Even the Score

Sara:

There’s a lot a girl could do with five-hundred dollars.

I could easily blow that money splurging on the camel-colored suede boots I’ve been ogling for the past month but can’t justify buying. Or I could book a round-trip flight somewhere warm and take the vacation I desperately need from my ninety-hour workweeks at the law firm. If I wanted to be practical, I could set that money aside in a bank account and watch it earn interest.

But tonight, I gave myself a limit of five-hundred big ones to spend on landing myself an evening with one of the hottest men Seattle has to offer.

Before you go thinking dirty thoughts, no, I don’t mean like that.

Every year, a group of us buys a table for the charity date auction put on by the nonprofit my friend Aubree works for. The girls love the excuse to wear fancy dresses, and the guys like that they can drink beer under the guise of doing it “for a cause.”

Tonight is our third consecutive year attending, but it’s the first year that some of the Ice Hawks players have volunteered to auction themselves off. Teddy, Owen, and a few of the players from the second and third lines I hardly recognize outside the hockey arena are all dressed especially dapper this evening, each one with a Your Future Dance Partner button pinned to his lapel to indicate that he’s up for auction tonight.

And there’s another first this year. It’s the first time that I’ve allowed myself to bid. Work has been beyond stressful since I’ve started to be considered as a contender for partner at the law firm I’ve worked for since college. Of course, more responsibility has meant I’ve been working more hours, so my social life has become practically nonexistent.

Why not spend some of my hard-earned cash on someone tall, dark, and temporary to relieve some of that anxiety? It’s for charity, after all. And if a few shared cocktails and slow dances lead to something more? Let’s just say, I am here for it. It’s been way too long since I’ve enjoyed a man’s company.

“Hey, Becca, do you think I stand a chance of snagging a date with Owen tonight?” Justin asks, raising his brows across the table at Becca, who rolls her eyes in response.

“Better you than one of these superfans.” She half scoffs, half giggles. “I’m worried I’m going to have to pull some middle-aged woman’s hands off my boyfriend’s butt in the middle of a slow dance.”

Owen squeezes Becca’s hand in reassurance. “Don’t worry, babe. You get to keep dating me for free tomorrow.”

That idiotic comment only earns him a sappy smile from Becca, and I sigh in exasperation.

Love makes you weird.

Justin takes a swig of beer and directs his attention to Teddy, who’s typing furiously on his phone. “What about you, TK? You’re up for grabs. Think I can nab you for the evening?”

Teddy King, a six-foot-three-inch wall of muscle with dark wavy hair and captivating green eyes, barely looks up from his phone. He’s been on it all night, and to be honest, it’s kind of annoying. Tonight is supposed to be a fun night with friends, not an opportunity for him to scroll through social media.

“Is your Instagram feed really that interesting, Teddy?” I say sassily, then sip my vodka soda.

I’m not one to pass up an opportunity to give him grief. We’re friends, no question, but he and I also have a bit of a history, which I choose to suppress by directing as many snarky comments his way as possible. His fingers tap angrily at his phone screen. I know from experience the way those thick fingers feel … the way his touch buzzes through my body, but tonight those strong hands won’t come anywhere near my bare skin.

“I’m dealing with something, okay?” His grips tightens around the phone and he lowers it, pocketing it beneath the table, as if to shield it from view. Usually, he’ll give me shit right back, but tonight, he looks up at me with a blend of alarm and frustration in his eyes.

I tense and lean back, giving him space. I can’t ignore the shot of panic that bolts down my spine, though.

It’s not like Teddy to be so closed off, especially at an event like this. Normally he’s so fun loving, constantly cracking jokes with his teammates, telling funny stories and laughing. Whatever is going on must be serious.

Part of me wants to ask him what’s wrong, but his eyes are already locked on his screen again, so I turn my attention back to the stage. Someone has just secured an evening with the quarterback of the Seattle Sirens, and I can’t help but feel the slightest pang of jealousy that I didn’t bid on that hunky piece of man meat. His broad shoulders look absolutely scrumptious in his fitted charcoal-gray tux. I can’t say I would mind clutching those while riding him all night long.

What can I say? I’m a sucker for athletes. In law school, I used to spend all my time studying in the library that overlooked the football field, and ever since, I’ve had a taste for men who know when to play by the rules and when to break them. The muscles, of course, are also a major selling point. As is their stamina. But it’s something about that gleam in their eyes, that competitive spirit that never quite leaves their system. It’s such a turn-on in the bedroom.

And that’s where I have to keep my affinity for athletes: in the bedroom, and not a step beyond.

