Playing it Safe

My whole life, I've been protecting what matters: my family, the puck, and my team’s reputation. Fake dating Briar Beckett should have been easy. 

The plan was easy—play out my contract, move home to Boston, and take care of my family. The plan did not include Briar. But then, a fake date for the cameras to keep our coaches and the media happy sounded like a win-win. 

No feelings, no complications. 

Except the lines are blurring faster than a breakaway.

Now, I’m cooking her favorite meals and shopping for her sister. Even my cat, Puck—who hates everyone—has betrayed me to cuddle with her. 

Briar built strong walls and would rather fight than let anyone help carry her load. 

But I’m a defender. I’m wired to protect what's precious. And I’m starting to realize the future I planned doesn’t hold a candle to the life I want right here in Pittsburgh.

Why You’ll Fall in Love with Playing It Safe:

Fake dating, forced proximity, and a dual-hockey romance.

A tattooed, protective NHL defender who reads Shakespeare and cooks for his girl.

A fierce, independent women's hockey defender with a heart of gold and walls of steel.

A grumpy cat named Puck who judges everyone (except her).

High-steam, emotional depth, and a swoon-worthy happily ever after!

I'm three seconds away from smacking Spinner with a kettlebell.

"All’s I'm saying," he nags, "is that you could stand to have a little fun." He leans against the dumbbell rack like he just said something profound. “It’s mini-golf, Mayhem. We’ll all be there.”

One flick of the wrist and I could bash out his remaining teeth. But I’d never do that to our team dentist. The paperwork alone…

"Howie already said yes," Spinner continues. “He’s bringing Ella. And maybe she knows some other hot nurses…”

Rookie’s head pops up from the bench where he’s racked the barbell. “Call my sister hot again, Spinner. I dare you.”

Howie, who is dating said sister, growls from the squat cage.

Spinner flicks a hand in the air dismissively and grabs a jump rope. “All women are beautiful, Rookie. As Mayhem would know if he ever got a life.”

Spinner and Rookie are still partying like they’re unsigned college kids rather than pros on the brink of a losing season. The guys are relentless, pressuring me to go trolling for women, talk about women, go home with women. 

"You know what your problem is?" Spinner asks, unfazed by the speed rope. The knucklehead is fit despite his lifestyle.

"You're about to tell me." I set the kettlebell down and dab at the sweat on my brow. I do have a problem—the guys all know it. My game has been off lately. I want to say it could be that my workouts are constantly interrupted by social plans. This fitness interval circuit is brutal because I have to cut out early today. The trainer adjusted my workout to break me down fast.

Spinner winks at me. “You need to get laid. You’re too deep in your own head.” He taps his temple with one finger. "Always reading, always thinking. Shakespeare this. Psychology that. You need to get out of your own skull." He gestures at his crotch.

I grip the weight and meet his eye for the first time since he started in on me today. ”Spinner."

"Yeah?”

"I'm busy."

He blinks. "Doing what?"

"I have an appointment."

Spinner scoffs. Across the weight room, Rookie glances up from the bench, raising his eyebrows. I don't elaborate. I don't owe these guys my personal life. I already revealed too much.

The truth is, I have been in my head, not in a good way. Coach pulled me aside and told me to get my tail into the team psychologist’s office. He is in charge of my livelihood, so I’m listening to him rather than my teammates.

I don’t even want to think about the impact on my family back home if I start riding the bench and my contract isn’t renewed.

I swing the kettlebell eight more times, set it down, and check my watch. I mutter a curse when I see that I am, in fact, going to be late if I don't leave now.

"An appointment," Spinner repeats, like the word tastes strange. "What kind of appointment?"

"The kind that's none of your business." I grab my bag from the bench. I'm almost to the door when I hear him behind me, still talking. 

"Is it a date?" he calls. "It's a date, isn't it?"

I push into the hall without answering as he continues to hypothesize. Why doesn’t he just go home? I booked the last shrink appointment of the day on purpose because I didn’t want people like Spinner chatting me up about it.

I wanted to arrive early, sit alone in the waiting room, gather my thoughts. Instead, I’ve got this turnip tailing me, yapping about meeting up with hotties at the bookstore.

I stop just shy of the entryway to the suite of offices. The team psychologist—Odin Stag—has an office far enough from the workout room that Spinner probably hit his step count for the day stalking me. I turn to face him, arms crossed, and scowl at maximum force. “Spinelli,” I say, hoping his actual last name will snap some sense into him.

“Miller,” he drawls back at me, clapping a meaty hand on my shoulder. 

I close my eyes and try a box breath. In for three, hold for three … fuck it. “If you don’t get the hell out of here, I’m going to date your mother.”

His face twists in shock. He just stands with his mouth hanging open, shaking his head. I step past him into the waiting room, where the faint smell of clean fragrance reaches me–soap or shampoo, feminine. My body clenches when I see an athletic woman standing there. She’s wearing an Uprising polo — the pro women’s team. She’s mid-stride, leaving Odin’s office, fussing with her phone.

It’s Briar “BB” Beckett, star forward and Olympic gold medalist. She is gorgeous. 

She looks up from her phone to find me staring, her red lips forming a confused little O.

“Sorry,” I tell her. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone here.”

“Mm,” she nods. “I usually try to get the last appointment, but someone beat me to it this week.”

I point to my chest. “Guilty.” God, this woman is everything. She’s tall and muscular, wearing black sweats that hug her muscular backside. Her dark hair is pulled back, damp from what I assume was a post-workout shower. 

Briar shrugs. “Guess I’ll have extra time to eat samples at Costco.” She slides her phone into the pocket of her sweats, and my gaze lingers a beat longer than is polite. 

The Fury and the Uprising share space, some staff, and a few publicity events. Now, looking at Briar up close, I wonder why we don’t spend more time together.

I am seconds away from admitting that maybe my friends are right, that maybe putting myself out there wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I lean against the wall, open my mouth to say something clever, and nearly jump out of my skin when Spinner stomps into the room, growling.

“Mayhem, I just think that was really out of line. I would never–oh.” He looks between Briar and me, and his face morphs into infantile joy. Like he just found money in last winter’s coat pocket. "You could have just said." He spreads his hands with great generosity. "I get it. You're not going out because you're already — I mean, are you two —" Spinner must be rubbing his two brain cells together and making a decision. "Wait. Are you here together? Like, officially?” 

Briar’s eyes cut sideways to mine, sharp, confused.

I open my mouth, but Spinner is still talking, something about how he knew it, he called it, and Howie owes him twenty dollars. Briar purses her lips, her eyebrows furrowed in either confusion or outrage.

“Secret relationship with the women’s forward,” Spinner yammers on, so pleased with himself. He threatens to post something on social media, and suddenly years of outings, well-meaning nudges, and pressure from every man on the Fury roster erupt into a wave of impulsive pettiness.

“You’re right,” I say.

Spinner stops talking.

I reach an arm behind me, snaking it around Briar’s waist, feeling the firm warmth of her body. “BB and I are here to report our relationship to HR.”

The woman under my arm shivers, looking up at me with sparks flying from her brown eyes. Her voice is shaky and quiet as she steps back, gapes up at me, and says, "Excuse me?"