Another hit, p.1
Another Hit, page 1
Another Hit
A WILDCATTERS HOCKEY BOOK
BOOK THREE
ALEXA PADGETT
SIDECAR PRESS, INC.
Contents
Another Hit
1. Ida Jane
2. Maxim
3. Maxim
4. Ida Jane
5. Maxim
6. Maxim
7. Ida Jane
8. Maxim
9. Maxim
10. Ida Jane
11. Maxim
12. Maxim
13. Ida Jane
14. Ida Jane
15. Ida Jane
16. Ida Jane
17. Ida Jane
18. Ida Jane
19. Ida Jane
20. Ida Jane
21. Maxim
22. Maxim
23. Maxim
24. Ida Jane
Epilogue
25. Millie
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Alexa Padgett
Ours is a marriage of convenience…until it isn’t.
What do you get when you throw a stoic D-Man, a free-spirited art therapist, and an enormous dog into a house? It sounds like an opening line to a joke. But this is my life...
I never expected to find myself legally tied to Maxim Dolov, the star defenseman for the Houston Wildcatters. Between his visa issues and my angry ex, a marriage on paper solves all our problems. Until our marriage becomes real… too real and I’m forced to confront the truth about our future: I don’t want our marriage to end.
Another Hit will have you cheering for Maxim and Ida Jane’s happily ever after. Don’t miss this story with its sizzling chemistry and heart-pounding hockey action.
For Jordyn Kross.
You saw the mud, but you also saw the beautiful story on the other side. Thank you for helping me fix what I’d broken.
And thank you for putting together such lovely salons.
Chapter 1
Ida Jane
No one had ever left me so disgusted—both with myself and them—as my ex, Dillon.
“Why are you acting like this? Just say you’ll take care of the kid, and—”
“I said no. Now, leave me alone, Dillon.” My accent thickened as it always did under stress, so I sounded way twangier than I wanted to. As a petite woman, I needed all the edge I could get, especially with an ex-boyfriend who acted like he’d never heard the word “no” before.
“Aw, c’mon, Ida, this would really help me out,” Dillon wheedled as he skirted back in front of me. When he texted me just as I was sitting down to dinner at the swanky Montrose restaurant, I agreed to meet him outside. Some pathetic part of me expected Dillon, my first love, to tell me he’d made a mistake—that he wanted me back. That he’d prepared a tremendous show of love for me tonight, on my birthday.
Instead, I received the proverbial slap to the face. This was the second time in the years I’d known him. The first was when he broke up with me mere weeks before I graduated with my master’s degree; the second was tonight with this doozy of a revelation.
“Stella’s too wild to be a mom, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with a baby. You have all those siblings. You must know how to parent a kid.”
I fisted my hands, red hazing my vision. “Just to be clear, you did not, in fact, show up at my birthday party to wish me salutations,” I gritted out. I was missing dinner with my bestie, Millie, for this. She was leaving for a new position in less than a week, and that made every moment with her more precious…especially more than Dillon’s stupid request.
“Erm…happy birthday.”
“It was,” I muttered, turning away.
He grabbed my arm, just below the elbow, long fingers digging into my skin, and spun me around to face him. He attempted a placating expression that the anger in his eyes belied. Anxiety skittered along my back as Dillon held me.
He let go and rubbed his palms down my arms. “Look, you know I care about you. I mean, you’re nice, and pretty, and you’re good with kids. Just help me out for a while, and then, ya know, when I figure the baby thing out, you can—”
“What?” I asked, my tone dangerously close to a snarl.
Dillon gaped at me. In the four years we dated, I never raised my voice. I never once was anything less than the doting girlfriend, partly awed and partly thankful the big man on campus wanted me, Little Ida Jane Barlow, from Clarendon, Texas. Sure, our lives had changed when he graduated and started working while I stayed in school to get a master’s degree.
I believed him when he said he had to work late—plus, I’d been busy studying. I hadn’t been prepared to find evidence of him cheating. And I really hadn’t been prepared for him to dump me via text while asking me to move the spare few possessions—like a toothbrush—out of his apartment so he could move his new girlfriend in.
Dillon was a total asshat. And I…
“I’m not a pushover,” I whispered. At least I wouldn’t be ever again. I learned my lesson with Dillon, and it had hurt too much to forget.
Dillon took that moment of preoccupation to slide his arm around my waist. “I’ll take you out for your birthday tomorrow. We’ll go somewhere nice.” He lifted my hair, no doubt planning to kiss my neck. The softness of his lips always made me shiver and my knees melt, and I always gave in when he smoothed his lips up and down my sensitive skin.
But Dillon didn’t realize I was twenty-five now—older and, hopefully, a bit wiser. I’d finished my master’s degree, found a job I loved, and moved in with my BFF where, during those first weeks, I’d eaten enough ice cream to fill a railroad shipping car, cried the entire Rio Grande, and found myself a backbone. Only the last one was worth mentioning.
“You do not get to kiss me. You do not get to touch me. Not now, not never again.”
I pulled out of his embrace with a hard yank away from him. That caused Dillon to trip over his feet and land in a puddle. It was Houston—there were almost always puddles, and this one looked especially grimy.