Do you know what happens when you try to mix a lawyer’s ninety-hour workweek with an athlete’s insane practice schedule and constant travel? Me neither. But I know it can’t be good. Which is why I’ve kept my romantic life strictly between the sheets for the past year or so. Maybe it will be a different story when I become the first female partner at my law firm, but as long as I have something to prove in the office, the only serious relationship I’m allowing myself is with my work email in-box. I’m committed, what can I say?

Next up onstage is an Ice Hawks defenseman the team picked up this year. I can’t say I’ve spoken more than a half dozen words to the guy, but he fills out his suit in all the right ways, and for a moment, I consider putting in a bid. I’ve got the money to spend, and it’s really for two excellent causes: ending childhood hunger, and potentially setting myself up to receive a much-needed orgasm or two tonight from someone other than my vibrator.

Nope, nope, and nope. Check yourself before you wreck yourself, Sara.

I can only imagine the kind of conversations that go down in the Ice Hawks’ locker room, and I’d like to keep the details of my sex life as far away from the guys as possible. As it is, there’s already one player who knows a little too much about my likes and dislikes in the bedroom.

The crowd politely claps as the defenseman is auctioned off to a little boy and his mom, who look eager to get an autograph. Totally aw-worthy.

Aubree, who is slaying the role of tonight’s emcee, flips her notes to the next card. “Up next,” she says, “is Owen Parrish, the goalie of our very own Seattle Ice Hawks.”

The crowd cheers loudly, hooting and hollering for the much-loved star goalie.

As Owen stands to take the stage, Becca jolts up in her seat, throwing a hand in the air and yelling out her $100 bid. Someone immediately outbids her, and it doesn’t take long for Owen’s price to climb well over $400. At that point, Becca folds and takes her seat, grumbling and crossing her arms over her chest as Owen finally sells for nearly a grand.

“All that money to dance with Owen for a night?” Elise laughs. “I should show those women the video of him as a sheep in our elementary school Christmas pageant. The way he head-butted the angels during the big dance number would have them retracting their bids.”

“Sounds baaaaaaaaa-d.” Justin bleats, sending the whole table into giggles, Becca included.

“Speaking of bad,” Teddy whispers soft enough that only I can hear him. “Can we talk? We have a little bit of a situation on our hands.”

My brow creases as I appraise him. We? Our?

Teddy and I haven’t been a “we” since back in college. And even then, barely. We traded study notes and orgasms one semester before deciding we were better off as friends. It wasn’t even a big enough deal for us to tell our friend group about. What could possibly have him referring to us as a singular unit again?

“Now?” I whisper back, my eyes widening slightly. “Is it urgent?”

He gives me a firm nod. “I’d say it’s mega urgent.”

I glance around the hotel ballroom we’re in, looking for somewhere he and I can have a private conversation. We don’t have a ton of options without leaving the room altogether. Looks like I’m going to have to improvise.

“Bar. Now,” I whisper.

I make an excuse to the table about my vodka soda being too watered down and head for the bar. A few seconds later, Teddy stands up to join me.

As he walks my way, I can’t resist doing a once-over of his sculpted frame. I won’t lie, he’s hotter than sin, all of his muscles fully on display in that well-fitted tux. I mentally high-five College Sara for her good taste in sex partners.

“What’s going on?” I ask when he sidles up beside me, a frown etched across his full mouth.

“I just received a really threatening email.” Teddy’s green eyes cloud over with worry. “I think someone is trying to blackmail me. Which means I’m probably going to need a damn good lawyer, right?”

“Not probably. Definitely. I think I might know a good lawyer,” I tease, gesturing to myself. It was an attempt to lighten the mood, but the worry in Teddy’s eyes doesn’t let up, so I return to the issue at hand. “What kind of blackmail are they implying?”

He doesn’t have time to give me an answer before we’re interrupted by Aubree, continuing her emcee duties.

“We have one more date up for auction tonight. Our last hockey hottie of the evening, Teddy King.”

Teddy sighs. “I guess that’s my cue.” He forces a lighthearted smile as he smooths his dark hair with one hand and turns toward the stage.

Hopefully the rest of the guests can’t see through his strained smile the way I can. Whatever this email is about, it’s affecting him in a major way.

As I watch him onstage, I mentally catalog his attributes. He has the body of an athlete, that’s for sure. Tall. Broad shoulders. Trim waist. His hair is slightly disheveled from his roaming fingers, but it’s oddly endearing. There’s normally a playful look in his eyes, a smile that signals he’s ready for trouble, but tonight his look is somber, and I’m not sure what to make of that.

“Shall we start the bidding at two hundred?”

