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  Under Fire

  A Florida Glaze Hockey Romance

  M.E. Carter

  M.E. Carter

  Model Behavior

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  Copyright © 2022

  By M.E. Carter

  Cover design and Formatting by Uplifting Author Services

  https://www.upliftingauthorservices.com

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  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. No part of this publication may be stored or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, people – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.

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  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, characters, businesses, artists, and the like which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter One

  TUCKER

  Balloons and gift bags are everywhere. A few kids are running around screaming. Everyone is regaling stories of child birth and poopy diapers.

  This is not the kind of party my favorite bar normally has and I’m not sure how to feel about it.

  I guess I shouldn’t complain. It’s the middle of the day and I’m having a free beer with my friends, eating some free food, and the baby this shower is for isn’t mine. Knock on wood for that one.

  Still, it’s a little trippy watching some of our friends oooh and aaahhh over random baby shit. Speaking of…

  “Why the hell is Heath Germaine so excited over tiny socks?”

  My teammate and good buddy Liam and I watch as Heath, a huge cornerback for the San Antonio Steer holds up the socks like they’re part of the circle of life.

  Liam chuckles. “You know how he is with other people’s kids. He’s just excited.”

  “It’s weird,” I counter.

  “We’re celebrating his best friend’s baby.”

  “Celebrating is a stretch. I’m just here for the free food,” I admit.

  Liam gives me a pointed look, which doesn’t scare me at all. He should know better than to expect anything other than the truth from me. “Did you at least bring a gift, or did you just go full asshole.”

  I hold my hand to my chest and fake offense. “I’ll have you know, they’re opening my gift right now.”

  As soon as he pulls it out of the bag, Jaxon Hart, the baby daddy, looks over to me and yells, “Thank you! We needed this!” He holds up the weird pillow shaped like a “c”.

  “What is that anyway?” Liam asks as I tip my beer bottle at Jaxon in response.

  “No idea. It was on the list and the first thing I saw that wasn’t something to do with nipple chaffing or leakage. I don’t need to know anything about all that.”

  “Good call.”

  “What did you bring, anyway?”

  He shrugs. “I made the food. The rest of it was up to Ellery.”

  “She still having regular margarita parties with the ladies?”

  It’s no secret Liam’s significant other fell in with a group of old girlfriends who like to be together regularly. If one of them is here, they’re all likely to show up and cause more of a raucous than we do. And we’re pro athletes chock full of testosterone. Those women are like a girl gang, except with devoted boyfriends who pick their drunk asses up and cart them home frequently. If nothing else, it’s entertaining to watch.

  “I no longer have to use my GPS to find Heath’s house, if that answers your question.”

  “Does the security guard at the neighborhood check in just wave you through now, too?”

  “Yep,” he says and takes another swig of his beer.

  I shake my head with a huff. “Why don’t we do that? All converge on Heath’s mansion of a house and drink until our girls have to come get us?”

  “Two reasons,” Liam says without skipping a beat. “One, there is not enough booze in the world to get us as shit faced as they get. And two, even if we could get that smashed, we’re too big for them to carry us out to the car. They’d leave us lying face down on the outdoor patio and that would hurt like a bitch the next morning.”

  Solid points. Plus I don’t have a significant other to leave me laying in a pool of my own vomit so I guess that blows my idea out of the water.

  Another round of awwwws come from the crowd as Annika shows off a blanket. A blanket. I don’t understand any of this and I’m starting to get bored, so I wait until Liam is getting ready to swallow before making my next move.

  “When are you and Ellery popping out of those kid things?”

  Liam begins to choke on his beer which might be the highlight of this whole thing. Or at least a close second behind the amazing barbecue.

  “That is not a conversation I’m having with you.” He coughs a couple more times and pounds his chest with his fist.

  “Why not? I’m your bestie. We share everything.”

  “First, don’t ever call me your bestie. That’s weird. Second, when we start talking about kids, I’ll be discussing it with Ellery before bringing it up with you.”

  “Ooooh! So the idea is on the table.”

  “For the future. Why wouldn’t it be? I’m going to be with her forever. Isn’t that what everyone wants when they find their one and only?”

  “Nope,” I say popping the p for emphasis. “Don’t have them. Don’t need them. I’ve got too much hockey to play and too much tail to chase.”

  “You do realize you’ll have to retire eventually and both those things will dry up.”

  I could pretend he’s wrong, but for the last year, Liam thought he was going to be forced into retirement because of an injury. He’s not, but he’s also never going to be a starter again. Hell, he may never play another professional game unless something drastic happens.

  “Part of the fun of life is pretending things are perfect,” I announce. “My social media is proof of that.”

  Liam snorts a laugh. “Okay then.”

