Playing Dirty

She tried to stop it, he could tell, but despite her efforts, there was a slight thaw in her demeanor. “Already forgot my name, huh?”

He rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Ice Queen, isn’t it? Kudos to your mom and dad. It suits you.”

Her smile was real this time. Really real, and it kind of made him wish they’d met this way—because of insomnia and liquor—instead of Brett’s stupid practical joke. It had been a mistake on Cooper’s part. He’d been playing hockey too long to not expect some vengeance from the rookie, especially since Brett had been pretty pissed off when Coach Taggert had given his spot in the starting lineup to Cooper.

He took another sip of beer. “So, Lainey,” he said, oddly vindicated at the slight widening of her gray-blue eyes. He’d caught her off guard. “Whatcha reading?”

“Advanced Principles of Marketing.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug, as if to say, “no big deal.”

He nodded, popping old insecurities that bubbled to the surface. “Not bad. I preferred the sequel.”

“Pickup artist and smart-ass, huh? You’re a man of many talents.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about earlier. I’ve changed teams a few times in my career. I should have seen through this particular hazing ritual. I know Brett’s still pissed I got his spot in the starting lineup. I deserved what I got.”

“Yeah, you did.” She leaned forward, and this time he knew the flash of cleavage was deliberate. Against his better judgment, the sight stirred his blood.

“But,” she drawled, toying with shiny lock of her hair, “there is one way you could make it up to me.”

Cooper’s mouth went dry. He hadn’t drunk enough beer to account for the buzz working its way through his system. It was all Lainey. “Name it.”

She bit her lip as she smiled, a secret sort of smile, and it would have dropped him to his knees if he hadn’t been sitting on the scarred-up stool. She rounded the bar, and he watched greedily as she made her way to the door. Lainey reached into the black apron that swathed her hips, and the jingle of keys accompanied her journey to the door.

She walked with purpose, fluidly, but controlled, giving the impression that she could handle herself. She had an athletic grace that was sexy as hell. Combined with that body of hers—tight, toned, strong...

Cooper took a gulp of beer to drown his hormones.

She locked the door, flipped the sign so that the closed side faced out. They were completely alone now; there was a weight to that that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Lainey tucked the keys in her back pocket as she approached him, and he was mesmerized by the sway of her hips, the bounce of her breasts. She removed the apron, and even that seemed suggestive, especially when she reached over the bar to drop it on the lower counter and her tank top rode up, revealing a swath of smooth skin that Cooper ached to touch, to nibble, to lick.

Fuck. He pushed the beer away. Maybe the alcohol was affecting him more than he’d realized.

Then she grabbed his hand, tugged him off the stool and said, “Come with me,” in a way that made him happy to obey, even before she added, “I’ve got something for you.”

Her hand felt small in his, warm and soft, and he was pleasurably contemplating all the places he’d like to let her fingers roam as he followed her.

Then she took a sharp turn down a small hallway on their left. The bathrooms were on the right-hand side, but she pushed through a door on the left that was marked “Staff Only.”

Lainey popped her head back out, and her smile was full of promise. “Just give me a minute?” she begged prettily, and disappeared inside. There was some muffled banging and shuffling behind the door.

Cooper used the brief interlude to check out the mass of framed photos that lined the wall. They were pictures of the same man—and judging by the haircuts and fashion choices, they spanned at least three decades—smiling as he stood beside some of the biggest names in sports. Cooper was amazed as his eyes bounced from photo to photo—Michael Jordan, Jack Nicklaus, Peyton Manning, Wayne Gretzky.

In fact, Coop was so blown away by the star power on the wall that it took him a moment to realize that he recognized the common denominator in the pictures, too.

“Holy shit! Is this Marty Sillinger?”

“Of course you recognize him.” Lainey’s words dripped with exasperation from behind the closed door.

The pieces clicked together in Cooper’s brain with such ease that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t made the connection before. If the last name hadn’t given it away, the fact that Brett wore number 42, just like his old man, should have.

“So you’re Martin Sillinger’s daughter?”

After a moment of muffled banging and shuffling, she answered. “Yep. Lucky me.”

