The Crease: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance Read online

  THE CREASE

  A Rochester Riot Hockey Romance

  Book Two – Shredder & Kylie

  By

  Colleen Charles

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Foreword

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  BONUS STORY – BENCHED

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Foreword

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  Chapter One

  “I told you, I’m done. There’s no more money, Jezz. I’m tapped out.”

  “Rosie, I’m starving,” Jezz whined, her gravelly voice shaking with desperation. “I haven’t eaten since Wednesday. You have to help me.”

  Kylie Rose bit her lip, the familiar feelings of guilt stopping her from disconnecting the call as she wanted to. Damn, how she wanted to. “You mean starving for a hit, don’t you, Jezz? I won’t support your habit, you know that. I can’t do anything for you until payday anyway.”

  She could hear Jezz starting to cry, her breathing ragged and laced with negative emotion. Sadness crept into her heart, and it tore at Kylie’s soul. But she had to stay strong. She could never move forward if she remained tied to her past. She’d worked so hard to get where she was, living on her own and working at her dream job with the Rochester Riot. She couldn’t go on clinging to the remnants of her painful youth.

  “Rosie, I’ll die without you,” Jezz pleaded, the despair in her voice painful to listen to. “Please help me.”

  Kylie closed her eyes against the stinging tears forming behind her lids. She hadn’t been called Rosie since she’d turned eighteen and walked away from her last foster home forever.

  “You won’t die, Jezz. Payday. I’ll come see you on payday. I promise.”

  But it was a promise she didn’t know if she could keep. Every time it seemed like happiness was within the grasp of her fingertips, it got snatched away by a ghost from the past. When would she ever be able to release their haunting chains?

  “Okay,” Jezz said with a sniff. “Bye, Rosie. I love you.”

  Kylie sighed and tucked her cell phone into her Michael Kors purse – a beautiful work of art with candy-floss pink leather and shiny buckles. Her symbol of hard-won independence and prosperity. A splurge. The only one she’d ever indulged in. Everything else she owned was either second hand or purchased at a deep discount.

  “Love,” she scoffed under her breath.

  Money could buy a lot of things but never love. Good thing she didn’t need it. Love desecrated a person to the point their soul detached from their body to float away on the winds of pain.

  She now realized that it didn’t matter how much money she gave to Jezz or anyone else. Giving money, giving time, giving everything wouldn’t erase the scars she carried from her past. Wouldn’t wash away her guilt and shame over her upbringing. Kylie would never have the love she wanted and needed. Especially from the one person who should have given it unconditionally. A mother.

  Sadly, love proved elusive in every other way too. Almost to the point where she no longer believed in it at all. Not even Eloise and Cole’s fairytale romance had shaken her quiet resolve to keep her heart locked away from the male persuasion. No amount of pink hair dye or bright clothing could satisfy her longing for a deep connection to that someone special. Sure, she put on a fine front. Everyone at work saw her as bubbly, perky Kylie Rose with a pocketful of boyfriends and BFFs. No one knew the insecure Rose Kinewski…the girl found on the street as a baby and raised in foster homes. Despite the name, her life was anything but rosy.

  She was an imposter.

  “Suck it up, kiddo,” she said to her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “You’ve got a party to go to. No glum chums allowed.”

  She forced a smile, brushed her pink-and-blond streaked pixie cut into place and adjusted her sparkly red neck scarf. Her boss, Eloise Robertson, whom Kylie adored, had invited her to a karaoke party at a local establishment. Many of the Riot’s players would be there, and who wouldn’t want to be in the company of a bunch of hot hockey jocks in the height of the season? It would be fun, and partying hard remained a coping mechanism she often used to avoid her true emotions. Since this shindig involved work, she couldn’t afford to put on anything but her game face tonight, and Rose Kinewski would be hidden very, very deep behind it.

