Scoring big, p.1
Scoring Big, page 1
SCORING BIG
KELLY JAMIESON
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Scoring Big © 2022 by Kelly Jamieson
Cover by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs
Editing by Kristi Yanta
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews
CONTENTS
1. Nate
2. Carly
3. Nate
4. Nate
5. Carly
6. Nate
7. Carly
8. Carly
9. Nate
10. Nate
11. Carly
12. Nate
13. Carly
14. Nate
15. Nate
16. Carly
17. Nate
18. Carly
19. Nate
20. Carly
21. Nate
22. Carly
23. Nate
24. Carly
25. Nate
26. Carly
27. Nate
28. Carly
29. Nate
30. Nate
31. Nate
32. Carly
33. Carly
34. Carly
35. Nate
36. Nate
Author Note
Other Books by Kelly Jamieson
About the Author
1
NATE
“There’s one more thing we can try.”
My ears perk up like a puppy being offered a treat. “I’m up for anything. What is it?”
“PRP Therapy.”
No, I’m not talking to a woman about bedroom activities, sadly.
I look blankly at the doctor.
“Platelet-rich plasma therapy is a new procedure for treating knee injuries. We get a small sample of your blood from your arm, process the blood in a centrifuge, and then inject the concentrated platelets directly into your knee.”
“Jesus.”
“It uses your body’s own healing blood cells, the platelets, to stimulate the natural repair process.”
I purse my lips, nodding. “Okay.”
“We’re using it on a lot of professional athletes,” Dr. Perez says. “I think it’s worth trying before we go to surgery.”
Dr. Perez is a specialist who I’ve been seeing about my knee. It’s been bugging me for months, since last season. During the playoffs it got worse, but I was determined to play as far as we could go. The team doctors weren’t happy about that, but hey, I’m a hockey player; we play with broken bones and fresh stitches.
At the end of last season, they told me rest and rehab might help, so I’ve been doing everything I’m told. I’ve been at the gym faithfully four times a week, doing the exercises they tell me to do, strengthening my quads, avoiding squatting and pivoting, definitely not running. I’ve been swimming a few times a week. I ice my knee when I do too much, rest it, take the anti-inflammatories they tell me to, but I worry about taking them too much.
The bad news is, my meniscus tear isn’t healing.
“Yeah, I’d rather not have surgery.”
“Right. This is minimally invasive, with a faster recovery period than surgery. There’s low risk of infection. That said, it doesn’t work for everyone.”
“Oh.”
He gives me more details including some stats, but he doesn’t have to convince me. It doesn’t sound like there are big risks, only that it might not work. “What’s the recovery time?”
“It takes about two to three weeks before healing.”
“That’s nothing.”
He nods. “You’ll need to restrict yourself to light activities after the injection, then we’ll gradually work back up to exercise. Usually physical therapy along with PRP will have a better result.”
“I can do that. Okay. I’m in. Let’s do it.”
He smiles. “We’ll schedule another appointment for it.”
“I need this fast. I need to be in shape for training camp in September.”
“I think we can squeeze you in next week.”
I don’t even want to wait a few days, but I guess I can if I have to. “Okay. Perfect.”
I zip from the doctor’s office over to my ex-wife’s place in Lincoln Square to pick up my daughter.
Quinn is the best thing in my life. My ex and I have a deal that she keeps Quinn during the season when I’m playing hockey and traveling, and I take her when I’m off for the summer. Right now, we’re sharing custody until school ends.
“Daddy’s here!” Brielle calls to Quinn when I walk into her apartment. “How was the appointment? Good news?”
“No.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She eyes me sympathetically.
We’re on reasonably good terms. When I started playing for the New York Bears, I got caught up in the big city, pro-athlete lifestyle and dating a gorgeous actress made me feel like I’d really made it. She got pregnant and we got married. Then she fell for someone else—a billionaire who finances Broadway shows.
I met the guy a couple of times. He’s everything I’m not—educated, polished, sophisticated. She talked about him all the time, and it bugged me, so when she told me they’d fallen in love I wasn’t completely surprised. It still fucking hurt, though. But we both love Quinn more than anything and that’s enough motivation for us to work together and make sure her life is everything it should be.
“Daddy!” Quinn bounces down the hall from her room. “Can we go to the beach this afternoon?”
“Hmm. It’s kinda late today. How about we go to Central Park on the way home?”
“Can I ride the carousel?”
“Sure.”
“Yay!”
I grin. “Okay. Let’s go, pop tart.”
I smile at Brielle as she bends to hug Quinn.
“See you tomorrow night,” Brielle tells our daughter. “I’m off.”
I nod, remembering the schedule. Brielle has a role in a Broadway play that’s doing really well. Yes, financed by her husband.
