On the Line

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Victoria Denault

  Excerpt from Score Copyright © 2016 by Victoria Denault

  Cover photography by Claudio Marinesco. Cover design by Elizabeth Turner. Cover copyright © 2016 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  Forever Yours

  Hachette Book Group

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  First published as an ebook and as a print on demand: December 2016

  Forever Yours is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever Yours name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  ISBNs: 978-1-4555-4126-3 (print on demand edition), 978-1-4555-4127-0 (ebook)

  E3-20161010-DANF

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue: Stephanie

  Chapter 1: Stephanie

  Chapter 2: Stephanie

  Chapter 3: Avery

  Chapter 4: Stephanie

  Chapter 5: Avery

  Chapter 6: Stephanie

  Chapter 7: Avery

  Chapter 8: Stephanie

  Chapter 9: Avery

  Chapter 10: Stephanie

  Chapter 11: Avery

  Chapter 12: Stephanie

  Chapter 13: Avery

  Chapter 14: Stephanie

  Chapter 15: Avery

  Chapter 16: Avery

  Chapter 17: Stephanie

  Chapter 18: Avery

  Chapter 19: Stephanie

  Chapter 20: Avery

  Chapter 21: Stephanie

  Chapter 22: Avery

  Chapter 23: Stephanie

  Chapter 24: Avery

  Chapter 25: Stephanie

  Chapter 26: Avery

  Chapter 27: Stephanie

  Chapter 28: Avery

  Chapter 29: Stephanie

  Chapter 30: Avery

  Chapter 31: Stephanie

  Chapter 32: Avery

  Chapter 33: Stephanie

  Chapter 34: Avery

  Chapter 35: Stephanie

  Chapter 36: Avery

  Chapter 37: Stephanie

  Chapter 38: Avery

  Epilogue: Avery

  About the Author

  A preview of “Score”

  You Might Also Like…

  Newsletters

  For my brother Alan. Thanks for always believing in me. I believe in you too.

  Acknowledgments

  To Jack, Mom, and Dad—thank you for giving me the time, space and support I need to write, even on vacations, which is exactly where I am right now as I write this.

  To my amazing agent, Kimberly Brower. I’ve always wanted to win a lottery and I totally did with you. Thank you for being my trusted navigator on this incredible journey.

  Thank you to my editor, Leah Hultenschmidt, for making a crazy schedule easy to conquer and for your keen eye and witty one-liners. To everyone at Forever, thanks for giving me and my Hometown Players a wonderful home.

  I’m forever grateful to all the fellow authors, the bloggers and Social Butterfly PR, who have been kind and supportive with all my books. Thanks, Crystal from East Coast Mermaid, for sharing my books and your happy, beach-loving spirit with the world. The universe needs more mermaids like you. Major love to Katherine H. and Bev T., who proudly and passionately promote me and my books, and to my college girls Desiree and Jenn D who are always so eager for the next book. It makes my day!

  Prologue

  Stephanie

  Jessie Caplan and Jordan Garrison finally tied the knot. Their wedding was so amazing I didn’t want it to end. The bride was breathtakingly beautiful and her groom looked happier than I had ever seen any man look. Ever.

  It was crazy that the calm, confident, beaming guy who got married tonight was the same train wreck playboy I met years ago when he first started playing hockey in Seattle with my brother, Sebastian. The whole night, from the dusk ceremony to the reception under the stars by the lake, had so much love you could feel it in the air.

  “Explain to me again why I’m on a canoe in the middle of the lake rehashing the wedding that we just attended?” Avery asks.

  I lift my head to level him with a hard stare. “The canoe was your idea,” I remind him, and tip my head back to look up at the starry sky. “Being teamless has turned you into a criminal.”

  He laughs at that. The sound is deep and soothing, but it rocks the rickety canoe we “borrowed” from a dock. I spent a little bit of time with Avery Westwood while we were both in Seattle, and I have never seen him so relaxed. Maybe being a free agent agrees with him.

  When he walked into the pre-wedding cocktail party Friday, it was the first time I’d thought of him since he left Seattle and went back to his hometown of New Brunswick for the summer. After congratulating Jordan and Jessie, he walked right over to me, and he hasn’t really left my side all weekend. It was probably just because we are two of the only single people here, but I was thrilled because he was different from the typical, distant Avery.

  We were walking back to the hotel from the wedding reception, along the edge of the giant lake that sits in the center of Silver Bay, Maine, when Avery spotted the canoe and suggested we take it out. “The stars will be amazing out there and I bet it’s cooler,” he enticed.

  I agreed because I wanted a break from the muggy weather, I wanted to see stars and…I wanted to keep hanging out with Avery. Out of the all Winterhawks players, or hockey players in general, Avery would not be most people’s first choice for a fun date. He doesn’t exactly have a reputation as being someone who knows what fun is. But tonight, I had a blast.

