Mistletoe & Dirty Goals: A Slapshot Novel (Slapshot Series Book 11) Read online

  Mistletoe & Dirty Goals

  Book 11 in The Slapshot Series

  Heather C. Myers

  Contents

  1. Logan

  2. Rachel

  3. Logan

  4. Rachel

  5. Logan

  6. Rachel

  7. Logan

  8. Rachel

  9. Logan

  10. Rachel

  11. Logan

  12. Rachel

  13. Logan

  14. Rachel

  15. Logan

  16. Rachel

  17. Logan

  18. Rachel

  Did you like Rookies Touch It Better?

  Acknowledgments

  1

  Logan

  Logan wasn’t a fan of Christmas. Wasn’t a fan of most major holidays. The only good thing about Christmas was there was typically a four-to-five day break in the National Hockey League, which meant he could leave Southern California and the Newport Beach Seagulls and return to his small town of South Haven, some dinky little tourist hotspot in West Michigan.

  As much as he loved playing the game, as much as he lost himself in the good weather the west coast provided, he was still compelled to return, like he had a rubber band strapped to his waist and it pulled at him whenever December rolled around. There were times he considered staying in California, having a sunny Christmas by himself with a Moulson’s. Maybe he’d get a girl the day before just to have fun with, made sure she understood that nothing was going to come of it since he didn’t want to deal with pesky emotions.

  But he never did.

  He always found himself back in South Haven, in the frigid snow, camping out in his room in his childhood double-wide trailer he grew up in and his parents still lived in.

  Not that he liked coming home all that much. His father was not impressed by the fact that his only child was a professional hockey player and his mom learned to regurgitate everything his dad said if she didn’t want any problems.

  In fact, Logan barely talked to his parents when he was out here. He looked at them like an end to a means. Technically, he could have stayed at any of the small hotels that were in South Haven, for a population size of four thousand, there was a surprising amount of lodging offered.

  But that was because the people from Chicago tended to flock to the quiet serenity South Haven offered. Most had homes here, away from their flats in the city, and they always came here to rest and recuperate.

  In truth, Logan didn’t know why he stared at his home when he hated it there. It was like a bad habit he just didn’t have the motivation to break. It was easy, he didn’t have to think about it, and he had been doing it for the last ten years of his career. There was no point in changing anything.

  Logan might not like the atmosphere when he came home for the holidays, but he liked fighting. He didn’t do enough of it in the league. As a fourth winger, he wasn’t played much, but he could skate and he could shoot. Every now and then he had the opportunity to fuck up an opponent, but not as often as one might think. Which was a shame because hockey was a major component to the sport. He liked releasing the tension that coiled in his body like a rubber and being pulled back as far as he could stretch it.

  South Haven had a couple of hole-in-the-wall bars that hosted underground fights during the winter. Tourism was at an all-time low, things were quiet, and no one got too rowdy. Participants understood that if they wanted to play, they had to be men, which meant they could only fight for fighting’s sake - no drinking to get drunk, no fighting to hurt someone, and no emotions were ever to get involved. Fighting itself was a sport, and it should be respected.

  At least, that was how Logan looked at it. And dammit if it didn’t work for him. Considering he won all of his fights and a nice pot of money he tended to donate to some charity by Christmas anonymously, he abided by his rule of respecting the fight and his opponent.

  That didn’t mean others did the same thing.

  But Logan couldn’t care about what others did or didn’t do. He only cared about himself, about releasing the tension that seemed to accumulate throughout the year until he was forced to do something about it. At least the fights were in a controlled setting. It wasn’t like he was an animal, after all.

  He knew he shouldn’t fight. Could damage his hands, and as a hockey player, his hands were the most important part of his body.

  Well, that and his feet. Had to skate, after all.

  But he was careful. And quite honestly, he couldn’t help it. He needed this release, almost as much as he needed sex. The rush when he hit someone, when he knew they weren’t going to get back up...it reminded him that he was in control of his life, of his destiny. And that made him feel more powerful than he expected it to.

  Speaking of sex, Logan knew he could also find a couple of good fucks at the fights and leave without worrying about it. There tended to be a particular crowd around Christmas time, one that wanted some kind of connection with someone, even if they were a stranger. Even if he wouldn’t be there in the morning. In fact, they expected that he wouldn’t be.

  Which was nice, because Logan didn’t like talking about shit if he could help it. He carefully picked out the girls he would fuck, knowing they would understand he wasn’t boyfriend material. Hell, he wouldn’t even take them on a date first. And if they didn’t do much talking, even better.

  Logan cracked his knuckles, glancing around the shitty bar he found himself in. It was very West Michigan - nothing had been replaced in years, neon sign was flashing annoyingly, bartender was too old and wore too little, and the clientele had plaid and no dental health. But people were smiling, and there was a low murmur throughout the crowd that indicated a positive social life, something Logan could appreciate.