“One of the best enforcers in the league until that back injury put him out of commission. Man, your dad used to go head-to-head with the best the league had to offer. What’s he been up to lately?”

“Nothing. He’s dead.”

Shit. Cooper squeezed his eyes shut at the conversational blunder. It explained a lot about Brett, though. And Lainey, for that matter.

“What happened?”

“Cancer.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

The door swung open with more force than necessary, and Lainey reappeared, stealing his full attention. The flirty smile was gone.

“The guy on that wall is pretty much a stranger to me. After he stopped playing hockey, he wasn’t the same. Between the pain meds and the alcohol and the mistress, I lost my dad a long time ago. So you can save your condolences for Brett. And take these.”

Cooper was too stunned not to accept two industrial-size rolls of toilet paper in one hand and the bucket containing a toilet brush, cleaner and rubber gloves in the other.

“You’re on stall duty.” She reached back in the room to grab a bucket of her own, also filled with cleaning supplies, and a pack of paper towels to refill the dispenser. “I’ll do the sinks.”

Cooper wanted to bail.

Hell, he should want to bail.

Why wasn’t he bailing?

He tried to list reasons that made sense: long black hair, shiny pink lips, enticingly perky breasts. The list sounded shallow, even to him, because while every single lust-inducing feature was true, deep down Cooper knew the real reason he hadn’t walked out.

Jesus.

It was bad news when you were so lonely that you’d rather clean a public restroom in the afterglow of an awkward conversation than go home.

With as much swagger as he could muster, he bowed slightly and gave her the “after you” gesture. She raised an eyebrow, which, if he wasn’t mistaken, signified both surprise and something he hadn’t been expecting.

He was alone with a gorgeous woman and he’d just managed to earn her respect. Like his day hadn’t gone badly enough already.

His last thought as he followed her into the ladies’ bathroom was fuck my life.

3

DAMNED IF HE hadn’t managed to impress her after all.

Lainey tried to keep her attention on the mirror she was cleaning, but the sight of Cooper Mead in a black T-shirt, jeans and yellow rubber gloves gamely cleaning toilets was too intriguing to ignore.

She’d fully expected him to diva-out and leave her to close the bar in peace. That had been the plan. Instead, he’d ruined everything by making her question if he was more than cocky grandstanding and cheesy pickup lines.

She finished with the mirror and reached back into the bucket, her mind racing as she wiped down the sinks, faucets and countertop while surreptitiously sneaking glances at her assistant.

Hell, Brett had a way of getting under people’s skin—she knew that well enough. Cooper’s dogged persistence to get her number earlier could definitely have been more an attempt to stick it to Brett than outright douchebaggery.

Something warm flared in her chest, and when Lainey identified it as hope, she knew she was in big trouble. She scrubbed the ugly green counter with more force. Kind of an “out, damned spot!” thing, and just as futile.

Stupid, she admonished herself. She should have sent Cooper Mead packing the second he walked back into her bar. Instead, she’d foolishly let him stay, and she’d told him more about her father than she’d ever told anyone, and her toilet-cleaning goading had backfired because he’d actually done it, and now she was making excuses for him.

The realization shored her resolve, made her angry. Mostly at herself. “So what are you really doing here, Slick?”

He straightened in the stall—a tight fit for his broad shoulders—and shoved his cleaning supplies back in the bucket. “Insomnia’s a bitch,” he said simply, punctuating the words with a toilet flush.

She could relate. One of the reasons this bar gig suited her so well. Not that she was planning on keeping it. The second someone made an offer on her late father’s ridiculous midlife crisis, she was going to take the money and run.

Lainey kept her gaze on Cooper as he pulled off the rubber gloves and hung them over the side of his bucket before joining her at the sink. The soap dispenser whined out a cloud of grape-scented foam onto his big palm, and he set about washing his hands.

The honesty of the answer surprised her. She gave the counter beside her a last swipe and threw the disinfectant wipe in the trash can. Standing beside him as she washed her own hands, she felt a strange buzz in the chemically scented air.

Cooper reached past her to grab a piece of paper towel from the dispenser, and his arm bumped hers as he tossed the damp ball into the trash can. The innocuous contact hit her like an electrical current, raising goose bumps from her shoulder to her wrist.

