Taking a Shot Read online

“Brett, that’s awful.”

  He shrugged. “On the upside, at least we’re completely fucked up together, right?”

  “Well,” she countered, getting onto her knees so she could straddle his lap. His body liked where she was headed as she hooked her arms around his neck and leaned close. “Maybe not completely fucked up. But we’ve got a box of condoms and the rest of the night to try to get there.”

  “I’m game if you are,” Brett vowed, cutting the distance between them and catching her lips in a slow, sweet kiss.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Their annual casino night was the final charity event of the season, and the fact that the team was still in playoff contention made it even more of a success. For the first time in five years, it had completely sold out, which was great for the four local veterans’ charities the foundation had chosen to partner with.

  Now all Chelsea had to do was wrangle an entire roster of hockey players into being on their best behavior and try not to let the chill that had descended between her and Shanna affect the event. No problem.

  Chelsea stepped to the front of the holding room the casino had provided for the team, raising her voice to be heard over the din as she went through the list on her clipboard.

  “Okay, so my first black jack dealers are Matti, Yevgeni, Cody, Darnell, Lincoln, and Nik. If you guys want to follow Shanna, she’ll get you set up at your tables.”

  Chelsea glanced at the clock on the far wall.

  “For the rest of you, the usual applies. Please spread out, chat with the season ticket holders, because that’s why they’re here. I don’t want to see more than two or three of you at the same game at the same time. Three-drink maximum, and try to spread them out over the course of the evening, gentlemen. I don’t want any incidents like last time. Right, Jason?”

  Decker stood up at the round of catcalls and wolf-whistles, holding up both hands and accepting the laughing taunts and jeers with a gracious bow. “I promise to keep all my clothes on this year, Chelsea, unless you ask me nicely.”

  She rolled her eyes at the resulting hoots, but she couldn’t quite hide her smile.

  Before she could wrestle the room back under control, Chase Hawkins, the team frat boy, was on his feet. “Okay, boys. You heard the lady. Let’s keep it classy as fuck out there! Also, if you’re wondering where to surrender your money to me, I will be the one at the poker table, surrounded by beautiful women.”

  This set off another round of howls and ribbing as the rest of the team stood.

  “Thank you, Chase, for that incredibly unhelpful addition. I’m begging you guys, please don’t make me earn my money tonight, okay?”

  The plea was mostly lost in the thunder of a bunch of dudes let loose in a casino.

  “Where do you want me?” Brett asked.

  Now there was a dangerous question.

  Even though there was six feet of space between them, heat crawled over her skin, and judging by his wicked grin, he was reading her mind.

  She glanced down at her clipboard in an attempt to calm her raging hormones. “I just have you circulating on the floor, chatting with fans.”

  “See now, that was your chance to say something dirty, Chels. About how you want me up against the wall or whatever.”

  “It was?” God, she liked him. It was a little scary how much.

  He nodded with faux solemnity. “It was. But you didn’t, and that makes a guy start to doubt himself, start to wonder what the odds are on him getting lucky tonight, you know?”

  “Well, I guess that depends,” she teased, lowering her clipboard.

  “On what?”

  “On whether you’re done with the bad casino puns. They’re kind of a turn-off.”

  “Liar.” His devilish grin faded after a moment. “God, I wish I could kiss you right now.”

  She wanted that, too, wanted to let him, but it was too risky. She had an event to run, and she couldn’t give in to the hum of attraction his confession had kindled in her belly. She licked her lips, trying to douse the tingle that the thought of his mouth on hers had stoked.

  Despite the distance between them, she could see his eyes had darkened in that sexy, exciting way that made her pulse speed up.

  “Okay, since I can’t resist your tongue, that is my cue to leave before I do something completely irresponsible,” he announced, walking backward toward the door. “But before I go, I’d like to point out that I just totally called your bluff. You are definitely turned all the way on. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a full house out there, waiting for my arrival, but cards on the table? I know you said you wouldn’t sleep with a guy who’s good with gambling puns, but if you want my advice, don’t roulette out. Deal?”

  She stuck her tongue out at him, just to be a brat, and he winked as he turned and headed out to the floor.

  Shanna appeared seconds later, and a distinct chill settled over the room, dousing the flirty embers of her interaction with Brett. They hadn’t spoken since the breakfast incident. It was the longest they’d been out of contact in all their years of friendship. “Did you need something?” Chelsea did her best to sound professional rather than bitchy.

  “I was just coming to find Brett, since he was the only one not out on the floor. But obviously, he was in good hands.”

  Okay, then. Apparently, Shanna did not feel the same need to temper their interaction.

  Chelsea cleared her throat. “Well, you found him. Fully dressed. And I still have both my hands on the clipboard. So I guess you can consider your self-appointed chaperone duty a success.”

  Shanna frowned. “I don’t know why you’re so mad about this. I’m just looking out for you because we’re friends.”

  “Oh, is that what this is? Then how come you weren’t looking out for me when Dustin completely undermined my confidence? When he ridiculed me for wanting sex more than once a month? When he was gaslighting my concerns about our relationship right before dumping me because I didn’t turn him on anymore? But now you’re worried about me? Now that I’ve found a man who makes me feel sexy and wanted and alive?”

