Gauging the Player: A One-Night-Stand Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romance Book 3)

solely from his last name, and he sure knew how to throw it around. Gage would have to be careful how he played the demand dressed as an invite.
Behind Travis stood a few Blizzard players whose facial expressions told Gage how they felt about being roped into Travis’s reindeer games. Judging by the width of their grins, Wyatt and Hunter were fully on board. Quinn Hadley looked as uncomfortable as Gage felt.
Shit, why didn’t I go to dinner with T.J. and Natalie? Hell, why didn’t I just drive out of the parking lot while I had the chance?
“No choice, Nelson,” Travis barked. “Get your ass out of your car. My limo’s waiting.”
“Besides,” Wyatt piped up. “You owe me after tripping that squid into my net. Nearly took my fucking legs off.”
Gage suppressed an eye-roll. Goalies. With a long-suffering sigh, Gage shut off his engine, locked his car, and trudged after the frat boys.
Lily Everett pulled in a huge breath and swept her gaze clockwise, taking in every expectant face watching her from the circle—except for Brett, who might mistake it as a sign of interest on her part. Brett was grasping at straws, grasping so he could breathe, and her heart ached for him, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—travel down the path he was heading.
“Thank you all for coming tonight. I get how hard this is, and I love that you participate and support each other.” She paused a moment to gently beat her fist against her heart. “I’m always so awed by your courage and your compassion.”
A chorus of thank-yous and we-couldn’t-do-it-without-yous came back at her.
“Lily,” Eva said, “my daughter’s visiting next week, so I won’t be here.”
“Feel free to bring her, Eva. Maybe she’ll benefit from our time together.” The woman nodded and gathered her purse.
“I’ll see the rest of you next week,” Lily announced, “and, as always, if any of you needs to talk, you have my number.” But not you, Brett, she refrained from adding. She’d been dodging him too much lately as it was.
Rustles and murmurs sounded as a half-dozen people stood from their chairs. Lily glanced at her phone, shocked that it was already ten thirty. Tonight’s session had been more gut-wrenching than usual, making her relive some of her worst memories, and she was drained. A hot bath and bed awaited, and she yearned for both. Maybe a glass or three of wine would numb her so she could send her thoughts back to her mind’s dusty storage locker and leave them there.
She cringed inside as Brett approached in her periphery. Fifteen years her senior, he was a recent widower whose only mission seemed to be to find his next wife. Lily understood—sort of. At least, she understood that feeling of loss, that gaping, unfillable void, just as she understood he was trying desperately to fill up the hole in his soul. But his approach—to replace his lost spouse—wasn’t one Lily could relate to.
“Lily, um,” he cleared his throat, “I wondered if you had a few minutes to talk now, maybe grab a cup of coffee?”
Hopeful eyes lit on her, and her heart squeezed. “I’m sorry, Brett. I need to finish up some notes and lock up, then head straight home. Maybe you can call me tomorrow if you still need to talk, or,” she lifted her chin toward the others, “maybe someone else is looking to grab a cup too?”
The look of disappointment on his face made her feel like a class-A heel. He was lonely; he was lost. But they’d talked and talked since he’d started attending months ago, and she just didn’t have it in her tonight. She wasn’t his salvation. Hell, she hadn’t even saved herself yet. Maybe never would. She’d hoped helping others through their own grief would be her catharsis too, but she often felt as though she were sliding backward instead.
Brett hung his head and nodded, then followed the others out the front door. Lily locked it and went into the back to use the restroom. When she came out, she peeped through a window, unnerved to see him standing in the parking lot, his back to her, as though waiting for her.
Well, shit!
She did have notes to write, but she’d planned to do it at home with soft music playing in the background—and that glass of wine.
“Looks like you’re doing it here,” she muttered to herself.
And that change of plans was also unnerving because of the late hour; this was not the greatest neighborhood at night. Limited funding for the volunteer operation being what it was, the small office was plunked beside a strip joint. A high-end strip joint, but nonetheless, patrons got rowdy.
She’d take her chances with the strip joint.
An hour later, she took another look at the parking lot and blew out a sigh of relief when she didn’t see Brett. She shut off the lights, let herself out, and locked up. Surveying her surroundings, she headed toward her car.
A figure made a beeline for her.
Gage crossed the parking lot to the sidewalk, breath steaming the air in front of him. Behind him, garish lights blinked in the dark.
Where the hell was the Lyft driver?
He scanned the cars, his neon-pink-sign radar on high alert. He checked the icon on the real-time map again. The car seemed to be stuck in the same position it had been stuck in six minutes ago.
How did I end up here again? Wrong place, wrong time. All because Travis the Troll wanted to play BMOC and strut in with a contingent of hockey players. Now that he had what he wanted—namely lots of dancers’ attention—Gage could finally escape his intoxicated teammates and Travis.
He double-checked the Lyft’s position. Ah. Only five minutes away now, he thought dryly. What the hell was the hold-up at eleven thirty at night?
“Hey, Admiral!” Quinn hollered behind him.
Gage turned and eyeballed his linemate trotting over to him. “Run out of money for another lap dance?”
Quinn shook his head. “That wasn’t me getting