A bidder jumps in right away, then another and another until his going price is up to $500, the max budget I set for myself tonight. But I missed my opportunity to bid on the quarterback while being distracted with Teddy at the table, so I might as well save him from his own fake smile.

“One thousand dollars.” I raise my hand in the air, almost not recognizing my own voice when I bid.

Did I really just freaking do that?

Everyone at my table turns and gives me a dumbfounded look, and I can hardly keep my poker face in place.

Why the hell did I bid a grand to have a conversation with Teddy that we’re obviously going to have either way? Maybe because he said it was mega urgent? Maybe it was the worry in his voice? With the bid I just placed, I guess I’m hoping he wasn’t exaggerating.

“Going once? Going twice?” Aubree sweeps her glance over the room. “Sold, for a thousand dollars to my friend Sara Dawson.” She grins at me from the stage.

One thousand dollars. Twice my budget for the precise opposite of the date I was looking to snag tonight. This man owes me big-time, literally a grand’s worth.

I lift the hem of my red satin dress so I don’t trip in my heels on the walk up to the stage to claim my prize. Teddy King, a.k.a. TK, a.k.a. my college fling who I just dropped a grand on for what better be a damn good reason.

As the other winning couples filter out onto the dance floor, I spot Owen with his flirty forty-something date, with Becca watching like a hawk from a few feet away. A few of the other guys are signing autographs for some kids, and Elise is congratulating Aubree on her awesome job emceeing. Everyone is distracted, giving Teddy and me the perfect opportunity to slip away and hash out this blackmail situation.

“Thanks for bidding on me,” Teddy says, scrubbing his fingers through his hair as we duck out of the ballroom and into an adjacent conference room. It’s empty, of course, just a large conference table and a half dozen rolling chairs. “I was worried I was going to look like a second stringer if Owen sold for more than I did.”

“Your ego wasn’t my concern,” I say, clicking the door shut behind us. “I’m a bit more worried about this email situation.”

The smile on Teddy’s lips falls away. “Yeah, about that. The sender of the email is saying they’ve hacked into my cloud. And they’ve gotten their hands on a certain video and are threatening to release it.”

My eyebrows scrunch together. “What video?”

There’s a moment of silence as Teddy swallows, his eyes narrowing into a meaningful stare. “The video.”

Two words. That’s all it takes to drain all the blood from my face.

I steady myself, bracing one hand on the conference table until I can lower myself into a seat. The video? That can’t be possible. This has to be some kind of sick joke. The vodka soda in my stomach sours.

“I don’t understand. We deleted every single copy of that video back in college.”

Teddy hangs his head, fisting his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, I know I said that. But I may have, you know, held on to one personal copy—for sentimental reasons.”

My chest tightens as all the air in my lungs disappears. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s my bad.” He sounds sincere, but when he finally looks up at me, there’s a hint of uncertainty on his face. “It’s just . . . that shit was hot, you know? That was my first and only sex tape, Sara. I couldn’t just delete it.”

What the actual hell?

If I didn’t have such good self-control, I would be strangling him with the strap of my purse right now. Teddy promised me years ago that every trace of that video had been wiped out, deleted, never to be seen again. And now some creepy hacker dude has his grubby hands on it and is threatening to release it? How long until it’s plastered onto websites around the globe? We’ll both be completely ruined.

My heart hammers against my ribs, and I feel like punching something.

There must be steam coming out of my ears, because Teddy starts laying the apologies on thick. “Listen, Sara. I’m sorry. So fucking sorry. I didn’t mean to betray your trust like that. It’s just I never thought it would get out.”

I swear I can hear my pulse rioting in my veins, but as it gets progressively louder, I realize it’s someone knocking at the door.

“Hey, lovebirds,” a familiar voice calls. Owen. “I’ve got something for you.” He slips something small and silver beneath the door. A condom.

Freaking great. Now our friends think we’re hooking up.

And unless we can stop this creepy computer genius snooping through Teddy’s in-box, they’re going to have video evidence soon.

Teddy:

Undercurrents of tension filled with raw sexuality snap between us. My gaze meets Sara’s, and six thousand different emotions slam through me all at once.

I feel like the world’s biggest asshole. No, I am the world’s biggest asshole.

Not only did my messed-up decision to keep a copy of that hot-as-fuck sex tape put Sara’s entire future in jeopardy, but I’ve basically just admitted to the fact that she’s been in regular rotation in my spank bank for years. And considering we’ve kept things strictly platonic for the past seven years now, I know I’ve caught her totally off guard.

Am I proud of the fact that I regularly jack off to memories of our hookup? No. Has that even once stopped me? Nope.

Fuck, I’m the actual worst.