  ***

  The interior of the Blues & Brews coffee house and bar exuded a warm party atmosphere that lifted Kylie from her private worries. She walked past tables of patrons in search of Eloise, finally spotting her seated at one of the stools at the bar. She quickened her steps toward her, anxious to be in the presence of someone she knew so well. Even though Kylie was proud of her quirky persona, this upscale fusion coffee house wasn’t really her scene. And jocks singing eighties hair band mega ballads all night would require a few extra meditation sessions tomorrow to return her back to calm.

  “Hey, there you are,” she said, making a beeline for the empty seat next to El.

  Eloise glanced up from the beer label she seemed to be studying, a look of relief on her face and Kylie knew why. Ryder Martin, the team’s sales manager, sat two stools over. El had recently been the recipient of some douche-like behavior on their one and only dinner date. Ryder wasn’t a bad buy, he just wasn’t a fit for the buttoned up El.

  “Hi, Ryder,” she said with a wave, not wanting to be rude and then turned and threw Eloise a secret, cross-eyed look of sisterly solidarity.

  “Hi, Kylie,” Ryder said. “Great to see you outside of work. Buy you a drink?”

  “Sure,” she said, settling on the stool between them, hoping he wouldn’t get any big ideas about her since El had given him a “no thank you.” Kylie couldn’t picture Ryder at couples yoga or eating organic. Red meat all the way for him and not even grass-fed. “I’ll have a beer, please.”

  Ryder signaled the bartender for two more beers. She’d always thought Ryder was a hunk, with his well-groomed sandy blond hair, the kind that begged for a girl’s fingers to run through it and his eyes of deep amber-brown. Before El’s midnight confessions about his creepy behavior, if he’d asked her out, Kylie would have probably accepted in a heartbeat. Kylie chuckled at herself. Strange, quirky, little Kylie Rose didn’t get asked out by hot corporate suits. She would never measure up to his date standards. Besides, she had deep, dark secrets. Confidences someone like Ryder would never understand or accept.

  “What a cool place,” she said to Eloise, glancing around at the décor. “Who did you say owns it?”

  Eloise tossed her brunette locks over her shoulder, her green eyes fixed at a point across the room.

  “His name’s Trey; that’s all I know. A friend of Cole’s.”

  “Oh,” Kylie replied, nodding. “Speaking of Cole, where is
Mr. Star Centerman?” she asked, following Eloise’s gaze.

  It fell directly on the object of their conversation, Cole Fiorino, the team’s most recent and most expensive acquisition. Hot as hell and with a reputation to match. Every team in the league wanted to sign him, but the Riot’s owner Sheehan Murphy had been the one to strike the deal by opening his wallet fattened by Irish whiskey sales. Cole approached the bar from a table at the far end of the room where a number of his fellow team members sat.

  Kylie sighed. A roomful of hunky hockey players and she’d barely met any of them in her three years as PA to Eloise, the team’s Director of Communications and Community Relations. Probably just as well. They tended to gravitate toward the Playboy bunny type and not the quirky spinner type. She sighed. Her subordinate role didn’t quite give her the same access to personnel as her executive leader. She loved working for Eloise, but it was a little like being the ugly stepsister at the ball. The pretty, brilliant, and venerable Eloise caught all the attention, and deservedly so. Eloise shone like the brightest star in the sky.

  In the hockey kingdom of the Rochester Riot, however, Cole Fiorino played the role of heir apparent. His dark, spiky hair and smoldering blue eyes were princely enough, not to mention his ninety-point season stats. He’d certainly cost the team a King’s ransom. He and Eloise had been seeing each other in recent weeks, and Kylie hoped the best for them; they made a great couple. It had been so long since El had been dating someone she really liked. Too long. To paraphrase an old saying, happy boss, happy life. Eloise deserved a happy relationship after all the corporate duds she’d been exposed to. Case in point: Ryder Martin.

