Taryn Taylor - Playing Dirty

“Who cares? I don’t wanna waste time talkin’ to him! Man who looks that good could have me anytime, anywhere.”

Heat, not unlike the sear of a good shot of whisky, burned in Lainey’s stomach at the thought of Cooper and sex, and her mind was seized by an alarmingly vivid vision of him, naked on a king-size battlefield, expertly wielding his...uh, sword.

Luckily the flashing of a disturbingly high number on the “Now Serving” sign above the imaginary bed doused the flame before it reddened her cheeks.

“Listen, your daddy was a good guy, but a so-so businessman. This place can use all the good publicity it can get. ’Specially the free kind.” Oblivious to Lainey’s inner turmoil, Agnes walked to the other side of the counter and hefted the tray of beer to her shoulder. “I’m gonna deliver these, but I want you to promise me that when you turn around and see that a certain teammate of his is here, you’re going to play nice, okay? Take care of things nice and quiet. Don’t make a scene.”

Aggie’s warning tone left little doubt as to the identity of Cooper’s teammate, and Lainey’s gaze jerked to the newly occupied table in the back corner, near the stage.

With a curse, she stomped out from behind the bar with every intent of telling table seventeen to go to hell, despite Aggie’s well-meaning advice.

2

WHEN COOPER HAD finished smiling for the camera, he found Brett smirking at him from a table at the back of the bar.

Perfect timing.

Cooper wasn’t exactly sure what he’d done to piss off Fate, but she sure knew how to hold a grudge. With a deep, steadying breath, he straightened his shoulders, braced for sniper fire and marched manfully to the seat Brett had saved for him.

Cooper placed his drink on the table and flopped into the empty chair.

Sillinger leaned indolently back in his own, his ball cap pulled witness-protection-program low to avoid the autograph gauntlet that Coop had just endured. “So? How’d it go, Romeo? Did you use the drink pickup line? Did she bite?”

Cooper bit back the expletives he wished he could unleash, and, with a disgusted shake of his head, reached into his wallet and shoved a pile of crisp fifties at his teammate. It was his own damn fault. He never should have made the bet in the first place. But sometimes when the kid wouldn’t stop yammering, it was easier to give in than listen to him talk.

Brett smiled and gathered the cash. Cooper leaned forward and folded his arms on the table, a move that brought him eye-level with the thick, muddy mixture in his glass. He couldn’t remember seeing many things more unappetizing than the tar-like substance. But if he was being honest, he’d had a pretty good time ordering it. It had been way too long since he’d indulged in flirtatious banter, and the hot bartender was an accomplished adversary.

“That drink looks like it tastes like shit. What is it?”

“This,” he said as dismissively as he could manage, straightening in his chair, “is a Black Widow.”

Sillinger’s choked laughter was right on cue, but it made Cooper’s hands tighten into fists anyway.

It was an old habit, one he’d picked up on the playground back when teasing often escalated to getting knocked around. With a purposeful breath, Cooper unclenched his fingers.

“A Black Widow?”

“Yep.”

“But isn’t that the spider that—”

Cooper hid his grimace beneath disdain. “Yep.”

The little punk howled with laughter. “That’s fuckin’ classic! She shut you down hard!”

Annoyed, Cooper shoved the evidence of his earlier defeat aside with enough force to send some of the mud-colored goo oozing over the rim. He should have ignored his agent and ditched Brett, and just gone home after practice.

He wasn’t in Portland to make friends, he reminded himself. He was here to make sure his hockey legacy included a championship ring, not just a bunch of tabloid stories.

“You know what, Sillinger? Why don’t you...”

He trailed off, immediately and viscerally aware that the instigator of this gong show was making her way toward his table, and while he was enjoying the way her wavy black hair flirted with the tops of her breasts, her determined stride and laser-eyes made it clear this was not going to be pleasant encounter. He braced for impact as she drew near.

“Get out.”

Anger surged, but before he could open his mouth, Sillinger was already beaking.

“And the Ice Queen strikes again. Nice to see you too, sis.”

Well, shit. He hadn’t seen that one coming.

“I’m serious, Brett. Leave.”

Cooper relaxed in his chair at the interesting turn of events.

“C’mon, Elaine. Be cool. I’m here with my teammate.” He raised his eyebrows pleadingly.

“I told you, I go by Lainey now,” she ground out. “And when you turn twenty-one, that reason will hold water. Now get out.”

When her gaze remained steely, the rookie’s voice broke into a whine. “Other bars let me in. I’ve got ID.”

Her mouth fell open as he pulled his license from his wallet and held it in her direction.

Lainey reached across the table and snatched it from his fingers. “Did you honestly just show me a fake ID? What the hell is wrong with you?” She took a step to the left and Sillinger bolted out of his chair and did the same, maintaining the distance between them.

“Dad used to let me hang out!”

“I’m sure that will look great on his posthumous father-of-the-year trophy.” Lainey feinted left again, but dodged right. Brett didn’t fall for the fake out.

“Honestly, Brett, I don’t have time for your bullshit. Now get your nineteen-year-old ass the hell out of my bar, before I make you.” Sillinger might have a couple inches and sixty-five pounds on her, but Coop’s money was on her if it came to blows.

Brett heaved a put-upon sigh. “All you do is bitch about how desperate you are for customers, and when I bring you some, you kick us out?”

“I’m kicking you out. Your teammate is welcome to stay.”

“Funny, that’s not quite the impression I got earlier,” Coop interjected.

She spared him a dismissive frown before turning her attention back to her brother. Brett’s glare deepened as they faced off from across the table. Lainey stayed cool, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. Cooper wasn’t surprised when the kid caved first.

“Fine. You just lost our business. Hope you’re happy.”

Brett’s voice cracked a little as he threw down the ultimatum, and despite the posturing, it was obvious the kid was desperately afraid Coop wouldn’t follow his lead.

Truth be told, Cooper felt for him. It was an eternity ago now, but he’d been the same in his youth—cocky as hell, with more money than brains and a desperate need to be accepted by the team.

Brett’s gaze turned imploring. “You coming?”

The tough-guy ambivalence was ruined by the quaver in his voice.

“Give me a minute. I’ll be right out.”

The kid glanced over at Lainey, then back at Coop. His nod was resigned, and he turned to leave.

“Rookie.” Cooper held out his hand.

Brett frowned, but dug into the pocket of his jeans. “I bet you that you couldn’t pick up the girl of my choosing with a lame pickup line. You didn’t say I couldn’t know her,” he muttered, slapping the stack of fifties into Cooper’s hand before heading for the doors.

He focused his attention back on the badass who surveyed him with stormy blue eyes.

“So you’re Sillinger’s sister?”

“Half sister,” she countered, hard and fast. “We’re not close.”

Cooper smiled at the distinction. “Well, you’d be surprised how well he knows you, despite that fact.”