Penalty (Penalty Duet #1) Read online

  Penalty

  Hockey’s newest bad boy just cost his team the Cup.

  The last thing he needs is to lose his heart as well.

  Rough.

  Dirty.

  Wild.

  Brayson Rockwell is used to doing things his way, which is why the Portland Cougar’s defenseman and resident bad boy can’t seem to stay out of trouble. Whether it’s getting caught at strip clubs, hooking up with socialites, or causing too many penalties with his fists, Brayson is always pushing his luck. Until he pushes it too far and loses more than he bargained for.

  Sweet.

  Smart.

  Lonely.

  Brandy Cooper has zero time for the hockey fanaticism that’s taken over her city. She’d rather read and write book reviews for her online magazine or take her pooch to the dog park and ogle the hot guys she doesn’t have the nerve to talk to.

  Until one fateful night she’s swept up into the mayhem of Portland’s hockey riot and rescued from the flames. Rescued by none other than “Sex on a Stick” Brayson. But other than thinking she’s been saved by a hot as sin man, Brandy has no idea who Brayson really is.

  That is until a photographer captures the moment and the resulting photo ends up splashed across every newspaper in North America.

  Now the media is on the hunt for Brayson’s “mystery woman” and Brayson himself wants to track her down to help his image as a newfound hero.

  The only thing is, Brandy doesn’t want to become a media sensation, let alone get involved with a womanizer like Brayson (it doesn’t matter how big his stick is, or that he’s a pro at using it). But Brayson is intent on wearing her down…which soon leads to getting her in bed.

  Will Brandy reform the bad boy’s ways and lead him to redemption?

  Will Brayson give Brandy the wild and hot sex life she’s only read about in books?

  Will both of them escape each other with their hearts intact, or are they skating on thin ice?

  Sometimes love is the only penalty.

  First edition published by

  K. Lovecraft LLC December 2016 (worst year on record)

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Penalty - Copyright © 2016 by K. Lovecraft

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Edited by Alicia Bellamy

  Table of Contents

  Penalty

  Prologue

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  A Note from the Author

  For Carrie Fisher

  Prologue

  Brandy

  He’s leaving me.

  I know it with every bone in my body, right down to the marrow.

  He doesn’t have to say anything but it’s written all over his face. The way he gazed at me before he fell asleep, with so much tenderness it made my heart feel bruised.

  I roll over in bed to stare at him, taking in his stunning body like it’s the last time. It might be the last time. I drink him in like he’s cool oasis and I’m dying of thirst in the desert.

  God, he’s gorgeous. Still way, way too beautiful for me. There isn’t a day that’s gone by over these last two months that I haven’t wondered why he’s with a simple, bookish girl like Brandy Cooper. I’m not a puck bunny. I still don’t even like hockey. Yet day after day, he’s not only finding his way into my bed, but into my heart.

  Brayson Rockwell has a porn star’s name and a hockey god’s body. Luckily he’s the latter and not the former, though some of his moves are so freakin’ kinky I wouldn’t be surprised. Even in the dark of night here, with just a bit of dim, blue light coming in through the apartment windows, he looks immense and powerful, almost too good to be true. His shoulders are round and sculpted leading down into his thick arms. His chest is smooth and firm, massive really, and his stomach is rippled with muscle, the kind of abs you don’t think you’d ever get to lick and taste. Brayson’s body is reserved for the book cover models I used to drool over and yet here he is, come to life.

  And beneath it all, he’s just a good ol’ Canadian farm boy who worked hard to get where he is, whose anger and demons from his past fuel him forward, usually into hot water.

  He’s all that and more. He’s mine.

  And now I’m afraid it’s all coming apart.

  He stirs in his sleep and I don’t bother tearing my eyes away. Yeah, I’m sure it’s creepy when a girl watches you sleep but when Edward Cullen does it, it’s sexy.

  He murmurs something as he rolls toward me and then his eyes slowly blink open. “Babe?” he whispers, his voice rich and throaty. “Are you okay?”

  I nod, biting my lip, and come closer to him. My hand slides beneath the blanket, going over the smooth, hard planes of his six-pack abs until it settles over his cock. He’s semi-hard at first but in seconds he’s becoming this hot, virile force underneath my skin. I love feeling him grow like this, love what I do to him.

  “Feeling frisky?” he asks me, but there’s an emptiness to his voice. Maybe my lips can bring him back to life.

  I move down and throw back the covers until I’m staring at his shaft, so hard and thick and rigid in my grasp. I never thought I’d be the type of girl to be addicted to cock, but I was addicted to his. Like a damn junkie chasing her next fix.

  With my fist tight around his length, I slide my hand up and down, milking him until that bead of moisture appears on the dark, swollen tip. My mouth practically waters.

  “Taste me,” Brayson whispers, watching me closely, and as I lower my head, my tongue sliding over the salty crown, he lets out an animalistic moan, his head flopping back onto the pillow.

  “So good,” he groans, his abs and powerful thighs tensing up. “You’re so good.”

