He Has MVP: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Boston Brawlers Hockey Romance) Read online

  He Has MVP

  An Enemies to Lovers Romance

  Stephanie Queen

  Contents

  Acknowledgment

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Stephanie Queen

  Acknowledgment

  Thank you to Lisa Vasas for naming the character Aiden Liam Cavanaugh, defenseman for the Boston Brawlers. Aiden is “fiery,” Liam is “protector,” and isn’t that what you want in a hockey player?

  A fiery protector of your team—a pirate defenseman.

  Prologue

  Allie “Pink” Pinkerton

  I get it, the whole bride thing. Chelsea and Ryan’s wedding weekend was out-of-orbit romantic and fun. Even if it was my third time playing bridesmaid this year at a sorority sister’s wedding. But I don’t see myself in the white dress anytime this decade. I’m only twenty-five, for the love of wine and chocolate.

  Besides, my life is short on Prince Charmings, which is a major requirement for walking down the aisle. More importantly, my career is stoked and shooting for the moon right now. It’s hotter than the wedding couple I’m sitting with—which is pretty damn hot.

  No way can I concentrate on anything but my fledgling business right now. No time- and energy-sucking romantic relationships for me. I barely got away for this wedding weekend on Nantucket and only because I brought work with me.

  Romance is not a priority. I’m more serious about my career than I am about any man I’ve met so far—and I don’t see that changing. Not anytime soon.

  Why should it? I have flannel PJs to keep me warm at night and a vibrator to get me hot. Who needs a man, right?

  I’ve dated casually in the past, but the effort wasn’t worth the trouble and one-night stands aren’t my thing.

  So maybe my sex life is a little off.

  Small price to pay to become one of the top five women to watch according to Boston Business Magazine, in the running for entrepreneur of the year with my new company. My parents are proud and my older sister and brother who are into cybersecurity start-ups are almost impressed.

  One shiny gold star for Pink.

  Now if I can just keep that rebel streak in me suppressed, I’ll make it to millionaire status before my next birthday, number twenty-six, and there’ll be no looking back. Not my father nor either of my siblings made it to a million before twenty-seven.

  The race is on.

  Even Mom agrees that when opportunity not only knocks, it grabs you by the hand and yanks you forward with gusto, you have to go with it.

  So I’m running with it like a frenzied Usain Bolt in girl accountant’s clothing. End of story. Period. I mean it.

  I don’t miss parties at all.

  Or I didn’t until this weekend because I swear I forgot how irresistibly fun it could be to drink and dance like a maniac, letting loose among my best friends.

  And now I’m paying the piper with a distracting headache the day after. I’m more than a little irritable as I sit at the crowded table with the bridal party at Cru while we wait for the ferry to take us from Nantucket back to real life in Boston.

  Chapter 1

  Aiden

  Cru is a fucking loud bar for a quiet island like Nantucket. I’m waiting here with most of the bridal party for the ferry back to the mainland—Hyannis on Cape Cod. Rather than try to talk, I doodle on my standard-issue Cru napkin. My drawing of a suspension bridge isn’t half bad, but I doubt anyone would build a suspension bridge to span a river this narrow. I need to scale it up, but my fucking team captain and his new bride are distracting as hell. They discuss in high volume what to do with their dogs next weekend when they’re gone. It’s not my problem—or it wouldn’t be if they weren’t so loud about it. So I feel justified in butting in. It’s either that or move to a different table.

  “If you two shut the fuck up and stop the bickering, I’ll dog-sit for you,” I say without looking up from my napkin.

  Ryan gives me the finger. I see the offending digit in my peripheral vision. He warns me, “Don’t say that twice—”

  “You’re on,” Chelsea interrupts. She grabs my hand—the one with the pen in it—and shakes it. “It’s a deal. Be here on Friday by ten.”

  “No fucking way,” Ryan says, kicking me under the table. “This guy knows nothing about dogs.”

  “How hard could it be?” I ask, mildly insulted. “You feed ‘em, water ‘em, and walk ‘em. Job done.” I don’t bother with any real reassurance. I happened to grow up with dogs, but what the hell. Let’s see how desperate they are.

  “You idiot,” Pink—Allie Pinkerton—mutters from her seat beside me. I don’t think she meant me to hear her, or at least I hope not because she doesn’t generally insult people. Allie is serious as fuck and hotter than that in a blonde, ice-princess way. But she’s a nice girl. Off-limits to a not-so-nice guy like me. So I’m told.

  “What’s that?” I ask, looking at her as she scrolls her phone.

  She shakes her head. “Never mind. You don’t know anything about dogs. Or anything.”

  “What the—?” I’m about to take issue with the or anything crack, but Chelsea grabs my pen and napkin.

  “I’ll write down instructions, Aiden. You’ll be fine.”

  “Hey, not on my bridge.” I reach to take the napkin back from her.

  Ryan snorts, snatching the napkin from Chelsea before I can. “Dude takes his bridge doodles seriously.” He waves it around, then examines it, nodding. “Why don’t you draw hockey sticks or something, like a real hockey player?”

