Power Play: A Reverse Harem Hockey Romance

  Power Play

  A Reverse Harem Hockey Romance

  Mia Moon

  Copyright © 2018 by Mia Moon

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Let’s stay in touch

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  CLAIMING HER COWBOYS

  Where to Find Mia

  Let’s stay in touch

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  1

  My eyes focused on my phone. The cell was a social crutch, and I felt better just holding it in my hand.

  I could feel my old shyness bubbling up. The thumping of my heart, the anxiety in my veins. I was suddenly self-conscious of where I was, what I was wearing, my entire existence.

  I was in the right place, right time, but it felt strange, off-kilter. I tucked the cell into my jacket pocket and tried to psych myself up by remembering why I was here.

  Ken Miller.

  I should be happy about this. And I was — but also nervous as hell. Just thinking his name made me shiver. The cute kid I’d crushed on so hard in high school was the sexy man I was here to see. The pro hockey player whose face graced magazine covers across the country. The guy I never dreamed I’d have a shot with…

  Glancing left and right through the ice arena, I searched for a place to sit. Ken had suggested a certain section, but it looked crowded. Still, I maneuvered towards the seats, taking the middle in a three-wide gap of empty benches.

  I hovered, hugging my knees anxiously. My long russet hair fell around my face, probably making me look like a crazy person while I tried to calm my nerves about seeing Ken for the first time in five years.

  It didn’t help that I didn’t know a thing about hockey except that it was played on ice and required serious padding. And helmets. Sports weren’t part of my life. My teeth chattered, but they’d been doing that a lot since I’d moved to Denver.

  Players circled the ice while I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, though I didn’t see Ken. Apparently, practices were open to watch and I was unprepared for how many people were here today. My anxiety was riding high and without a familiar face, I thought about leaving.

  I didn’t belong here, surrounded by fans. I felt like some sort of impostor. A geek spy in the house of jocks.

  “May I sit here?”

  I looked up, and let out a little gasp. A stunning pair of gold-green eyes pierced through me, and I simply nodded. The stranger sat, somehow tucking his massive six-foot-plus form onto the bench beside me. He smiled all the while, dimples showing through the shadow of his sexy dark scruff. The pale eyes against the black hair was arresting.

  He ran a hand through his thick hair and settled in. “Thanks,” his voice rumbled. “It’s unusually crowded today.”

  I nodded again, dumbly. All I could do was stare at the way his black sweater clung to him, revealing that he was pure lean muscle from the neck down. It made me want a bear hug from him in the worst kind of way. Or more.

  Yes, more.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Oh… uh.” I cleared my throat and looked away, glad I’d refrained from losing all common sense and checking out more of his body. Being out of my element was playing with my usual ability to ignore anyone and anything around me. “Yeah, sorry. I was just lost in thought.”

  “Is it really okay?”

  I looked back at him, staring blankly. Is what okay?

  "I mean if you don't really want me to sit here—"

  “No!” I interrupted, speaking way too enthusiastically. Dial it down, I chided myself. “I mean, yeah sure sit here that’s… not… a problem,” I rambled. I offered a smile while internally slapping myself on the cheeks. Get a hold of yourself, Violet! “Don’t mind me.”

  He laughed softly and turned those stunning eyes to the rink. We watched together in silence, him seemingly sizing up the players while I wondered why I never learned to ice skate. Like any other sport, hockey didn’t interest me.

  Probably driven by the way my high school had catered to sports over academics. The football team got new jerseys and practice equipment while the competitive math team had to raise our own money and share my mom’s minivan to attend regionals.

  It seemed more important back then.

  “You agree?” the man asked.

  Huh? I looked over.

  “Roy is stiff today,” he commented, pointing out over the ice.

  I followed his finger at a trio of men gathered across the way. He might as well have been speaking Latin. “Which one is Roy?”

  “He’s right next to Zubov.”

  "I have no idea who either of those people is. Is Zubov a nickname?”

  The stranger next to me shot me a quizzical look and somehow, for a split-second, seemed familiar. Like someone I’d passed before, maybe chatted with in a coffee-shop type of familiar. But I couldn’t place him.

  “Zubov’s a trade. Vladimir Zubov. Russia.”

  I blinked.

  “Are you dating one of the players?” he asked.

  “No.” My voice was a little too loud.

  “Hunh. It’s just that no one comes to the practices except fans and girlfriends.”

  I shrugged. “I’m here to see a friend. He thought I’d find it fun to watch a practice.”

  He nodded slowly. “I see.” He held out his hand. “Well, I’m Nathan, and I guess for today I can teach you about the game.”

  I shook his hand, feeling tiny. His warm hand swallowed my petite fingers. “I’m Violet.”

  Tearing my gaze from his sparkling eyes, I searched the ice again.

  “Just a friend?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, my cheeks feeling warm. “Known him since high school. Ken.”

