Game Misconduct (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 1)

Chapter 1-2

Sloan Callahan. The man she’d seen with Max in the alley—had he seen her? The flap of her jacket hung open, and for a horrible moment, she felt completely exposed. Her mouth went dry, and she had a vision of that night. Only this time, the woman they planned to share wasn’t Roxy. It was her.

Her eyes traced the scar from a s***h that had almost taken his eye. The bound wooden blade of the stick had torn rather than cut, so the wound wasn’t nice and smooth. White flesh streaked in two irregular lines through one brow, over one cheekbone, and up to his temple, creating a well-defined path.

Those who’d voted Callahan the most handsome man in the sport for three years straight—as if good looks made a damn bit of difference on the ice—considered the damage done to Callahan’s face a tragedy. To her mind, the scars gave him a dangerous appeal. The kind of appeal that tempted good girls to do very bad things.

“Do I?”

Definitely. Oriana blinked. Did he know she was thinking about him and Max and . . . ? She shook her head. Don’t be a dumb a*s. He asked if he knew you.

Taking hold of the flaps of her jacket, she held it closed and craned her neck to study him over her sunglasses. “No. I don’t think so.” His dark eyes narrowed, and she swallowed. A moan from the ramp spurred her on. She pushed her sunglasses up with a finger and spoke loud so Vanek’s captain wouldn’t hear him. “Umm . . . I don’t suppose you have the time?”

A crowd of teens approached, taking up most of the sidewalk. Rather than move across the sidewalk to let them pass, he stepped toward her. She retreated until her back hit a light post. His hand under her elbow kept her from toppling onto the street.

“It’s eight-twenty, princess.” He leaned his forearm on the post above her head and chuckled when she froze. “You waiting for someone?”

All she could do was nod as she peered up at him with wide eyes. Damn he was tall. And big. And hot.

More scary than anything. Should check him for weapons. Boy’s dangerous.

Cold air skimmed over her breasts, causing goose bumps to rise on all the flesh not covered by the tightly-laced bodice. She wanted to do up her jacket, but he was too close. If she didn’t move, he might not notice the slit of the dress had slipped to one side, exposing her thigh to hip.

You sure you don’t want him to notice? said the naughty voice in her head, which usually indicated she had been spending too much time on the phone listening to her sister’s raunchy tales.

She peeked up at Callahan, and heat flooded her cheeks when she caught his eyes on her breasts.

“Well, let’s hope he’s not too late. Someone might steal you away.” Tiny creases cut through his scar, and something stirred deep inside. The way he looked at her almost made her feel desirable. He leaned a little closer. “I mean, dressed like that, standing on the corner . . .”

He pushed away from her.

“How dare—” She sputtered on the words she wanted to say and let her narrowed gaze spit all the venom her mouth couldn’t. Might be better for him if he did have a knife on him. She was very tempted to see what kind of damage she could do with her nails.

But acting like a savage wasn’t her style. She gave him the coldest look she could muster and glanced up the sidewalk to see if she could catch the eye of someone passing by. Just in case he went caveman on her. Not that he looked even close to doing so. His composure brought her to the edge of losing hers entirely.

A sparkle of amusement lit his black eyes, and he gave her legs another lingering look. “Hell, with those legs, I’m sure you’d get a decent offer. I’d make one myself, but I’m in too much of a hurry for you to make it worth my while.” He winked and tugged his hood back over his head. “Maybe next time.”

A little sting in the corner of her eye made her blink fast and shake her head. Sticks and stones, Oriana. How would Silver handle this?

Hands on her hips, she gave him a swift once over and sucked her teeth. “Callahan—”

“You can call me, ‘Mr. Callahan.’ We’re not friends.”

“Fine, Mr. Callahan.” She clipped out each syllable, resisting the urge to kick him. “There won’t be a next time.”

Real smooth. Do you need Silver to script a decent comeback?

“So you say.” Callahan cleared his throat. “Vanek, I’m heading in. You have two minutes.”

The sharp sound of a zipper drew her attention to the ramp. Vanek gave her a sheepish grin, then nodded at his bunny while she scribbled something on a scrap of paper and stuffed it in his pocket. The bunny’s heels clicked as she made her way up the ramp. Blonde waves bouncing, she disappeared around the corner.

“Nice try covering for the kid. I’m sure he’d thank you if he got her knocked up and she took him for all he’s worth.” Callahan took her sunglasses from her face and slipped them into her jacket pocket, effectively removing her only shield. “Did you enjoy the show?”

So much for hoping he’d forgotten. She glared at the gold embroidered team logo centered on his broad chest. A snake, just like him.

His finger brushed her cheek as he tucked a loose curl behind her ear. Her pulse sped up. Her gaze shot to his face. Those black eyes didn’t belong to a snake. Or any animal she’d ever seen. They brought to mind the ocean at night when the surface was smooth and calm. And just cool enough to be soothing after a hot summer day. She could imagine immersing herself in the water, feeling soft waves lap up her thighs. Soon the moonlight would reflect off the glassy surface, like the streetlights reflected in Callahan’s eyes.