  “I am a highly revered hockey player in the great city of San Antonio, Texas. I will never retire. I will never settle down. And not even your piss poor reality check will change that. I will die on this hill.”

  My phone rings. Glancing down, I see it’s my agent calling.

  “Speaking of,” I wave my phone at my friend who gave up on arguing with me long ago. “This is probably about that endorsement deal he’s been working on. I’m gonna buy a travel smoker with the first payment from them.”

  “Oh god, no, Tucker. You’ll set your hair on fire.”

  Maybe. But I don’t have time to argue my point, I have a deal to secure.

  “Morty, my man. How much money are they offering?”

  “I hear you’ve heard the news,” my long time agent Morty responds with a strange tone of surprise in his voice.

  “The news about this endorsement? Of course. We’ve been working on it for weeks. Does my check have a lot of zeros after it?”

  Liam rolls his eyes at my arrogance.

  “Uh… nope. That’s not why I’m calling.”
br />   “It’s not?” Well now I’m curious. And suddenly have a sinking feeling in my gut.

  He sighs deeply and that sinking feeling bottoms out. “Are you alone?”

  “No, I’m standing right here with Tremblay.”

  “Okay listen. I don’t know how to tell you this so I’m just going to blurt it out.”

  “What’s happening, Morty. You’re scaring me.”

  “You’re being traded.”

  My feet begin moving toward the exit before I tell them to. I need to be alone for this conversation. “Traded? What the fuck do you mean I’ve been traded?”

  “Tampa wants you and San Antonio has to cut some financial fat. You may as well start house hunting. They’re being generous and giving you two weeks to get there.”

  Well fuck.

  I guess whatever hill I die on, it won’t be here in San Antonio.

  Chapter Two

  TUCKER

  6 months later

  Florida can suck it.

  I’ve been here more than five months and I haven’t found one good thing about this place yet.

  The mosquitos are the size of vultures only they don’t wait until you’re dead to attack. The same fucking alligator likes to interrupt my afternoon commute every day and no one has figured out how to relocate him. Some dude got naked on the roof of the local Publix and peed all over the parking lot mere minutes before I got there to do my shopping. And it rains ninety-five percent of the time.

  Maybe ninety-five percent is a slight exaggeration, but no shit, the humidity here is unreal. I should be used to it. It’s not like San Antonio is dry, but something about it raining so much keeps this place damp as hell. Even my hair frizzes and no one has ever mistaken me for having so much as a wave in this mop.

  Okay fine. Maybe Florida isn’t that bad. I just miss the easy comradery of my former team. The team here isn’t bad. They’re at least welcoming. And I have enjoyed the regular outings my new teammates have set up.

  They’re a good group of guys. Mostly everyone is single, being that it’s a pretty young team, so no one except our captain Patrick ditches our bonding time to go home to a wife or girlfriend. Unlike that fucker Liam Tremblay at the Slingers who became somewhat of a buzz kill once he got himself a steady girlfriend.

  Speaking of, I should probably call him and see if he can try making a smoked turkey on his new YouTube channel. He’s got some good recipes on there, but I could use a little help with my new smoker.

  Slamming my car door, I make my way to the entrance of the most opulent building I’ve seen in this part of Tampa so far. Not that I should be surprised. Hiltons aren’t known for being shabby.

  I’m greeted by a valet who holds the door open for me.

  “Honeysuckle Bar and Grill?” I ask as I step inside the air conditioning.

  He points across the huge lobby. “All the way past check-in and take a right.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  I start to feel a little more in my element the closer I get to my destination. I could use a night out with my new buddies to take the edge off my game. We’re starting to work together well on the ice, but it’s taking some time to gel. That’s part of why I never say no when someone suggests an outing. The more we know each other off the ice, the better we’ll communicate on it. We’ve only got a couple weeks until preseason starts so we’re almost out of time.

  Also, I just never say no when someone suggests an outing. I’m too much of a social butterfly.

  Entering the small venue, I take a quick look around and almost immediately find who I’m searching for. It’s not hard to spot the huge guys taking up almost the entire back of the room. The poor business dudes sitting at the bar who came here looking for a hook up appear awfully dejected knowing all the ladies are ogling the wall of men in the back instead.

  What can I say—us hockey players are hot.

  “Hey! You made it!” my buddy Maksim Ivanov greets, arms wide like he’s going to come in for a hug. If a table full of beer and half-eaten appetizers wasn’t in his way, he probably would. Maks has lived in the States since he was a little kid, but still claims the parts of Russian culture he thinks make the most impact. Like kissing your teammates on the mouth in celebration.

  Frankly, I think he’s just seeing how much shit he can get away with, but I humor him because… well mostly for the same reason he does it. The reaction we get when I don’t act like he’s weird cracks me up.