Good. Maybe finally his exterior would match his interior. I didn’t want to see him again—had been happy that I hadn’t seen him in over a year.
I laughed as he raised his dripping, filthy hands, shaking them. “Lose my number, Dillon. I mean it. Don’t ever—ever—contact me again.”
“You bitch,” he howled, rising from the water.
For the first time, fear swirled through me. I faltered even as I put more space between us. He barreled toward me, rage causing his lips to peel back from his teeth. I set my feet as my daddy had shown me and lifted my fists into a defensive posture that I perfected at Millie’s gym.
Dillon reached forward, intent to grab me, subdue me. No! He wouldn’t. I was not a pushover. And I knew how to take care of myself.
I stepped out of his line of attack and brought my left fist in an uppercut, just like my younger brother, Amos, showed me years ago. When Dillon stumbled, I plowed my right fist into his gut. Millie’s words swam through my head, “Always follow through with an opponent to make sure they’ll stay down.”
Good advice because Dillon didn’t go down. Clearly, I needed to punch harder. Also, my adrenaline and righteous anger were veering toward fear. I’d never been in a physical altercation before, and it wasn’t like the movies.
Dillon wanted to hurt me. He had at least eighty pounds on me, and I wasn’t fast, especially in the three-inch heels I’d deemed necessary for my birthday outfit of a short and tight dress.
I sucked in a breath and tried to channel my inner badass, all the while hoping Millie would show up and call for help.
“No. Freaking. Way. You cheated, you lied, you left me. You will not also get to ruin my birthday or another day of my life.”
When he came at me again, his own fists raised, murder in his eyes, I hit him once more with my left, connecting my knuckles with his cheek. Satisfaction roared through me as his butt collided with the puddle once more.
“A man who wants a woman to do his job is pathetic,” a large man said. His voice was a deep rumble and accented enough for me to know English wasn’t his native language. He stood with five other enormous men a few feet away from us on the sidewalk. A large, dark vehicle pulled away from the curb, so I surmised they’d just been dropped off right into my drama with Dillon. I hadn’t heard them approach, and now my ears burned as tears threatened. As if this moment wasn’t humiliating enough, it was being witnessed by strangers.
At least they were strangers and not my classmates who’d whispered behind their hands after Dillon dumped me.
“Nice uppercut, Fists,” the man who’d spoken before said to me, throwing me a chin lift. “Good form, though I recommend putting more shoulder into it next time.” He stepped forward enough that I could make out the icy glint of his pale blue eyes.
“You’re…” Dillon gaped. “You’re…”
“About to finish what the lady started if you don’t get out of here,” Mr. Tall, Icy, and Dangerous rumbled.
“This is between Ida and me,” Dillon insisted.
Another of the large men stepped forward. Good gracious! My brother Amos played linebacker for UT, but these guys had him beat by four or five inches in height and nearly as many in breadth.
“The lady said to get lost,” Hulk Two said. He was even bigger than Mr. Tall, Icy, and Dangerous and had a thick beard and a glint in his eyes that said you do not want to try something with me.
No, no I did not. I didn’t want to be out here at all, truth to tell. I should have listened to M illie and my own gut and ignored Dillon.
“She’ll get over it,” Dillon said with the confidence I used to find endearing and now found teeth-grindingly annoying. “As soon as she remembers I’m her best option, she’ll…”
“I’m right here, butthole, and the only thing I’m remembering is that you’re the worst decision of my life.” Yes, the army of muscular men, who seemed to be on my side, made me braver than I would have otherwise been.
I noted my response to these guys riding in to save me and promised I’d look into that later…once the adrenaline and shock faded so that I had a clear head. I’d also need to analyze why it had taken me so long to cut Dillon from my life—but I suspected it had to do with the abrupt ending of our years together…and my need for closure.
Tonight surely gave me that, and the good sense to realize Dillon wasn’t the man I’d perceived him to be. Neither was he the man I’d wanted him to be.
“Want to press charges?” a third man asked, pulling me out of my mini psychoanalysis.
I shook out my hands. I’d been the one to hit Dillon, not the other way around. Granted, he’d been charging me at the time, but it was still probably best not to involve the police because Dillon was good at twisting a situation to his benefit. As he tried to do now.
Dillon shot me that grin I used to find sexy. Gag. How had I been so blind? So stupid? Why had I pined for him for over a year?
“Why are you fighting me? You know you want a baby, Ida. This just speeds up the timeframe. You’ll get to play house with me without getting the stretch marks or saggy tits. I mean, I did you a favor when I started fucking Stella—”
Too far. No woman should tolerate such disgusting words. I lunged at him, ready to rip out something soft, but Mr. Tall, Icy, and Dangerous caught me around the waist, pulling me flush against his chest and slightly off the ground. Being short was annoying.
“What a douche,” Mr. Tall, Icy, and Dangerous muttered just loud enough for me to hear. His breath slid along my cheek, causing goosebumps to flow across my arms and down my spine. When that warmth blossomed in my belly, I stopped fighting, shocked by my reaction.
I liked being held by this man.