There are many things I know about the woman standing in front of me. She’s funny. Smart. Articulate. A kick-ass attorney. But there are other things too… And unfortunately, the thing that lodges in my brain is the least helpful right now. Back in college, she majored in Poli Sci and minored in riding my dick. At least junior year. After that, we successfully swerved into the friend zone—which seems like a small miracle given the amount of chemistry zapping between us. It would also help immensely if I didn’t still have vivid mental images of plowing into her from behind.

Her lush pink mouth falls open and she makes a breathless sound. It takes me right back to the night everything changed.

We’d been hanging out for a couple of months by then after meeting in a business management lecture at our university. I’d been attracted to her from day one, but since a full course load and playing college hockey kept me busy, and because she’d let it slip that the only committed relationship she was looking for was one with her vibrator and her classes, I’d let it drop. She was smart, pretty, and funny—but I had no time for a girlfriend, and so into the friend zone we ventured. But then one night, things shifted.

It was late. Dark outside. We were wrestling for the remote control on my dorm-room bed after finishing a study session. She ended up in my lap, her hips bumping mine, and then it was game over for my libido. And there was no hiding it. I knew the second she felt my body’s physical reaction to hers, because she halted stiffly in my arms, her lips parting in surprise.

“Sorry.” I apologized hoarsely, reaching down to adjust the obvious erection bulging in the front of my athletic shorts.

Sara’s eyes met mine, then ventured briefly down to my mouth. She didn’t climb from my lap or push away from me like I was expecting. Instead, she bit down on her lip, those perfectly straight white teeth chewing on her plump lower lip while she gazed at me.

“Sorry for what?” Her voice had a playful lilt to it.

She had to know, right?

I cleared my throat, willing my erection to fade. “For getting excited. There’s a hot chick in my lap, in case you didn’t notice,” I said, trying to lighten the mood with a smirk.

“Yeah?” she said coyly, still watching me like I was the most fascinating creature in the world. “Do I get you excited, TK?” Her lips twitched with a smile while she waited for my answer.

I was completely out of my element. Her brazen confidence, her directness—it was a lot for twenty-one-year-old me to handle. I was used to shy fumbling in the dark, stolen kisses, and quick hookups that were over almost before they started. This entire conversation felt like foreplay, and I was more turned on than I’d ever been. And she hadn’t even laid a single finger on me.

Her challenging stare made me bold, and so I rocked my hips—just once—letting her feel my full arousal and the answer to that question.

“I think that’s a big fucking yes, don’t you?” When her mouth opened again, I was afraid I’d gone too far, and so I mumbled, “But we’re friends. So, like I said, I’m sorry.”

She cocked her head. “We are friends, but . . . I like sex. You like sex. It’s an excellent form of aerobic activity. Not to mention stress relief.”

I swallowed the giant lump in my throat. Was she suggesting what I thought she was suggesting?

There was no way I was that lucky.

“Why don’t we just fuck and get it out of the way?” she said in a challenging tone, her sultry blue eyes dancing mischievously at me.

I was sure she was kidding. Fucking with me. She had to be.

Except . . . she wasn’t.

That was how we ended up naked in my bed for the first time.

Sara was so spontaneous, so fun, and she loved sex as much as I did. After that first time, it became a regular thing. We were kind of insatiable for each other, hooking up whenever we had free time—after class, late at night, once in the back of the library.

One night I suggested on a whim that we film it, and then waited for her to shoot down the idea. Only she didn’t. When she got a flirty gleam in her eye, I started begging, and she laughed at me.

“Please. No one will see it but us,” I promised, pinning her down on the bed with my body on top of hers.

She was still smiling when I told her it would get me through the summer and give me something to remember her by. She was leaving in a few days to go back home, a few hours away, where she had an internship lined up at a law office for the summer.

“You won’t show any of your teammates?” she asked, searching my eyes.

“God, no,” I assured her. “It’ll be for our eyes only. I promise.”

It wasn’t serious between us, but it was monogamous, and I would never share something so private with anyone—let alone my loudmouthed teammates.

It was all the reassurance she needed, because then she helped me set up the camera phone to capture our best (and dirtiest) angles.

The video was scorching hot, and I took great care to save it somewhere no one would ever stumble across it.

But then she called in a panic a few days later, asking me to delete all traces of the video. I calmed her down, promising that I would. And I really intended to. I should have, obviously.

But I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it, and so I ended up saving a copy on my personal cloud.

Sara came back to campus the next fall with a new boyfriend she’d met at the law firm, another intern, and that was the end of our physical relationship. We’ve remained friends, but I never forgot about our hot campus history, or the chemistry that still crackles between us whenever she’s near, even all these years later.