I take Quinn’s hand and she skips along beside me as we enter the park. Trees provide green shade from the heat of the sun and it’s so pleasant and peaceful here in this oasis in the middle of the big city, the skyscrapers rising up at the edge of the park a reminder of the world outside the green space.
Quinn attempts to chase a squirrel across the grass, then we ride the carousel not once but twice, followed up by ice cream. My knee is aching and I need a rest so we find a bench to sit on.
There’s a woman sitting on a bench next to us. She has a notebook and pen in her hand, but she’s staring into space. Long golden-brown hair in messy waves is held back by a headband with a pink bow on it, showing off big eyes and high cheekbones. Her lips are full and rosy, a mouth made for kissing and sucking and…well, the rest of her looks incredible too, although her outfit is…interesting. A short flouncy pink skirt shows off a long length of fantastic leg, and a tight black tank top hugs her top curves. Chunky black boots complete the ensemble.
The woman turns and her eyes meet mine as I complete my once over. Jesus. Is she crying?
I frown, resisting the urge to jump up, stride over to her, and demand, who hurt you?
The woman’s gaze lands on Quinn next to me. She takes in Quinn’s red and silver face mask and bright red cape. And she smiles. Wow. That smile illuminates her face even more, lighting up her green eyes, something so attractive about her my breath stalls in my chest.
“Are you done your ice cream?” I ask Quinn.
“Yeah.”
I clean her up with some paper napkins then walk to the trash bin, which means walking past the woman next to us. I drop our garbage into the bin but as I turn back, I forget to not pivot my knee. It locks. I stumble and hit the grass. “Shit!”
Oops. Language.
The woman jumps up. “Are you okay?”
Great. So impressive, sprawled on the ground in front of a beautiful woman. Heat runs up my neck into my face. Even my ears feel hot. “I think so.” I try to gather my composure and get my legs under me to stand.
She extends a hand. Christ. I take it and try to save face. “Do you have a Band-Aid?”
Her eyebrows slope together, her gaze moving over me searching for blood. “Are you hurt?”
“I think I scraped my knee falling for you.”
After a startled beat, she bursts out laughing. I grin sheepishly.
Quinn turns to look back and sees me sitting on the ground holding the woman’s hand. I let her help me up, putting my weight on my good leg, and dust off my jeans as Quinn skips back to us.
“Your beauty must have made my knees weak,” I add to the joke.
“Oh, that’s bad,” she says, but she’s smiling.
“Daddy, what happened?” Quinn asks. “Is it your knee?”
“Yeah. I’m okay.” I meet the woman’s eyes. “Minor injury.”
She gazes at me with concern. “Do you need any help?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Hi,” Quinn says to the woman.
“Hi.” The woman’s gaze softens into an almost wistful expression. I have no idea what that’s about, but the fact tha
“Thanks. I’m Clover. From Harmonia.”
I doubt this woman has a clue what she’s talking about.
“Clover is my favorite,” she replies seriously.
My bad. She does know. Harmonia is a comic book series about girl superheroes that’s become hugely popular and is now turning into a whole universe.
“Me, too! And we went on the carousel. Twice!”
“Did you?” the woman replies. “Lucky you. I love the carousel.”
“Me too. My favorite horse is the white one.”
“Because Clover has a white horse.”
“Yes!” Quinn jumps up and down.
“Hmmm. I don’t have a favorite. It’s been a long time since I was there.”
“You should go,” Quinn says. “Then we got ice cream. Strawberry shortcake.”
“Oooh, I love those. You really are lucky.” She shoots a smile my way. “Now I want ice cream.”
“You can get one right over there.” Quinn points.
Damn. This would be the perfect time to say, I’ll go get you one, but I’m here with my daughter, not trying to pick up chicks.
I love my daughter. But she’s a bit of a cock blocker.
Ugh. Sorry, Quinn.
That sounds like I’m on the prowl, but I’m really not. I mean, not anymore. When the season ended, I went on a sex bender. Actually, I’ve been doing that for years, but this year it didn’t feel right. Maybe I’m getting old, but I want something more than hookups. Something real. And this woman is hot, but doesn’t exactly give off “long term relationship” vibes.
“What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?” Quinn asks the woman.
“Hmm. I do love strawberry. I used to go to a place that had strawberry cheesecake ice cream. It was amazing. I don’t know if they’re still around.”
“I love strawberry, too. That sounds good.”
Great, my daughter has so much in common with this woman. And all I want to do is get rid of her.
Kidding.
I repress a sigh. “We better get home, pop tart. You need dinner before bed.”
“Daaaad. It’s summer.”