  Chelsea jumps in before I can respond to the legit star of the NHL who I love trading insults with almost as much as winning games.

  “I’ll send you a text with instructions,” she says, smiling. She throws her arms around me. “Thank you for stepping up.”

  “I’m glad to. It’ll be fun coming back to Nantucket for another weekend. Me and the pups will have a last hurrah party before the season starts.”

  Pink slams her phone onto the table and we all look at her. She blushes and I’m thinking maybe this is why she got her nickname, not because her last name is Pinkerton. Fuck that. The blush is perfect and lights up my dick.

  “Sorry. It’s just a headache. I’m not used to partying.”

  “You’re working too hard, Pink,” Chelsea says. “You should get away more often.”

  Pink waves a hand. “You kidding? I’m fine. Having a ball being an entrepreneur. Nothing’s more fun than walking into my office suite with my company name on the door.”

  “Cha-cha-cha,” I say, unimpressed with the fun meter of an office suite. I don’t care who the fuck’s name is on the door. “Does your office door say Pink on it?” I don’t mind needling her.

  “My company name is AP Accounting.” She glares at me. Then she turns to Chelsea. “I can’t believe you’re letting this guy take care of your dogs. He needs more than a text to help him.”

  “Maybe you’re right, Pink,” Ryan says. “I think he needs you to help him.”

  Chelsea says, “That’s right—you grew up with dogs. You’d be perfect. The both of you. Three puppies would be hard for one person to handle alone for a three-day
weekend.” She’s earnest as shit and so I decide to go along. Why not? Pink can be fun. Or she used to be fun before she started her own business, back when she used to come out with us after games last season.

  “Sounds like a great plan to me,” I say. “A last hurrah with Pink and the pups.”

  Pink shakes her head with more violence than necessary to get her point across. So I take it to mean she’s on the fence. It’s human nature to overcompensate. I nudge her with my elbow.

  “Come on—what are you afraid of? Me?”

  She gives me a look that should insult me down to my sneakers, but I grin because it’s another overreaction and that’s encouraging. She must like me deep down, but she’s repressing it in the name of serious business.

  “It would mean a lot to us, Pink,” Chelsea goes in for the kill. She gives me a look like we’re coconspirators in some game. Not sure what the game is except to get Pink to ease up a little. Seems like more than that, though. But whatever.

  “Are you serious? I have so much work.”

  “Bring it with you.” I nudge her again with my elbow. She’s a small thing and moves easily. “They have Internet and running water here on the island,” I say, enjoying my role as instigator more than usual. She glares again and the look makes me giddy, like I’m winning the game. Still not sure what game it is, but it’s fucking fun.

  “You’re incorrigible,” she says. Predictably. She scowls at Chelsea and Ryan. Ryan doesn’t give a shit, but Chelsea looks apologetic and reaches past me to hold Pink’s hand.

  “Allie, seriously. You need to take it easy. I know you love the puppies and even though Aiden’s heart’s in the right place, he really could use the help.”

  “You can hire someone.”

  Ryan says, “No fucking way. I’m not sending my pups to a kennel. They don’t like strangers.”

  “I can’t believe you. What are you going to do when you have children?” Pink says, frustration showing because she’s realizing she’s losing this game.

  “She has a point,” I say because it’s true. Plus I like making Ryan nervous about fatherhood. “With that attitude, you’ll never go anywhere again once you have kids.”

  Chelsea pinches my arm. Pink slides her phone from the table and gives me a wary look like she’s wondering whose side I’m on. To clarify, I capitulate.

  “It’s settled then, I don’t dog-sit unless Pink is in. I don’t want to take responsibility for your precious spoiled pets by myself.”

  Pink kicks me under the table. Or I assume it’s Pink. I hope it’s Pink.

  “Oh my God, you’re all terrible. All right. Damn you, I’ll do it.”

  “Hot dog,” I say. She gives me a look like I’ve sprouted hot dogs from my head.

  “Are you for real?” She turns to Ryan and says, “You’re sending me to watch your dogs and your friend. I’ll be the only adult there.”

  He laughs. I give him the finger. Chelsea pats my arm in consolation. She’s the only one who gets me.

  But on the bright side, I’ll have all next weekend to win Allie Pink over, to convert her to an Aiden the Conqueror fan.

  Chapter 2

  Pink

  It’s noon already. I was supposed to be here two hours ago, but that was unrealistic and even though I hate being late, I did warn Chelsea. I’m hoping she brings Ryan with her to pick me up. My stack of bags sitting at the curb would be a lot for us to wrestle into the car. I told her I’d be waiting at the front entrance of the Nantucket airport .

  This weekend will be all work interrupted by dog walks and dog feeding. I’m not even sure I’ll come out of my room to eat dinner with Aiden. The big lug sent me texts all week like he had nothing else to do but harass a girl.

  Apparently the season starts next week and this is his last free weekend for the duration. The guy is excitable like an eight-year-old boy. Except he looks nothing like an eight-year-old. He’s all man-muscle, edgy stubble and longish wavy hair with those deep blue soulful eyes and thick lashes wasted on such an oaf.

