think you’re fascinating.” Oh. “Now, tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Watching him for what feels like endless moments, endless in that he doesn’t break the silence, doesn’t relent, and all the while the bubbles from the whirlpool churn around me, lulling me into relaxing, I heave a sigh.

“What I’m studying…”

“It’s too hard?”

I sniff. “No.”

“Then?”

“I’m getting there,” I grumble, tracing my fingers through the water. “It’s boring.”

“Boring,” he repeats.

“Yeah.”

“Why? Because there’s a lot of work? We can figure something out so you have more time—”

“No. That isn’t what I mean.” I peep up at him. “If I tell you this, you can’t let anyone know. Ever.”

His eyes widen. “Your secret’s safe with me, Gracie.”

I know it is.

That’s why I shift on his lap, straddling him, then, moving closer, I whisper in his ear, “I think I only picked it up to piss off my mom. Which means I’m almost in my thirties and am rebelling against her like I’m a teenager.”

He snorts. “Makes sense.”

I pull back. “It does?”

“Sure. I never realized how contentious your relationship was. Now that you’ve made a stand, I guess it makes sense for you to reevaluate your life and where you’re at.”

Something flickers in his eyes, something that makes me cup his chin. “I’m not reevaluating you, Liam.”

“No? I wouldn’t blame you, not when tomorrow’s papers will say it’s your fault we played like shit because you’re my girlfriend and you should have put me to bed at 7pm to make sure I got enough rest for the game. Never mind the other bullshit with that reporter roughing you up.”

His gruff tone has me murmuring, “Takes more than that to frighten me off.”

“Yeah?”

I don’t bother confirming or denying, not verbally anyway.

Letting my arms crisscross on his shoulders, I surge high on his lap so we’re closer, then I press my lips to his.

He sighs into my soft kiss, settling deeper in the water so both of us are just two heads lolling on the surface.

His mouth opens, letting me in. As I slip inside, he angles his head, inviting me deeper, an invitation I’m more than happy to accept.

There’s something special about kissing Liam.

It’s as if we have all the time in the world when we don’t, but it’s like the clock is irrelevant.

I figure that it’s part of the ‘Donnghal Effect.’

His hands go to the hem of my sweater. One slides beneath it, skimming over my waist, before he starts to shove it higher.

Both of us know that anyone could walk in right now, be it Bradley or one of his teammates. Though I’ve never really been into exhibitionism, the thrill is electrifying.

He nips the tip of my tongue, startling me into jerking back. His eyes are like pools I could swim in but his smile is anything but apologetic, something that makes complete sense when he jerks my sweater off and over my head. It makes a plopping sound when it falls onto the floor.

Both hands settle on my ass as he rumbles, “You going to stay in that wet bra, Gracie? Or are you going to show me those beautiful tits of yours?”

“Think I’m afraid to show them to you?” I taunt, tucking my arms behind my back and unfastening the clasp.

When the tension in the straps eases, I snag the now-heavy fabric and let it join my sweater on the tiles.

“I know you love them, Liam. I think you should leave a love bite right here, next to my nipple. Just so that—”

When I lift my breast and motion to where I’d like a hickey, one of his hands settles between my shoulder blades and he hauls me closer so that they’re smushing up against his pecs.

“I’ll leave a reminder you won’t forget,” he confirms with a growl, but then his nose trails along my jawline. “You’re so soft, Gracie. I love that.”

“More curves than you can handle?” I try to joke, but it comes out like a croak.

“I think I can handle you just fine. Reach down, Gracie. Feel what’s hard just for you.”

Fuck.

Swallowing, I do as he says and let my fingers curl around his hardness. “I love how thick you are.”

“You like how I spread that perfect pussy of yours apart, hmm?”

“Y-Yes,” I whisper, well aware that he’s the only man I’ve ever known who’s made me stutter. “And you go so d-deep inside me. It’s like I don’t know where you end.”

His fingers dig into my ass, the curves giving way to his tenacious grip. “Is that beautiful little cunt hungry for my dick?”

“You know it is, Liam.”

He shakes his head. “How can I? You’re still wearing too many clothes. I think you should rectify that, don’t you?”

Nodding meekly when I’m never meek, I slip off his lap and stand in the water. When his gaze lands on my bare tits, I watch his nostrils flare before they’re hidden again as I duck down and start to strip out of my wet yoga pants.

When they and my panties plop onto the floor, the intensity of his gaze pins me in place.

I stand there, breathing heavily, knowing that someone could walk in, but it’d be worth it.

To be looked at like that is worth any price.

He grits his jaw, the muscles clenching in a way that makes his handsome face less pretty and more alive, more vibrant, more everything.