  Even though he was my brother’s teammate, I never felt like I knew that much about him; no one really did. I only knew the basics: he was quiet, hardworking and superstitious. Then one day I’d learned he was also uptight, self-centered and a complete puppet to the whims of his father, who was also his business manager. That revelation came when I found out that one of his closest college friends had developed an addiction to painkillers. Avery’s biggest concern was how it made him look, so he walked out on his friend to make sure his image wasn’t tarnished. That’s when my opinion of Avery turned from indifferent to unfavorable. And unlike everyone else in his life, I wasn’t afraid to tell him. When I confronted him, surprisingly, he didn’t get offended or argue. He agreed he was an ass and then he went out and made things right with his friend, which made me realize he wasn’t all bad.

  He shifts gently in the canoe and it rocks again, jilting me out of my reverie. He’s leaning back against one end of the canoe and I’m against the other. Our feet—mine bare because heels suck, and his in expensive dress shoes covered in sand—are resting next to each other in the center. He reaches up with one arm and points. “See those stars that kind of form a horseshoe? There.”

  I follow the tip of his finger with my eyes. “Yeah.”

  “That’s the Gemini constellation,” he explains.

  “That’s my zodiac sign!”

  He tips his head forward and smiles. “I know. That’s why I’m showing you.”

  He knows my zodiac sign? He laughs at my expression of shock. “You mentioned it on one of our runs.”

  Right. The running. For the last couple months of the hockey season, Avery had jogged in the park near my apartment, where I always worked out. We would cross each other on the running trail and he would always turn around and run with me.

  “I’d point out your constellation, but you barely talked on our runs,” I quip with a teasing smile.

  “I talked. I asked you questions,” he replies.

  “Why is that?”

  He thinks about it for a minute, his left hand hanging over the side of the canoe, skimming the water with his fingertips. “Sometimes it feels like I talk for a living. I liked listening to you. And besides, if you want to know anything about me, you can probably Google it.”

  He’s right. Sort of. But there’s got to be more to him than what he gives away in press interviews. I pretend to dig my phone out of my purse as I say, “Please hold. Googling your astrological sign.”

  “Aries.” He chuckles at me. “Any other questions? Ask away. I’m an open book.”

  “You are this weekend,” I agree, and look back up at the twinkling sky. “It’s a pleasant surprise.” He was being witty, sarcastic and fun. He had opinions—and he was sharing them in candid, honest ways that I’d never seen him do
with anyone else.

  I look at him instead of tilting it back to the stars again. “So you’re definitely not re-signing with Seattle?”

  He’s still looking up at the stars, the moonlight cascading down over his perfect skin, making his slight summer tan look more golden. His dark hair glints and his damn lashes are so thick and dark I can see them flutter from across the canoe even in this low light. In his dark summer suit he looks like model in a Ralph Lauren ad right now.

  “In forty-eight hours I’ll be a free agent. I’ll be open to any team, anywhere,” he explains, and there’s not even a drop of excitement in his tone.

  “And where does Avery Free Agent Westwood want to go?” I ask as I realize how much I’m going to dread running now.

  “Los Angeles or Manhattan,” he answers, again with no joy or excitement

  “Shouldn’t someone be excited about such a big life change, especially when he is the one choosing it?” I blurt out bluntly as the cool breeze picks up a little. It feels good so I close my eyes, lift my hair and let it wrap around my bare shoulders and neck.

  “It’s not a personal choice. It’s a business decision,” I hear him answer. “There’s no point having feelings about it.”

  I open my eyes and give him a bit of a glare.

  “What?” he asks.

  “That was the first typical Avery answer you’ve given to me this entire weekend,” I explain. “I don’t like it.”

  “Okay.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment. “I would love to stay in Seattle, but my father explained it wasn’t what’s best for my brand and, like it or not, if I want to have options after hockey, I need to do what’s best for the brand, so I am. Even if it sucks and, yes, it sucks.”

  “Much better.” I smile and close my eyes again, enjoying another breeze. “You sound like a human being again.”

  “That doesn’t come easy for me,” he admits, his tone sheepish. “Being human. Unfiltered and honest.”

  “I like it.”

  “That’s why I’m trying,” he replies.

  I open my eyes and find him staring at me. Intently. So intently I feel like I should blush, but I don’t know why. He shifts a little and shifts again. I grab the sides of the canoe in panic and he grins. “Don’t worry, I won’t drown you.”

  “I would pick L.A. if I were Avery Free Agent Westwood,” I murmur softly, absently, as the rocking boat slows and I let go of the side of the wooden boat to skim my hands across the glasslike surface of the water. “Palm trees, sunshine, movie stars…Oh! You could date a movie star if you lived there!”

  He laughs. “I don’t want to date a movie star.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t tell me even they aren’t good enough for Avery Free Agent Westwood!”