No, no, that made no sense. I was finally over Dillon. Now wasn’t the time to get involved with someone new—not that Mr. Tall, Icy, and Dangerous was asking me out. Still, I should process my reactions, learn from them…
“Is it really your birthday?” He turned me to face him as he set me on my feet, completely unperturbed by Dillon’s continued arguing with his buddies.
“Yes. My friend Millie and I—Millie!” I gasped, my fingertips flying to my lips. “She must be worried.”
Mr. Tall, Icy, and Dangerous tipped his head toward one guy who seemed younger than the rest. “Collect Millie and take her to our dining room. Tell her Ida’s coming inside right now.”
The younger guy thrust up his chin and sauntered off.
“Millie’s shy. Like, painfully,” I said.
His palms continued to hover at my elbows, and I enjoyed his closeness. I looked at him again, craning my head to meet his eyes. When I stumbled, he clasped his warm fingers around my biceps. The night had cooled a little, but his skin heated my flesh and a thrill zipped through my blood.
“Stolly will handle it. He’s good with the ladies.”
I scrunched my eyebrows together as I started walking toward the entrance. “She doesn’t need a charmer. She’s got me.”
“And from what I’ve seen, you take good care of yourself, thus her.”
“I try.” I stopped walking and looked up at him. “Wait. Why would you say that?”
Mr. Tall, Icy, and Dangerous grinned, flashing a crooked incisor on the bottom right. It was so incongruous with his debonair suit and styled hair that I melted a little more.
“I saw how you handled yourself with that piece of refuse, so I know you’re more than willing to stand up for yourself and your friends. I’m Maxim. Maxim Dolov.” He paused like that name should mean something to me. When I simply stared up at him, he shook his head. “Guess you’re not a hockey fan?”
He tucked me into his side as we started walking again. Dillon was gone. I closed my eyes and sucked in a slow breath, let it out even slower.
What a night. Maxim Dolov touched my elbow, which sent a shower of tingles up my arm and into my chest.
That had never happened before.
“You play hockey?” I asked, trying to steady my wayward emotions. I took another deep, slow breath. Those really did help regulate my cognitive function, something many of my charges didn’t believe until I managed to work through the exercises with them a few times.
He nodded. “For the Wildcatters.” His chest puffed up a little, unconsciously, as if he took great pride in his team.
“I know little about that sport—just that that’s the city’s NHL team.” Well, now, this sexy man was a professional athlete. Millie would love this turn of events. “My brothers all played football. Or still play. Amos is on the starting line for Texas this year—I mean the university, not the pro team—but he may go pro. At least, that’s what he’s hoping for…I’m blathering. Sorry, I’m nervous.”
I wiggled my fingers, trying to ease the throbbing in my hands. My daddy and brothers never told me that punching a person hurt so much.
Maxim’s gaze swept the room, noting the crowd and the growing cheers. “Nothing to be nervous about, Fists. I’ve seen you fight, remember? You hold your own just fine.”
I clenched and unclenched my hand again, biting my lip as pain shot through my fingers. “About that…”
Maxim raised thick, sandy eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“Well…my hands hurt.”
We were at the door to the restaurant, but Maxim stopped. He grasped my left wrist, smoothing out my fingers with his longer, bigger ones. That same zip of energy snaked up my arm, into my jaw. My lips tingled. He tutted as he noted the swelling.
“We’ll get you some ice.”
He didn’t let go of my wrist, so I walked forward, our fingers intertwined. When he slid his palm against mine, I nearly whimpered at how good it felt.
Too much. He was too much. My mind was trying to process Dillon’s appearance, his expectations that I’d drop everything to do his bidding. Had I really been that much of a pushover?
I pulled away. “I should grab Millie and go—”
“On your birthday? After you knocked that loser on his ass? Please, you have big things to celebrate.” Maxim shifted, discomfort flitting across his face as he peered at me. His eyes were ice blue. As I leaned forward, trying to get a better view of the color, so pale in the light, he pulled his head back. His lips pressed into a thin line even as his pupils flared…
With desire. For me. Oh! Oh… A whoosh of awareness settled, warm and pulsing, in my belly.
He cleared his throat. “I mean…if you want to. You don’t have to stay. Am I making you uncomfortable?”
I shook my head, my eyes never leaving his ruggedly attractive face. He was a professional hockey player—a large, take-charge kind of man. For him to be asking me about my feelings…swoon!
“No. You’re charming me.” And I liked it. A lot. This interaction was lovely—so much nicer than the alley interaction with Dillon that left me feeling dirty…a piece of trash he’d discarded again.
Maxim Dolov was doing a delightful job of stroking my ego. Maybe fate had stepped in to show me what I’d been missing in my relationship with Dillon.
Relief swept over his expression. My body hummed with energy. Oh, yeah, I desired him. Maxim Dolov, professional hockey player, was hot.
“Excellent. I prefer charming to upsetting such admirable ladies.” He opened the door and ushered me inside.
“Erm…” What was I supposed to say to that? I felt like I’d missed something in his words. No, in the translation of what he’d said in English from his native tongue. Still, it—he—was charming. I pulled my hand away from his touch and tucked my hair behind my ear, wincing as my swollen knuckles shifted under my bruised skin.
