Here I am, again. I glanced down at the bruises marring the knuckles of my right hand and muttered a curse. Coach was going to fucking kill me. Fighting on the ice was one thing but in a bar? Yeah, I was pretty much screwed. Given the fact that I’d been sitting here since early this morning, my guess was he not only knew but had decided to let me stew.

My temper had been sitting at a simmer since I’d been handcuffed. My ass was numb from the hard metal of the bench, my mouth tasted like something was slowly dying in there, and I smelled like bar smoke and stale beer.

This was definitely not the image my publicist had been trying to cultivate.

“Jackson, Rory,” the cop called out from outside my cell, glancing up from his clipboard.

“That’s me,” I said, standing.

“You look like shit,” a familiar voice said from next to the cop.

“I’ll give you a second,” the cop said, holding an autographed Seattle Sharks hat in his other hand.

That’s how Gage got back here.

“You would too if you’d slept here.” I snapped at my best friend, gesturing to the cells all around me. At least I’d had my little 10X10 to myself. Perks of clearing $8 million last year, I guessed. Gage lifted one black eyebrow and shook his head.

“I wouldn’t be in the jail cell. Oh, wait. That’s right. I’m not.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m not in the mood for your shit.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw at least three of the other guys—who’d been brought in way after I was—leaning forward against their bars. Not that I could blame them. Gage and I were two of the best-paid and well-played Seattle Sharks—the hometown NHL team. “Just get me out of here,” I ordered, lowering my voice.

“Why would I do that?” Gage asked. “At least if you’re in here, I know you’re not out there getting in trouble. You do realize Coach is going to bench your ass, don’t you?

I sighed, my shoulders drooping, and rubbed my hand over my forehead. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you do realize that this is the first year we could actually win the Cup?”

“Yes.”

“And you realize that you’re on your seventeenth strike of his ‘three strikes and you’re out’ policy?”

“God damn it, yes, I know that,” I hissed.

“Then what the fuck were you thinking?”

“The guy was an asshole,” I said with a shrug.

“So you hit him.”

“He tried to hit me first.” And the minute he’d swung, hell the moment anyone swung, they all became him in my mind.

Gage shook his head and looked at the ceiling like he was hoping God would come down and save him. “Un-fucking-believable.” A couple of deep breaths later, he finally looked at me again. That amazing control was what made Gage a fantastic grinder on the ice. My temper was what made me the Seattle Shark’s best enforcer, but it was also my biggest liability. “Grow the fuck up, Rory.”

“Working on it,” I told him.

“We’re ready,” Gage called over his shoulder, and the cop reappeared. A few quick motions and he had my cell unlocked.

“You’re free to go,” he said.

“Thank you…” I glanced at his nametag, “Officer Jonas.”

About ten minutes, a few signed papers, and one plastic bag with my belongings later, we were in Gage’s car, pulling into Seattle traffic.

“My truck is still at the bar,” I told him when he made a turn in the opposite direction.

“We’re headed to my house. Bailey picked up your tux—so remember to thank her—and if we’re fast, we can still make it in time.”

“Make it in time…” My brows lowered. What was I forgetting?

“If you forgot, you’d better pray that Coach comes for you because Bailey will kill you on Paige’s behalf.” He wove in and out of traffic, his nearly-dangerous driving at odds with the small booster seat in the back of his car that established his dad status.

Paige. Gage’s fiancée’s best friend and the current subject of most of my fantasies lately. Okay, all of my fantasies. She was fucking perfect—petite, gorgeous, with a body that begged to be stripped out of those super-serious suits for some super-serious fucking. She was brilliant, and not just in a ‘yeah-she’s-smart,’ kind of way. No. She was Ivy League and the only girl I considered out of my league.

“Paige’s fundraising gala,” I muttered, rubbing my hands over my face.

“Bingo,” Gage said, crossing three lanes of traffic for the exit.

“Fuck, I forgot that was tonight. It’s not like every other Shark won’t be there. She won’t notice one empty seat.”

Gage pointed to the dash clock. “Red carpet is at five, which means we have exactly an hour to get ready and get there. And yes, when it comes to you, she absolutely will notice.”

Right. I did promise to autograph all those sticks. Shit.

“Okay.” I ran through a quick mental schedule. At least I’d have time for a shower, so I wouldn’t show up smelling like I’d spent last night and the better part of today in a drunk tank.

We pulled into Gage’s driveway as my cell phone rang.

“It’s Coach Harris,” I groaned.

Gage killed the engine and slapped my shoulder. “Good luck, with that. Your tux is in the guest room when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, man.”

I answered the call as Gage shut the door, leaving me alone in the car.

“Coach.”

“Jackson.” His voice was soft, which I knew meant he was way more pissed than when he yelled.

“I have no excuses and I know it’s not enough to apologize,” I said, leaning my head back against the rest.

“You’re damn right you don’t, and it’s not. Look, the guy agreed not to press charges—”

I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“—but I can’t exactly look like I’m letting you off the hook on this one.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re way past the age where you should be pulling this shit, let alone two months before playoffs when we’re an actual contender.”