  Shanna’s eyes rounded at the charges, and Chelsea blew out a breath.

  “Look, this isn’t the time or place to get into this. I shouldn’t have dumped that on you. We’ve both got work to do. This event isn’t going to run itself.”

  Forty minutes later, Chelsea was beginning to doubt the validity of that claim.

  Everything was going great, the guys were behaving themselves, the fans were having a good time, and that left Chelsea with nothing but free time to notice the three very buxom blondes in tight, short dresses who made a beeline for the craps table where Jason, Chase and Brett were hanging out.

  They looked glamorous, the guys in their suits, the women laughing with martini glasses full of neon-colored drinks in their hands. It gave Chelsea a pang of something she couldn’t quite place. Not so much jealousy as…longing?

  What would it be like to be the woman standing next to him? Flirting and sipping fruity alcohol and having a good time, instead of monitoring the scene with a clipboard in her hands?

  She’d always put so much into her work. Everything, really. Lately, it didn’t feel worth it. Something was missing. It was why she’d worked so hard for the promotion. She’d been hoping a new set of responsibilities would reignite her passion for the job.

  As if he could sense her watching him, Brett looked over at her. He raised his eyebrows and his beer in salute, and she couldn’t help but return his lopsided grin.

  “Do you know what his problem is?”

  Chelsea started at the intrusion. “Dad, you scared me.”

  “It’s that he’s distracted.”

  On the heels of her run-in with Shanna, Chelsea was not interested in another concern-veiled attack.

  “Sillinger’s a damn good hockey player when he’s trying. But he’s got a short attention span. He lets his personal life get in the way of his business. He’s not like you and me. No sense of res
ponsibility.”

  Chelsea glanced at her dad, preparing to excuse herself under the guise of some non-existent problem, but then her father pulled out the big guns. “He’s like your mother that way.”

  The reference blindsided her. Since the day she’d walked out on them, Alicia London had not been a topic of family discussion. And that suited Chelsea just fine. But for her father to bring her up now, in reference to Brett, had anger bubbling up in her chest.

  “He checks out when he gets bored.”

  Well fine. If he wanted to go there, she’d go all the way there.

  “Maybe it’s not about being bored. Did you ever really try with Mom? Or did you just work and work and work, and leave no room for her in your life?”

  Like she and Dustin had done to each other.

  “I’m not sure I like that implication, young lady.”

  “I’m not sure I like yours, either, Dad. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  Anger pulsed through her veins. She hated that he’d reduced her to defending her mother. In the decade since she’d left, Chelsea had been Team Dad all the way. She might look like her mother, but she was her father’s daughter, through and through. She’d been proud of that. But tonight, that all-work mindset she’d always prided herself on chafed.

  She needed to prove that first night with Brett wasn’t a fluke.

  Prove that she’d changed. Grown. That she was braver. That she wasn’t just good.

  She was practically running to the roulette wheel before she remembered to slow her steps and smile. By the time she reached the craps table, her face hurt. “Brett, can I borrow you for a minute?” She glanced at her clipboard, trying to make it seem as though she was there on very important business.

  “Oooh! Dude, you’re so screwed. You just got the clipboard of death.” Chase laughed, and the sound of it made Chelsea grind her teeth. She wanted to look competent, not like the Destroyer of Fun.

  Brett smiled as he extricated himself from the sea of boobs. “Excuse me, ladies. Duty calls.”

  “Awww, ignore her, Brett. What’s she got that I can’t give you?” The girl in pink sequins pouted prettily. “Besides, who’s gonna blow on these for luck if you leave?” She waited a long moment before she held the dice in her hand in front of her double D’s.

  Chelsea didn’t care. Not when Brett was looking at her with that slightly amused tilt to his lips. He didn’t spare Pink Sequins another glance. “I’ll stand in for Sillinger,” she heard Chase offer as she and Brett walked away.

  “Your event seems to be a big hit. Everyone’s having a good time.”

  Everyone except her, it seemed.

  “Follow me,” she ordered, striding as briskly toward the Employees Only door as she could in three-inch heels.

  She couldn’t talk to him yet. Not here.

  She was too…bothered. By her fight with Shanna. By her father’s insinuation. By having to work instead of being the one blowing on Brett’s dice. By her sudden and desperate need to remind him how good things were between them.

  When they were off the casino floor and away from the team, Chelsea took a sharp left and their dressy shoes echoed as they stepped from the loud, patterned carpet onto a tiled floor.

  “Where’s the fire? Or are we pulling some kind of heist? I always wanted to drive a getaway car, but a heads-up would have been appreciated, because Nik and I shared a cab here and—”

  Chelsea pushed through the Emergency Exit door that led to a dingy stairwell. Perfect. The musty scent of concrete and the buzzing yellow lighting made things feel just the right level of seedy for what she had in mind. The door banged shut behind them, echoing through the space, reinforcing her courage.

  “I don’t want to quarterback your operation or anything, but I don’t think this is where they keep the money.”

