Stick Your Landing (All In #3)

Prologue #1 Zach

Two Years Ago

I sprint to the hotel’s front desk like my life fucking depends on it.

I’ll never hear the end of my teammate’s chirps if I embarrass myself at my captain’s wedding—and as I'm a rookie and the youngest guy on the team, they already razz me enough.

“Restroom?”

The kid behind the desk looks up from his phone with bloodshot eyes. “Down the hall,” he says in a bored monotone. He doesn’t look much younger than me, maybe a senior in high school. “Third or fourth door on the right. There’s a sign.”

He says the last sentence like he can’t believe I’m this clueless. It’s not my fault I couldn’t use the one in the reception hall. My teammate was already there, balls-deep inside a woman, thrusting from behind. Fucking lock the door next time, Lepel , I shouted before high-tailing it out of there.

One.

Two.

Three.

I count the doors as I run, heaving a sigh of relief when the restroom sign comes into view. It’s one of those silly drawings I struggle to decipher when sober, but the guy said the right side of the hallway.

Or was it left?

Right. Left. I flip a coin in my mind, and push through a door on the left into a room with a fancy-looking gold couch I wish I could collapse on. This might be the best men’s restroom I’ve ever been in, clean and smelling faintly like a garden. Then pink flowers on the wall catch my eye, and there’s no urinal in sight.

“Shit, it was the right,” I mutter. Thank fuck no one else is in here.

I book it out of there to the other side of the hall, leaning against the door as I twist the handle. It abruptly swings open, throwing me to the floor of a dark room in front of a shadowy figure.

I yelp, then fumble to my feet and flip on the light. A blond woman sits cross-legged in the center of the room, her maroon bridesmaid dress pooling around her. Bright blond hair frames her head like a crown with loose strands beside her face.

Her friend’s wedding reception rages down the hall and she’s on the floor of a dusty supply closet by herself. What gives?

Her wide sky-blue eyes meet mine, shocking me back to reality. I’ve been staring at her for too long.

I spitfire words. “I thought this was the restroom. The guy at the desk said it was. But clearly it’s not. Unless you want to step into the hall for a second while I use the bucket back there.”

She shakes her head, then takes out an earbud. “What was that?”

I let out a relieved sigh. Take two. “Do you know where the restroom is?”

“I don’t work here,” she replies with a shrug.

“I know. Your dress makes it obvious.” I wave my hand at her. “But I’m lost, and the kid at the desk is high, and I don’t want to make a scene and get kicked out of here… can you help?”

She raises one eyebrow. “You want me to go off alone with a stranger to find a restroom?”

I chuckle nervously. “Well… when you say it like that, it sounds sketchy. But it’s not. I promise. I really do need to find one, and I’ve—”

“Did you check the reception hall?” Her words aren’t unkind but abrupt, like she wants me out of her hair. A feeling familiar to me.

“It was, uh, occupied. I wasn’t sure how much longer they would take—Lepel’s got a reputation. And it was awkward catching them, you know? Not an image I’ll forget any time soon.”

I take a deep breath.

I should leave and find a potted plant to piss in, but my feet won’t move.

“I’m Zach, by the way.”

She studies me, one finger tapping her cupped jaw, and my face burns. She’s so freaking pretty, I find it hard to look at her, to inhale air into my lungs.

When I’m about to start another ramble, she slips the remaining earbud from her ear, secures it in a white container, and shoves it in a small purse in her lap. She climbs to her feet and smooths the fabric of her dress. A slit travels from her right calf to her hip, showcasing a muscular leg, toned and lean. She’s nearly a foot shorter than me, but I wouldn’t fuck with her.

“I’m Finley.”

Finley . It’s a nice name, not one I’ve heard before. Since moving to the US, I’ve encountered a lot of names I’d never heard in the small Canadian town where I grew up.

“If this is some weird strategy to get me alone,” she continues, “you’ll regret it. My brothers could have you on your knees in five seconds.”

If you want me on my knees, all you need to do is ask .

Thank the hockey gods I keep that thought to myself, otherwise Finley would report me, the pervert who cornered her in a closet to talk about restrooms.

