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CHAPTER 1
Riggs
I swear that my life is a sweet virgin asshole, and the world is a Coke-can-sized cock, ready to ram right into me.
With no lube in sight.
Is it too much to ask for lube?
No, right? It’s common fucking decency. But no, the world just wants to ram into me like I’m a porn star.
Rather rude, really.
I don’t ask for much; I just want a simple life. I want to coach the Knoxville Bears, and I want to hang out with my dogs in this small little town where it’s Christmas every day. I hate that they think Christmas is doable in the hot Tennessee summer, but whatever floats their boats, I guess. I just want to be left alone.
I want to walk my dogs in peace, eat some fried food, and maybe indulge in a little side of pussy here and there. Coach my boys and help them navigate life. Nothing too extravagant. I want to survive the rest of my days in peace. That’s not too much to ask, I think. But fate has a different idea. It feels as if fate likes to fuck with me—in every hole imaginable.
Fate tricked me when I was growing up.
I had a good childhood, great parents, and I was happy. I think I ended up on fate’s radar when I got drafted. I was so excited to follow in my da’s footsteps. To be a great hockey player, but in America instead of Scotland like he did. I had every opportunity to stay in Scotland and play, but I wanted to make it in the NHL. I had the talent, I had the drive, but injuries plagued me. Between concussions, breaking my wrist three times, and a snapped tibia, I found it hard to keep coming back. During my recovery time, I couldn’t stay off the ice, and that was when I started coaching. I needed something to do and quickly realized how much I loved molding players into winners. If I couldn’t get my own body to do what I wanted, I had eager young bucks able and willing to do what I couldn’t.
So maybe fate wasn’t too much of a bitch during that.
I mean, it did give me a career in the sport I love, but fuck, if I don’t wish it were me out there with the crisp air hitting my face. Sweat freezing to my jersey. The smell of the ice. The feeling of scoring. I miss it, but I do love how I am helping guys achieve their dreams. This may not have been my dream, but it fills my cup to know I am helping someone get to where they want to be.
Maybe I really got on fate’s radar when Peppa came into my life. It was cruel to bring Peppa along. For her to show me what love is. To give me that sense of completion. God, how I loved her. More than I loved myself, hockey, and anything else. I worshipped the ground she walked on. I bent over backward to make sure she had everything she wanted and needed. I took care not only of her, but her whole family. I gave my life to her. I was hers, and I thought she was mine. But I wasn’t. I was just a means to an end.
Fucking fate. I hate the bitch for sure, but it seems she hates me just as much, and right now is a perfect example of why I’m sure she does. I knew, fucking knew, I shouldn’t have come to the Knoxville Bears Puck and Pups event. I had a feeling I shouldhave just stayed home and hung out with Gretzky and Gordie, but I couldn’t once an email from Elliot McDavid came through.
You’re the coach of our franchise, one of the most important members of the team. I need you to show your face and bring your dogs. We are in the middle of the play-offs. People are excited to meet you. You better be there. I’ll unleash Alex on you.
She’s a crazy lass, that Elliot McDavid.
So, I came, as she asked. But now, I’m cursing the McDavid name. I know that’s wrong of me when three of the McDavid women are engaged or married to my players. They are good women, smart and sweet. Elliot is a damn good social media marketer, and I enjoy working with her. She does keep Alex Cruz, my goalie and a thorn in my side, on a short leash and doesn’t let him bother me much, so it was hard to say no.
Add in the fact that the McDavid sisters are also the granddaughters of my boss, Dan Davenport, whom I respect and enjoy a drink with often. He is very protective of his girls, but there was no keeping them away from the many hockey players who came sniffing around them. He tried, bless, he did. But it didn’t work. I heard one of his granddaughters is in Nashville, engaged to a player on the Nashville Assassins. So, really, he has had no luck in keeping them away from any of the players.
What I didn’t realize was there was a fifth sister.
I don’t know how I didn’t put two and two together. All the McDavid sisters favor one another, but when I saw the youngest of the girls in a different setting, I didn’t realize she was their sister. She is always off on her own when I’m around, and I assumed she was a friend or a cousin.
Once more, fate tricked me.
“Riggs, have you met my youngest granddaughter, Clara McDavid?”
I can’t even hear Dan as he introduces his granddaughter to me. As I said, I’ve seen her around, and she’s caught my eyemore than once. I’ve never approached her because it’s obvious she’s much younger than my thirty-five. I don’t know how old she is, but I know I’m too old. Not that I think she is attracted to me. It’s more the fact that the spot in my chest that has been dead for the last fourteen years burns a bit when I see her. It’s not beating again or tripping over itself, but it’s warming a bit. A lot of a bit.
I’ve been attracted to women, which is why I end up in bed with them, but my heart has never warmed or even made itself known in the presence of anyone. Until her. I find myself breathless as she looks up at me, her navy-blue eyes shining under her thick, dark lashes. They remind me of the loch that surrounds our little cottage back home. Her lips are curved up in a wide smile, dimples appearing in her cheeks, making her seem even younger. She has the cutest little nose, like a wee fairy. Her dark-brown hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and her lips are glossed to perfection. She wears a pair of black shorts that flare along her toned thighs and a Bears tee that hugs her breasts in a way that leaves me jealous of the fabric touching her. I move my gaze back up to her eyes and find that she’s blushing.
Her teeth are pressing into the cushion of her thicker bottom lip, and her eyes darken.
Shit, was I openly checking her out?
I’m a fucking eejit.
I can’t stop staring at her lips, and my cock roars to life, pressing hard against the zipper of my jeans, leaving me not only uncomfortable but damn well in pain.
“Riggs?”
