Gamed (Minnesota Caribou Book 4) Read online

  GAMED

  Minnesota Caribou: Book Four

  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

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  SAVED SNEAK PEEK

  Copyright

  Foreword

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  Chapter One

  Sue-Ann

  “Sue-Ann, could you take that scarf out of the case for me?”

  The blonde bombshell dripping in diamonds and clad in Michael Kors from head to toe points a tapered finger at a Hermès in shades of blue. With a jolt, I stare at the scrap of silk. It closely resembles the scarf that Mark Spencer bought Heather McNeal, starting some epic drama around Duluth. The same one I burned and took a loss on, according to my stellar accountant.

  Damn, that seems like a lifetime ago.

  But I had to. No way was I putting that piece of ancient history back out on the floor to upset one of my customers. Bad juju.

  “Of course. That one would look lovely with your eyes.” I flash her my most charming grin while I imagine the ka-ching of the till racking up the Benjamins. It’s a tough row to hoe running a high-end boutique. Obviously, women don’t visit Sue-Ann’s every day. My clothes and accessories are more of a splurge. But my unique merchandise and top-notch service keep the citizens of Duluth coming back for more.

  Word of mouth and repeat business keep Sue-Ann’s in the black, and it’s my dream to have more than one store, maybe even one down in the Twin Cities.

  Someday.

  Life works in mysterious ways as my nana used to say. Years ago, I was a recent UMD graduate with stars in her eyes and a fire in her belly. The thought of working for The Man flipped my stomach over, and not in a good way. So I picked myself up by my bootstraps, got a small business loan for young women entrepreneurs, and went to work, turning Sue-Ann’s into one of the premier businesses in town.

  I chew on my lower lip, thinking about the one thing missing.

  A man.

  A family of my own.

  Someone to celebrate wins and lament losses. To cuddle up to during the long, hard Minnesota winters with hot cocoa and marshmallows.

  Scanning my eyes down the length of super blonde, I bet she never lacks for male companionship. My love oven’s been closed for business for longer than ever before. I used to be so untamed, so spontaneous.

  But now I’m in a dry spell. One that rivals August in Arizona. The lovefest that is my bestie Julia and her hunky hockey husband, Adam, doesn’t help water the lawn of my lady bits.

  “Hmm… I’m just not sure,” the woman says, wrapping the gorgeous scrap of silk around her swan-like neck.

  I reach over the counter and tie a new bow I learned at a fashion conference, my perfectionist tendencies coming out again. “There. Now it’s perfect.”

  “Sue-Ann, you’re always right.” She widens her eyes and stares at her stunning reflection in the small antique mirror I keep on the display case for exactly this purpose. She unwinds the scarf from her neck and hands it back to me. “I’ll take it.”

  After wrapping up her purchase in signature SA monogrammed tissue and placing it in a glossy pink bag, I spend the next few hours helping random walk-ins and sorting True Religion by rinse and cut. Before long, my eyes start to blur, and I put the back of my hand against my forehead.

  The jingle on the door snaps my eyes wide open as I’m knee-deep in rose-gold bangles. I take a few and put them on a jewelry hanger. “Hey, bestie. You’re a sight for sore eyes. Adam been keeping you up all night again with the mind-blowing sexcapades?”

  Julia’s laugh brightens my day even while a zing of jealousy rifles through me. The love Adam has for Julia is the stuff of legends. They went to hell and back and came out the other side stronger for it. There’s nothing they can’t handle if they face it together.

  “You know it.” Julia walks inside and busies herself making a cup of rooibos from the famous Sue-Ann’s loose-leaf station. “And now that we’re trying to get pregnant again, it’s like an everyday occurrence. But it’s not quite as fun when it has to be penciled in based on my ovulation schedule, you know?”

  Another agonizing clench of my barren ovaries. “How’s my little godson?”

  She snorts a laugh. “Great. At daycare the other day, he hit Josiah Richards in the face with his toy hockey stick. I was mortified but Adam’s sure that means he’s going to be the next Gretzky. If my kid gets another strike, he’s going to be expelled from Kid’s Company.”

  I smile as I imagine his cherubic face and infectious giggle. “Aw, my Charlie. I love that little dude. Just don’t ask me to come to every hockey game he plays in, okay? I’m starting to develop a tiny appreciation for the game, but I’m just not there yet.”

  Julia nods. “You’re off the hook for the time being. But if he ever makes it to any playoff situation, you’re required to be in his fan club. That’s the first rule of Godmothers.”

  I throw my hand up in the air like an oath. “I swear I’ll be there as much as I can. Maybe when he’s big enough, he can come here and help out. Learn about fashion at the same time as putting his opponents in the half nelson. A little balance never hurt a man, Jules. You love Adam because he’s well-rounded and cloaked in morality despite his superstar status. Don’t raise an asshat.”

  She pours a splash of cream in her mug and stirs. “Believe me, with Adam’s family values, that will never happen. Besides, Charlie’s named after Adam’s dad. Those are pretty big shoes to fill.”

  I stare out the window, a wave of melancholy cresting and then ebbing. “The men who are worth it are the ones who look for the reasons not to walk away.”