  “El,” Cole said as he reached the bar. “Meet Shredder, an old buddy from junior days and the Riot’s starting goalie. Shred, this is Eloise.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Shredder,” Eloise said, her eyebrows lifting over the nickname.

  What the hell kind of name was Shredder? Kylie looked over at the man Cole introduced. She never understood why sports guys insisted on silly nicknames for each other. It was so infantile, and your name meant everything. Sometimes, a name was the only gift a parent ever bestowed. She took her name very seriously, even if she’d re-engineered it herself, and re-invented herself along with it.

  Shredder stood just behind Cole, almost as tall and wearing a crisp, expensive-looking dress shirt that flattered his broad shoulders. Dry cleaning. No way did a beefy jock iron his own damn shirt. The fact that he could indulge in expensive starch and press caused a ping of envy to slice through her, and she licked her lips in a deliberate attempt to soften the grimace she knew rested on her face. Kylie hated ironing. Good thing the majority of her wardrobe consisted of business casual and workout gear. Her eyes followed a line from his slim jean-clad hips upward past his well-formed torso to settle on his charming face; a jolt of shock registering at the sheen reflecting off his shaved head from the overhead lights. He reminded her of a slimmer, more handsome version of Vin Diesel.

  Hot. As. Hell.

  He reached out his large hand to Eloise, just as Ryder and Kylie’s drinks arrived, knocking one of the bottles off the bar and straight into Kylie’s lap.

  “Oh!” Kylie squealed, catching the bottle as it upturned but unable to prevent the flood of foam spewing from its mouth. Dammit, why did all the stupid shit of the world seem to happen to her?

  Clumsy much?

  “Oh, Jeez, I’m sorry!” Shredder exclaimed, grabbing the bottle and setting it back on the bar. “I’ve made a girl look as if she pissed herself. I’m usually not so clumsy, miss. What can I do to make it up to you?” The bartender quickly produced a stack of paper towels, removing the spilled bottle and replacing it with a fresh one.

  “Great hands,” Ryder sneered. “What’d you say your save percentage was, Shred?”

  “I’ll say great hands,” Cole interjected. “Did you see that save? Kylie, we need to sign you to a three-year deal! Seven figures for sure!”

  The group of players gathering around the action laughed and slapped each other on the back in honor of Cole’s joke. Luckily, the beer only made a few splashes on her jeans, albeit in the vicinity of her crotch. Good thing she wasn’t in the market for any pussy licking later. Her delicate flower now reeked like a brewery.

  Even though she wanted to scream, Kylie laughed along with the guys, her ingrained defense mechanism of humor rising to the occasion to mask the mortification and insecurity she truly felt inside.

  “No, thanks. I think I’m safer behind a desk, away from you ham-handed clods.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Shredder said again, offering her one of the towels the bartender had speedily supplied. His soft tone and concerned expression melted away a tiny bit of her armor. He seemed to want to reach between her legs to dab at the wet spots, but Kylie snatched it away from him. “Next drink is on me.”

  “Oh, it will be,” Kylie said, brushing at her clothing. Her eyes stole upward and came to rest on the fly of his jeans that sported an attractive bulge. She clamped her eyes shut and shook her head. No. No. No. An imaginary wall went up around her. She couldn’t get involved with a member of the Riot. It would be career suicide, and she had dreams. Aspirations. Kylie Rose was going places. Her eyes fluttered open, and she speared him with a knowing look. “I’ll spill it on you personally.”

  Eloise spoke up. “Shredder, this is my assistant, Kylie Rose,” she said, blessedly easing the situation with a proper introduction.

  “Hi, Kylie,” Shredder said as a flush of red crept up his neck to land on top of his bald head. “Name’s Sheldon Politski, but call me Shred. After what just happened, I strongly feel we should already be on a first-name basis.”