  At the end of the day, despite its flaws, it was home.

  There was a small cage set up in the middle of the bar. Every Thursday, they held special fights and the crowd got bigger as the night wore on. Even now, the place was pretty full. He tried to ignore the crowd as best as he could until after the fight. Didn’t want to let himself get distracted. Especially by a woman.

  Not that anyone had distracted him in a long time now. Logan prided himself on resisting beautiful women, ignoring their lingering gazes and coy grins. There was only one woman he hadn’t been able to resist, but that was years ago, and she was probably gone, probably married by now, probably had two kids of her own, and that damn basset hound she wanted so much.

  Every time, though, he looked for her. Every time, he could only find her ghost, haunting him even now.

  Damn her.

  He fucking hated her for that.

  Logan closed his eyes and nursed his beer. He never drank during the season except for Christmastime. Only during the break. He was disciplined - it was part of why he was one of the best fourth liners on the Newport Seagulls. Art and Dean were cut from the same cloth - big, experienced, gritty. The lucky bastards were paired together, both playing defense, while Logan’s line mates were Peter Holiday and some kid named named Bobby, a few years into the league. Fast. Actually, not bad the more Logan thought about it. Good hands. But Logan wasn’t sure if he trusted the kid. Peter, sure, though he had a mouth on him that would only get him into trouble.

  But not the kid.

  Yet.

  In fact, Logan didn’t let himself get too close to anyone on the team. It wasn’t anything personal, he just didn’t like talking about himself. Didn’t like having to explain why his parents never showed up to his games, even when they played in Detroit or Chicago, didn
’t want to have to explain why he still wasn’t married even though most hockey players settled down in their twenties. Instead, he threw himself into his charity work, into improving his game, and let everything else fall away. He only came back here for five days out of the year to see his mother, to pay his dues as her child, and then he was done.

  “Snow’s coming down hard,” a voice next to him said. Some guy with a girl, probably too young for him.

  Not that Logan judged anyone for that. As long as it was consensual and the girl was legal, he didn’t care.

  He took a tug on the bottle of Moulson’s and let it run down his throat. He didn’t need the liquid courage by any means, but he liked feeling warm and tingly before starting a fight. It helped take the edge off, calmed the adrenaline spiking through his mind. Not because of the fighting, but once the fighting was done, he’d be going home.

  His mom would ask where he got the cuts and scrapes and bruises from. He’d lie, and say practice. His father wouldn’t even look up from his newspaper.

  He didn’t want to deal with it.

  “You wanna leave?” the girl asked her companion.

  “Hell no,” he said. “I wanna see the fights. Already placed a bet, after all. Want to win some money before Christmas.”

  “You got my present, right?”

  Logan stopped listening at that point. He finished the beer and stood up, nodding at the bartender. The bartender nodded back, a mutual understanding passing between them. Logan would pay his tab after the fights, knowing he’d probably be the one with the purse tonight. He always won. The last five years, it had always been him. He doubted that would change year six.

  He rolled his shoulders back and headed over to the small table next to the cage. He caught the owner’s eye.

  “L-Logan!” he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “I was hoping you’d show up. It is your usual time, isn’t it?”

  Logan just stared down at the man. He didn’t need this right now. He knew the guy was blowing smoke out of his ass, which was both insulting and unnecessary. They both knew he’d show up, and they both knew Logan would make this guy some serious money just for participating.

  “When’s the first fight?” Logan asked, though grunt was probably the better way to frame the question.

  “I have two rookies going on in the next couple of minutes,” the guy said. Logan was sure he’d told him his name at some point, but Logan never remembered. His mind was too muddled to retain facts unless he thought they were important. And besides how much of a percentage he would get off of his fights, Logan didn’t see the man in front of him as important. “Fifteen minutes, I’d say? Maybe twenty? Grab a beer. On the house.”

  Logan rolled his eyes. He didn’t want another beer. He wanted to get in the cage and beat the frazzled nerves out of his system.

  But it wasn’t like he could do anything about it now.

  He turned, ready to head back to the bar, when he froze. Long, wavy blonde hair covering a back he knew like the back of his hands. Like he knew the inside of a cage. She hunched over the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice her - and how the fuck could he not?

  Logan knew that face, and it was astounding.

  It was the best part of her, and that was saying something, because every other damn inch of her was astounding unto itself.

  Suddenly, his body tensed with anger. Suddenly, he was frustrated. What the hell was she doing here? They both knew that this was his turf. It was this unspoken thing between them. She wouldn’t come here, especially not now. He was only here for a few days, and he didn’t want to be reminded of what he had had and then lost.

  He didn’t want to be reminded what a fucking idiot he was.

  She got two beers - two, he thought, who the fuck was the second for? - and moved away from the bar. Logan stilled, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. He didn’t want her to notice him. He needed to focus on the fight, needed to win. And now that he knew she was here, it was like there was a surge inside of him that propelled him to not just want to win, but dominate. To remind her of his prowess. To show her that he was the best.