“If I were trying to trap you, I wouldn’t ask you to leave this room. And if I were trying to pick you up, I wouldn’t talk about restrooms.”

I don’t know what I would say to impress her. I watch my teammates navigate these conversations all the time, like it’s easy. It’s never easy for me.

Her stern expression breaks into one of amusement. “You make a compelling argument. All right, let’s find the men's room before you officially tank this entire interaction.”

We’re in the hallway now, and Finley points to the next door. “It’s out of order,” she notes of the men’s room before heading toward the reception. She swings right at the fork without looking left to the party and strolls down the next hallway. She stops at the elevator, presses the up button, and steps inside when it opens.

She tilts her head. “You coming?”

I don’t hesitate and step in beside her. “Where are we going?”

“The pool,” she says as if it’s an entirely ordinary answer.

“I might be tipsy, Finley, but I can aim just fine into a small body of water.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you pee in it.” She shakes her head, but a trace of a smile forms. “This is the strangest first conversation I’ve ever had.”

“Really?” I grin. “It’s fairly normal for me."

“Honestly, I’m not the least bit surprised.” The elevator dings as it comes to a stop on the third floor, and Finley steps in front of the door to keep it open for me. She swipes her room card to let us into the pool area, then gestures to the opposite end of the room. “Your palace awaits.”

I speedwalk toward the locker room but stop abruptly and glance over my shoulder. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

She nods toward the pool, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’ll be swimming.”

Finley eases her dress down her torso until she wears nothing but a strapless bra.

Holy shit .

She pauses when our eyes meet but does nothing to cover herself. Not the least bit self-conscious. She has no reason to be, but still, I’m a stranger.

I keep my eyes focused on her face. “Uh-huh,” I say dazedly, hoping she’ll assume my tongue-tied response is due to alcohol. Not because I’m here with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and she might be flirting with me.

Or screwing with me.

I scurry away from her. When I come back several minutes later, Finley is floating in the center of the pool, arms spread out. Her dress, undergarments, and shoes are strewn across the floor. I’m surprised she didn’t care enough to place them on a chair. But it’s not like I know her.

“I’ve been told alcohol and swimming is a bad combination.”

Her head bobs out of the water. “I’m the only sober person in this place. So are you coming in or are you too drunk?”

I hold up a finger. “Tipsy, not drunk.”

I undo my belt and step out of my dress pants, tossing them onto a chaise lounge along with my socks.

Finley doesn’t divert her gaze. She swims to where I settle on the side of the pool, my feet in the water.

I study her face up close—heart-shaped with featherlight freckles peppering her cheeks and plump pink kissable lips. Her hair’s wet, but her makeup remains intact. I swallow hard, praying every thought bouncing around my mind doesn’t give itself away in another part of my anatomy.

What does she see when she looks at me? Her beautiful face is frustratingly blank and unreadable.

“So why were you in that closet?” I ask.

She perches her arms on the side of the pool and rests her cheek on them. “Oh, I was lost. I’m so glad you found me.” Her words drip with sarcasm.

I ignore her attempt at deflection, too curious for my own damn good. “I thought you might be hiding.”

“Who would avoid a party?”

“You and me, apparently.” I gesture between us.

“Who says this isn’t a party, Zach?” She kicks off the wall, swimming backward until she reaches the center of the pool, where she treads water. “You going to join me or what?”

I hesitate. I didn’t work my way into the NHL only to throw it all away by doing something reckless.

“If you’re worried about drowning,” she adds while I silently sift through my thoughts, “you should know I can hold my breath underwater for two minutes.”

“How does that help me exactly?”

“In this situation, I’ll be able to reach you if you sink to the bottom.” She flashes a suggestive smile. “In other situations… I’ll let you use your imagination.”

Fucking hell . I cough, choking on nothing other than the image those words bring to mind.

I shrug off my jacket and fumble the buttons of my shirt open. I fling the clothing toward the chair, then cannonball into the water in only my boxer briefs. My body adjusts quickly to the warmer-than-expected temperature.

I shake my head when I break the surface, my hair whipping water in her direction. “I feel safer already.”

“If you want safe,” she says, “you should stay away from me.”