  “Ah. Miller. Nice guy. A beast, really, the guy you want watching your back. But that’s…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “What would you like to know?”

  I murmured something about the puck, and Nathan launched into an explanation while I focused on the ice.

  On Ken Miller.

  I was here in this moment, sitting in a Denver ice arena, all because I’d drank too much wine one night last year and messaged Ken on Facebook.

  That one message became the beginning of a renewed friendship. One where I felt on equal footing, or at least it seemed that way online.

  Across the safety net of cyber chats—no video chats, I wasn’t that comfortable—I could joke and be subtly flirty. I could be clever and tease him about our long-lost high school days. When I'd struck up that conversation I didn’t think he’d respond.

  I certainly didn’t predict that he’d remember me, or be so eager to reconnect.

  Back when I’d first messaged Ken, I couldn’t have imagined taking a job offer in Colorado and ending up in his stomping grounds. But the new position was twenty thousand dollars more a year, in a place that wasn’t Si
licon Valley expensive.

  Ken was merely a bonus. So I accepted and moved from the Golden State to the Mile High City. Why not? I didn’t have anything to lose. I was young, single and a minimalist.

  Of course I’d have to hang out with Ken. For old time’s sake. Never mind that my social skills were at their best behind a computer screen. Upon moving here, I’d waited several weeks before making a date with him, mostly out of nervousness.

  Up close and personal, I had no idea how things would work out. This was Ken Miller, after all. High school hockey god, college hockey star, pro athlete with stellar stats (whatever that meant, I was going by what he’d told me).

  Ken Miller with the sky-blue eyes.

  Was I ready for any of this?

  * * *

  "How do you know so much?" I pointed at the ice. Nathan had an impressive wealth of knowledge. He’d spouted stats at first, then seeing my perplexed expression, slowly explained the drills and why the professional team was only using half the rink to practice. For the most part, I just listened, fascinated.

  I knew my way around a computer. Hockey stats, not at all.

  I’d finally located Ken on the ice, and it was hard to keep my eyes on him in the midst of matching jerseys zooming around. Plus I was distracted by the passion in Nathan’s voice. I could ask one question and it spurred a million answers, but I didn’t mind. He had a low, buzzy voice, and I enjoyed listening to it.

  “Once upon a time, I played,” he said with a sigh.

  “Oh.” I didn’t know if I should pry. It would be rude to assume he wasn’t good enough to play pro, right?

  “It wasn’t meant to be,” he continued. “Tore my ACL and MCL, and two surgeries in they realized I had developed a heart murmur.”

  I placed my hand on his leg and turned to him, shocked at his admission. “What?”

  “I’ll live, obviously, but that was it for my career. Barely three seasons under my belt.” He frowned but tried to smile. “Lady luck wasn’t on my side.”

  “I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

  His big hand covered mine and gave it a squeeze. “I’m fine. I didn’t mean to be a downer. Most of the time I’m fine with it, and then there’s that 5% chance I’ll drift off and hate my body for failing me.”

  I bit my tongue to catch the comment I almost made about his body looking just fine. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

  “Nah. No bad memories,” he promised. “And day-to-day I’m fine. No limp, and my heart is wacky but healthy. So don’t let me ruin this,” he laughed. “What are you thinking? Can I plan on seeing you at a game? Maybe tomorrow night?”

  I grinned and glanced back to the players. Ken was circling around the unused space of the ice while his teammates battled for the puck. Did I want to see him in a real game? Maybe. Probably.

  “Tomorrow night won’t work,” I said as I went over my schedule in my head. “I have a project that I’m falling behind on.”

  "Ah. Well, what about Friday night?"

  “There’s a game that night?” I asked.

  “No. I mean yes, but they’re playing in another state. I meant you and I. Dinner?”

  I fumbled for words. Nathan seemed like a good guy, but wasn’t I here because of my life-long crush for Ken? But then again, Ken and I were just friends. Time may have passed, but chances are he still saw me as the dorky girl I was in high school.

  The girl with no aptitude for fashion or makeup. The girl who was two grades below him but ended up as his math tutor. And for all the attention I gave him or the fun we had during our sessions, he was always dating someone taller and blonder while I managed to be dateless for every prom.

  If I passed on a date in the hopes that Ken would magically notice me now, I was still that pathetic girl. Nathan gave my hand another squeeze—I’d forgotten he still held it. He had a comforting presence and looked like a Greek god. I looked into his gorgeous blue eyes.

  I’d be insane not to give him a chance.

  “Yeah,” I said finally. “I’d really like that.”

  * * *

  “Do they do this every day?” I asked. Practice had wrapped up and the team seemingly vanished into the locker room.

  “Just about, yeah. Even if they play that night, they still practice during the day. Even if they’re catching a plane to another city in the afternoon, they still practice during the day,” Nathan said.

