Breakout (San Francisco Strikers Book 1) Read online

  “Definitely not. Your skater’s butt is more than enough for me,” she said. Grant played in a rec league with Adam.

  “Glad to hear it. And yes, Amanda, Adam played in the AHL with a few of the Strikers, so some of the guys are here tonight,” Grant said, and Penny looked toward the bar. It was a hot looking group.

  “Hey, Harty. Over here,” one of the guys called out.

  Penny took a sip of her drink and scanned the bar, her gaze stopping at the door, where Harty stood, and her heart dropped to the floor.

  No. It wasn’t possible.

  He wasn’t looking at her, his face was turned to the side, but she caught the hint of the crooked smile she knew so well.

  Memories flooded her, and she was back in Tuscany. Back to her sham of a honeymoon. She’d needed to get away from everyone after Michael’s betrayal and the trip to Italy had already been booked and paid for. She still couldn’t believe she had gotten on that plane and gone to Italy on her own.

  But it had been worth it. She had met him.

  They had crossed paths during a tour of a vineyard near Montalcino. He’d sat beside her at the long farmhouse table for lunch, and as the wine flowed, so had their conversation. He’d been so easy to talk to. His laugh had captured her, intrigued her. He laughed without a care in the world, and at that moment, she’d coveted his unbridled happiness.

  And a couple nights later, after too many bottles of wine, one thing had led to another, and…and she had just needed to forget her life at home, her called-off wedding. Liquid courage, they called it, and boy had it delivered. For every moment of the next week in Tuscany, he had been there, making her smile. Making her forget. She could still taste the wine-drenched kisses.

  It had been a fling. A fantastic fling, but a fling nonetheless. They hadn’t even exchanged last names.

  “Penny?” he asked, his shock most likely mirroring hers. Of course, hers was more of a panicked shock.

  “Ethan? What are you doing here?” Her voice came out on a crack. How the hell was he here?

  “I should ask the same of you,” he said, his voice tight.

  “I live here. You know that. But why aren’t you in New York?” Penny asked, her hand clutching her martini glass so tightly that she feared she’d snap it.

  “Penny, what is going on?” Lexi asked, shifting closer to her. Penny’s gaze darted between her friends and Ethan, concern and question in their eyes.

  “Umm. I should go. Big day tomorrow,” Penny said, setting down the fragile martini glass and clutching her bag. She had to get the hell out of there.

  “Penny. Wait, is this Italian Ethan?” Lexi whispered, her eyes wide.

  Oh God, here it comes. She couldn’t face their questions now—or ever. The woman obsessed with making lists and checking them twice—or three—or thirty times, had thrown pros and cons to the wind and had a week-long fling with a stranger in a foreign country. It so wasn’t her. Hell, she still couldn’t explain it to herself, let alone anyone else.

  Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to come back and bite her in the ass. She lived here. He told her he lived in New York. He was currently on the wrong coast for that to be true, so what else had he lied about? Panic was firing on all cylinders now.

  “Penny,” Amanda said, dragging her name out in clear question.

  “I should go. Sorry. Lexi, I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” Penny said, giving Ethan one last look before rushing out of the bar, the questions yelled at her fading to silence as the door shut behind her. She shivered in the crisp night air, her coat forgotten as her fight or flight instinct kicked in. Tonight, she’d gone for flight.

  What the hell had just happened? She walked briskly down the street, praying for either a sinkhole to open up and swallow her whole or a cab to stop. Frankly, it was a toss-up as to which one she’d prefer.

  “Harty, get your head out of your ass,” Nels Seibert, assistant coach for the Strikers, called out the next morning during practice when Ethan missed an easy shot.

  Shit. He had to get it together. He skated back to the bench, sliding in next to their captain, Ben “Cheesy” Chester.

  “What’s up with you, man?” Cheesy asked.

