He threw up his hands in surrender and mustered one of his trademark lady-killer smiles—the one that showed off his dimples. “Wasn’t me, sweetheart.” Making a show of dipping his eyes to her cute tush, he added, “But I wish it had been.”
“Ha!” she shot back. “Funny man.”
“Just wanted to get you to smile, sweetheart—although I totally meant the part about your very fine, uh, asset.” She glared, and he shrugged. “Obviously, my attempt at humor is an epic fail.”
“Obviously,” she said dryly.
He kept the fake smile plastered on his face and let his mouth gallop away from him. “What have you got against someone trying to coax a smile from you? I’ll bet it’s pretty.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Charmers are smarmers. You’re all alike.”
Brushing off her barb, he slid a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and placed it on her tray. “I can see you’re busy, but when you have a minute, I’d love a rum and Coke.” He’d found that coating everything with honey—no matter how thick—usually got him what he wanted, so he used charm liberally on a regular basis, even if at times he turned his own stomach.
He grabbed one of the pints. “And in the meantime, may I?” Without waiting for an answer, he took a sip of the beer that wasn’t his and sent her a wink. “Not all alike, sweetheart.”
Though she gave him the expected eye-roll, one side of her mouth curved up and a telltale blush colored her cheeks. This always baffled him. Was it the money, the bullshit, or the fact he was a pro athlete? Lovers, past and present, said it was the hair, while others fawned over the bod. He wasn’t sure. He was never sure. And sadly, none had ever mentioned his articulation prowess or juggling acumen, two skills he himself was immensely proud of.
Still, there was a tiny triumph in the waitress’s softened expression, and he’d take what he could get. Not that getting a woman to smile—and then some—was a challenge anymore, not since he’d been playing at an elite level. And since he’d signed the big contract? Like shooting fish in a barrel. These days, he just opened his mouth and let the words fly without a second thought. He was an automaton, like a parking lot entry machine that expelled identical ticket after identical ticket. Here’s your ticket. Place it on your dash and have a nice day. And it got him the same response every damn time. No matter how ridiculous his spiel sounded, some sweet thing was always willing—sometimes without him having to reel out a line.
While he had a healthy ego, he wasn’t stupid enough to believe they wanted him. They wanted to screw him to say they’d screwed a hockey player. He got that. And that was okay by him because he was only after guilt-free sex. An even bargain where no one got hurt. And over the years, he’d taken advantage plenty and had enjoyed the hell out of himself. Lately, though, the luster had come off—or was it in need of a good buffing to bring it back? Whether he was in a funk caused by his mother or just downright bored, he didn’t know. And right now he didn’t give a flying fuck.
“Hey, Hads.”
Quinn glanced toward the voice, pleasantly surprised to see his favorite teammate, Gage Nelson. One of his favorite people, actually. Nelson rarely joined them socially, especially now that he was with his girlfriend, Lily, and had taken on the role of dad to Lily’s little girl. The guy had better things to do than hang out with this bunch of dumbasses, as he often reminded them. But Nelson wasn’t alone, and the woman with him wasn’t Lily.
Quinn hid his surprise and held up his pilfered beer in greeting. “What inspired you to slum with the boys today, Nelsy?”
“Lily took Daisy to the dentist a few blocks over, so I thought we’d grab some brewskis with the boys and hang for a bit while we kill time.” He tilted his head toward the woman. “I think you’ve met my sister, Sarah, before?”
Quinn’s inner light bulb blinked on. “Oh, hey! The engineer from Seattle, right?” He’d met her a year ago at a team dinner, and they’d started talking as soon as they discovered they had engineering in common. But a warning glance from Nelson that night had made Quinn back the hell away—not that he’d considered tapping Nelson’s sister. Not only was she so not his type, but he would never pull that bullshit on a teammate. Sisters, significant others, mothers, aunts, grandmothers, and women who belonged to someone else were strictly off-limits.
Even so, his inner rate-o-meter went to work, quickly taking in Sarah Nelson. Short, hot pink hair framed a heart-shaped face. Medium height—about a half foot shorter than he—with a lean, athletic build in jeans and a body-hugging long-sleeved T-shirt that read, “My Eyes Are Up Here” with an arrow pointing north. His eyes immediately jumped back to hers—she didn’t seem to have noticed they’d wandered to her chest, thank God—and caught on a tiny twinkle on her nostril. Other than the nose jewelry, she was without any other adornment, including makeup. The fresh-scrubbed look suited her. Wide, intense eyes now studied him over the rim of her pint glass, though he couldn’t make out their color in the dimness.
She lowered her glass and gave him a half-smile. “Good memory.”
“How did you know she’s an engineer?” Nelson asked.
“Because I’m one too, and that’s what got us talking. Right, Little Sis?” He turned on a high-wattage smile. Though Sarah’s face was blank, his imagination had him seeing a hint of disgust flit through her eyes, which threw him for an instant.
Nelson’s eyebrows hugged his hairline. “You’re an engineer? No way.”
Quinn laughed. “Way. I got my degree from DU before I went pro.”
“DU? As in University