  And he hated himself for it.

  He shouldn’t care.

  But Rachel always had a knack for making him care about things he typically didn’t give a shit about, damn her.

  He cracked his knuckles and tried to get lost in the crowd. Maybe he could find another woman to look at, someone with red hair or with brown eyes or someone with more curves or less. Anyone who didn’t remind him of her.

  The problem was, everyone seemed to remind him of her. Hell, he tried to move on. In fact, he only knew Rachel for a few days, but those days changed everything. He was wrapped around her finger. Without being dramatic about it, he would do anything for her, including die, because he was that connected to her. It wasn’t just love. It was deeper, truer. They had been two lost souls who happened to find each other until he was forced to leave. And instead of saying goodbye, instead of giving her his number, he fucking left in the middle of the night like a coward. He just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say goodbye.

  But that had been years ago.

  Maybe she had forgotten about him. Maybe she had moved on.

  Maybe, maybe, maybe.

  Goddamn.

  He shook his head, running his fingers through his thick hair and tried not to search for her in this bar, tried not to see who it was she came with.

  He shouldn’t care.

  But he did.

  He cared too fucking much.

  When he finally found her in the crowd, he noticed her standing with a guy. The guy was standing too close to her, eyes traveling to places they shouldn’t look, smiling in a way he didn’t deserve to smile. Without thinking about it much, Logan began to crack his knuckles. Who was this asshole? More importantly, who was he to her?

  Don’t.

  He clenched his teeth together.

  He knew he shouldn’t care. His mind kept reminding Logan that they had moved on, he had no claim on her. He had a life in Southern California and it wasn’t like love could be found in a shitty bar in some small town over the course of a few days. Shit like that was only in crappy romance novels. It didn’t actually exist.

  And yet…

  And yet, Logan didn’t know why else he felt like this. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had the opportunities to find other women, to fuck them. He didn’t typically spend time with them because they were never interested in more than a few hours, and that was only to seek pleasure. None of them got to him the way Rachel had.

  Maybe that was why he kept coming back here.

  Not for his parents.

  For her.

  To see her again.

  To see if…

  Fuck, he didn’t know. He wasn’t some pussy who believed in love lasting forever, but if it were true - and that was a big if - she would be the exception to everything. It was a weakness he didn’t like having, but one he also couldn’t get away from.

  And then, just like she could feel his gaze on her, she lifted her head and locked eyes with him. He froze under her stare. She stiffened when she saw him, and then someone walked past them, blocking his view of her. Logan felt like he could breathe again now that she couldn’t see him. But he wanted her to see him. He wanted the reaction, wanted to know if she was as affected by him as he was of her. He hoped she was. It would have been utter bullshit if she wasn’t.

  He waited until the person moved. He wanted to see her again, to see what she was thinking. Rachel had a knack for wearing her emotions on her sleeves. He always told her she needed to have a better poker face because, quite frankly, hers sucked.

  But when the person finally did move, Rachel was gone.

  Logan blinked once, twice. He glanced to the left and then to the right. But no. She was gone.

  Had she even been there at all? Was this some kind of hallucination?

  No. She was there. He had seen her at the bar, and then…

  He ra
n his fingers through his hair.

  Christ, he couldn’t be going this batshit crazy, could he?

  “Welcome ladies and gentlemen, we have a surprise tonight!” the announcer said, snapping Logan out of his thoughts. “The Beast is back for his next victims. Two minutes to place your bets!”

  Logan shook his head, cracking his knuckles. Whatever it was, he needed to think straight. He couldn’t be chasing ghosts, especially not hers.

  2

  Rachel

  Shit.

  The feel of Logan’s eyes on her made her feel the same way she had when she first saw him three years ago. It was at this bar, too. How he fixated on her when the crowd was full, cage bunnies with their generous and plastic breasts spilling out of a thin shirt despite the frigid weather, men sizing him up and placing bets, Rachel still didn’t know.

  But that piercing hazel stare found her again, as he had then, and held onto her like she was drowning and he was the only person who could save her.

  Rachel knew there was a chance she would see him again. Especially here. Especially at this time. Hell, there was a reason she had come back every year. Not that she would ever admit it, of course. She never wanted to see Logan again. Not after he left her like a coward. And yet, it was another year, and here she was.

  Even so, it was still a shock. What had it been since they were last together - three years? As if she didn’t know. She might fool everyone else, but she sure as hell couldn't fool herself, even if she wanted to. How could he still look as good as he looked? Golden-hazel eyes with the flecks of green that shot straight to her soul. She could make them out even with the distance between them, even though the glance lasted only a few seconds. The thin lips that were much softer than they looked and felt good on every last of her skin while whispering dirty promises he always fulfilled. Logan might be a bastard but he kept his word. His big hands that left trails of friction down her body as they traced her curves like she belonged to him.