  Julia’s gorgeous eyes meet mine, and a sliver of sadness creeps in before she shutters it. Sadness for me and my perpetually single status. “Good thing there are a lot of men like that out there in the sea.”

  I test a smile. “Or in our case, Lake Superior. Let’s just hope all the remaining good ones don’t all look like whiskery carp.”

  Setting down her mug, Julia gravitates toward the new bangle display and puts three of them on her narrow wrist. “Do carp have whiskers?”

  “They have to, don’t they? Or is that catfish?” I move to stand behind her, take the blingiest new bracelet out of the plastic shipping wrapper, and slide it on her other wrist. “There. Now you’re perfect.”

  Taking them off, she hands them to me. “Put it on my never-ending tab. These will be great for date night.”

  A purr and a meow that sounds more like a demand ring out fr
om the velvet kitty bed by the beverage station. “What do you want, Catrick? Is Auntie Julia not giving you enough attention today?”

  As I wrap up the bracelets, Julie steps over so she can scratch underneath Catrick’s chin. He leans in, those bright blue eyes blinking, his long, white silky hair wrapping around Julia’s fingers. His soft meows turn to motorboat-like purrs. “I still can’t believe you named your cat after your all-time favorite movie.”

  “Dirty Dancing is a classic. And with Patrick gone, it’s more like a homage. Too bad Catrick can’t move his hips like that.”

  With one final pat, Julia returns to the counter. “Or lift you above his head. That one would go viral.”

  “Nobody puts Sue-Ann in the corner.” With a wink, I hand her the bag. “These look gorgeous on you. Don’t forget to tell all the WAGs where you got them.”

  “I’ll send all of them your way.” She leans in to hug me and then turns to leave. “See you at girls’ night.”

  As the bell jingles again, Julia stops dead in her tracks. A huge man stands in the doorway. More like takes up all the space and sucks all the air from the store. He’s kind of like a human total eclipse of the sun.

  His eyes scan the racks of summer dresses, tables piled with cotton t-shirts, and twirling accessory stations until they finally land on me. “Are you Sue-Ann Johnson?”

  I’m not sure I want to admit to it. He looks like he could seriously hurt me. Until a charming grin breaks out on his chiseled face when he sees Julia. His tree-trunk arms reach out and grasp her in a hug.

  She returns the embrace. “Hey, Milo. It’s great to see you.”

  “Mrs. Spencer. I don’t think I’ve seen you since the Caribou’s alumni banquet. Great to see you now. How’s Adam and the little guy?”

  A smile splits her face wide. “Never better. How’s Maisy?”

  “She’s hitting the books harder than I’ve ever seen anyone. Even with a nanny, it’s hard for her to be back in college. But she’s tenacious, and I’m proud of her.”

  I pick my way toward them, finally recognizing the huge man from a Caribou charity event I attended with Adam and Julia, still not sure what Milo Adamski wants with me.

  Julia visibly shudders and lets out a low whistle. “I can’t even imagine being back in college at my age. Maisy has my admiration.”

  He crosses his arms over his muscled torso. “If anyone can do it, she can. I’ve never seen a woman as determined and hard-working as my tiny wife. Even with kids. None of us even feel neglected. She’s like some kind of super-duper multi-tasker.”

  After one final hug, Julia says, “Tell her I’ll call her, and we can grab a coffee or a drink and have some girl time. She probably needs a break.”

  “I’m sure she’d love it.” With a flirty wave, Milo watches Julia slip through the doorway.

  He turns toward me with an outstretched hand. I clasp it in my own, amazed at the strength within that simple gesture. The man could squash me like a bug with a single squeeze.

  “Were you looking for a gift for your wife, Maisy?” I ask, eyes widening and mind racing. “Perhaps for a special occasion? We’re known for our unique items here at Sue-Ann’s.”

  His eyes reach the racks of sundresses but end up back on me. “Actually, I hear you’re known for something else.”

  I rear back in surprise. “Hmm… sounds intriguing. Can I offer you a coffee or tea while we talk about it?” I gesture toward the beverage bar.

  “I’ll take a bottle of water, if you have one.”

  “Of course.” I walk to the mini-frig and hand him a bottle of Dasani. He holds it in his huge mitt, not even taking the cap off.

  “It must be challenging running a boutique like this all by yourself,” he comments, eyeing the expensive Hermès scarfs in the display case. “But from what I hear, you’re really good at what you do.”

  “I have help.” I tug my lower lip between my teeth, thinking about Rhonda, my assistant manager and best employee who just left to go back to the Twin Cities and reunite with her boyfriend. It’s hard to find reliable help in Duluth that actually understands high-end fashion. At least I still have Emma, a local high schooler who wants to study fashion design in college. “But you’re right. It can be challenging when people don’t show up or don’t have a strong work ethic.”

  He leans forward, a twinkle in his gaze. “Could you use some help? For free? Maisy told me she saw an ad for Sue-Ann’s in the employment section of The Gazette.”

