Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1) (16 page)

His hands on her hips guided her, urging her down on his
cock over and over as he slammed up into her and she bottomed out and shoved
him down onto his plug.

The tension in his balls was unbearable, the need for
release painful, swelling, and huge, almost frightening in its intensity. He
gasped her name, begging her for relief. Release.

Her hands fisted in his hair, her forehead pressed to his as
she rode him hard, granting no mercy. He pulled her cheeks apart and shoved at
her butt plug in time with their thrusts. Three hard jolts. She screamed, her
back bowing, and fell onto him. Stars exploded in his head as his cock shoved deep
into her body, clenched in her tight channel as she came. The plug in his ass
jammed against his prostate so hard his vision grayed out.

His orgasm rolled up and over him, his voice hoarse as he
cried out. Wave after wave boiled up and out of him. Their bodies rocked with
the power of their release and forced the tip of his butt plug to rub over his
prostate time and again, until he thought his climax might be endless, his
sanity in question.

Savannah went completely lax in his arms and he barely had
the wherewithal to catch her. They rolled together and collapsed on the heap of
pillows beside them.

Neither moved for a long time, but the little smile on Savannah’s
face told him all he needed to know.

Savannah woke to see the sun bright behind the curtains in
Garrick’s room.

Shit
. She panicked, sitting up and pulling away from
the large warm body curled around her back. Then she remembered there was no
game today. And while she should be at work, it wasn’t as though she’d be
particularly missed this morning. That was, if she still had a job.

Sighing, she snuggled back into Garrick’s chest and tried to
figure out what she was going to do.

She had enough pride and dignity left to go back to the
arena and hold her head high. Not that she looked forward to being fired, but
at least she would do it like a grownup with some ethics.

She cringed.
Ethics
? Duct taping the johnson of one
of your players probably failed to meet the guidelines set out in the Athletic
Trainers Code of Conduct.

 “I can hear you thinking from here,” Garrick said softly
behind her. His hand stroked across her belly.

She sighed. It was past time for her to confess. She rolled to
face him. He kept his arms around her.

“I’m probably going to get fired today.”

He lifted a distinctly skeptical eyebrow. “You are?”

“Yeah. I am.”

His skepticism was lost by the time she finished telling him
about her incident with Bobby and the ensuing tape job. Now he looked positively
murderous.

She didn’t tell him that of all the possible fallout from
her inevitable termination, what stung the most was she would have to leave
Moncton and say goodbye to Garrick.

He lay beside her quietly, digesting her story, presumably
unaware of how hard he was gripping her hip and shoulder. She’d have fresh
bruises to match the ones from last night.

She smiled. Remembered. Craved more. Good lord, she was
sex-addled.

Oblivious to her rising arousal, he pursed his lips. “You
really
are
god’s gift to tape.”

She laughed. “Yeah, that’s my special talent.”

“Not your only one,” he said with a growly voice that made
her want to pounce on him.

“Too bad duct taping dicks isn’t a job qualification for a
good sports trainer. There’s no way Mark can ignore this.”

“He sure as fuck can’t. Bobby assaulted you last night!”

“Garrick, the only person who knows that for certain is me. It’s
he-said-she-said. And he’s a player, with a contract, whose father is going to
buy
the team. I’m fucked.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Mark has to fire me. Hell, I don’t blame him. I’d fire me. And
so would you.”

“You might be surprised. Why don’t you call Mark and ask?”

“Because I’m not a chicken.”

“What?”

“Because I’m not a chicken. I’m not calling. I’m going to
the arena and I’m going to face it head on.”

He nodded and rolled out of bed. “Let’s go, then.”

He stalked into the bathroom, naked and perfect and not one
bit shy about it. As mornings went, the view was unsurpassed. Too bad the rest
of her day was bound to be a downhill experience.

Garrick followed Savannah into the arena parking lot,
intentionally putting his truck a few aisles over from where she parked. They’d
already gone to her apartment for her to change out of his t-shirt and sweats.
The burnable clothes Bobby had touched were piled in his laundry room, waiting
for his kitchen woodstove, while the fleece was in the trash.

She marched into the arena, her head high, as if it were just
another day at the office. He could only imagine what she was facing—the
stares, the results of the gossip overnight, her possible termination. It made
him mental to be stuck in his truck.

She had to face it alone. No back up. No generating new
rumors about their relationship by walking in together. He understood the reasons,
even if he hated the outcome.