And looking at her now, at all those curves draped in red silk, how can I ever forget what we shared? She’s a smart, fierce, driven lawyer and, honestly, quite a fucking catch.

But with her demanding career and my pro hockey schedule, it just wasn’t meant to be. We both work too much, and plus I’m pretty sure she still sees me as an immature coed jock—the one who suggested sex tapes and library romps and played too many video games—even if I have changed. At least a little.

Sara makes a low noise of disapproval and pulls open the door to the conference room to face our unwelcome intruder.

Owen stands in the hall, his grin fading as he takes in our tense expressions.

“Thought you sneaked away for some fun with your date,” he says, meeting Sara’s eyes.

“Not hardly.” She takes a step forward, obviously ready to set him straight, but my hand on her lower back stops her. She takes a deep breath, composing herself, while I usher Owen into the hallway.

We’ve never told our friends about our brief history, and honestly, why would we? It’s no one’s business but our own, and besides, it’s ancient history at this point anyway, not exactly breaking news. Unless this fuckface who is threatening to release the video actually does, then it’ll be on every news outlet from here to China.

Fuck.

“I need to talk with Sara. In private,” I say sternly.

Owen holds up both hands. “It’s cool. I was just messing with you.”

I nod. “I know. But now’s not a good time.”

Owen’s normally playful expression falls. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. All good,” I lie. “Just something Sara and I need to work out.”

“Cool. Well, if you need me, I’ll be eating about six thousand of those crab-puff things. Have you had one? They’re amazing.” Owen bumps his fist against mine, and then I watch him walk away toward the ballroom before I reenter the conference room and close the door again.

Sara’s seated in one of the chairs, looking like she’s ready for corporate battle. A worried crease has formed between her brows, the only indication of stress in her otherwise confident demeanor. Another pang of regret that I’ve put her in this situation jolts through me.

I take the seat across from her and meet her steely blue gaze. “So, will you be my lawyer or not?”

Her features relax, and she lifts her chin. “Doesn’t sound like I have a choice.”

Releasing a long sigh, I push both hands into my hair. “I’m so fucking sorry about all of this, Sara.”

“You apologized already. Twice,” she points out.

“That doesn’t make it any better.” And it certainly doesn’t erase the gnawing guilt eating a hole inside my chest.

She frowns. “No, it doesn’t. But what’s done is done. I guess now we have to face the consequences.”

I swallow a lump in my throat. “I never thought that video would get out.”

“That makes two of us.” Rising to her feet, she steadies herself with one hand on the table. “I don’t really feel up to celebrating tonight. I think I’m actually going to head out. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

I rise to my feet along with her. “How did you get here?”

“An Uber,” she says.

“Then let me drive you home. It’s the least I can do.”

She doesn’t put up a fight, and together we say good-bye to everyone still left at the table. Becca pries away a plate of crab puffs from Owen, telling him he’s going to have a stomachache later if he doesn’t stop. Normally, this would be comical to watch, but my tense nerves won’t let me enjoy their playful squabble.

The car ride is a silent one, and when Sara and I reach her place, I get out and walk her to the front door. We pause together, Sara’s eyes on mine, but her expression is impossible to read. I’m afraid I’ve fucked up beyond repair. And even if we’re not romantically involved, I value our friendship above everything else.

“We’ll figure this out, okay? Please don’t hate me,” I say, attempting a smile, but it feels strange, almost like I’ve forgotten how in the stress of the past few hours.

She shakes her head slightly. “I don’t hate you. I knew what I was doing when I said yes to filming us. This just sucks.”

“That it does.” I rub one hand over the back of my neck. “But I should have deleted the video like you asked.” Understatement of the century.

She meets my eyes, weighing my words. “Obviously.”

“I never showed it to a soul, I promise you. It was just for me. My eyes only.” My admission comes out soft and sorrowful, and she has every right to knee me in the nuts right now, but thankfully, for the boys’ sake, she doesn’t.

Adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder, she nods in agreement. “I believe you. And I’m going to work hard to make this thing disappear. Our first step will be to send a cease-and-desist order.”

My relief is immediate and I give a tight nod. “Sounds like a plan. And thanks again.”

I pull her into my arms for a hug. Her forgiving reaction and willingness to help makes me feel even worse. She really is an amazing girl, and I hate that I’ve put her in a bad situation. The hug only lasts for a few seconds, but the simmering attraction I normally keep on lockdown lingers long after I release her.

As I watch her walk inside, I fight to ignore the accompanying twitch in my pants. That’s what got us into trouble in the first place, and the last thing I need to do is make everything ten times worse by fondling my attorney.

No matter how badly I might want to.