  My mind swims with a viable reason for why Milo Adamski would be offering me free help and comes up empty. I remembered reading about his marriage in the paper and how his wife, Maisy, came with a ready-made family. But I don’t think any of their kids are work-aged.

  “Um… what kind of help are we talking about? I don’t have time to babysit someone. My staff needs to hit the ground running. If I have to spend massive amounts of time training, it’s usually more efficient to just do things myself.”

  A deep chuckle rumbles up from his chest. “Oh, this person will hit the ground running. And if they don’t, I’ll make sure they just hit the ground.”

  Chapter Two

  Max

  The metal digs into the fresh ice, but my muscles burn. My head throbs. My dry mouth feels like a Georgia cotton field. I curse my dull blades. Shit. I curse tequila.

  “Could you go any slower?” my teammate, Blaine Rice, grumps as he shoulder bumps me into the boards. “My grandpa, wearing one of those inflatable Barney costumes, could have made that pass. Coach is gonna get pissed and make us skate sprints. Since you can’t even skate a straight line, that won’t go well. Then he’ll start yelling. I hate yelling. Especially when it’s not my fault.”

  I spit in the vicinity of my friend’s skates. “Fuck you, sell out. You’re supposed to have my back.”

  “This isn’t Milo’s Duluth youth traveling team, dipshit. This is the goddamn NHL. And you’re no longer the heir apparent. You better start living up to the hype, or you’re going to find yourself on the wrong end of a trade… to the International League in Siberia.”

  I inhale a ragged breath. Blaine isn’t wrong, although I won’t admit it. For some reason, I can’t get away with my drinking, brawling, manwhore ways anymore. In college, I was untouchable. The life of every party, the cock in every pussy, and the golden boy of every sponsor.

  Now, I’m not the shark in the pond. More like a guppy. Maybe an ugly carp.

  On the third line of the Duluth Caribou. The third line. I used to be the brightest star in the sky of hockey. Now, the star skates right by me like a flash of breezers and skates.

  Adam Spencer.

  Asshole suffered a career-ending injury and still came back from the dead like motherfucking John Snow.

  But I can scratch my way back to number one. I have to. Failing isn’t an option. My mom needs to get out of that hunk of tin in Liberty Acres and into a nice townhouse, but even though I’m not a rookie anymore, I still have an entry-level contract with a release clause, and I can’t spend the money until I secure my future. Without Milo Adamski and his youth hockey program scholarship, I’d still be there playing in my worn sneakers with a plastic stick and a net full of holes.

  Imagining the front office tearing my current six-figure year to year deal into tiny pieces, I promise myself and Blaine I’ll give it 110 percent. At least the best my hungover brain and body can do.

  I can’t resist one parting grump. “Tell me again why we’re here when it’s our summer break?”

  He gestures with his stick. “Because it’s a midsummer mini-camp. If Spencer does it, we do it. Capisce? Unlike you, I don’t want to be a pine jockey all season. If we work hard, we can make the second line this season. Get more ice time. Coach wants to see effort and initiative. Not dragging your ass because you can’t process your liquor. Or your women.”

  A cough works its way up my throat. “At least I don’t have a crush on my childhood neighbor. Cora sits in your seats in this damn
arena, but I bet she’s never even seen you naked.”

  He pokes me with his stick in the shin. “She has, too… in the bathtub.”

  My eyes narrow into slits. “You’ve been in the bathtub with Cora? Did she take her glasses off for you? Tell you to return your overdue library books?”

  “We might have chased Ebony into my mom’s prized petunias. Got all dirty and that shit. Mom doesn’t like dirt tracked all over the carpet.”

  The corners of my mouth tug upward even as my head throbs. “In college? Thought your dog’s name was Lightning.”

  His gaze drifts to the ice beneath our skates. “Kindergarten.”

  As my laughter rings out, my mind drifts back to the woman who was riding my cock last night, and it only looks like a blur instead of a fantasy. Was she hot? Hell, I can’t even remember her name.

  So, what does that make me?

  I shake my head, the liquor making it feel foggy and slow. Kind of like my legs as they try to skate faster than Spencer.

  Failing.

  Somehow, I inhale and catch my second wind. “I’m about to explode, Blaine. You won’t be able to keep up.”

  He shrugs. “Make sure you do. Because if you don’t, your day is going to go straight from bad to worse.”

  As Blaine stares into the stands of the practice arena, my eyes follow his path. And land on a huge man sitting alone just above the glass.

  Damn and double damn.

  The only person in this world who can call me out on my shit and make me feel like a piece of it. The only person whose opinion I care one iota about. And that person is wearing a frown like he’s just lost his last million in a bear market. Our eyes lock in a duel of wills and of course, I look away first. Once this scrimmage ends, Milo’s going to demand my ass on a plate.

  I rein in a smile, remembering back to the first day I met Milo and how his size, deep voice, and supreme confidence almost made me shit my pants. Now, I’m almost as big as he is. But I still defer to his wisdom and talent. I realize that in this league—and maybe even in life—a man has to pay his dues.

  “So much for life in the fast lane,” I mutter. “Looks like he brought some of his hockey kids to witness my shame.”