She frowned. They were standing in the least erotic of all locations—a public bathroom—and the most innocuous of touches had her all revved up. She had to get out of there. Maybe some space would help.

“We’re done here.” She grabbed her bucket off the counter and retrieved his from the floor, ignoring the way he held the bathroom door open for her. “You can help me change the keg and then you can go.”

She made it an order, hoping he might take issue with it and leave now, but his answer was a genial, “Sure.”

She pushed into the janitorial room, abandoning the buckets by the door for the sake of speed, not even caring that she’d get an earful from Aggie tomorrow about how there was a place for everything and blah, blah, blah.

Cooper followed her into the bar, behind the counter and then into the back room where the kegs were stored. Lainey unhooked the tap the way Darius had shown her.

“It’s a pale ale,” she told him, so he could pick the right silver barrel from the stack. Grabbing the empty keg, she moved it out of the way, watching as Cooper expertly maneuvered the full keg into the spot she’d cleared. He made it look effortless, just a quick lift and push. And if his back muscles moved with jungle-cat grace beneath his T-shirt and his biceps flexed with the power of a cobra about to strike, Lainey certainly wasn’t affected by it. Much.

He flipped the plastic cap off the keg and reached for the coupler.

“You don’t have to—”

Cooper glanced over his shoulder and his grin struck her dumb. “I know you probably won’t believe this, but I’ve tapped a keg or two in my time.”

Again, his deft mastery of the task made her skin flush. It was like his hotness was inversely proportional to the size of the area he was in—and, Lainey noticed on a visceral level, they were standing in a very small area. Self-preservation, she thought, escaping from the back room to behind the bar, where she could breathe properly.

What the hell was happening here?

“Need me to do anything else?” Cooper walked out of the back room as if he owned the place, all confidence and capability as he closed the door behind him, and that was the last straw.

She hated that she noticed his body—the height of him, the breadth. That she wanted to flirt. Touch his arm again. Run her fingers across all the muscles she’d pretended not to notice.

Because that way lay madness.

That way lay hockey.

“What’s your game here, Slick?”

“What?”

His genuine surprise at the attack pissed her off.

“You walk in here like you’re God’s gift to womankind and now that you’ve cleaned a toilet and changed a keg, I’m just supposed to forget what an asshole you were earlier?” She was coming in too hot; she knew it even as she stepped toward him.

Too much had happened today—too much yelling at Brett, too much talking about her father and too much Cooper short-circuiting her common sense.

Thankfully, she managed to rein in her irrational anger before she poked him in the chest like an insane person.

“What’s your problem? Jesus, I told you I was sorry about earlier. What else do you want me to say?”

His chest rose and fell with anger. Dark brows slashed over brown eyes that sparked with heat. Proximity turned the frustration simmering inside her to something else—something hotter—a potent mix of resentment and lust.

She grabbed a fistful of black T-shirt and pulled him down until their mouths were practically touching and the throb in her wrist beat like a drum. She’d broken it a long time ago, but for once it was urging her to focus on the present instead of dredging up the past.

“I don’t want you to say anything.” Lainey caught Cooper’s bottom lip between her teeth, raked them along the sensitive flesh. When she pulled away, their heavy breathing had synced.

Breathing as one, staring at each other, his eyes reflecting the wild desperation that pulsed through her in that suspended moment of calm before she unleashed the angry lust that coursed through her veins.

She smashed her mouth to his, a little too hard, so that his tooth jabbed her lip. But she relished that moment of pain, that tie to reality, proof she was still in control of herself, of the imperfect moment.

Then his tongue traced across her bottom lip, soothing the sting of their lustful collision, and Lainey was lost, swept away in a tidal wave of hormones so potent she needed Cooper—no, not him, she reminded herself. She needed sex. That’s all this was about.

Lainey kissed him, desperate to keep control, and he drew her to his body—his hard, unyielding body. He was a phenomenal kisser, she decided, slanting her mouth against his. His five o’clock shadow had turned into full-fledged stubble at this late hour, and the rasp of it against her face made her hotter. That little bit of pain-edged pleasure kept things from being too perfect, and made this beautiful train wreck exactly what she was looking for.