The ocean always mesmerized her.

“Tell me, princess, did it get you off?”

But the ocean didn’t have a big, stupid mouth.

Her chin jutted up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “So soft. I can imagine you in that position . . .” When she jerked away, he laughed. “But you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Oh, god. She watched him turn away, unable to force her eyes off him until he disappeared inside the forum. Her mind locked on “the position” he’d implied. The bunny’s position? Or the position of the woman he’d shared with Max? Neither option seemed as deplorable as it should have. Or likely to happen.

So not fair. The only man in history to reject Silver, hitting on her.

No, mocking her. He couldn’t seriously think she’d ever . . .

Her n*****s drew into hard little points and poked through the openwork details of her lace b*a. Her body wasn’t in accord with her mind. Then again, the intelligent arguments her brain came up with were weak.

Sex in public isn’t my thing.

Not that she knew what her “thing” was.

Couldn’t you consider trying something new? For Max?

She should have, but it was too late.

Is it?

Neither her brain nor her body had an answer. She hadn’t spoken to Max in months. Maybe she should call him and apologize for the way she’d behaved. Maybe then they could discuss . . .

Get a grip. You have a man.

Who was an hour late. So much for their dinner reservations.

Heaving out a sigh, she smoothed her hands over her sides to make sure the dress hadn’t inched up to reveal more of the generous thighs Sloan had admired. Then did up her jacket. The way things were going, he might be the only one who got to see them tonight.

Change direction of thoughts. Sloan isn’t interested in my pudgy legs. I’m trying to impress Paul. Who’ll be here . . .

The door of the forum slid open. Her father’s secretary walked out.

“Hi, Anne.” Oriana stepped into the pinched-nosed woman’s path. “Is Paul—?”

Anne looked over the red rim of her spectacles and sniffed. “He’ll be along shortly. Excuse me.”

The secretary hurried to her bus stop. Her behavior might have seemed rude to some, but it didn’t bother Oriana. Her father kept Anne busy. She had to get home to her kids.

Never mind that she would have found time to talk if Silver stood in her place. Because Silver wouldn’t be standing here, waiting. No one kept Silver waiting for anything.

Then again, Silver wouldn’t let them if they tried. Her little sister would have stormed into Daddy’s office after ten minutes of sitting in the limo—not standing on the curb because the limo driver wouldn’t dare tell her he had other places to be—and ranted until both the man of the hour and Daddy were tripping over each other making apologies.

Oriana couldn’t do that.

A couple strolled by with steaming cups of coffee. The aroma lingered in the crisp, maritime breeze, fragrant tendrils of temptation, coming from the couple as much as the cups. A little café around the corner ground their coffee beans fresh for each pot right in front of the customers. The whole place smelled so earthy and rich, the caffeinated kick struck the second the door cracked open. Still her favorite haunt before and after exams, even though Max never . . .

Stop.

Coffee. Coffee would be lovely. A new plan formed and she smiled.

Maybe she couldn’t do ranting. But she could do thoughtful.

Fifteen minutes later, cardboard tray in hand, Oriana strolled into the forum and made a beeline for the elevator. The echo of her heels on the glistening, black granite floors sounded like the tick of a giant clock. High rounded arches and marble columns gave the appearance of a cathedral; the huge black and white portraits of hockey greats like Gordie Howe, suspended from the pristine white ceiling looked like saints of old. Without crowds, it didn’t seem like a place to enjoy rowdy sports. The last couple of times she’d met Paul here, she’d had to stop herself from looking for pews.

Eight months in Dartmouth and I still haven’t been to a single game. Her steps slowed as she passed the big, red double doors that led to the stands. School work kept her busy, so she’d never questioned Paul and her father’s refusal to let her watch the games from the press box.

Well, no one could stop her from buying a ticket. Then she could enjoy the full experience without Paul or her father spoiling her fun by telling her not to shout at the players. Imagining a treat of beer and nachos, she inhaled deeply, then wrinkled her nose at the sharp scent of lemon cleaner hanging in the air from a recently passed mop. Nope, fantasy just wouldn’t cut it. Whether the men in her life liked it or not, she was going to the hockey game tomorrow night.

Movement to the far left quickened her pace.

The night guard pushed to his feet. “You can’t be in here.”

Her heels skidded on the wet floor, and her best imitation of Silver’s haughty look froze on her face. The coffee tray went up.

She went down.

An arm hooked around her waist, and the coffee tray was swooped out of her hand. “Careful.”

A flash of white teeth broke through the warm brown of the face above her. Bulging muscles flexed under her shoulders. Hard abs rippled under her hand. The feeling of falling intensified, and the room spun as blood rushed from her head to her core.