Faceoff Read online

  Faceoff

  San Francisco Strikers, book 4

  by Stephanie Kay

  Faceoff

  Copyright © 2018 Stephanie Kay

  eBook Edition: November 2018

  Edited by CeCe Carroll, www.cececarroll.com

  Cover Art by Caitlin Fry

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Stephanie Kay. www.stephkaybooks.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (www.fbi.gov/ipr). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  FACEOFF

  San Francisco Strikers, book 4

  How do you know if it’s the right risk to take?

  Sara Randolph is head chef in a bar frequented by the San Francisco Strikers hockey team. With her history of having her heart broken by athletes, she really should be avoiding them. They’re her Kryptonite, and left winger Colin O’Sullivan is at the top of the No Touch List, in spite of his delicious flirtations.

  Colin “Sully” O’Sullivan is tired of being second best. His home team took the Stanley Cup the year after he was traded to San Francisco. He’s been on the top line on the Strikers for a few years and now his spot is in question. But when the ginger-haired jokester lands a night in the arms of Sara, he thinks his luck is finally changing. Until she tells him it was all a terrible mistake.

  Sara can’t believe she let herself get carried away with Sully. He’s an athlete. A player in all variations of the word. Been there. Done that. Never again. But there’s no denying their attraction is hot enough to melt all the ice in the arena. When it comes to a faceoff between them, are they willing to own up to the truth about how they really feel about each other?

  ~*~

  Please sign up for my newsletter for upcoming releases and exclusive excerpts. You can also email me at [email protected] or find me on Twitter or Facebook. For more information, please visit my website, www.stephkaybooks.com. You can also join my reader group on Facebook, Stephanie Kay’s Sassy Strikers. We discuss books, romance, dessert, and hockey butts.

  Dedication

  To Samantha Wayland.

  My husband blames you for my hockey obsession. I have zero regrets!

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Excerpt from Last Call

  About the Author

  Books by Stephanie Kay

  Acknowledgements

  There are so many people to thank that I don’t know where to start.

  To CeCe Carroll, my wonderful editor, thank you for polishing up my writing and catching every word I missed.

  To Judy Zweifel, thank you for being an extra set of eyes for me.

  To Iveta Cvrkal, proofreader extraordinaire, thank you for finding every comma I missed…I hate commas!

  To Caitlin Fry, my fantastic cover artist. This cover is perfect for Sara and Sully.

  To Samantha Wayland for getting me hooked on hockey. Bet you didn’t think I’d get this obsessed this quickly! Can’t wait for our next hockey road trip, you know, for research purposes. Maybe we can run into another AHL team on the road and recognize them by their outstanding asses.

  To Aven Ellis, for your great feedback and I love that we can continue to bounce ideas off of each other.

  To my fantastic beta readers, Elaine and Sita. Thank you for helping me polish this book. Your comments helped immensely and I’m glad you enjoyed Sara and Sully’s story. I’ll send you a fan, Sita.

  To the Bergy Babes. Woohoo. Hockey season is back!

  To the Hearties. Thank you for welcoming me into this group of amazing hockey romance authors and for answering all of my questions. I’m sure I will pester you all with each book.

  To my Sassy Strikers. I can’t believe that people want to join my reader group and talk about my books! I know you’re just here for the hockey butts.

  To the members of Rhode Island Romance Writers, New England chapter of RWA, New Hampshire chapter of RWA, and all the writers I’ve met in the last decade, thank you for your workshops, conferences, and critiques. I’ve learned so much since I joined RWA. I shudder to think of how horrible that first historical romance is in comparison to my writing now.

  To my mom. You and Dad showed me how to have a successful 40+ year marriage through laughter and affection. You’ve also shown me that even in grief, you can become the strongest woman I know. So glad you are finally able to travel the world and have a social life I envy!

  To my amazing in-laws, thank you for letting me watch your hysterical Italian family for the last 15+ years. I still think about that first Christmas Eve. After everyone gorged themselves on seafood for dinner, my mother-in-law asked if anyone was hungry, and the family sat down to a lasagna she just had in the fridge and dove in…at eleven p.m.

  To my family for always encouraging me to go after my dreams and for your unwavering support, even if most of you don’t read romance novels…I’ll forgive you for that last indiscretion.

  And of course, to my husband, John, for more reasons than I can count. You were the one who encouraged me to get back to writing when I was laid off from my day job in 2008. Probably so I would leave you to your books and guitars. Chicken has dried out on the grill and sweet potatoes have been burned because I was working on a scene instead of focusing on dinner, but you never complained…well, not that loudly. And you agreed to let me live out my romance dreams and get married over the anvil in Gretna Green, Scotland, even if you did refuse to wear a kilt. Thank you for loving my craziness and putting up with discussions about the characters in my head not doing what I want them to. And I can’t wait to see what adventures are in store for us next year with our new addition. Who knew that was possible?!

