Faceoff, p.1
Faceoff, page 1
Faceoff
A Seattle Sockeyes Novel
Jami Davenport
The Scoring Series #5
Contents
Prologue
1. Bail Money
2. T-Bone Steaks
3. New Boyfriend
4. The Great Deception
5. Dude the Cat
6. Life-and-Death Precision
7. In Character
8. Lightning Bolts
9. Pinging Phone
10. Only Dude for Comfort
11. Just WAGs
12. Eviscerated
13. Man Up
14. Phone Sex
15. When You’re Good…
16. The Fam
17. Going to Heaven with No Regrets
18. Viva Las Vegas
19. A Puck to the Gut
20. Touché
21. Alfred the Voyeur
22. Behaving Like Children
23. Where’s Sutton?
24. Winning it All
25. A Trap Closing
26. Redesigns
27. I Am Not in Love
28. Worried Sick
29. Spooked
30. Epiphany
31. The Real Deal
32. She Divorced Me
Epilogue
Complete Booklist
About the Author
Copyright © 2021 by Cedrona Enterprises
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Jami Davenport. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Cover by Kim Killion of The Killion Group.
Image by Wander Aguiar
The Seattle Sockeyes®, Seattle Steelheads®, and Seattle Skookums™ are fictional sports teams. Game On in Seattle™ is a series of sports romance novels The names and logos are created for the sole use of the owner and covered under protection of trademark.
Jami Davenport®, Seattle Sockeyes®, and Seattle Steelheads® are registered trademarks with the United States Patent and Trademark Office.
This book is a work of fiction. While references might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning
This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-age readers.
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Blurb
She's every man's girl next door. I'm the playboy your mother warns you about.
I'm the party-boy extraordinaire and perpetual playboy of the Seattle Sockeyes. I thought this was the dream life, but after multiple poor choices, it's all gone too far and I'm about to lose everything. My reputation has been shot to hell, I'm on thin ice with the team, and I'm financially broke AF. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I'm about to agree to the last thing an irresponsible dude like me should ever do.
Darcy is the sweetheart of reality TV and every guy's girl-next-door fantasy, but her luster is fading, her show is on the chopping block, and she's now living in my condo. Did I forget to mention she's also my fake girlfriend and soon-to-be fake fiancé? And not a fake girlfriend with benefits, but the hands-off, leave-me-alone except when the cameras are rolling girlfriend.
I crave attention and notoriety. She craves stability and love. We both have our secrets...and chemistry. We have a lot of chemistry. Together we're explosive, but explosions have a way of hurting those closest to the blast. And this celebrity match made in heaven is about to detonate.
Prologue
~~Darcy~~
I hated being called into my producer’s office. It brought back not-so-fond memories of sitting in my social worker’s office. The woman was harried and overworked, but she did the best she could as I was moved from foster home to foster home through no fault of my own.
“Sit down, Darcy.” Sondra Greenburg eyed me over the rims of her reading glasses. She frowned, which meant nothing. She was perpetually pissed about something. Nothing on the set of the reality show met her high standards, including me.
I sat down and primly clasped my hands in my lap, waiting for the bad news, and it was always bad news.
“You’re aware the ratings for Designs on You tanked last year after an incredible first year. Everyone loves the underdog, but after a while, even being the underdog becomes boring without a little spice to create interest.”
My heart sank to the tips of my in-need-of-a-pedicure toes. This show was my livelihood, my bread and butter, the only thing I appeared to be good at after a round of failed career and personal choices.
“But”—I searched my muddled brain for the right words—“I’m doing everything I can.”
“That first year we rode on the coattails of your popularity on Looking for Love. Everyone was rooting for you. Last year, those coattails didn’t exist.”
I’d been working at an LA design firm as an intern when I’d been invited to be on Looking for Love, one of those shows where a single guy meets a dozen single women, dates them in exotic locations, and in a ridiculously short amount of time, proposes to one. The first time around, I’d been the runner-up, while the bachelor picked the mean girl, much to the audience’s dismay. I’d been invited back, fallen for the guy, and was certain he felt the same way. Once again, I was left with a broken heart and no guy. By then, I’d amassed a cult following. Sondra, the assistant producer, proposed the idea for my new show.
“I don’t know what to do.” I was in over my head. I’d never planned on being a reality star. My first love was interior design. This show was to allow me to do both, but nothing ever works out like it should. At least not in my life.
