Play the Game (Blue Devils Hockey #1)

Chapter 1

One

SCOTTIE

I catch the eye of Kitty—her real name, believe it or not—in the mirror. “How’s it looking out there?” I ask.

She rolls her bright-green eyes that are lined in charcoal. “Busy. You better get out there, or Russ is going to come back here and scold you.”

Fuck Russ.

A soft breath escapes my painted lips, and there’s a pit of disappointment growing deeper with every shift I take at the Cat House.

Don’t mistake the name for some sort of sanctuary for kittens.

It’s more of a sanctuary for horny men who like to get their rocks off to women on poles who send flirtatious smiles their way. My coworkers deserve Oscars for faking interest at the sight of their semi-hard cocks and nauseating smirks.

Nerves feast away on my exposed skin, and my eyes water when I catch my reflection. I’m in nothing but a skimpy pink bra and matching thong. I’m all for lifting other women up. If their life goal is to be a stripper, then I will root for them day in and day out.

For me? It’s not a goal or a dream. It’s a fucking nightmare. Just like this auburn-colored wig on my head.

The only perk? Fast cash.

“Want a line?” Chastity pours some white powder onto her vanity, and I quickly tear my gaze away.

Kitty scolds her with an exasperated sigh. “You know Cherry doesn’t do that type of stuff.”

I shove away any memory that tries to surface. If it wouldn’t make me look insane, I’d cover my ears with my hands, like I used to do when I was a child. That way, I could tune out the sound of snorting, but instead, I remain poised with my hands down by my sides as I balance on heels that are too high.

The smell of Chastity’s perfume cuts through her boozy aroma, and she sniffs a few more times before coming over and draping her arm around my waist. Her metal chastity belt knocks against my hip as she dangles its key in front of my face.

“You know what will give us hefty tips?”

Russ peeks his head into the dressing room—having absolutely no respect for our privacy. Then again, we are half-naked on a stage, so I’ll cut him some slack. “Other than that enticing chastity belt you’re wearing?” he says, interjecting himself into our conversation.

Chastity flips her hair over her shoulder and blushes at the half-assed compliment. “It’s a clever little skit to go with my stage name, don’t ya think?”

She doesn’t wait for Russ to answer. Instead, she turns to me and dangles the little golden key in front of my face again. My eyes follow it like a pendulum as it swings back and forth. “Put this in between your cleavage.”

“What?” I stare at her full face of makeup.

Her eyebrow arches, and she smiles deviously. “If you want more tips, you’ll put this in between those bomb-ass tits and let them grab it so they can undo my belt.”

Russ claps his hands together. “That’s fucking brilliant. There’s a whole gang of hockey players out there that will go nuts. They’ll be eager to graze those tits.”

Hockey players.

“What happened to the no-touch rule?” I ask, clearly panicked.

“Stop pressuring her to do shit she doesn’t want to do.” Kitty shoves Russ off to the side. She snatches the key from Chastity’s hand and puts it in her cleavage instead.

I exhale, and it’s obvious to everyone in the room that I’m uncomfortable. My boss crosses his arms and sends me a disapproving glare, but little does he know, I look at myself with disappointment every day, so my feelings aren’t hurt in the slightest.

“Chin up, Cherry,” he chides, placing his hand on my lower back.

My spine straightens from his touch. Get your hands off me.

He gives me a push before whispering in my ear, “You wanted to make fast money, so get out there and work.”

After he slides past me, I shake off the filth he left behind and do exactly as he says, because as much as I hate him, he’s right.

I need the money, and I need it now.

“She doesn’t look like the rest.”

I bite my tongue until I taste blood. My hands grip the pole, and I use my core to swing around, putting my backside to the group of athletes.

There are three types of men that come into the Cat House: the sleazy ones who are married and want to cheat on their wives, the single ones who come alone and have ‘pervert’ written all over them, and the ones who are out celebrating something. Whether it be a birthday, bachelor party, or a guys’ night, they’re always tipsy and, most of the time, boisterous.

I catch one of the hockey players, who just so happens to be missing a front tooth, staring directly at my boobs when I twist. He nudges his friend with his elbow and great, now they’re both staring at me.

“She looks sweet but sexy too.”

“She doesn’t belong on a pole.”

“Where does she belong, then?”

I’d like to know the same.

My ears perk up as I turn again. Another group of guys roars from the other side of the stage, and a little grin falls to my lips when I see some guy unlocking Chastity’s chastity belt.

The hockey player with the missing tooth answers his friend, “She looks like she belongs in my bed.”