  I’m teasing him. I’ve been doing it a lot tonight. I realize I like it. A lot. And he doesn’t seem to mind, since he breaks out in the hottest grin most times, so I don’t see why I should stop. He sits up a little. “When have you ever seen a Hollywood romance that didn’t crash and burn in a million ugly, public pieces? No thank you. I’m trying to avoid having my personal life splashed across the Internet, remember?”

  “Right. Not good for the image.” I nod as I stifle a yawn. The noise from the wedding reception has faded to a murmur, and even the music has stopped. The lights from the houses that speckle the lakeshore are mostly gone. It’s late and my flight tomorrow is at seven. “We should head back.”

  I crawl to the center of the canoe and sit on the centerboard as I reach for the oars. The whole boat shifts drastically to the left and then the right, and I squeak out a panicked sound as I watch him move to sit beside me. I shake my head and put a hand on his chest when he gets close enough. It’s like touching a wall it’s so flat and smooth and hard. “I’ll row. You just sit there and look pretty.”

  “I am not letting you row me home,” he says, like it’s the most horrifying idea he’s ever encountered.

  It makes me laugh. I grab the oar handles and start to move us.

  “Seriously, Stephanie. Let me.”

  “Oh, come on, what’s the big deal?” I ask, and keep rowing.

  We’re not that far from the dock anyway. A couple more good paddles and we’ll be there. But he’s still kneeling near the center of the boat, frowning at me. He reaches for the oar, his hand landing on mine, and I pull away, which makes the boat kind of start to spin to the left. “You don’t have to defend your manhood with me, Avery. I know you’re all man. I got the press release on that.”

  I smile at my own joke, but he doesn’t. He tugs the oar again and I let go of the other one to push him back, but he’s ready for me this time and pushes into me. He’s stronger, of course, so I start to tip back. I let go of both oars and grab his neck and shoulder. Now no one is holding the oars. We’re just holding each other. His eyes look like coal as they seem to sweep over my face, and when they land on my lips it makes my tongue dart out and wet them.

  “The man I am with you tonight isn’t the man from the press releases,” he says suddenly in a low, rough voice as his fingers spread out over my lower back.

  I take in a deep, sharp breath but I can’t seem to let it out. “I know.”

  “Do you?” he whispers back, and leans closer.

  My heart is thumping so hard like it’s trying to break through my chest and touch the one thumping just as wildly through the front of his white dress shirt.

  I think he’s going to kiss me, and suddenly I want nothing more than to kiss him back. The feeling is swift, all-consuming and powerful, like a craving. Like when I would want a pill so bad I could think of nothing else—which makes me panic. I shift abruptly, reaching—almost lunging—for the oar, and the canoe lurches. Avery’s big body rights itself too fast, his weight yanking the wooden oar to the left and tossing me that way with it, and then Avery loses his balance, and before I can even scream, we’re underwater.

  It’s not deep at all, so my feet find the bottom, and I’m standing and sputtering in waist-deep water seconds later. Avery is, too, on the other side of the upside-down canoe. We stare at each other over the capsized boat. He doesn’t look like he’s going to kiss me again, which is a shame because Avery looks even hotter soaking wet. Ugh. What is wrong with me?

  “We have to get out of here before someone sees me like this,” he explains, his voice tight with stress. “Can you imagine the bullshit stories if I’m caught like this?”

  Well, that moment’s gone. Typical Avery Westwood is back in all his uptight, image-obsessed glory.

  Before I can answer, he’s pushing the canoe to the dock and climbing up on it. He reaches down and pulls me out of the water like I’m made of cotton candy or something equally airy. I reach for my shoes, which I left on the dock, and when I stand up my brother and his girlfriend, Shayne, are staring at us with amused smiles.

  “We had a little bit of a nautical disaster.” I shrug.

  “I can see that.” Shayne smiles.

  “Avery, you know the whole point to skinny-dipping is that you’re naked, right?” Sebastian jokes, and slaps his captain on his wet shoulder.

  “Ha-ha.” Avery rolls his eyes. “You really want to give me tips on skinny-dipping? With your sister?”

  My brother’s shoulders get rigid and his smile disappears.

  I laugh. “Don’t worry, Seb. You know it’s not like that with me and Avery.” I can feel Avery’s eyes on me but I don’t look over. “He was my running buddy and now he’s my canoeing buddy…except he needs a little work on his paddling skills.”

  Shayne and Seb laugh at that, but I don’t hear Avery join in. I think I might have hurt his feelings, but I’m sure he’ll get over it. That moment in the canoe was crazy and it needed to end the way it did, because anything else would have been pointless. Okay, maybe incredibly enjoyable, but pointless.

  I don’t want to have a one-night stand and Avery doesn’t actually date. And even if he did, I am not an ideal candidate for a guy obsessed with what people think. Yeah, I may have ruined a perfectly good party dress and taken a small chunk out of his ego, but it had to be done.

  Chapter 1

  Stephanie

  Ten weeks later

  “You call me a lot.” I smile into the phone. “You need to get a life.”