“Lucky for you, I do.” Sondra sat back in her chair, removed her glasses, and folded them. She studied me for several seconds. “The show has grown stale and boring. Viewers want drama, not all sweetness and nice.”
“But I’m not a drama-prone person.”
“That’s not your thing. Nor do I want it to be. I need to create more drama around you. I’ve failed to do that. I relied on the conflict coming from competition with other designers for jobs and didn’t focus enough on the personal aspect of the show.” Her eyes glinted with determination, and I held my breath, fearing what might come next.
“We’re a design show,” I reminded her. I’d resisted her efforts to make this show more about me and less about design.
“There are tons of home improvement shows that focus on improvement over personal dynamics. We’re shifting focus. Viewers don’t care about your designs. They care about you.”
That stung, but I kept a stiff upper lip and never let her see how much her words hurt. Most of the designs weren’t even mine. They were done by various designers in the area and presented as mine with their permission, one fact about the show that I hated. Sondra had never trusted me enough to allow me to do the designs after what she considered my first few failed attempts. Talk about a blow to the ego.
“I want the show to focus on my designs. I was going to talk with you about that. I want to do all the designing from now on.”
Sondra shook her head as if confronting a clueless child. “That’s not where we need to focus. I’ve spoken with the network. They’re not renewing for another season unless something changes.”
“Oh, no.” I held my hands up to my mouth to stop the sob from escaping my throat. This could not happen. I didn’t have a backup plan, nowhere to go, nothing to do.
Sondra’s smile turned calculating as she sized me up. The woman was ruthless and ambitious. I was no match for her. “There is a chance.”
“What kind of chance?” I sat forward, my despair creeping toward tentative hope.
“I had a brilliant idea, and the network agreed to renew for another six episodes as long as you’re willing.”
“What is it?” I asked warily.
“You need a hot, bad-boy boyfriend to amp up the drama.”
“I don’t have a hot, bad-boy boyfriend.”
“Ah, but you will. My dad’s a sports agent, and we have a plan. The majority of his clients are hot bad boys. You’ll have a boyfriend, and if things go as planned, we’ll do a fake engagement. Leave the details to us.”
“Engagement?” I was horrified.
“Don’t look so shocked. It’s all fake. Just for this season.”
“I don’t know if I can fake something like that. What about being in love?”
“Seriously, after all you’ve been through, you have to ask me that? Honey, my advice to you is don’t fall for this one.”
“I’m not good at keeping my emotions out of these situations.” Case in point, both dating shows where I fell for the guy, and he didn’t fall for me. I doubted my fragile heart would be able to handle one more such rejection.
“You have two choices, find a new source of income or accept my terms to keep the show on the air. Which will it be?”
“I’ll do it.” I uttered the words that sealed my fate for the next several months.
Chapter One
Bail Money
~~Gage~~
My days with the Seattle Sockeyes were numbered, even though those numbers were within my personal sphere of control. But so far, I didn’t have the discipline needed to exert control over my bad behavior.
Even worse, my floundering career was the least of my problems.
Hockey was usually my number-one priority, but not lately and definitely not today.
My phone had been blowing up with texts and messages from various relatives for the past few days, each one more demanding and desperate for another handout from yours truly. My kitchen counter was littered with bills, and the landlord was ready to evict my ass. My money woes hadn’t stopped me from celebrating New Year’s Eve with an epic night of partying, leaving my head pounding and my stomach queasy.
As I pulled my ancient Honda into the deserted parking lot across from my agent’s office, my phone rang. I looked at the display and sighed. My mother. Again. If I didn’t answer, the grief and guilt trips would be unbearable. Best to get it over with and take my licks like a man.
“Hi, Mom,” I answered with forced cheerfulness, as if my world weren’t imploding exponentially as every minute passed.
“Gage, I’ve been worried sick about you. I didn’t know if you’d gotten in a car wreck or were lying drunk and bleeding in a ditch somewhere.”
“Thanks, Mom, for the vote of confidence.”
“Like you’ve given me any reason to think otherwise?” Leave it to my mom to stab the knife in deeply and swiftly.
I didn’t respond, because she was right. “I have a meeting. Can we make this quick?”
“My house is being foreclosed on. I thought you were going to take care of it? Where am I supposed to live? You know I can’t work. I’m disabled, and I’m too old to stand on my feet all day.”
“You’re not even fifty,” I pointed out.