“I know. But I also know how you like to stall at bedtime and we need to start early if I want you asleep by midnight.” I send Quinn’s new friend a wry glance.
She smiles back. “A bedtime staller, huh.”
“Daddy says I’m a kickass staller.”
My face heats. “Quinn.” We’ve talked about her language, but I take full responsibility for the extent of her profane vocabulary. I’m working on it.
“I don’t know if that’s something to brag about,” I add, although I do sometimes admire her creativity. “Okay, let’s go.”
Quinn ignores me. “I love your headband.”
“Thanks.” The woman touches the pink bow. “I like bows.”
“It’s really pretty.” Quinn eyes it covetously. “Daddy doesn’t know how to do pretty hairstyles.”
I grimace. It’s true. Styling hair is definitely not one of my strengths.
“A headband is easy peasy,” the woman says. She pulls it off, and motions Quinn closer. She slips the band over Quinn’s head and uses her hand to smooth Quinn’s blond hair back. “See?”
Quinn shoots me a longing glance.
“We can buy you a headband sometime,” I say.
“Keep this one,” the woman says gently. “It looks good on you.”
“Really?” Quinn fingers the bow.
“Sure.” The woman smiles at her.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
She lifts one delicate shoulder. “I know. It’s fine.”
“What do you say, Quinn?”
“Thank you!” She twirls. “Thank you, thank you, forever and ever!”
“Okay, let’s go,” I try again.
“Can you make it home okay?” the woman asks with a glance down at my knee.
I take a few steps. “I think I can.” I hope. “Thanks, though.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
If only I was alone. I’d be milking this for everything I could. The good thing is, I appear to have distracted her from whatever she was sad about.
Quinn takes my hand. “I’ll help you walk, Daddy.”
The woman smiles. “Hold onto him.”
“I will.”
We turn away from her, me limping. Dammit.
By the time we get home, my knee is hurting like a bitch. I’m going to have to ice it after all that walking. I can’t even keep up with a fucking seven-year-old. I’ve had enough of this shit. That niggling worry about my knee is always there in the back of my mind. Because if I can’t play hockey, I don’t have much else going for me. Well, besides Quinn, obviously. She’s the best part of my life.
2
CARLY
That guy is hot.
I watch him limp away with his cute-as-a-button blond daughter, who’s wearing my favorite headband. She’s holding his hand like she’s helping him. So sweet.
Also he has a great ass.
I like how his longish dark hair falls in silky strands around his face, and an attractive stubble shadows his jaw and upper lip. His nose with a bump on it, a small scar on his chin, and fearless brown eyes the color of espresso give him a tough, kind of badass look. His height, inches above six feet, adds to the imposing air, and he has a bold energy. And yet, that contrasts his expression and gentle manner toward his daughter, and he has a quick sense of humor, making fun of himself by turning his fall into a joke. He made me laugh, and that’s a sure way to win me over.
I also like how he bends toward his daughter, letting her “help” him, listening to her chatter, and the love in his smile when he looks at her.
Crap.
One look at a kid and I’m a puddle of hormones.
I sigh and look down from watching him walk away. He has a daughter, although no wedding ring, and I’m definitely not looking for romance or even a hook up.
I’m back in New York, the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps. I should be out clubbing and partying and going to museums and Broadway shows. Instead, I’m sitting here on a park bench all by myself moping and feeling sorry for myself.
I need to find a job. I’m not completely broke, but my meagre savings won’t last long, and I can’t couch surf with my friend Gianna forever. I glance at my phone to check the time and see the email from the Maddens I was reading earlier. A wave of longing swept over me so intense it brought tears to my eyes. I press my fingertips to my mouth as I read it again.
Dear Carly,
We miss you a lot I wish you came with us to Montreal. Our new house is really big and we have a pool. Mom says maybe we can get a dog I want a King Charles Spaniel like the Lacroix family had. Remember Coco? I miss them too. I hope you are doing okay and having fun in New York maybe sometime I can come visit.
Love
Amaris
“I miss you, too, Mare,” I whisper.
She attached a picture of her, her little brother Daniel, and their baby sister Belle in front of their new swimming pool. I study their precious faces.
Amaris was seven when I started working for the Madden family as their au pair. Now she’s almost eleven. There’s a big difference between a seven-year-old and a ten-year-old. And Daniel—he was four and now he’s seven. Baby Belle arrived while I was part of the family and she’s almost walking now. Baby Belle. That’s what I called her.
My arms ache to hold that sweet baby, to hug those little monkeys. I loved those kids like they were my own. Leaving them was like having my heart ripped out. The Madden family was a joy to work for. They’re not perfect; Lois Madden was loud and talked way too much and could be a little overwhelming, but we connected in a way that was special and they told me often how lucky they were to have me.