I roll my eyes as they all laugh. I purposefully keep my ass to them because I have to fix my face before I accidentally show them how irritated I am to be on stage dancing in lingerie.

“Where is the new guy tonight?”

“The new guy?” Sarcasm drips from Toothless. “Don’t act like you don’t know his fucking name. He’s the best goalie in the league right now and has been practicing with us for the last month.”

Emory Olson.

There’s always a hint of nostalgia lingering when I think about hockey. It was one of the only things I had in common with my dad, and it’s the one thing I’ve managed to keep safe from the mishaps in my family. After all these years, I’ve kept my interest alive and burning because it tricks me into believing he’s still here. It’s my own little secret.

“Ah, O’Brian? Is that his name?” There’s a brush of sarcasm to the man’s voice, and I turn to see his face. “Wait. Is it Owen? O’Gregory?”

“Olson,” I say, unable to stick to my plan of playing the part of an obtuse stripper with no interest in hockey. It’s not the first time I haven’t stuck to a plan, so it comes as no surprise.

Toothless’s eyebrows shoot to his forehead, and his white teeth—sans the left front—look even whiter under the strobing lights. “Oh! She knows hockey?!”

His entire gaggle of burly men hoot and holler, and I turn on the pole to shield my reddened cheeks. Money is thrown onto the floor beneath me, so at least there’s that.

The stoic one in the back of the booth, who appears bored out of his mind, speaks up. “Told you she wasn’t like the rest.”

“Not often a stripper knows anything about hockey,” Toothless says, seemingly more interested than before.

My calf wraps around the pole, and I arch backward with my eyes set on the man who rests his elbows on the table. His mouth opens, and I prepare myself for the insult because I can already tell he’s more arrogant than the rest.

“Must be a puck slut.”

My eye twitches.

“Don’t call her that,” another one says. “They prefer to be called puck bunnies.”

I nearly choke on anger.

Air gets caught in my chest, which unfortunately shoves my breasts out even farther. I grab onto the pole tighter, like it’s my lifeline. I swing my body, pretending their faces are being kicked by my outer leg.

“Olson wouldn't be caught dead here. He’s lying low, trying to fix his bad rep.”

The men chuckle, and I recall recently hearing some rumors rolling around about his run-in with the police not too long ago. It was all over the news.

“Those allegations are absurd,” the stoic one says.

“At least he didn’t get her pregnant. You know all about that single-parenting life. Don’t you, Volkova?”

Rhodes Volkova.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps.

“If he got her pregnant, she’d totally take all his money,” someone says.

“There is no her. That was a rumor. He got dropped from the Coyotes because of the arrest and assault,” Volkova corrects his teammates, and I continue to dance as they all talk about their newest teammate.

After many half-assed jokes and quizzes over my knowledge of hockey, the team gets up to leave, and I disappear into the dressing room with a B-cup full of money. Volkova threw me a hundred with a quick roll of his eyes as he dragged one of his drunker teammates out after him.

I stare at Benjamin Franklin and swear he’s judging me for the idea that sneaks into my head like a sly little fox. I suck my cherry-flavored lip into my mouth and fold the bill in half, letting the distasteful plan disappear with bigger morals than I was taught to have.

I can’t— my phone pings, and my gaze falls to the notification.

A gulp slowly works itself down my throat when I press play on the voicemail. The moment I hear his voice, I clench the hundred in my sweaty hand. “Hey, Sis.”

I erase the message without even thinking about it.

Fight-or-flight kicks in, and right now, flight wins.

I count the money I made tonight. It’s a good chunk, but not good enough.

He’s bleeding me dry, and I’m letting him.

But what’s a girl to do when the legal fees continue to pile up and gain interest? The outstanding bills are accumulating, and with his constant voicemails becoming more desperate, I don’t have a choice.

The hundred that Volkova threw at me like chump change catches my eye again. I shake my head and peel my attention away when I hear Chastity, Rosie, and Kitty pile into the dressing room with their own wads of cash.

“Make out good tonight, sweetie?” Rosie asks, chugging a seltzer that has to be flat by now.

“Rosie.” My mouth moves faster than my brain. “Can you cover my shift on Thursday?”

You can’t do this, Scottie.

“Sure, if I can find a babysitter. Why? Got a hot date with one of those hockey players you were wooing out there?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me, and my face flames.

“Something like that.”

Dread weighs on my shoulders, but the longer I stare at Benjamin, the lighter I feel.

“In that case,” she snorts, “I’ve got you covered.”

I smile and count my earnings again. I immediately grab my phone and pull up the Chicago Blue Devils game schedule. I’ll deposit the money tomorrow and have a ticket by the end of the night.