  “Nothing. Rough night,” Ethan said, still in shock from seeing Penny fifteen hours ago. Not that he was counting. He’d known running into her was a possibility, but in a city of over eight hundred thousand, what were the odds that he’d run into her at the reopening of Adam’s bar? It should’ve been slim—extremely slim. Practically non-existent.

  Yet there she’d stood, steps from him, her green eyes bright, her cheeks pale in panic, and her hair. Fuck, her hair. He’d wrapped the curly length in his hand, the early Tuscan sunlight turning it to spun gold as he’d brought them both to shattering orgasm that first morning together. Shit. He couldn’t think about that now. Hell, it’d played on loop last night as he’d tried to drink the image away. He’d woken up with a headache and a tented sheet this morning as a result.

  He didn’t have time to think about that now, which of course meant that he could only think about that. About her. It’d been six months since she’d slipped out of her hotel room in the early morning hours, just a note saying thanks for a good time, that room service was on its way up with breakfast, and to not forget checkout at eleven. Shock hadn’t even begun to explain his feelings in that moment.

  And now she’d turned up unexpectedly, screwing with his head. And he still didn’t know her last name. He’d had no idea when he’d been in Italy, when he’d told her he lived in New York, that his days on the East Coast were numbered. The trade had been a complete shock. He was still getting over it. They were both living in the same city and apparently had mutual friends. The world was not that small.

  His plans last night had been to have a few drinks with the guys and head home, resting up for tonight’s game against his old team, but he’d had no desire to go back into the bar after he’d seen her. Her friends had whispered Italian Ethan, and he’d bet money that the guys would razz him about breaking hearts when he’d just returned to the city, so he’d headed to his new townhouse, and played bartender on his own.

  He didn’t have time for this. Seibs was right. He needed to get his head on straight and focus. It was the first time he was playing his old team in his new house, and he had to be on fire.

  “Tonight’s a big game. You going to be ready?” Cheesy asked.

  Ethan heard the you better not fuck up. It was silent, but it was there. His reputation had preceded him. Not that he’d expected anything else, but he was damn tired of his game not doing enough of the talking. Yeah, he was a party boy—had perfected it over the years—but he played to win—always.

  Tonight would be no different, except he’d be stealing pucks from guys he’d played with for years instead of passing to them. He’d played for New York for six years until they’d traded him this summer with one year left on his contract. He’d known the reasons, but it didn’t stop him from being pissed about the trade. He’d expected to play the rest of his career in New York, but it was true that no matter your skill level, you were never safe from a trade.

  New York had one of the best teams in the league, so he needed to get his shit in gear. He’d gone to the Playoffs for the last five years with them, and they’d made it to the final round a few years ago. The Strikers—they were a different story. Sure, he was playing on the top line now, when he’d been second—sometimes third—line in New York, but the Strikers had a consistency issue with the Playoffs, missing it for a few years, and being bumped first round last year.

  While Stanley was still elusive, Ethan was used to winning and making a deep run in the postseason. Now he’d just be happy for the Strikers to get there. The team looked good this year, but it was still early.

  It sucked being traded to a second-tier team, but those were the cards he’d been dealt, and he had to suck it up and help his team to victory, especially tonight. Less than two points wasn’t an option.


  “I’m good, man,” he said, focusing back on the ice. They were working penalty kills. Hopefully, that special team wouldn’t spend too much time on the ice tonight. New York currently had the top power play spot, while the Strikers penalty kill was ranked in the middle of the league.

  Practice wrapped up, and he headed to the locker room.

  “Nervous about tonight? Afraid they’ll finally be able to bang you up because you’re the enemy now?” Max Bastian, top line defenseman chirped, his French accent still thick even though he’d been playing in the States for almost a decade.

  “Funny, Baz. Real funny,” Ethan grumbled.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Baz said, beating his hands on his chest like an overgrown gorilla—which was a pretty accurate description. Baz had kept his bushy beard for years. It wouldn’t surprise Ethan if something was living in that ragged mess.

  “Good to know,” Ethan said, shaking his head.