  Kylie’s heart hammered against her ribcage as she made eye contact, his gorgeous browns twinkled in greeting and were framed by delicious long eyelashes that would be out of place on most men, but seemed perfectly at home in contrast to Shredder’s sharp features and glistening dome. An inhale caught her off guard. His eyes. A brown so deep and luscious she could swear she saw his soul underneath the surface.

  “I’m Kylie, and you can call me Kylie,” she said, a smile curving the corners of her lips. “Because a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

  “That’s Shakespeare, Rose,” she heard Cole say. “You’d best leave that to the Beantown Bard. Me.”

  Shredder dismissed the comment with a flick of his wrist and turned a smile on Kylie. A lopsided, totally charming thing that transformed his face from banal to breathtaking.

  “Well, I would call you by either name if you’d just give me your number,” he teased.

  Kylie was taken aback; she didn’t expect such a forthright approach, least of all from a pro hockey player. But she loved witty banter and delighted in the fact that Shred could keep up. Was he serious about her digits or just yanking her chain…feigning interest to cover his own clumsiness and save face? She’d bet on the latter. She was very used to not being taken seriously; why should tonight be any different? Even though she had to admit that some of people’s rash judgments about her were of her own making – her outrageous hair and clothing gave them evidence to play with.

  “Number? I think you’ve already got it. One beer in the lap is my limit.”

  His grin widened. “Not what I meant,” he said, opening the door to further discourse.

  Kylie hesitated, not totally against the idea of sharing her phone number but wanting to avoid being played for a fool. Who was she kidding – this guy would never call her. Luckily, any reply she could formulate was short-circuited by the emcee announcing a welcome and the format for the sing-off over the microphone. All eyes turned to the stage as the first contestants queued up for their turn.

  As they watched the spectacle about to begin, her eyes kept wandering sideways. Despite her efforts not to, she couldn’t avoid staring at Shredder’s bald head. He was just so different from any other men she’d been interested in, and the gleam off his shiny pate was difficult to ign
ore, especially under the errant spotlights that kept shining his way. He began talking to her, his voice intermittently drowned out by the noise going on all around them. She pretended not to hear, forcing her attention on the stage.

  “Kylie?” he said, his words finally piercing through a momentary lull in the hubbub.

  “What?” she replied, as though she’d suddenly become aware of his presence.

  “I asked if you’d like to go out sometime.”

  Kylie blinked. He was serious. He pressed on in spite of her refusal to cough up a cell number. It caught her off guard, and she heard a goofy giggle burst from her lips. Persistence. She had to give him that.

  “Oh. Uh, right. Sure. Anytime.” She felt the blush return to her cheeks at the sound of her inane, staccato sentences that seemed to escape from her lips without any thought behind them. I must sound like a complete airhead, she thought. Say something intelligible, quick. “Well, not anytime…I mean…anytime that’s convenient.” She winced. That didn’t come out right. I sound needy and desperate. Exactly how I don’t want to sound in front of a badass NHL goalie. She cleared her throat and her thoughts, then flashed a nonchalant smile. “Where would you like to go?”

  Shredder smiled in return, his cheeks furrowing into adorable vertical dimples. Kylie felt a wobble in her chest. He was really cute when he smiled. Hell, he was cute at an angle.

  “Maybe when the team’s between games, we could catch a movie or a concert,” he said.

  Hmm. One of those “maybe-sometime” dates. Not very promising. Shredder could have any woman he wanted and probably did. Nightly. Kylie turned away from him and stared at her worn pink Converse shoes, looking for her heart. It had fallen down in the vicinity of her feet at his random invitation.

  “Um, that would be great,” she said. “But your schedule is pretty crazy. Believe me, I know. I won’t hold my breath for an invite.”

  He splayed a hand on his Lacoste-shirted chest, feigning injury to his heart. “Miss Rose, are you insinuating that I’m insincere? I’m crushed.” His sizeable mitt displayed long, well-manicured fingers that wore a sparkling, multi-jeweled ring. Had he won some kind of championship in the past?