  And to my readers, thank you for continuing to read my books and fall in love with my characters as much as I have. I hope I make you laugh out loud and follow your heart. And to my readers that still love Grant the most, he has a few scenes in this book just for you.

  Please sign up for my newsletter for upcoming releases and exclusive excerpts. You can also email me at [email protected] or find me on Twitter or Facebook. For mo
re information, please visit my website, www.stephkaybooks.com.

  Prologue

  Sara cracked open her eyes when she heard a groan. The groan hadn’t come from her lips.

  What the hell?

  Arms tightened around her, pulling her against a warm, rock-hard body.

  She fought back the impulse to sink into him as he splayed a large hand over her stomach and rested his thumb just underneath her breasts.

  He gave her another squeeze before he broke the contact. “Don’t move.” The voice that rolled over her was filled with sleepy desire.

  Cool air met her back as he slipped from the bed. She froze in place when he walked into her field of vision, in all his naked glory. Her eyes traveled up his glorious, how-is-he-real body, and then he leaned down, a sparkle in the brown eyes she’d recognize anywhere, and pressed his lips to hers.

  She swallowed back her gasp as his tongue invaded her mouth and memories flooded back to last night.

  Holy fuck, she’d slept with Sully. No. No. No.

  And yet she couldn’t stop kissing him.

  His amazing kisses were not supposed to make her melt like this. His fingers were not supposed to feel this good in her hair.

  No. No. NO.

  His thumb traced her jaw as he cupped her face with one hand. Then he chuckled and broke the kiss. “I’ll be right back.” He spun on his heel and headed to the bathroom. Jesus Christ, he looked almost as good walking away as he did from the front. Those thighs. That ass.

  Shit. She was in trouble.

  She was supposed to stay away from athletes. They were her kryptonite, and Colin O’Sullivan was at the top of the No-Touch List.

  But she’d touched. She’d touched A LOT, if memory served. And licked. And kissed. And, oh crap, what had she been thinking?

  They’d run into each other at a club last night. She’d never been there before because she didn’t get out much. Her life was the bar, her sister, and Aiden. Well, it had been anyway. Her sister and Aiden moved in with Max a few months ago. She loved her future brother-in-law, but the house was empty for the first time in years. It was lonely, but at least now she had time for a night life.

  Clearly, disasters happened when she was left to her own devices.

  “You have this cute furrow in your brow,” Sully, Exhibit A, said as he walked back toward her, his fingers running through his ginger hair that she remembered tugging on last night.

  Oh fuck. Why’d it have to be so soft? So inviting? Her fingers itched at her side, and she gripped the sheet.

  Her gaze traveled down his perfectly ripped body. Lines and dips called out to her, and she remembered tracing those lines with her tongue. She bit the inside of her cheek, holding back the moan that wanted to slip through.

  Get a grip, Sara.

  He looked ready for round three or four, or five—crap, yes, five, but she refused to give in. This was a one-time deal. It should’ve been a no-time deal, but apparently her brain had taken a vacation after one too many gin and tonics.

  “Morning, gorgeous. How’s your head?” he asked, an adorable smile on his lips.

  No. Not adorable. Annoying. Yes, annoying. Ugh. No, it was adorable, and it needed to disappear.

  “I definitely had one too many last night, but this will help,” he said, holding out a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen.

  “Ah, thanks,” she said, tossing back the pills, wishing they would wipe her memory of last night—and his as well. “I should go,” she said, tugging the sheet tight to her body as she scanned the room looking for her clothes.

  “Go? I was hoping we could continue where we left off last night. You said you wanted to try—”

  “Where’s my dress?” she asked, cutting him off, not wanting to know exactly what she’d said last night.

  Never drinking again.

  He smirked. “Probably near the couch.” He shook his head. “You stripped out of that thing so fast last night. Not that I blame you. This has been a long time coming.”

  “Can we not…” She trailed off, pushing her hair from her face, trying not to imagine how much of a mess she currently looked like, if her limp strands were anything to go by. She’d attempted to curl them last night, but they’d lasted about as long as her common sense had.

  “Not what?”

  His eyes narrowed, and her head throbbed. She did not want to have this conversation now—or ever—but she plowed through.

  “This was a mistake. I should go. Could you turn around?”

  “Are you serious?” he asked, his eyes wide.