  “And don’t forget to shoot at the right net. You know, since you’re on our team now,” Connor Horton said, his cheeks flushed as the guys ruffled the kid’s hair. Ah, to be a rookie. Still figuring out your place and your chirps.

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Timmy,” Ethan said, before heading to the showers. His determination to prove he belonged here would get him through the game—the season. At some point, his skill and dedication to the game had to overshadow every stupid thing he’d done off the ice.

  ***

  “Top line, huh. No one else available?” New York’s captain, and Ethan’s one time roommate, taunted as Ethan faced off against him at the start of the game.

  “Really funny, man. Nice to see you, too,” The chirping had started as soon as the teams had hit the ice tonight during the warm-up, a mix of shoulder bumps and heckling were how hockey players showed their affection, and Ethan wouldn’t have it any other way. With international play and trades, you always ended up playing with someone you might’ve hated before. He could only hope that his new teammates felt the same. Bringing home a win tonight would definitely help on that end.

  “It’s good to see you. I will apologize in advance for kicking your ass tonight,” the captain said.

  Ethan gripped his stick, the ref held out the puck, and Ethan focused on the small rubberized disk. “We’ll see about that,” he said, as he dropped his stick to the ice and won the face-off, knocking it back to Cheesy, and then they were skating up the ice toward Ethan’s former goalie.

  Being on the ice was always a rush, the cool air across his face, his legs pumping as he zeroed in on his goal. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his old captain trying to snag the puck from his new captain, and he tapped his stick on the ice, letting Cheesy know he was open.

  The puck hit his tape and he deked around his former teammates, shooting the puck toward the goal. It clanged off the pipes, but the goalie didn’t grab it, so Ethan snagged the rebound and knocked it between the goalie’s legs.

  The goal horn sounded and his new teammates crashed into him in a bruising hug. Not that he could feel it through all his pads.

  “That’s right,” Sully called out, tapping Ethan’s helmet.

  “Damn straight,” Baz cheered, his hug extra exuberant.

  “Great shot,” Cheesy said, with a hug and a tap on the helmet.

  Ethan didn’t fight his grin as he skated up next to his old captain and former roommate. “You were saying?”

  His friend laughed. “Nice shot, man. But we’re still taking you down.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he shot back.

  And three hours later, when they’d beaten New York soundly, a painful five to two, Ethan was still grinning as his team cheered around him.

  Chapter 2

  Penny glanced down at the clock on her computer. She needed to get to Robert’s office. And she needed to stop thinking about the man who refused to leave her thoughts, with his gorgeous blue eyes and sexy crooked smile. Stupid non-symmetrical smile.

  Dammit! Just stop!

  She’d escaped home Friday night and brushed off every text from Lexi and Amanda, promising details later. They had questions, but she had no desire to answer them, yet—if ever. Okay, they were her best friends. She’d answer them. Just not yet.

  But it was Monday and she worked with Lexi. She was shocked that Lexi hadn’t been waiting at Penny’s office door at eight on the dot, but Lexi’s daughter, Abby, had a doctor’s appointment. Penny hoped it was just routine, but she was grateful that Lexi wasn’t in yet.

  She was still in shock at seeing Ethan. What were the freaking odds? And as a fan of logic problems, she was still trying to puzzle this one together. At least she knew his last name now. She’d googled that shit as soon as she’d made it home. Ethan Harty had turned out to be Ethan Hartnell. Professional hockey player just traded from New York over the summer. Known party boy who’d gotten into more trouble than, apparently, his team thought he was worth.

  No thank you.

  She’d stared at image after image of him, always with a different—gorgeous—woman. Nope. Definitely not for her. Not that he wanted to be with her.

  She pulled herself back to the present. She did not have time for this. Or anything for that matter since she was going to be late to her meeting her with her boss. Robert had hinted at changes coming in the staff meeting this morning, but he’d been vague. She hated vague. It left things open to assumptions and overanalyzations.

