Page 2 of Fake the Shot (SLC Sting #2)

CHAPTER 2

NO WOMAN CAN RESIST ONE OF MY FLEXED BICEPS

KAYDEN

I was eleven when Tanner Landry told me I was too small to get a puck past him. He was three years older, and it seemed like he was twice my size. Even back then, though, I loved a challenge.

And that's exactly what this redhead is. A challenge I haven't stopped thinking about since the first day I saw her.

And like Tanner found out that day, I don't lose.

When Emory glares at me, all I see is the smirk on Tanner's face as he hands me that plastic hockey stick with the worn tape around the handle. When she tries to insult me, I hear his gasp as I fake left and charge right, slapping the puck into the goal before he can even react.

Right now, Emory is my goal, and I'm so close I can smell the strawberry scent of her hair.

"What is that?" Chloe stands frozen, staring at the bright red SUV parked in the driveway. "Is that the pizza delivery car?"

Brant shrugs. "It could be. If you get a job delivering pizzas."

"Are you serious?" She looks from Lily to Brant and back to Lily again. "That's…" She lets her words trail off like she can't dare finish her thought.

"There are lots of strings attached and rules that you have to follow," Lily tells her. "But as long as you do—yeah, that's yours."

Chloe squeals as she wraps Lily in a hug, and I'm sure birds miles away are startled into the air by the sound.

When Brant joins in their embrace, something inside my chest twists. They're the kind of family I wished I had when I was growing up. The kind I can never have now, no matter how much I want it.

"They're so perfect," I mutter under my breath.

Emory looks at me, and the smile playing across her face makes my stomach flutter. "I can't believe you and I actually agree about something."

I raise an eyebrow. "Maybe we should go to my place after this party and see what else we agree on."

"And just like that, the moment's gone. Shame." She taps a finger to my cheek, letting it linger just a second longer than necessary before she joins the others gathered around the car.

From the instant she walked in today, I haven't been able to drag my attention away from her. She moves like she owns every space she's in. Always comfortable and confident. And that smile. She gives it so easily to everyone except me, but the more she holds back, the more I want to earn it from her.

I'm so lost in my own thoughts, I don't notice Brant until he claps his hand on my shoulder. "I'd say this was a success."

It takes more effort than it should for me to finally look at my best friend. "Aren't you glad you listened to me about the color? That red is beautiful."

"That red will draw attention everywhere she goes."

I turn back to Emory. "She certainly does."

In the corner of my eye, I see Brant shake his head as he snorts. "I think you might need to pass on this one, my friend. She's obviously not interested. And she's my fiancée's best friend, so if you hurt her, I'm obligated to hurt you."

"Branny, you know me better than that." I shrug off his arm, offended he thinks that could be a possibility. "I might have a bit of a reputation, but I've never hurt any woman I've been with." At least not in the eight years since Hannah.

"I do know you, Kay. But Emory's not like the women you usually hook up with, so be careful. For her sake and yours."

The women I usually date know there can never be anything serious between us. I make that clear before the first date. Just thinking the word "commitment" feels like someone dragging an ice cold blade down my spine.

But they don't want commitment either. They hope being seen on the arm of the league's best player will give them a flood of new followers or boost their modeling careers. They get publicity. I get to trick myself into believing I'm capable of a real relationship. At least for a couple of weeks.

Emory couldn't be more different. She seems turned off by the fact that I play hockey, and that intrigues me. I want to know what turns her on. I want to be that for her, even if it's just for one night.

"Alright, the pizza really is here now," Brant calls out as a car pulls to the curb. "Everybody inside. You too, Chloe. Lily and I will take you for a drive after we eat."

Just as Chloe starts to protest, Emory whispers something that makes her laugh. I watch as they share a quick moment before Chloe finally agrees to head back inside.

I know I should stop staring as Emory turns to follow her, but I don't. I want her to catch me. And she does.

She narrows her eyes and holds up her middle finger as she walks past me back into the house. My gaze fixes on the perfectly painted red nail at its tip. I only need one night. One night to ruin her for every other man in her future.

Back inside, everyone is crammed in the kitchen, jostling each other for their place in line. There's no such thing as enough food for a room full of hockey players, but these guys act like the entire team has to share one pizza.

