Play With Me (Playing for Keeps #2)

Play With Me (Playing for Keeps #2)

Becka Mack




“I fuckin’ told you.”

Holding my hand out, I curl my fingers into my palm three times, the worldwide symbol for pay up, bitch.

Adam Lockwood, one of my best buds and teammates, drops his head back with a groan, halfway to a growl, like he can’t believe this is happening.

I can’t believe this is happening.

To be clear, the unbelievable part is that Adam had faith in the groom.

Standing, he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, then drops back to his seat, grumbling as he sorts through a wad of bills. He slaps a hundred in my waiting palm, and another in Emmett’s, our teammate.

Adam’s glare lifts to Carter, our team captain, the groom, and the man currently fumbling for words in front of all two-hundred-plus of his guests.

He just accidentally outed his brand-new bride as pregnant.

“I had faith in you, Carter,” Adam grumbles. He throws his arms overhead when Cara and Jennie start making grabby hands for their share of the winnings. “Oh come on!”

See, Adam’s a great guy. Best guy I know, really. He has unending faith in everyone. On occasion, his faith is…a little misplaced. Like right now, in that man up there.

Because Carter Beckett is good at two things: playing hockey and loving on his new wife, Olivia. Something he’s terrible at? Keeping secrets.

“I owe Olivia too,” Adam mutters. “Even she bet Carter would blow it. Am I the only one who believed in him?”

A collective yes rings around the table that has Adam dragging both hands down his face, but it’s when Holly, Carter and Jennie’s mom, sticks her hand over his shoulder that I think he might actually cry.

“I’ve lost six hundred bucks in two minutes because that guy can’t keep his mouth shut for one damn night.”

Holly tucks her winnings away. “I love my son, but Carter likes attention and has zero filter. He gets it from his father. Wouldn’t blame Olivia if she makes him sleep on the couch tonight.”

As if on cue, the teensy bride storms by, Carter hot on her heels.

“You’re not getting any of this tonight,” Olivia bites out, pausing to circle a hand around her bottom half. “None of it.”

Carter’s gasp leaves him slack jawed, and he chases after her. “Ollie! It was an accident! You can’t cut off access! You can’t!”

“I knew this was gonna be the most entertaining wedding I’ve ever been to.” I stab at the chocolate cake Adam hasn’t finished yet, stuffing a hunk in my mouth. There are crushed Oreos in the fudge filling. It’s amazing. “Caw-ta n’ Aw-wie could hab der own TV show.”

“You know what would help with that?” Jennie’s perfectly shaped brows lift as she aims a pointed glance at my mouth. “Fucking swallowing before you speak.”

I stop chewing, and when our eyes lock, my ears burn. Jennie’s a Beckett, that’s for sure. An unfiltered smart-ass like her older brother, with his same dimples and irritating smirk. But where Carter’s eyes are a deep green, hers are a soft, cool blue, with almost the faintest hint of violet.


Or whatever.

I swallow, setting my fork down and clearing my throat as the alcohol in me forms a response I’d normally be too afraid to say. “If you want some, all you have to do is ask, Baby Beckett.”

“I’m not a baby,” she shoots back, pinning her arms across her chest. It pushes a set of perfect, glowing tits together, ramping up the whole fuck me vibe she’s rocking in her shimmery cranberry dress.

I erase the thought as quickly as it forms. Sometimes I worry Carter has supersonic hearing when it comes to his sister, and can, like…hear my thoughts or some shit. I’ve seen him fight enough on the ice to know I don’t want to be on the receiving end of his wrath. I like my face the way it is; I don’t need it rearranged.

Adam pulls his plate away when I go in for another bite. “My cake.” He ignores my pout, and before I can complain that I already ate two slices and he’s not finishing his, he presents it to Jennie. “You want it?”

My jaw drops with a gasp.

“Garrett, honey.” Holly squeezes my shoulders. “Where’s your date?”

Heat claws up my neck and into my face, right up to the tips of my ears. “I didn’t bring one,” I mumble. I had some options, but I’d prefer not to give anyone the wrong idea. I think weddings are kinda special.

“Why not? You’re such a handsome man, sweetheart.”

I scratch my hair, dropping my gaze to my empty plate. “Thanks, Mrs. Beckett.” My eyes narrow on Jennie as she snorts. “Where’s your date, Baby Beckett?”

“I’m not dating anyone, and have no desire to be.”

Holly sighs, sinking down beside me. “Honestly, Jennie, I just solved the problem that I affectionately call my son. Please don’t turn into him.” She twists my way, eyes bright. “Hey, if you’re not dating anyone, and she’s not dating any—”

Cara and Emmett fold over the table at the same time, howling with laughter and effectively ending Holly’s words.

“No,” Cara chokes out, swiping at the fucking tears free-falling down her cheeks. “Holy shit. Can you imagine? Holly, we like Garrett. We don’t want him to die.”

“What about you, Adam?” Holly smiles at him. “You’re so sweet. Carter couldn’t possibly ever want to kill you.”

Jennie flings her arms in the air. “Mom! Can you stop trying to pimp me out? And I don’t wanna date any of these losers.” She pats Adam’s hand. “Sorry, Adam. You’re not a loser.” There’s a quirk in the corner of her mouth as she looks me over, gaze lingering on my collarbone where my tie is loosened, buttons popped. Her eyes flit to mine, and a playful—evil—glint shines in them as she neglects to include me on her not a loser list.

What’s meant to be a scowl winds up being me staring a little too long, gaze tracing the rosy hue painted over her sharp cheekbones, the way her chestnut hair curls away from her face and drapes over her slender shoulders.

She’s so hot, it’s unreal. All I can seem to think about when she’s in the room is how it would feel to get her alone in a closet, or bend her over the table and—

I keel forward with a grunt, clutching my throbbing knee under the table, glare set on Adam. “What the fuck? What was that for?”

His voice is low and scary. “You know exactly what the hell that was for. Why don’t you take a fucking picture? It’ll last longer.”

Well, fuck. What’s the point of having eyes if I can’t use them to appreciate a smoking hot woman? That’s what I wanna know.

Except Adam is right (he usually is). I have zero intention of fucking around with one of my best bud’s little sisters, so I keep my eyes to myself for the rest of the night.

Okay, I don’t, but I try really hard; swear it.

Somehow, I wind up standing by the bar with my metaphorical balls in my hand, watching Jennie do her thing on the dance floor. Thick waves cascade down the golden glow of her curved spine, and I follow the line of her backless dress down to her stellar, round ass as it bounces back and forth with the music. She’s got a teensy waist and a wide set of hips, the kind I wanna wrap my fingers around and—

“Just ask her to dance.”

“What?” I look at Emmett, then back to Jennie, and ask again, “What?”

“Looks like you wanna dance with her.”

“What? No.” Am I yelling?

“Why are you yelling?”

“I’m not yelling.” I’m yelling.

Emmett cocks a brow, downs his beer, and shoves me toward the girls on the dance floor. His wife wastes no time yanking me into her, using me to spin herself.

“C’mon, Gare-Bear.” Cara pouts at me as Emmett’s arms circle her, bringing her into his chest. “Shake your ass, baby.”

“I don’t—my ass doesn’t—I can’t—”

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