Then his hands breached the hem of her tank and she stopped dissecting her questionable life choices and focused instead on the exquisite sensation of his warm palms against her torso.

Impatience surged along with lust, and she tugged on his black T-shirt, revealing abs. Pecs. Arms. He let go of her to tug the shirt over his head and dropped it on the counter.

She pulled him close. Bit his neck, then soothed it with her tongue.

Oh, God, he felt good. Big. Strong. Like he could handle what she was dishing out.

She wanted sex. She wanted to punish him for making her feel this way. For making her want things she’d convinced herself she shouldn’t want.

He fisted one hand in her hair, pulled her head back so he could work her mouth. The moment of pain was swept away in something else when his free arm pulled her tight to him.

At five-ten, she’d sometimes considered herself too tall. Right now, though, she was glad for every single inch that put their bodies in such perfect alignment. She wrapped her arms around him, clawing at his back as their tongues dueled, both of them vying for control. When they finally came up for air, Lainey pulled away, needing skin-to-skin contact more than she needed resolution to this petty battle.

Lainey stepped back and yanked her tank top over her head, tossing it on the counter beside his T-shirt.

Cooper’s eyes flared as his gaze traced her body, pausing long enough on the contents of her lacy black bra that her nipples tightened at the hungry look in his eyes.

Her breasts weren’t overly large, but he didn’t seem disappointed—he seemed the opposite, really. And even as her body melted at how beautiful that made her feel, she cursed the inward show of weakness.

Get it together, Lainey. It’s just sex.

In a move designed to wrest back control, she reached out and placed her hand against his skin, over his heart. His muscles tensed under her palm. His chest was chiseled and his skin was tanned, even now, in the middle of winter, and Lainey couldn’t help but notice that he put the statues she’d studied in her Art History class to shame. Cold marble had nothing on flesh and blood.

She felt the hitch in his breath as she moved her hand, trailing her fingertips down his sternum, across each ridge of his abs, like a mini roller coaster that led down to his belt buckle.

“Do you have a condom?” she asked, tugging at the black leather.

God, she hoped he had protection. She didn’t want to retrieve her purse from the locker. She needed this. It had been so long since she’d had sex, since she’d felt that sweet thrill of arousal, since she’d let herself feel anything.

Lainey didn’t realize she was holding her breath as Cooper reached behind him. A moment later, he pulled a foil square from his wallet and set both items on the counter beside her right hip. She turned to face them, eyes focused on the condom.

Fucking hockey players, she thought, but there was no heat to the words, and only the slightest bit of resignation. Always so damn sure of themselves.

She lifted her head, and when her eyes met Cooper’s in the mirrored backsplash, a shiver of anticipation zipped down the length of her spine. To her surprise, he stepped behind her, and the heat radiating between her back and his stomach was enough to make her knees wobbly. Then he reached around her hip. Thanks to their reflection, she knew he was going to touch her a split second before he did, but the warm, heavy weight of his palm on her stomach still wrung a surprised gasp from her.

In the scratched-up mirror above a bottle of Crown, Cooper’s gaze was locked on her parted lips, and her tongue darted out to moisten them. His groan rumbled against her back as the pressure of his hand pulled her tight against him.

The dual sensation of watching Cooper’s hand trek down toward the waistband of her jeans and the feeling of his calloused palm sliding down the sensitive skin of her stomach was too much.

Lainey swore as she let her head fall back against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Everything slipped away—the buzz of the fluorescent lights, the stale smell of beer, the niggling thought that she was in way too deep—everything but Cooper. There was nothing but his solid presence behind her, his fingers breaching her jeans and the warm twist of sexual anticipation thrumming through her body. She reached for her belt, unbuckling it to give him better access and expelled a stuttered breath of pleasure as he accepted the invitation and his hand sank lower, fingers flirting with the lacy hem of her underwear.

She reached for the button, but a familiar twinge shot through her right wrist as she grasped the denim.

Not now, she thought, even as the strength in her thumb waned. Not right now.

Lainey squeezed her eyes shut, focusing past the pins and needles. She just needed to undo her pants. She didn’t want to think about hockey right now. Didn’t want the memories to swamp her. She needed to feel whole, to feel okay, just for this moment.

