FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (2 page)

“Sit down,” Dennis repeated coldly.

“Is there a problem here, ma’am?”

Dennis and I both whirled at the sudden sound of a deep baritone voice.

The dark eyed man from the corner of the bar was standing right next to me, so close I could feel the heat rising off of his arm. He held my glance for a beat, checking me over to make sure I was okay. When I lifted my chin, he gave me a slight, upward nod.

Then he turned and leaned over the table, getting right in Dennis’s face. “Hey dickhead,” he snarled. “Get your
fucking
hands off of her.”

Dennis sneered. “Why don’t you mind your own business…” Then he trailed off. “Holy shit. It’s you.”

My savior seemed less than amused. “Yeah. It’s fucking
me.
Now let go.”

As if by magic, Dennis’s fingers went limp. I snatched my hand away and went to work rubbing life back into my dead wrist. A bracelet of red welts was already rising to the surface of my skin.

My dark-eyed rescuer pulled back and looked at me once more with that searching look. “Ma’am, were you trying to leave?”

I swallowed. “I was,” I admitted.

He looked between Dennis and me, as if waging an internal battle. Then he sighed. “I’ll walk you to the door,” he finally said. “And you,” he barked at Dennis. “You stay put. If you so much as sneeze, I'll rip your balls off and shove them down your throat.”

“Okay,” Dennis said, as cowed and awestruck as a star-struck fan.

I looked more closely at my knight in shining armor. He had the mouth of a sailor, the eyes of a gentleman, and it was clear Dennis recognized him.

Who the hell was this guy?

Chapter Two

Ian

The chick in the blue dress didn’t belong here. She was too classy, too elegant. The women who frequented
Dobbs Sports Bar
were fond of sweats and windbreakers, and had hard, black-rimmed eyes that they sneered at you with through rings of cigarette smoke.

This woman was a vision, picking her way through this dive like some kind of mythical unicorn.

So, of course, Brad had to be a fucking pig to her.

“I was just trying to be friendly!” he protested, after she disappeared into the ladies’ room.

I regarded him sidelong. I didn’t get it. He was a good dude, had a wicked sense of humor and a pretty decent job. I had no idea why he had to be such an almighty idiot around women.

But that was the kind of shit guys just don’t talk about with each other. Instead, I punched him in the arm. “You weren’t friendly. You were an
asshole.
” I took a sip of my beer and continued. “You
are
an asshole. And you always will
be
an asshole.”

My best friend raised his pint glass. “And cheers to you, too, buddy," he said, then downed a third of it in one great gulp.

“Can’t blame a man for trying,” Jake piped up. He had just joined the team three months ago, and seemed to have decided that Bradley and I were his new best friends. He hung around us like some annoying kid brother, and neither Brad nor I could work up the energy to tell him to fuck off. Besides, he played a hell of a good defense, and—whatever; team camaraderie, sportsmanship, all that crap came into play whenever we thought about ditching him.

So we drank with him. The beer helped make him slightly tolerable.

“Strike that, you are
both
assholes,” I clarified.

“Since when is Ian Carter the paragon of gentlemanly virtue?” Brad asked pointedly.

“Don’t blow out your entire vocabulary in one sentence,” I growled at him from over the top of my glass. “You’ll use up all your words and have to start grunting.”

He gave me the finger. Then all at once, the whole bar erupted in cheers.

“Shit, what’d I miss?” I asked, straining to see the television from behind all the bobbing heads.

“Penguins made a goal!” Brandon clapped.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this on our off night,” I shouted at him over the noise of the bar. “I should be at home, thinking of anything but hockey right now.”

“There’s nothing but hockey!” he yelled into my ear. “You know that!”

It was true. Nothing but hockey, not since he and I had made a solemn pact that we would go all the way together. Now we had both achieved our dreams, playing for the Blackhawks.

And things were looking really, really good this year.

Enforcer is an unofficial role, not really sanctioned by the NHL. But every team had one. Their job is to keep the other team in line. The second someone tries to pull something dirty, the enforcer is on him. 