  I want to be more than good. I want it so that he’ll never leave, that he’ll be as addicted to me as I am to him. These last two months have changed my entire life in more ways than one and I don’t know what I’d do if it were to all come crashing down.

  I keep working my hand, my mouth sucking him in, the perfect wet suction as my grip gets tighter, the rhythm faster. Slick. He’s so large and getting bigger by the moment and I can barely hold on.

  His moans are getting deeper, his breath raspy and frantic as he begins to buck beneath me. He’s close, so close, and my fingers dip below to play with the area he loves the most.

  “No,” he cries out hoarsely, taking me by surprise.

  I stop, bringing his cock out of my mouth. “No to the kinky play?”

  He makes a frustrated growl and covers his face with both is hands. “No to…everything. I’m sorry.”

  I stop what I’m doing and sit up, my heart doing kicks inside. “Bray, what’s wrong? What did I do?”

  “It’s not you,” he says and I can finish off the tired cliché inside my head, even if I can’t finish him off.

  It’s not you, it’s me.

  “Then what is it?” I ask as he straightens himself up against the headboard.

  His brow creases and that’s when I know he’s about to tell me something horrible. I mean, he stopped me mid-blow job and that’s never happened before.

  “Brandy,” he says softly and in the dim light
I can see his eyes glistening. So dark and beautiful and haunted. “I have to tell you something.”

  Oh, hell.

  I gather my knees to my chest and hug them, feeling like a frightened little girl. “What?”

  He lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head slightly. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. And I understand if you never forgive me.” He gives me a pained look. “Something has happened. And it’s going to change both our lives. Forever.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Brandy

  Two Months Earlier

  “I hate hockey!”

  There. I said it.

  Okay, so I’m talking to Charlie Dog but he totally agrees with me.

  He wags his tail in response, not because he hates hockey too, but because moments earlier I made the mistake of glancing in the direction of his leash. Anything remotely related to going for a walk and he loses his doggy mind.

  “Not yet,” I tell him, turning around in my seat and back to the laptop. “Let mommy finish her review first.”

  It’s too late. Charlie Dog is at my side, shoving his cold nose onto my arm.

  “Just a minute,” I tell him. “Go get your toy.”

  I have to repeat it a few times until he runs off over to his dog bed and gets his stuffed octopus, which happens to be toy number three of this week.

  While he happily tears the plush tentacles off I know I have another five minutes of peace.

  I’m not a mother, so I have no idea how people manage to live their lives and raise children. It’s just me here and my dog in this tiny four hundred and thirty square foot apartment and yet I spend at least fifty bucks a week on dog toys just to keep this guy satisfied while I do my job.

  I work from home, so while that’s awesome, it’s also distracting. Still, I can’t complain because having an office job as an administrative assistant probably wouldn’t be as cool.

  I write book reviews for an online women’s magazine started by Lauren, a friend of mine from journalism school. It doesn’t pay a lot – hence the tiny apartment outside of downtown Portland – but it’s something I really enjoy. I read a book every three days or so, mostly romance and chick lit, and then write it up for the magazine. There’s always a constant deadline and when I’m not penning reviews, I’m contributing freelance articles to other sites and blogs, but at least it’s fun and I get to tell people I’m a writer, even if I feel like a fraud.

  The book I’m currently trying to review is a sweeping romance where both characters die at the end. Not usually my cup of tea – I require a happily-ever-after in my books – but I’m trying to be as objectionable as possible. The writing was good and, after all, one man’s junk is another one’s treasure.

  More hoots and hollers come from the apartment next door, snapping me out of the closing sentence of my review. Once again I growl, “I hate hockey.”

  And I do. Especially now that hockey fever has taken over the entire city. Just five years ago Portland was granted an official NHL team, the Cougars, and they’ve taken everyone by storm. Now the team has made it all the way to the Stanley Cup playoffs and the final game is tonight at the Moda Center.

  Suffice it to say, the city is in pandemonium. For the last seven months I’ve been subjected to this crazy hockey fever – puck bunnies at every bar after the game, hoping to catch the eyes of the players, fans dressed in the green and gold gear, a town of idiots getting drunker and drunker. As the months progressed and the team started advancing, so did the fans. You seriously couldn’t go anywhere without people talking about last night’s game or harping on about a certain player. Thankfully, after tonight, it will all be over.

  Even my sister, who works two jobs as a single mom to my nephew, and barely has time for anything other than work and her child, is obsessed with the team. Me? It’s just a bunch of dumb toothless meatheads racing up and down the rink, trying to beat the crap out of each other. Whatever skill the players might possess, they ruin it the moment they slam someone into the boards or they open their mouth in an interview.

  I mean, sure, some of the guys are hot. The guys with teeth. But aside from their brutish, alpha ways and the muscled bodies they must have underneath all that padding, they’re not my type at all.

  My type of men…well, I don’t really think they exist in reality. They just seem to only exist in the romances I read. I admit, I’m the type of person who falls head over heels for fictional characters and am the first one to claim them as her “book boyfriend.” Of course I don’t mention this in my reviews, but you can bet I’m staking a virtual claim on whatever guy I’m swooning over at the moment.