  Those brown eyes never failed to heat up every point in her body. They shouldn’t affect her, but they looked like whiskey poured neat, the sunlight spilling into the room bringing out the rich color.

  She was spending way too much time at the bar.

  “Yes,” she said.

  He muttered something, but she ignored him and rushed from the room as soon as his back was turned.

  Darting through Sully’s condo in the nude was not how she expected to spend her Friday morning, but here she was, searching for the slip of a dress her sister had convinced her to wear.

  Oh crap, had Callie been at the club when Sara lost her mind with Sully?

  No, Sara vaguely recalled putting Callie in a cab. Sara had decided to stay—more proof common sense had taken a vacation last night.

  She tamped down a sigh of relief when she spotted her dress on the side of the couch. She quickly tugged it on. There was no way this wasn’t going to be a walk of shame as the dress barely hit mid-thigh. And it was barely nine in the morning.

  She’d gone braless last night, so that was one less article of clothing to scrounge around for.

  “Looking for these,” his voice taunted her from the hall, and she spun, wishing she could disappear as he twirled her panties from talented fingers that excelled at so much more than just shooting a puck in the net. She fought back a shudder, remembering all the things his fingers did to her last night.

  Shit. She needed to get the hell out of his home before she ripped off her dress and went back for more.

  She snagged the scrap of fabric from his hand and tugged them on.

  “So, you’re really going to bail like this?” he asked.

  “This shouldn’t have happened, Sully. I don’t hook up with athletes, and—and—this was a mistake.”

  “Sure. A mistake,” he said. “Yeah, I guess you should go.”

  “I knew we’d be on the same page.” She grabbed her shoes and purse, not making eye contact with him as she slipped on her heels. “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” she asked.

  “Tell them about what?”

  “Thanks.” She slipped out the front door and headed to the elevators, praying she didn’t run into any of his teammates.

  She ordered an Uber to pick her up at the end of the block and, by some miracle, made it out of the condo building without spotting anyone she knew.

  As she settled into the back seat of the car five minutes later, she closed her eyes. More memories flooded back from last night.

  Fuck. What had she been thinking?

  He was an athlete. A player in all variations of the word. Been there. Done that. Never again.

  Too bad he was in her bar at least twice a week. That wouldn’t be awkward at all.

  Stupid gin and tonics—and whiskey-colored eyes.

  Chapter 1

  Four months later

  They were slammed as usual on Saturday night, and Sara was grateful. She could focus on her job, and on making the best food she could.

  And not on whatever woman Sully went home with later tonight. He’d been like a rotating door since she’d run out of his condo four months ago.

  Not that she was paying attention. She didn’t care what he did with his free time.

  Not. At. All.

  Fuck. What was her problem?

  Yes, he was hot. Yes, the sex had been phenomenal. He’d been a lot more considerate about her pleas
ure than she’d anticipated. And now, as she thought about that night again, heat bubbled up in her body. She’d hoped the gin and tonics would’ve kept the memories hazy, but she remembered every touch, every kiss, in vivid detail.

  “Sara, you going to deliver those or just hold them?” her boss’s voice cut through her lusty thoughts.

  She tried to laugh, but it came out like a strangled cough, and Adam’s eyes narrowed.

  “What’s up with you?”

  “What? Nothing. Sorry,” she said, quickly setting the burgers down in front of a couple at the end of the bar. She asked if they needed anything else and then headed back to her sanctuary—the kitchen.

  She didn’t have time to be distracted. The kitchen was bustling, and as the head chef, her focus had to be on the food, not on thoughts of Sully and what he may or may not have licked off her stomach all those nights ago.

  It’d been salted caramel and chocolate swirl. And it had resulted in a shower that had ended with him on his knees and her legs over his shoulders.

  For fuck’s sake. If she didn’t tone this down, she was going to need to spend the rest of the night in the walk-in fridge.

  She shook her head and grabbed the next ticket. It was for one of the specials: pan-seared chicken with a balsamic reduction over lemon garlic risotto with broccolini. Yes, she served risotto in a bar, next to burgers and fries, but she loved making it. Something was soothing about the precision of the rice dish. She’d perfected it during her years at culinary school. In a bustling bar that operated like a full restaurant, slowly stirring risotto was not for the faint of heart, but good food took time and she hoped the regulars at Crash and Byrne appreciated that. They kept coming back, and most of their food-based Yelp reviews were glowing. That told her the extra effort was worth it.

  She rolled the pan with her balsamic reduction, making sure it coated the bottom but hadn’t thickened too much, and then set it back on low while the chicken cooked.