Sure, enforcers have a bad rep. Usually they're not good scorers, and are looked down on by other players as little more than goons and thugs.

But not me. I'm a fighter,
and
I'm a scorer.

Over the past four years, I had pulled off the
Gordie Howe hat trick
on three separate occasions; scoring a goal, assisting on a goal and getting into a fight all in the same game. I had earned my reputation as the "Blackhawks' Bully" for my down and dirty fighting style, willingness to play rough, and my absolute refusal to allow my team to get fucked with.

The fans fucking loved me. My teammates fucking loved me. And this year we were going to take the Stanley Cup for the second time in a row.

I was sure of it.

I leaned back and tried to ignore the sound of Jake rambling on with excuses about the assist he had missed last game. Just when my irritation had reached critical mass, I saw something flutter out in the crowd, like a bird in a forest, flitting between the trees.

It was the woman in the blue dress. And it looked like she was in trouble.

Her date had her by the wrist, holding her fast when she clearly wanted to leave. “What the shit is this?” I wondered aloud.

Brad looked in the direction I was glaring. “Date gone bad, I guess. That’s why I don’t mess with that shit.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s precisely why you haven’t been out with a chick in months. Because of your aversion to the dating scene.” I rolled my eyes. Inwardly, I counted backwards from ten, reminding myself once again of Coach Randall’s warning.
Don’t lose your temper, Ian. You don’t need any more distractions
.

“Stop it!” I heard the girl shout.

In an instant I was off my stool and moving, all warnings forgotten. Brad’s shouts to
keep calm
and
stay out of it
were lost in the rush of blood thundering in my ears.

The two seconds it took me to get to the table was all it took for me to get my blood up. I felt that eerie clarity, the slowed-down centeredness that comes right before I throw a punch. I relished the taste of bright copper in my mouth and the flush of heat in my face.

This was going to be fun. More fun than I’d had in a while. My reputation had spread to the point where very few teams would mess with me now. It had been forever since this enforcer last had to
enforce
anything.

I was ready and eager for a fight.

And then she caught me in her gaze.

If time had slowed before, now it came to a dead stop. She looked at me and she
saw
me. Not the guy I was, the shithead spoiling for an easy fight, but the guy I
should
be. The one Coach Randall tried to berate me into becoming. The one my mom always sighed and shook her head over. This girl saw
him
.

And her mouth softened just a little bit, like she knew I’d do the right thing. She had faith in me.

The blood that pumped through my muscles slowed until it was thick and heavy. I didn’t want to fight anymore. Now I wanted to get this asshole over and done with so I could figure out who this girl was.

What she saw in me.
Who
she saw in me.

And how I could get him out.

Already anxious to get her alone, I got right down in the guy’s face and growled some arbitrary threat. He was a fan. That much was clear. I didn’t even have to roll up my sleeves and get in it with him, because he knew who I was on sight. Just like on the ice these days.

Which was good, because my mind was already a million miles from here.

He dropped her arm the second he realized who I was. I’m not really sure why that pissed me off. It’s not like I should expect my fans to be well-behaved when I had a well deserved reputation for bad behavior myself. But here was this guy, this
asshole
getting all handsy with a beautiful woman, a fucking
special
woman, and the fact that he clearly was a Blackhawks fan made his assholery somehow even worse.

I debated clocking him across the jaw, just enough to teach him a lesson. But Coach Randall told me I had to work on keeping my temper in check, and wasn’t this just the perfect test of my newfound resolve?

Besides…there was this girl…

“Were you headed out?” I asked her.

And god damn it, I got nervous.

I haven’t been nervous around a woman since I was seventeen years old. 

She was beautiful. And that was not a word I use lightly. Other chicks I’ve been with, they’ve been cute, sexy, hot, whatever.
This woman?
She was beautiful in the way that paintings in the museum are beautiful. In a way that professional ballerinas are beautiful, that Victorian gardens are beautiful. She was…composed, her whole body made of graceful curves and sloping arcs

Basically, she was about as far from my typical hanger-on as you could get.

And what’s more, she had
seen
me.