  I can’t believe I even think he’s attractive—albeit only on an objective basis. He’s so not my type. I’m into suit-and-tie guys. Though Aiden did look hot in his tux at the wedding last weekend, he didn’t manage to carry off the sophistication. He’s too class-clown, too not-serious. About anything. Certainly not dog-sitting. He raised his hand for this job without a second thought, without considering what’s involved.

  Where the heck is Chelsea? I’m standing in my heels and pencil skirt, my suit jacket over my arm and new Gucci bag slung over my shoulder. I know it’s been at least twenty minutes because that’s the limit of how long I can stand comfortably in these shoes. I’m about to pull out my phone to call Chelsea, when a car races around the curve of the arrival driveway and stops short with a beep.

  It’s Chelsea’s car—a Land Rover with a mesh screen across the back seat and three puppies that look like a cross between wolf and sheep. In truth, they’re adorable rescue mutts. My eyes settle on the driver and I’m not surprised. It’s not Chelsea driving. Not even Ryan.

  It’s Aiden Liam Cavanaugh. Or Aiden the Conqueror, one of the suggested nicknames that he mentioned in one of his many text messages. He jumps out of the car and my gut slams as I’m treated to a massive man chest replete with rippling muscles under an extremely tight T-shirt, as if he’s wearing his kid brother’s clothes by mistake. The dogs bark and he bangs on the roof as he comes around the back. To my surprise the dogs shut up. And here he is, standing in front of me with that shit-eating grin and distracting deep blue eyes.

  “What happened to Chelsea and Ryan?” I swallow a gulp as he gives me a Big Bad Wolf stare. But it’s not as if I haven’t seen that before—mostly he’s aimed it at other women, like puck bunnies, when we went out after games last season.

  “They had to leave. It’s just you and me, kid. And three crazy puppies. They’re great, though.”

  He eyes my pile of luggage and raises his eyebrows up under his shaggy hairline.

  “You get we’re only staying the weekend, right?”

  “Ha, ha. You get that I brought my work with me, right?” The incorrigible man smirks as if I’ve challenged him to a duel or slapped him with a white glove or waved a red cape. Take your pick. He responds elementally, like a pirate, all high-seas adventure boldness. Not a serious or cautious bone in his body. Like a man who plays hockey for a living.

  “We’ll see about that,” he says. “As I recall, you were supposed to back off from work. Something about burnout.” He opens the back door and proceeds to toss everything inside. I grab my laptop before he can do any damage. Meanwhile I notice those rippling muscles again and I can’t help an internal sigh.

  It’s been way too long. But I’ve brought my favorite vibrator along. I call him Bixby. I have no idea why. But he works wonders, so I have nothing to worry about. Aiden opens the passenger door for me and, as I pass by him, I get a whiff of his all-male scent and it hits me like a whirlwind. I’m almost dizzy as I get inside. Maybe I’ll change Bixby’s name to The Conqueror before the weekend’s out.

  When we get to the house, Aiden takes all my bags, except the laptop I’m carrying, without being asked and I follow him from the garage into the familiar kitchen. I’ve been to Ryan and Chelsea’s Nantucket cottage on the sea a few times. It’s small with only five rooms. But the kitchen and living areas are open and spacious, yet still cozy and livable with pine paneling, high beams, a stone fireplace taking up one wall, and glass taking up the wall facing the ocean.

  With Aiden instigating them, the pups jump and frolic their way to their feeding station in the kitchen.

  “You can’t have a meal yet, but how about a snack?” He talks to them like he’s expecting an answer, wrestling and playing and petting each of them. They’re all grinning like kids at an amusement park.

  “Are you allowed to give them snacks?” I have to ask because I know puppies need their meals scheduled to set expectations. “And don’t t
hey need their worm meds?”

  I join him and the puppies, bending to pet the smallest of the three, Curly. She’s the girl, but she holds her own with her brothers and I feel a natural affinity with her.

  Picking her up, I laugh when she licks my face. “You can come with me and keep me company while I work. You’re so adorable. I can’t believe Chelsea named you after a Stooge.”

  “One of the three all-time best comic actors, you mean.” Aiden stands, towering over me. I stand too, but he’s close to a foot taller than I am even in my heels. I throw my shoulders back and put my free hand on my hip, spread my legs, and take the Wonder Woman power stance.

  It doesn’t help. He rakes me with his eyes and lets his dimples loose and his teeth flash.

  “You going for a toothpaste commercial?” I scowl. Curly squirms in my arms, so I return my attention to her.

  “I’m done with commercial shoots until the end of the season.”

  I roll my eyes. “It wasn’t a serious question—never mind.” I turn to take the puppy with me to the master bedroom where there’s a desk with a nice view. Chelsea insisted I make myself at home there.

  “Where you going?”

  “I have work to do.”

  “Now? What about lunch? I’m grilling burgers. We’ll save the steak for dinner.”

  I shake my head. “Unlike you, I don’t need to eat six pounds of meat a day to keep up my strength. I’ll survive. Meanwhile, if I want my new business to survive, I need to get to work.”

  “You work every day?”