“Yes, sir.”

Now it was his turn to sigh. “Look, Rory. You’re good. Damn good. You and I both know it. But this has to stop. There’s a line between being a playboy with a temper and getting your ass thrown in jail. It looks bad on me, the team—hell, the whole franchise. You cannot be the face of the Sharks if you’re wearing orange, you get me?”

“Yes, sir,” I repeated, waiting for the other shoe to drop. My no-trade clause ended at the end of the season, and for the first time in my career, apprehension ran up my spine that I wouldn’t be in Seattle next year.

“I have to bench you this weekend.”

“Coach—”

“No, you sit there and listen. Take this weekend and figure out what the hell it is you’re doing, and how much you really want to be a Shark. This can’t happen again.”

“I understand.”

“If it does…then we’ll have to take the hit to the roster and bench you for the season. And then…”

“Yeah, I get the picture.”

“Clean up your image. Hire a better publicist, or hell, just listen to the one you have. But for fuck’s sake, stop acting like a hormonal teenager with something to prove.”

“Got it, Coach.”

We hung up, and I made my way into Gage’s house, going through the garage door. We made the same salary, but we couldn’t live any more differently. Where I had a two bedroom penthouse loft downtown, Gage was up here on the hill with a huge house, complete with painted pictures on the refrigerator and an array of toys in the living room. He had something I didn’t, and didn’t know if I’d ever be lucky enough to have—a family.

“Hey, need some water?” Bailey asked from the kitchen as I walked by.

“That would be great, thank you,” I said as she handed it over. The diamond on her left hand looked good on her—so did the small swell of her belly where another McPherson was growing. “Where’s Lettie?” I asked, looking for their precocious four-year-old.

“With Gage’s mom,” she said with a smile.

“Wow, you look gorgeous,” I told her, taking in the arrangement of brown hair on the top of her head and sweeping black dress.

“Thank you. Now you’d better get dressed before I’m forced to kick your ass.” She nodded toward the guest bedroom, and I saluted her with the water bottle, draining it on the way to the shower.

I washed the bar and jail grime off, thankful that I kept a small toiletry kit here for nights I was too drunk to drive after our weekly poker game. Ten minutes later, I had clean hair, scrubbed skin, and brushed teeth.

Wrapping a clean, white towel around my waist, I walked into the guest bedroom and stopped dead in my tracks.

“Oh!” Paige said, her mouth a delicious O shape. Her eyes ran hungrily down my bare chest, and I resisted the urge to flex.

Guess she did notice me after all.

Her red hair looked soft enough to touch, and the hue of her red lipstick against her pale skin made me wonder what those lips would look like wrapped around my cock.

Do not think like that about Bailey’s best friend.

What the hell was I supposed to think about when she was standing there in a bathrobe? One simple tug of the belt and she’d be naked—all milky white skin and pert breasts.

Shit, if I didn’t get ahold of my thoughts, they’d make themselves known soon. The towel wasn’t going to hide much.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice sweet and clear. “I meant to be out of here by now.” She tugged on her lower lip with her teeth and I cursed my semi-hard on that was going to be a full one soon.

“No problem. I enjoy finding partially-clothed beautiful women.” I smiled, and she blinked quickly for a moment.

Then something marvelous happened—she stood straighter, her chin rose, and she morphed from shy, delicate Paige, to Vice President of CranBaby Organics Paige, calm and collected. Damn, I couldn’t decide which was sexier.

“I’ll just grab a dress and change in the bathroom.”

I followed her gaze to two dresses hanging on the closet door. One was black and elegant with a simple scoop neck and lace overlay with cap sleeves. It was refined and screamed perfect for the Paige I couldn’t touch.

The other was red, strapless, and would hug every one of her delectable curves. It was the dress for the Paige that might ogle my bare chest.

“The red,” I suggested, my voice gravelly.

Her green eyes widened subtly as they found mine. “You sure?”

There was a palpable zing between us, the mark of hot as hell chemistry that I’d never experienced on a level like this before.

Bailey’s best friend.

Bailey’s best friend.

Bailey’s best…oh, fuck it.

“I’m sure. Wear the red.” I forced a smile and hoped it was charming instead of horny as fuck. “And save me a dance.”

“Okay,” she said softly, taking the dress and damn-near running from the room. Since I stood in the doorway from the attached bathroom, I couldn’t help but wonder exactly where she was going to change…or why she’d left so fast that I’d wanted to check for fires.

“Down boy,” I told my dick.

I found my tux and started to dress, trying—and failing—to keep my mind off Paige and how she was going to look in that dress later.

She wasn’t the girl for me. She was smart, put together, driven, and straight as an arrow. Hell, I doubt she’d ever even parked illegally. She was the kind of girl you built a house for, not the kind you hailed a cab for after a marathon of sex. Hell, I couldn’t even get my hands on her, not with her connection to Gage.

She was off limits in every way.

Well, every way but my fantasies...and I had a feeling her ass in that red dress was going to make more than one appearance there tonight.