“It hasn’t been too safe in this neighborhood. Do you have a car here?” I asked, silently praying she’d say no.

“No,” she shook her head, moving through the crowd, picking her way with these little graceful swoops and ducks, like she was conducting her own private dance. “It felt so nice to be able to walk that I decided to do just that.” She smiled at me for a moment, and it was like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud. “January thaws are the worst kind of tease, and I fall for them every time.”

“Um,” I hummed, completely at a loss for words for the first time in my life.

“It’s okay,” she reassured me. “I’m not too far from here.”

I mentally filed that little tidbit of info away, even as I was shaking my head. “Walking in Chicago hasn’t been the safest hobby lately,” I told her. “I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me walk you home.”

That’s the kind of line that I would have pulled on one of my other chicks—hell, I probably already have used it before. But this was the first time I actually meant it.

The side of her mouth curved up slightly, and she looked up at me from underneath a curtain of heavy, dark lashes. “Sure,” she said softly.

Something about the way she agreed tugged at my heart. Here she was, just coming away from a bad date, and she was ready, and willing, to trust another guy. It made me protective in a way I hadn’t felt like for a long while.
Not since…

But I’m not going to think about
her.

We stepped out together into the mild January air. She immediately hunched adorably into her woolen jacket and pulled her scarf up higher under her chin. I realized I was staring at her, and awkwardly tried to cover it with conversation. “So, uh, did you catch the game?”

She looked up quickly, confused, then dawning realization took over her clear blue eyes. “Oh, because we were at the bar?”

I started backtracking instantly. “I take it
Duff’s
wasn’t your first choice for a date?”

She shook her head and sighed, a little puff of breath wreathing her face like a cloud. “No, not really. Dennis...” She gestured behind her, back to the bar, towards the asshole. “He gave me the address, and I have to say, when I saw what kind of place it was—”

“Not a very good place to sit down and get to know a person,
hmm
?”

She shook her head. “Well, I guess I did get to know something important about him,” she sighed grimly. Then she brightened. “But I don’t really want to talk about him anymore.”

I shook my head, mentally chastising myself for even bringing it up.
What the hell? I usually have way more game than this
. Ian Carter, smooth talking playboy was nowhere to be found when it came to this, this girl…
what was her name?

“Holy shit, Ian,” I muttered.

She looked at me alarmed.

“I haven’t even asked your name,” I sighed, rolling my eyes.

She laughed. “Candace,” she smiled. “And thank you for helping me out back there, uh—wait, what’s yours?” She laughed again. “Wow, we’re both really bad at this, aren’t we?”

I laughed out loud, completely charmed. “Ian,” I told her. And then waited.

There was no sign she had any idea who I was. She just smiled and ducked her head.

Then she turned red and hid her face in her hands.

“What?”

She peeked out at me from between her fingers. “You didn’t hear that?”

“It’s a little loud out here,” I pointed out. The mild weather had brought out the crowds and the endless noise of traffic made me feel like I should be shouting.

She colored further. “Then I shouldn’t have said anything. I was sure you must have heard my stomach.”

I grinned. “You hungry?”

“Starving.” She rolled her eyes. “I skipped lunch, anticipating a fancy dinner.”

I reached out and took her hand. It was only after a moment that I realized what I had done, just gone ahead and taken her hand like we were already together. It felt right to do it, but I felt wrong for it feeling so right.

Good God, what is happening to me?

“I don’t know about fancy,” I said quickly, trying to smooth over the fact that her hand in mine was making my head spin. “But I do know fast. And delicious. Come on, it’s the next block over.”

She let me lead her, and once again was I struck with her willingness to trust me.

It felt almost precious.

“Hot dogs?” she asked, when we reached the corner of Jackson and State.

“Best in the city,” I promised. The crowd was five deep around the yellow food truck, but Jimmy spotted me and waved us ahead of the line.

“Ian, how’s it going?”

“Not too bad,” I replied. “Hungry, though.”

“Lemme fix that for ya.” He disappeared for a second, then stuck his head back out and looked Candace up and down. “She with you, too?”