  “Brett?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut up.” She shoved him up against the wall, catching his grunt of surprise with her mouth as she pressed against him, but the hard, sexy kiss she meant to execute was a little off target, and their teeth banged together, hard enough that it stung a bit.

  Her confidence took a hit, but she was determined to persevere.

  She reached for his belt buckle as she lowered herself onto her knees, but her heel snagged in her dress, and she came down harder than expected. Gritting her teeth at the pain that shot through her kneecap, she focused on her mission. Her hands were rough and clumsy in her haste, and it took her two tries to undo it. She did better with his button, but when she went for his zipper, his big hand covered her busy fingers, stalling her progress.

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  She took a deep breath, scared to look up at him. He was supposed to be moaning with passion by this point, but he didn’t sound carried away by lust. When she lifted her eyes, it was worse than she’d thought.

  His face was the perfect picture of confusion, and her shoulders slumped a little.

  “What are you doing?”

  She wanted to die. What are you doing? Was he kidding right now?

  The memory of Dustin flitted through her brain unbidden—stopping her, telling her not to bother. The beginning of the end.

  She pulled her hands away from Brett’s fly and got inelegantly to her feet, the task made difficult by her anger and her three-inch heels. “Did you seriously just ask me that? I’m trying to shove you up against the wall and give you a blowjob.”

  “Well, yeah. But why?”

  Her left knee was throbbing—she’d probably have a bruise, the perfect souvenir of her spectacular crash and burn. The realization lent heat to her voice. “Because it’s daring and dirty and sexy and I want to!”

  He nodded slowly, but it wasn’t so much permission granted as dawning understanding. There was a flatness in his gray-blue eyes that let her know he’d pieced together her motivation. And he wasn’t impressed.

  The telltale prick of tears made her bite her lip hard enough to distract herself. No. Not happening. This was mortifying enough without crying.

  “For real?” he asked, sounding exasperated. She met his gaze with steady eyes, fighting the waver.

  He dragged a weary hand down his face and sighed.

  “You want to suck me off? That’s what my dreams are made of, Chels. But I don’t want you on your knees in a dirty stairwell because you’re trying to passive-aggressively prove something to your dad.”

  “This isn’t about him.” It wasn’t a total lie. Her father was only a fraction of the laundry list of issues that had her heart beating fast and her world view in tatters.

  Her inadequacies swamped her. What was she even doing? Brett was used to being hit on by hot women in short skirts who could probably tie knots in cherry stems with their talented tongues. Pink Sequins was undoubtedly the tame end of the spectrum, what with it being a team-sanctioned season ticket holder event where the guys were expected to be on their best behavior. She couldn’t even imagine what sort of things happened when Brett was just out in the world on his own time.

  Their first meeting flashed through her head.

  Or maybe she could…

  “Then what’s it about?”

  “This is about me.” I want to be different. I want to be more. “I want to be bad, Brett. You make me want to be bad. But you want me to be good.”

  “Is that what you want? Or do you think that’s how I want you to be?”

  The question gutted her. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure. Nothing made sense anymore.

  He stood a couple of feet from her, but it felt like a chasm.

  He’d completely rocked her world, tipped it off its axis.

  She and Dustin had never made it much past missionary, so she couldn’t even reciprocate like she wanted to. Shame washed through her. Hell, she couldn’t even execute a basic blowjob.

  And if he thought she wanted to talk about that, well…

  “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just get out of here.” She strode
toward the exit, but her attempt to save what was left of her tattered pride was foiled when she put her hand on the door…and nothing happened.

  Frowning, Chelsea pushed again, this time with both hands. It didn’t budge.

  Her eyes darted along the perimeter of the painted metal. There was no handle. No push bar. Nothing.

  Well, great.

  “We’re stuck.”

  Brett walked up behind her, reached past her to place his palm on the door, but he didn’t push. He just stood there, not touching her, but crowding her between two immovable objects nonetheless. She dropped her chin to her chest.

  “Turn around,” he said softly.

  She didn’t want to, but there was something in his voice that made it impossible to resist him. A promise. Temptation.

  She kept her head down as she obeyed, staring at his brown leather wingtips, trying not to notice how her body vibrated at a different frequency whenever he was close. He said nothing, didn’t move. She held out for about four shaky breaths before she lifted her eyes to his face, desperate to know what the point of all this was. Why he was pushing it.

  His stormy eyes were more gray than blue as he searched her face. She didn’t like the furrow in his brow, more like intense concentration than a frown. It made her worry he could see too much. And then her worst fears came true, spoken in his beautiful, deep voice.

  “You think I don’t want you?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  She sucked in a breath as the words sliced her skin like a thousand paper cuts, leaving her feeling raw.

  He took a step closer and she took a step back, her retreat cut short as her body pressed against the door. Chelsea could see his hand, braced against the painted metal, in her peripheral vision, and she kept her attention there, so she didn’t have to focus on his gorgeous face.

  “Look at me.”

  Her eyes flicked to his.

  “You’re all I think about.” His body shifted as he brought his other hand up, circling her wrist. His thumb stroked against her pulse, and it fluttered madly.

  “You’re brilliant, and beautiful, and way too good for me.”