After fifteen minutes, he got out of his truck, thankful no
one had seen him sitting there. His phone was in hand, at the ready to pretend
to be stuck on a call as a possible excuse for loitering in his car. He was about
to shove it into his coat pocket when it started to buzz.

He didn’t recognize the number.

“Garrick LeBlanc,” he answered, using his best
this
better be good or I’m hanging up
voice.

“G.”

Jack had called him that since they were kids. Garrick knew
Jack’s cell number. This wasn’t it.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Pay phone. Not important.”

Tension knotted in his belly. “Please tell me you’re being
careful.”

“The Sugar Shack,” Jack said impatiently.

“What?”

“The Sugar Shack. On Robinson.”

“What about it?”

“I don’t know, I just thought you’d like it there. Have a
drink. Enjoy the atmosphere.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.

“Okay, thanks for the tip. I’ll check it out.”

“Now
you
be careful. Good luck. I’m done.”

Jack meant he was done helping. It was nothing but a relief
to Garrick.

“Thanks,” Garrick said, not sure Jack heard him before he
hung up.

Garrick stood in the cold wind of the parking lot and
mentally kicked himself again for asking Jack about the Kramers. If Jack got
into trouble, lost his job, it would be Garrick’s fault, and the son of a bitch
was way too proud to let Garrick help him. Garrick had tried before.

 Sighing, he shoved his phone into his coat pocket and went
into the arena. He forced himself to walk slowly around the long outer corridor.
Eventually he found Rhian, Mike and Alexei standing outside the trainer’s
office.

Garrick smiled and wondered if she even knew they were
there. Ready to do battle, from the looks on their faces.

Savannah’s army.

He stopped to say hello and pretended shock and awe as Mike
related the events of the previous evening. The look on Rhian’s face over
Mike’s shoulder was comical—he knew Garrick was full of shit since Garrick had
called him and asked him to keep an eye on Savannah while he was stuck in the
parking lot.

He didn’t have to fake his surprise when Mike got to the
part where he and Alexei had seen and heard enough to back up Savannah’s story.
It wasn’t just he-said-she-said after all.

Thank god.

The door opened and they turned to watch Mark stalk from
Savannah’s office, shaking his head at them loitering outside the door. He
didn’t say a word, just marched down the hall toward his office.

Savannah was the next to come out, stopping short when she
saw them.

“Vell?” Alexei’s question—without the thick Russian accent—was
on the tip of everyone’s tongue. Garrick didn’t think he was the only one
holding his breath.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be in the gym?” Savannah asked
with a smile. “As your trainer, I expect you to stick with our agreed-to
fitness plans.”

Mike smiled. “Still the trainer, huh?”

Savannah’s smile faded into a grimace. “For now, anyway.”

Rhian broke protocol and hugged Savannah. Garrick almost
laughed at her alarm as she stared at him over Rhian’s shoulder.

Setting her back on her feet, Rhian beamed down at her while
Mike and Alexei patted her back and arm hard enough to almost knock her off her
feet.

“Oh, well, thanks. I, uh…”

Garrick grinned at her complete loss of words. The guys
laughed and turned for the locker room and the gym beyond, leaving them alone.

She stared at their backs as they disappeared around the
bend. “They stood up for me.”

“I don’t know why you sound so surprised.”

She shrugged. “I thought you were my only friend.”

Garrick grinned. “I’m not your
only
friend, I’m your
best
friend.”

Savannah rolled her eyes. “And not too cocky or anything.”

He tried not to read too much into the fact that she didn’t
deny it, but his heart leaped in his chest. Jesus, he was like a teenager with
his first crush.

Then he pictured them in his bed, hardly able to move
because of the butt plugs lodged in their asses, about to fuck until they lost
consciousness.

Okay, no teenagers here. So maybe he was like a grown up
with his first…

Shit, the first word that popped into his mind wasn’t
crush
.
It was a hell of a lot scarier than that.

Savannah cocked her head. “You okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just remembered something.”

Her cell phone saved him from further explanation. The
ringtone caught his attention. Who in her life warranted the Olympic Anthem? A
stab of jealousy almost made him ask, but his brain caught up with his caveman
instincts in time to save the day.

“I better get that,” she said as she backed through her
door.

“Will I see you later?”

She paused. The call went to voicemail. “After your workout?
Do you want me to look at your hip?”