Cooper’s breath against her ear soothed the panic that was blooming through the lust.

“I got it.”

And then his right hand covered hers, and the button popped open before he tugged down the zipper. She was ready for him before his hand slid under her thong and then, finally, came the slow, sweet friction she craved. She might have gasped, she wasn’t sure, because she couldn’t think through the pleasure that swamped her.

All she knew was that his touch was as hot as he was. She could feel his arousal against the small of her back, his breath on her cheek, and his fingers...oh, God, his fingers.

“Yes.” The word came out in a weird half moan, half whisper that would have mortified her if her brain were functioning on more than the most basic level. Cooper slipped one broad finger inside her and his groan of pleasure, along with that exploratory thrust, made her knees give out. His arm tightened on her waist, kept her steady even as his words stole her balance.

“I can’t wait to be inside you.”

He proved he meant it, pressing two fingers into her now, and she was so worked up that the increased pressure had her close, so damn close. She rocked her hips in a slow, sensual rhythm that increased the pressure on her G-spot. Cooper picked up the hint, changing the angle and mimicking her pace.

She reached back, needing to cling to something—raking her nails against his denim-clad thighs as she fisted her hands, desperate to anchor herself in a world spinning out of control.

Cooper ducked his head and pressed his lips against her neck. “I got you. Just let me drive for a while.” He twisted his wrist and just when she thought she might die of lust, he pressed the heel of his hand against her clit.

“Oh God, oh fuck!” Lainey couldn’t stop the curse words. Unlike most guys, who changed things up when the going got good, Cooper doubled down, and when the sweet shock of orgasm radiated through her, Lainey leaned back against him and, taking his advice, she let go while he drove.

* * *

JESUS.

Cooper was desperate for her. Turned on and rock-hard and so fucking desperate.

He’d told her he couldn’t wait to be inside her, and he’d thought he meant it—he had meant it—but now that he’d watched her come apart in his arms? The words he’d used weren’t basic enough; they were too polite for what he needed. He was ravenous for her. He wanted to fuck her until she screamed.

He dragged his mouth up her neck, seduced by the slide of her hair on his chest, the feel of her taut skin under his palms, so soft and smooth. He tugged her jeans down her thighs, doing his best not to be too rough, but she was so damn responsive, and he couldn’t breathe through the all-consuming lust she ignited when she leaned forward, placing her hands on the counter in preparation for what was to come.

Then he got his first glimpse of the smooth globes of her ass, bisected by a sexy swath of black lace thong, and he was done for. His cock surged in response, and he freed himself from his boxer briefs and rolled on the condom, shoving the wrapper into his jeans pocket.

He didn’t wait. He couldn’t.

He slid inside her, and the sweet, hot friction of their bodies wrung a groan from him. Cooper tried to go slow, he did, but even as he told himself to hold on, his hips pumped faster. The slap of their bodies, her whispered curse words and the roar of his blood were the soundtrack to an encounter that was spinning wildly out of control. He dug his fingers into her hips as she used the counter for leverage and pushed back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

He ran his hand up her spine, past the clasp of her bra and up the column of her neck. He’d come here expecting a beer, a hard time and temporary respite from his solitude. And now, behind the counter of a run-down sports bar, he’d found heaven.

Cooper caught sight of her in the mirror, and couldn’t look away. She was so fucking gorgeous, so wet, so wild for him. He wanted to make it good for her. At least as good as it was for him. Even as his hips bucked, driving deep, he forced himself to breathe deeply, an attempt to keep from blacking out with pleasure as he tried to focus, to learn her expressions as she told him without words how to please her.

When she bit her lip again and reached between her legs, it took everything Cooper had not to come. Not yet. He grasped her hips even tighter, thrusting high and deep, determined to get her there, gritting his teeth against the exquisite sensation when her fingers brushed his cock as she drove herself to the peak and then she opened her eyes and looked right at him, and finally, finally, he felt her fall over the edge, her muscles pulsing against his cock, legs trembling as he pumped again, and then one more time, his climax hitting hard and fast, wringing everything from him.