Page 4 of Forbidden Forward

Yeah, my being here must be cramping his style, which makes me feel even guiltier than I already do. I’d love to get out of his way during his break, but I don’t know where to go. Can’t go home to Mom and Dad without admitting my sins, and it’s not like I still have the ability to finance a weeklong stay at an upscale B&B. I barely have the money to fill my twenty-year-old Jeep’s gas tank to get there.

And now some teammate has decided on a spur-of-the moment wedding my brother is obliged to attend, so Donny pleaded with me to tag along as his plus-one. I tried to beg off, I really did, but his stubborn ass refused to go if I didn’t come too, so of course I caved.

Yay, another celebration. Only this one is between two people who truly love each other and want to make that declaration to the world.

I’d better stock up on barf bags and tissues.

Chapter 3

Nuptials

Colby

Two days after our last game, I find myself at—of all places—Durby’s impromptu wedding. Here I am, right back at our captain’s house, in his giant-ass great room. Blue and his wife, Terra, apparently offered their place to Durbin and his fiancée, Angie, when the pair decided they couldn’t wait until summer to tie the knot—like most normal hockey couples.

I’m disappointed I can’t get to the coast until tomorrow, but at the same time I’m honored to be included. I always am when the boys invite me to non-team dinners and get-togethers. I try to accept every single invite, not because I’m a partier, but because it’s one of the best ways I know to fit in and not be the friggin’ oddity in the club.

Weddings have always held a special appeal for me, especially small ones like this. Fewer than three dozen people are here, and everyone’s smiling. Especially the bride and groom, which makes me sprout a stupid grin of my own. These two deserve to be happy, especially after the trials they’ve been through. So if I have to wait one more day to get my hands on the lady who owns my heart, I’m mostly okay with it. She understands.

And yeah, I’m flying solo here, which will make it easier to duck out after the appropriate amount of time has passed. Meanwhile, I fidget with a length of ribbon attached to a bouquet of flowers hanging from one of the chairs while we wait for the couple to take their places in front of the team’s assistant coach—and part-time officiant.

Nick Hammond, one of my fourth-line wingers—whose nickname is, of course, “The Hammer”—is seated next to me. He elbows me, pointing and laughing. “What the hell did you do, man?”

I glance down and realize I’ve tied the ribbon into a figure eight. Huh. I quickly untie it as the groom and best man take their places.

After the vows have been exchanged and we’re presented with the newly minted husband and wife, we’re moving on to the reception. I grab myself a cold one and look for a quiet spot where I can disappear while I wait for a chance to escape.

An attractive redhead derails that plan when she puts her hand on my arm. “Think you could get me one of those?”

I hand her mine and smile. “Just popped the top … for you.”

She bats her lashes a little too much, and I hold back an eye-roll. When she takes the beer from me, she rubs her hand against mine in what can only be called a caress. No subtlety there.

“You’re one of the hockey players, aren’t you?”

“Colby Chase. And you are …?”

“Taylor. I volunteer at the animal shelter with Angie.” She tilts her head toward the bride, standing with Durby as they chat with guests beside a soaring stacked-stone fireplace. Her eyes brighten with recognition. “You’re that new guy who stirs the pot. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you from Angie,” she gushes.

An eyebrow travels up my forehead. “Such as?”

She presses a long fingernail against my chest. “She says you’re gritty, that you don’t mind getting your hands dirty. Something like that.” She licks her lips and traces a line down my pec, over my nipple beneath the fabric of my shirt. “I like playing dirty too.”

Nope, not an ounce of subtlety.

I step back to break the uninvited contact. “You play hockey?” I ask without a hint of guile. Confusion clouds her features, and I continue. “Are you with one of the local women’s teams? When you said you like to play dirty, I assumed …” I let the thought sink in.

It takes her a beat or three, and finally her mouth twists with indignation. “Do I look like I’m a hockey player?”

Farthest thing from it in her dress that resembles a painted-on silver glitter bomb. “Not dressed like you are now, but if you slid into some breezers and a jersey and plunked a bucket on your head, you could pass for one. Anyone could,” I say helpfully.

She juts out her hip and parks a fist on it. She still hasn’t touched the beer I sacrificed for this nowhere conversation. “Is that what you’re into? Women in breezers?”

I could run with this and turn it into something fun. I may not have the proverbial silver tongue, but flirting isn’t a chore for me, and I’d bet my next beer I could have this girl on her back before the sun sets. Even if I reel her in, I’m not interested.

Like most team events, there are lookers here, and she’s top of her class. One of the perks of being a hockey player is getting the attention of the prettiest women on the planet. They might not always be the brightest bulbs in the box, but they make for terrific arm candy and don’t seem to mind that some of us are coyote ugly. Other than the money, I don’t get it, but I’m not knocking it either—except any woman I go for has to have brains. She needs a certain fire and has to have her own interests, live her own life—not focus on what I do for a living or all the ways her ex is a dweeb.

Don’t get me wrong. Taylor’s a knockout and I enjoy the view, but she's not my type for so many reasons. She’s a friend of Angie’s, and she’s exactly the kind of girl a buddy or his girlfriend would’ve tried to set me up with when I lived in SoCal. The kind I avoid at all costs. Women like her are dangerous. When a relationship implodes, you’re not just untangling yourself from your ex. You’re dealing with friends who feel obligated to take sides, and some of them might be married to your teammates. It’s messy as hell. Not that I’ve ever been there, but I’ve witnessed the fallout plenty of times.