Before I know it, he’s in front of me. But instead of keeping us chest to chest, he spins me around. I have no clue what his game is, and I find I don’t care.

Trusting in him to pleasure us both, I let him maneuver us until he’s satisfied with our positions, and, boy, is it worth it.

I find myself kneeling on the bench seat, but where he’s positioned me, holy fuck, the bubbles come straight out and hit me at my core. When he lines up behind me, he blankets me as one arm comes around my hips, his hand finding my slit.

As he touches my clit, he rasps, “How do those bubbles feel, ma belle?”

My only answer is a groan.

He spreads my lips apart and shuffles me forward. I nearly choke on the water when it bucks in a wave as I jolt in surprise. My yelp is both pleasure-filled and desperate.

God!

“Liam,” I mewl, my arm sliding back to grab him behind the neck.

This new position gives him access to one of my tits and as he cups it, nipping and pinching the tip, I can feel his dick settle between my butt cheeks. It’s hot and heavy and it’s lying there like a threat and a promise all wrapped into one.

When the bubbles continue tormenting me, I press my arm to my mouth and bite into the tender skin when he slots the tip of his shaft to my entrance. It spreads me wider, but the torture is worth it because he growls, “FUCK!”

That rumble vibrates in my ear, making me shiver.

Knowing the whirlpool is teasing him as much as it is me, I tilt my head to the side and mutter against his jaw, “I want you to fill me, Liam. I need you inside me. Please, give me your cock. Please.”

“When you ask so goddamn nicely,” he snarls, “how can I say no?”

In contrast to his aggressive words, he slides into me so slowly that I’m whimpering by the time he’s all the way inside.

I tense up with every inch he claims because with the bubbles and the teasing of my clit and how he’s pinching my nipple, it’s too much.

I cling to him, the only stability in this insane world, and let him take me where I need to go, giving myself over to him when I trust no one with me.

And he doesn’t let me down.

I don’t think he ever will, either.

Still moving too slowly, he thrusts in and out, making sure I feel every part of his dick. My pussy clamps around him whenever he retreats and returns, silently begging him to stay inside me, to fill me. Forever.

Without a word, he seems to understand because instead of pulling out, he stays deep. Rocking his hips, grinding into me, pushing me toward the flow of the bubbles so that my clit and pussy are bombarded on all sides.

When my orgasm finds me, it hits me with the force of two freight trains colliding.

The water makes me feel everything with more intensity because I’m not tethered to gravity as I usually am. I’m lighter, more buoyant, and so is my release.

Crying out his name, I beg, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Liam. Please, please—”

That’s when his hand comes up to my mouth and he muzzles me.

I have no idea why but that makes this ten times hotter.

With his hand right there, I have no alternative other than to grip him with my teeth and to bite down. He groans in my ear, thrusting harder, faster—

“What in the hell is going on in here?!”

The words should be like a bucket of cold water being hurled at my face.

But they’re not.

I know it’s Bradley.

I know it is.

But my pussy clamps around him as pleasure shuttles its way through my veins with the force of one of Liam’s penalty shots to the back of the net.

When I release a deep, keening cry, Bradley screams, “Ms. Bukowski, get out—”

I should be leaping from the water, shoving a towel over myself to cover up, but Liam’s doing a great job of that. His bulk comes in handy because there’s no way that fucker can see me.

Maybe it’s because I have no respect for the coach, maybe it’s because Liam’ll be the one who suffers at practice as a punishment tomorrow, and maybe it’s because this room will definitely be off-limits to me in the future, but I open my eyes and purposely seek out the coach who is looking at me.

There’s hatred in his expression, disrespect as well as disgust—a whole cocktail of it.

Unaffected, I smile at him like the cat who got the cream while Liam jumps, making water surge over the sides of the whirlpool.

Face practically puce with rage, Bradley’s nostrils flare as he shouts, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Donnghal? You’re the goddamn captain!”

“Can you imagine the scandal if the PR manager hadn’t gotten the press out of here early tonight? Get your ass on the tiles now.”

It’s cute that even with Bradley breathing down his neck, Liam rearranges me so that my modesty is intact with his hands on my tits until he dunks me below the surface, simultaneously flashing his still-hard dick.

“It’s a little late for that!” Bradley growls.

I hide a smile even as Liam mumbles, “Tomorrow’s gonna suck.” He climbs out of the water then shoots me a wink and, while Bradley’s cussing up a storm and he’s snatching a towel, whispers, “You’re worth the reaming I’ll get at practice.”

“I’ll take care of your blue balls later,” I croon.

His ass is the last thing I see and the only thing I’m interested in before I flop back into the water.