“It’s not the age, it’s the miles. Paying for hockey all these years wasn’t easy. I had to work three jobs, and your dad never helped.”
“I know, Mom. I know. I appreciate all you’ve done for me. I’ll take care of the house. I promise.”
“Where will your nana go if she gets booted from the retirement home? What about your sister’s business and your cousin’s bail money and—”
“Gotta go, Mom. Later.” I hung up the phone before she had a chance to continue her favorite form of entertainment, guilting me into doing stuff I shouldn’t do and could no longer afford.
I was late for the meeting as usual, so I scrambled to the front door of the building. It was unlocked, and I hurried down the familiar corridor and into an office at the end of the hall.
Al Greenburg, my high-energy, no-bullshit agent, motioned for me to take a seat. My nerdy finance guy, George Glenn, barely acknowledged me.
I rubbed my temples, but nothing soothed the jackhammer hard at work inside my skull. With a resigned sigh, I squinted at the two of them, wondering what torture they had in mind for me this time. I blinked my scratchy eyes, but my vision was still blurred from no sleep for the past twenty-four hours. Or was that forty-eight hours?
Who the fuck in their right mind worked on New Year’s Day, especially calling a nine a.m. meeting?
“What’s so important this couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning?” I groused, cranky as hell and unable to summon my trademark life-of-the-party persona.
“Hear Al out.” George didn’t appear to be in much better shape than me.
On the other hand, Al, known for his boundless energy, cackled like the evil bastard he was, thoroughly enjoying our displeasure. “It’s not like you’re clueless regarding your financial situation. The money well has dried up. Your shenanigans make it impossible to secure any lucrative endorsements, and you burn through your salary like there’s no tomorrow.”
I looked away sheepishly, embarrassed to be in this situation considering the amount of money I made. My mom was about to lose her big house. My grandma wouldn’t be able to stay in her swanky retirement home. My brother’s restaurant wasn’t able to make payroll. The manufacturer of my sister’s candle line refused to produce any more product until she paid her bill, or I did. A few months ago, my expensive sports car had been repossessed. All this was just the tip of my financial iceberg.
I looked to George for support, but I wasn’t getting any from him.
“You’re in dire straits, boy. Not to mention, your relatives aren’t happy with this turn of events. They’ve been calling me every ten minutes.” As if on cue, George’s phone vibrated, and he held it up so we could read the display. My sister was calling him.
“I’m sorry, I’m working on a plan to get everything straightened out.” I’d been saying this for months, and they knew it. I wasn’t good at facing problems head on; I was more of an ostrich.
“No, you’re not,” said George, decidedly irritated and justifiably so. “I’ve been hounding you for months, and you’ve done nothing. You can’t have more money going out than you’re taking in. Eventually, your house of cards collapses regardless of what you make.”
“Do we really have to discuss this today? Would one more day make that much of a difference?” I rubbed my temples again. My head was pounding. Al pushed a cup of black coffee across the table to me. I gratefully took a long gulp of the crap Al called coffee. I suspected it came out of a gallon tin can and was made of tar and rancid water.
“According to your mooching family, we do.” Al didn’t mince words. I opened my mouth to defend my blood but snapped it shut. He knew me, and he knew them. He’d been my agent since I was a promising first-round draft pick. In fact, he’d been a bit of a father figure to me as I didn’t have a real father in my life.
George grunted and rose to his feet. Al kept a stocked bar in a cabinet by the window, and he helped himself to some whiskey, which he liberally poured into his coffee. I wanted to do the same. Hair of the dog and all that, but the annoyance on Al’s face effectively held me back.
George slouched in his seat and wrapped both hands around his mug, looking like I felt. We’d both rather be home in bed nursing our hangovers.
“I have the perfect solution to your money problems, and it’ll feed that attention-craving ego of yours at the same time.” Al grinned with immense satisfaction, like he’d solved world hunger or found the cure for cancer.
“What?” Skepticism crept into my voice. Al’s solutions often involved shit I didn’t want to do. Like the time he signed me up to attend dance lessons at the senior hall or the commercial for jock itch. I was still living that one down with the guys.
“Your new significant other is a home improvement reality star.”
“Huh?” I sat up straighter and glowered grouchily at Al. I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “I don’t have a significant other.” I had lots of insignificant others in the form of one-night stands and some do-overs. But I didn’t do significant anything unless it was hockey related.