  "Wow. No downtime? But the season doesn't last all year."

  “They can’t get rusty. It’s a non-stop lifestyle. In the summer they have the afternoons free, but it’s not the same as having time for a vacation.”

  I looked across the now empty ice, which was marred and dull from the players’ sharp skates. “I guess I should head out. I’m supposed to meet Ken in the parking lot.”

  “It’ll still be a few minutes before they’re done. After practice they check injuries, massage the muscles, things like that.” Nathan looked over, where the rest of the crowd was filing out. “Probably better to wait in here a little longer than to stand in the cold. They won’t kick us out.”

  “You do this a lot?”

  “Nah. If I have the day off I’ll drop by. I try to make the home games, at least. The away games… that’s a different challenge.”

  I tucked a loose strand of my shoulder-length hair behind my ear and turned in my seat. “I’m sorry. All this time we were talking, and I never asked what you do.”

  “Aww. You don’t want to know that. You’ll change your mind about our date.” He grimaced, but it was clear he was joking.

  “Come on, tell me.”

  “I’m a nerd,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I work with network security.”

  I couldn’t keep the shock from my voice. “Whoa. From hockey to IT? Seriously? I’ve never seen a computer guy who looked like…” I trailed off and sucked in my breath. God, I was so bad at flirting.

  He watched me, brow arched. My reaction clearly amused him. “Like what?”

  “Hot,” I whispered. I couldn’t help it. The word had just slipped out, and now I felt like a fool.

  He leaned close to speak against my ear. “You should see my tattoos.”

  I nodded, unsure what to say. My burning cheeks felt like they'd soon catch fire, but there was no escaping this situation. There was no calm or suave way to jump up and run outside to bury my face in the snow. Instead, I just stared forward and bit my bottom lip.

  “Too much?” he asked finally.

  “Nah,” I grinned, liking him even more.

  “So, what do you do? You said you had a project you were working on.”

  I appreciated the change of topic. I could discuss work. "I do graphic design and a little bit of programming. I got picked up by a small—and I mean tiny—game developer. I'm handling the majority of their animations." Nathan looked interested, so I continued. It wasn't every day I got to talk about my job, and I was super excited to have landed it. "It's a lucky break to be able to work on this sort of project. They offered to let me work remotely, but I got a bonus for moving. Still, most days I work from home."

  Nathan eyed me, his eyes, half-lidded and sensuous. “See, that’s hot.”

  “Huh?”

  “Do you play games, then?” he asked.

  “Yeah. That’s how I met these guys from this company, actually.”

  Nathan looked me over as if seeing me for the first time. “I can forgive your ignorance of hockey now. A gorgeous woman who plays computer games and does coding and graphics?” He patted his chest. “I think my heart just stopped. You’re much hotter than me.”

  His words hit me like a torpedo. I liked to believe that during college I left a lot of my awkwardness behind, but even in the years of dating, I'd never met a man who called me gorgeous. And Nathan seemed to mean it.

  His eyes roamed me like I was precious treasure, and I hadn't missed that over the course of practice he'd scooted closer until his thigh was pressed up against mine and he could ea
sily wrap his arm around me with no effort.

  “I, uh. I mean, yeah, you just keep continuing to be not what I expect from an IT guy,” I rambled.

  “I suppose you’ve met a lot of us?”

  I pursed my lips. I didn’t want him to think I’d dated a lot. Or maybe he just meant ‘met’ in a professional sense. “Four years of college worth, plus I tried my hand at working in retail computer repair at one point. I don’t recommend that to anyone, by the way. But yeah… there’s a bit of a type, and you aren’t it.”

  “I’m hoping that’s a good thing.”

  “That’s a great thing,” I laughed. I bit my lower lip to tone down my enthusiasm. “I mean, it’s really a neutral thing. I just…”

  Nathan chuckled and stood. He stretched his tall form and held out his hand to help me up. I took it and stood, feeling small next to him. At five-four, it seemed like he had at least ten inches on me.

  “They should be heading out now. I don’t want you to miss your friend,” Nathan said with an odd expression.

  “Yeah.” I fumbled with my coat and pulled out my phone. “I guess I should get your number though. For the date.”

  He took my phone and keyed in his number. “Definitely wouldn’t want to forget that.”

  2

  I huddled in my jacket and inhaled the crisp, thin Denver air. That was one of many good about this place. No California smog.

  As instructed, I’d parked in a certain area, and from where I leaned against my beat-up Jeep I could see the back door where Ken said he’d be coming out. A few guys had already exited, and the paranoid part of me wondered if I’d missed Ken while talking to Nathan. That would suck.

  It wasn’t like I thought Ken was the type to ditch me, but I wasn’t sure how long he’d wait, either. What if Nathan was wrong about how long the players took before being ready to leave? Ken may have hurried to meet me, only to give up when I never came around.