  It’s supposed to be just for fun but I guess it’s kind of sad that the book boyfriends are all I have. Even when I see a hot guy in real life, I get way too nervous and awkward to talk to him. The few times my friend Lauren has made me approach a guy at a bar, I ended up nearly vomiting on them. As I said, I get nervous.

  Which is why one of my favorite things to do is take Charlie Dog and head to the dog park around the corner. There is usually at least one hot guy here, and the fact that they have a dog only makes them hotter.

  Somehow I concentrate through the yelling from next door, no doubt a result of pre-game drinks, and then the review is done. I’ll proof it later on but for now, the hard work is over.

  “Okay buddy,” I call out and suddenly Charlie Dog is right by my side. Well, it’s not so hard to do when my apartment is so small.

  I get him on the leash and we head outside into the early June sunshine.

  The sky is startlingly blue and cloudless, a fresh breeze in the air that will soon turn dirty as summer progresses. I live in the east side of Portland which is basically like every sketch you see on Portlandia. But the rent is cheap and I’ll do what I can to save. Besides, it’s nice not being in the city, and having a big dog park around the corner from the apartment is a huge plus.

  “Oh, Charlie Dog,” I whisper as we approached the fenced park. “Look who it is.”

  It’s the usual crowd: an elderly lady and her Scottish terriers, the big fat dude with his lab, the girl in skin-tight yoga clothes and her pitbull, and the hipster dude with the chest-length beard and his Boston Terrier.

  Then there’s Hot Mutt Guy. Yeah, it’s not the most clever nickname and it’s not that the mutt is hot, it’s that he is (I mean, I’m not that weird). The dude is tall, with biceps I’d love to hold onto and is always sitting on a bench in the corner, reading a book. Obviously a big bonus point.

  His dog is happy to just sit beside him and he looks a bit like Charlie Dog. While Charlie Dog is Benji type mutt, this guy’s dog is equally as scruffy.

  I should talk to him, I tell myself. Today. Just go over there and ask him what he’s reading.

  I tell myself this every time I come here.

  But as we get inside the enclosure and I let Charlie Dog off his leash so he can go sniff butts, I do what I always do: lean against the fence and watch everyone else beneath my sunglasses and secretly pine over Hot Mutt Guy. There’s always tomorrow though, when there might be Studly Rotweiller Dude. One day both guys were in the park at the same time and I nearly had an aneurysm.

  I stand there for about ten minutes while Charlie Dog runs around and then Hot Mutt guy gets up and starts walking over.

  Oh my god, is he coming over to me?

  I think so.

  But then he stops a few feet away and stares at me. I stare back at him.

  I’m sure a million years pass between us. He opens his mouth to say something. Everything about his body posture is yearning and hopeful.

  Then he turns around and calls for his dog, Peanut, who comes trotting over.

  The guy quickly puts him on a leash and they leave.

  Damn. If only I had said something. Would it have been so hard to just say hi?

  I sigh, my chest feeling heavy. My last boyfriend broke up with me six months ago and I haven’t hooked up with anyone, let alone gone on a date with anyone, since him.
I’m way overdue for a wild romp in the hay and Hot Mutt Guy could have been just the guy to do it. I’m not expecting the world, just an orgasm. Is that so much to ask for?

  After I get Charlie Dog back on the leash and start heading through the park, I’m yelled at by a group of guys in Cougars jerseys and cat-like face paint (I guess to be like a cougar?), standing around a bench and drinking a flat of beer.

  “Wooooo!” they yell at me. “We’re gonna win!”

  I manage a quick smile, trying to escape their drunken enthusiasm. They better damn win. Tonight is game seven out of seven. As much as I hate what hockey has done to Portland, if the team loses things are really going to go downhill. That said, the game is on home ice and that usually means that we have the advantage, at least that’s what I’ve been hearing.

  “Hey!” One of the guys breaks free and runs over to me, throwing a sweaty arm around my shoulder. “Will you kiss me for good luck?”

  “No,” I tell him with a grimace, pushing him off me. “But you can kiss my dog, how about that?”

  Charlie Dog barks at the guy to back off and the guy is smart enough to listen.

  “Whoa, sorry,” he slurs. “Just think you should support your team!” Then he stumbles off to his friends who make fun of him for striking out.

  “Gross,” I mutter under my breath and hurry back home. Everyone has lost their freakin’ minds!

  My plans for the night are fairly simple: sit down and binge watch Stranger Things on Netflix, even though I’ve already seen the whole season. Then curl up with one of my favorite author’s books.

  But I’m only twenty minutes into the first episode when Lauren texts me, wondering if I want to go out tonight.

  Are you kidding, I text back. Hockey is everywhere. It’s madness. Some guy tried to lick my face on my walk today.

  We can find a quiet bar downtown, she texts. I know one where there aren’t any TVs.

  I sigh. Normally I would say no but I’m only twenty-five and if the experience at the dog park has taught me anything it’s that I can’t just stand around and wait for things to happen.