  She grabbed the hard copy of the Riggs file—she’d already emailed Robert the electronic file—and her tablet, smoothed down her dress, and made her way upstairs to his office.

  She gave Jane, Robert’s secretary, a smile as Jane told her to go in.

  “Penny, come in, come in.” Robert Knight waved her toward one of the chairs in his office. “Just one second.”

  He pressed the intercom on his phone. “Jane, can you let me know when my nephew gets here?”

  “Sure.” Her response came through the phone.

  Robert turned back to Penny. “You wanted to talk about the Riggs file, right?”

  She opened the folder, pulling out a few documents. “Yes, I found a few discrepancies that I wanted to review with you before going back to the client.”

  They spent the next fifteen minutes going over the account. “Great work, Penny. You’re always so thorough.”

  “Thanks.” She shuffled the paperwork back into the folder, closing it.

  “One other thing. I have a new accountant starting next week and was hoping you would show him the ropes.”

  “Sure,” she replied, trying to hide her frustration. Another new hire to train. She was getting sick of being the go-to girl, stuck as a senior accountant, never moving up.

  “Great. Knew I could count on you to help out. And I should mention that it’s Alan’s son,” he said.

  She held back her bristle. Great. The other owner’s son. Should go well.

  “Your nephew is here,” Jane buzzed in.

  “Please send Ethan in. We’re just finishing up,” Robert said.

  Ethan? She shook her head. Clearly, she was hearing things since he was still on her mind, niggling in the back, berating her for skipping out on him with a note.

  “Hey, Uncle Robert.” The familiar voice rolled over her. Her heart raced, and her palms started to sweat. No. This was not happening. Oh god, he was her boss’s nephew. But he was a professional athlete. Why was he related to her boss? How did she not know this already? She internally shook her head, her thoughts making no sense. Professional athletes had families, too. She just hadn’t expected to be working with one of them. Maybe she could get out of the office without actually looking at him.

  “Hey, Ethan. Come in. Come in. This is Penny Connor, one of our top accountants.” Fuck. So much for escaping.

  “Penny?” His tone was filled with shock. Hell, she was shocked, too.

  She turned, rising from her chair. Her gaze locked with his, and she didn’t miss the question—and irritation—in
his gaze. She could really go for that sinkhole right about now. Flustered, she jabbed her hand out. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

  He stared at her palm for a split second before engulfing it with his. She would not think about the heat spiraling through her body as their hands met, but she couldn’t stop her sharply indrawn breath.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said, squeezing her hand tightly. His expression was blank, and he didn’t out her.

  “It’s so great to have him back on this side of the country,” Robert continued as if he couldn’t sense the awkwardness flooding his office. “You watch hockey, Penny?”

  “Umm. No,” she said, tugging her hand free.

  “Ethan plays for the Strikers. Just traded a few months ago. First time visiting the office.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.” She turned back to Robert, anything to stop looking at Ethan.

  “You know. It’s funny, actually. The two of you were in Italy around the same time. How crazy would it have been if you’d met?” Robert interjected.

  “Yeah, crazy,” Ethan whispered, and Penny couldn’t resist looking at him again. His gaze held barely banked anger, and a coolness she’d never seen before. And she felt like an asshole.

  She swallowed hard. She needed to get out of Robert’s office before she embarrassed herself by fessing up to the truth or throwing her arms around Ethan’s neck.

  Shit. Where had that thought come from? She didn’t want to hug him. She wanted to escape, with her dignity intact—well, what was left of it.

  “Did I mention that to you before, Penny?” Robert asked.

  “No. No, you didn’t,” she said, finding her voice again. “Well, again, nice meeting you.” She stepped back, and hit the door with an umph, the doorknob digging into her spine as the Riggs file spilled to the floor. She’d have a bruise there tomorrow. At least she hadn’t dropped the tablet. Jesus. She was a mess.

  “You okay, Penny?” Robert asked as she dropped down, gathering the papers and shoving them out of order into the folder.