I trail behind, satisfied to let them battle it out head of me. As I watch Poppy and Jonas try to wrap the other in a headlock while not dumping any pizza on the ground, I notice Chloe. She's with her friends, but she's standing just a bit closer to one of them. As they inch forward in line, their fingers casually brush against each other.

Thankfully, Brant and Lily are nowhere in sight. They love that girl more than anything, but they can be overprotective.

Brant spent months researching the safest car for Chloe. Then, once he settled on one, he installed two different tracking systems in it, so there would always be a backup.

It might be understandable after everything Chloe's been through, but she has a real family now—Brant, Lily, and an entire team of hockey players who will guard that girl with their lives.

And Emory.

My heart thuds as I catch her watching me. There's no middle finger this time. She just stares. Her look reminds me of a matador challenging a bull.

I grin and match her pose, staring for what feels like minutes, determined that I won't be the first to surrender.

"Captain? Bouchard!" Poppy calls to me from the kitchen, but I ignore him. Until his shoulder slams into mine and sends me sprawling.

Emory chortles as I stumble, and when I look up, she's gone. I glower at Poppy, but his back is already turned to me.

"Come. I saved you a slice."

"You nearly knocked me over for that?"

"I needed to get your attention. You Americans love this disgusting food for some reason." He answers through a mouth full of pizza. "You are welcome."

But eating is the last thing on my mind now. It's only a few seconds before I hear her voice. I spin a slow circle in the center of the living room, all my senses focused until I find her talking to Sammy.

Maybe on any other day, I'd be glad he's talking to someone. He's been off his game today. Quiet, just like he has been since the start of training camp. I'll talk to him about it later to make sure he's okay, but right now, I have other concerns.

I cross the room and put an arm around my teammate's shoulders, but my attention leaves no doubt who I'm here for. "Red."

Emory's nostrils flare and she straightens to her full height like a cobra ready to strike. Even without her heels, she would be taller than me, but now she seems to tower over me. "Don't— ever —call me that. Are we clear, puck boy?" She doesn't give me a chance to respond before storming away.

"Wow." Sammy chuckles. "She does not like you. Turns out you can miss your shot, just like the rest of us."

"Don't be so sure." I give him a playful wink and follow after her.

She stomps to a hallway on the far side of the room. The only area of the entire first floor that isn't crowded with people. As if she can sense that I'm right behind her, she stops and whips around, pressing a finger into my chest. "We are not going to your place, and the sooner you wipe that thought from your brain, the happier we'll both be."

Heat rises to my cheeks. Have I really misread her that badly? Have I spent the entire party stalking a woman who wants nothing more than to just get away from me? I raise my hands and take a step back, hoping to signal a truce. "I'm sorry. I thought this was… It doesn't matter. I was wrong. You're not interested, and I respect?—"

"I didn't say that . I just said we're not going to your place."

"Oh?"

Her neck flushes as I lean in closer, resting my hand on the wall beside her head and flexing my biceps. No woman can resist one of my flexed biceps. "You're staying at Lily's old house, right? That works with me."

She buries her face in her hands with a groan. "God, I really must be desperate." After a deep breath, her eyes move back to mine. "Look, I'm fucking fabulous, and you're… adequate. But the instant you open your mouth, you drop from a six to a negative one hundred. So how about we agree to do this, but only as long as you keep that cocky mouth of yours closed. Can you handle that?"

I can't help but smile. No one other than my teammates ever talks to me like this. Everyone else thinks they need to stoke my ego, as if flattery will win me over.

"And there are going to be rules," she goes on, counting off on her fingers. "We're getting a hotel room. It's going to be in my name, and you're leaving as soon as I'm done with you. No cuddling, no talking, no ordering room service, no admiring any view. It can overlook a dumpster for all I care. Even better if that dumpster is on fire, because that's the perfect metaphor for this. We're going to be in and out of that room just like you're going to be in and out. Deal?"

It's cute how she thinks this will be a simple in and out operation. Maybe she's used to quick sex with adequate men who think only of themselves. She has no idea what's coming.

"I'm in."