  “Of course, I made it.” I grab his hand, intertwining our thumbs because that’s as close as we’re going to get to each other with all these people around us. “You think I would miss checking out the place you picked for us to hang tonight? It’s nice.”

  It’s no Frui Vita, my favorite spot in San Antonio, but this place has its charms.

  “Of course, it is! Nothing but the best for us!” Maks turns and gives flirty eyes to some chick that’s hanging all over him. “Nothing but the best for all of us,” he practically purrs.

  I can see they’re about to maul each other with their tongues so that’s my cue to get out of dodge.

  “What are you drinking, Ivanov? Looks like you need a refill.”

  Only the thought of free booze can pull Maks away from the possibility of immediate sex, even if it’s just a temporary distraction.

  “Vodka. Beluga Gold if they have it.”

  I shake my head. Of course, he’d choose the most expensive brand when I’m picking up the tab.

  I push through the crowd and head toward the bar and flag down a bartender. She looks up at me, a smile on her face that immediately falls as soon as she sees me.

  That was weird.

  I glance around, wondering if she is actually looking at someone behind me, but no. It’s me that’s giving her a sour puss reaction.

  I settle in and wait for her to take my order.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  Finally, I flag her down again. She huffs, clearly irritated by me but I have no idea what I’ve done. I just got here. Maybe she’s annoyed with Maks and saw me talking to him. Wouldn’t be the first time. The man doesn’t make a good first impression, although he does grow on your over time. Like a fungus.

  She finally approaches, her dark hair pulled back in a sporty ponytail, her black and white uniform crisp and clean. She looks vaguely familiar but I can’t figure out why.

  The thought that we’ve met before has me wondering why. Surely, I’m mistaken. The look on her face isn’t at all the friendly expression I would expect from someone I know. Hell, it’s not what I would expect from an upscale place like this, especially knowing she can probably make pretty good tips.

  “What do you want?”

  I’m taken aback by her aggressive tone, but I play it off. Maybe she’s having a frustrating night or I look familiar too and remind her of someone she hates.

  “Um… do you have Beluga Gold?”

  One of her eyebrows rise. “Big spender, aren’t you?”

  “It’s for my buddy over there. I just want a beer. Whatever you have on tap.”

  She rolls her eyes and walks away without any indication she heard me. But I watch as she gets the vodka off the shelf so I assume I’m still going to be served.

  Leaning against the bar while I wait, I turn around to see Maks’s tongue practically down the throat of the woman he was making googly eyes with just moments ago. I chuckle to myself. I should have known it wouldn’t take him long. If her wandering hands are any indication, I may end up shooting this vodka by myself when they take off and get a room.

  I hear the slam of a mug being forcefully placed on the counter behind me right before the feeling of liquid covers my elbow. Sure enough, half my beer has spilled over the rim.

  As the pissy bartender grabs a shot glass and begins filling it with Maks’s liquid gold, I wipe myself off and grab my credit card. She doesn’t make any eye contact with me, just treats me like a pest. I’m so confused but feel like I need to get to the bo
ttom of this.

  “Um… Miss?”

  She finally looks up, still annoyed but at least I’m getting a response.

  “Have I done something to make you mad?”

  Her nostrils flare and her eyes narrow. “Really? You’re seriously asking me that?”

  The longer this goes on, the more my head spins. “Really.” Then it hits me. I smack my face in disbelief that I didn’t put it together before. “Oh boy. You used to work at that sports bar over on West Main, didn’t you? Listen, I’m so sorry if I didn’t tip you enough. My friend Maks there,” I gesture over my shoulder at Don Juan himself, “he drug me out there that night before I could add anything to the tip jar. But I’ll make it up to you tonight. I promise.”

  If it’s possible, the look of anger on her face gets even more severe. She huffs a humorless laugh before finally looking at me dead in the eye. “Fuck off, Tucker.”

  I’m not sure which surprises me more — that she knows my name, or that she throws a twenty-dollar shot in my face before storming off.

  Chapter Three

  LACY

  No matter how much I pace, it’s not bringing my heart rate down. Nor is it bringing my breathing under control. Nope. I’m still furious. Raging actually.

  I was finally okay with the fact that I was never supposed to see Tucker Hayes again. Finally resolving myself to that fate and just rolling with it.

  But no. Of all the bars in Tampa, this is the one he has to show up in. Of all the places for him to party and scout out his flavor of the night, it’s at this bar. Where I work. Making decent money for the first time in a while.

  The worst part of it all—he’s still just as hot as he ever was. My body picked up on it immediately even if my emotions stayed solidly in the fury catetory. That’s the part I’m choosing to concentrate on, which is how he ended up smelling like vodka.