He checked the corridor, relieved it was empty. So much for
his brain outdistancing his baser urges. “No. I mean, yes. If you would help me
with my stretches and check out my hip, I’d appreciate it.”

“Okay, see you then.”

He checked again. Still clear. “What are you doing tonight?”

She hovered in her door, biting her lower lip.

Shit. Please don’t let me be back to square one on
convincing her we can be more than friends.

“Nothing.” She moved into her office and tilted her head,
indicating he should follow. “I usually spend no-game nights at home catching
up on sleep.”

Certainly a goal that wouldn’t be met if he got his way. He waited,
though, hearing the unspoken “but” in her sentence.

“I guess…” She looked up at him. “I don’t feel safe at home.
Alone.”

Amazing how the urge to punch Bobby in the face could spring
up at any time. “Come stay with me.”

“I don’t know. My reputation is already in tatters.”

“I live in the middle of nowhere. No one will know.” He
understood her need for discretion, but they could do this. He was sure. “Park
behind the house. I’ll cook you dinner.”

With her nod, hope—and a few other things—sprang to life in
Garrick.

Savannah sat at her desk three days later and stared at her
phone in shock.

She was a good interviewee. She was comfortable having conversations
with people she didn’t know, she was passionate about her sport, and she knew
her shit.

But never in her life had she had a phone interview like this.
In the course of an hour she’d spoken with three people, all of whom should
have been intimidating as hell, but had proven to be kind, easy to talk to,
and—if she wasn’t delusional—impressed with her knowledge and experience.

The results of which meant she was going to Boston for an
in-person interview with the Bruins.

If she hadn’t been sitting in her office, she would have
leaped from her chair and whooped like a loon. This was
it.
The dream. The
brass ring. The NHL.

Gathering the papers scattered on her desk, she tried to
compose herself and focus on more immediate tasks. They had a game tonight and
her players would be arriving shortly.

With a sigh, she checked her schedule, knowing whose name
would be first.

Bobby Kramer.

And Mark, or whoever was assigned to play chaperone tonight.

For a moment she hoped it would be Garrick. Just as quickly,
she forced that hope aside.

The last three nights in his house, in his bed, had been
mind-boggling. The sex was incredible. By all reasonable standards, she should
be sated. Replete with vigorous and gymnastic loving. But she wanted more.

And then there was the time out of bed. The quiet meals
expertly prepared, the heated debates between two news junkies, the quiet
cuddles on the couch while they zoned out to their common addiction—cop dramas.

She remembered her first impressions of Garrick. God, she’d
been dead wrong. Even more galling, she had pigeonholed him. A hockey player
who’d had the unfortunate impulse to ask her out, and she’d socked him into the
role of jock, philanderer, and jerk. With the exception of his athleticism, he
was none of those things.

Though, he had quite thoroughly lived up to his reputation
as a titan in bed. And then some. Indeed, he was forcing her to revise some
beliefs she’d always held about love, lovers, and sex.

In her experience, there had been only two kinds of lovers
—
selfish and generous. Now
there were three
—
selfish,
generous, and Garrick.

There was something wholly unique about him. Selfish lovers
focused on doing what they needed to get some relief. Generous lovers focused
on what
she
needed to get some relief.

Garrick was certainly generous. She smiled at the zing
tickling up her spine from the ache in her bottom. Very generous. But it was
more than finding relief. Or release. Or anything as simple as meeting some goal—hell,
imperative—
that sprung to life every time she was near him.

At times he’d stopped their headlong rush into the abyss to
do the most unexpected things. Like rub his soft nose, just the tip, smooth
like velvet, down her rib cage, twisting from her shoulder blade, tucking under
her arm to the sensitive flesh over her ribs, and dipping into her waist and
over the bump of one hip. The trip was slow. His touch firm. Just the memory of
his smile made her shiver. Eyes closed, lips curled. It was so soothing and
erotic. But it was not for her benefit. At least, not hers alone.

She’d felt…cherished. Stupid word, like he might write her
an ode, which would be completely mortifying if it weren’t somewhere between
extremely unlikely and impossible.

But he
was
sweet. And he did something like that
every time they were together. He wasn’t courting her. What would be the point
when she was already sprawled naked beneath him in his bed? She was writhing,
begging with word and deed for him to do as he pleased. And what seemed to
please him were these simple acts of…affection.