Blocker (Seattle Sharks 5)

I laughed. “I keep forgetting.”

Gage arched a brow at me. “First official day is tomorrow. Better start remembering.”

Right. I was the newly hired Shark’s Statistician. Adulthood and all that.

Thanks for the reminder.

“Who is that?” Ivy finally set down her drink to point at a fully muscled dude in a tight black shirt across the room. “He’s not married, is he?” She asked before Gage could answer.

Not with all those Bunnies around.

“That’s Crosby,” Gage said, his gaze protective as he tried to grab Ivy’s attention. “And no, he’s not. But—”

“Oh chill,” Ivy cut him off. “I’m just curious. You don’t have to go all big brother on me.”

He chuckled. “You have quite a few of those big brothers here, Ivy. Be cautious. For the younger players sake.”

Even though it had been a few years since we’d seen him, he still remembered Ivy was the wild card.

“Yes, Dad.” Ivy rolled her eyes.

Gage shuddered. “Never again, Ivy.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve got to feed this thing.” He nuzzled his son. “See you two around. Have fun,” he eyed Ivy. “Not too much, though.”

“Good to see you, Gage,” I said as he flashed me a wink and disappeared with the wiggling boy into the crowd.

“I need an intro,” Ivy said, her eyes locked and loaded on Crosby where he still chatted with a few of the other guys and the bunnies around him.

“Good luck,” I said, sipping the way too strong drink. “Gage didn’t make the offer. That means Warren and Rory sure as hell won’t either.”

“Who said I needed them?” Ivy wetted her lips and rolled her shoulders back. “How do I look?”

“You look gorgeous, as always.”

And it was funny because despite being identical, I always thought Ivy looked prettier than me. Not in a jealous, spiteful way, but in a factual way. She exuded confidence, charm, sex appeal—all the things I didn’t. It’s like we were split into identical opposites in the womb—she got the extrovert genes, and I got the introvert ones. She’d rather be the center of attention even in her sleep where I’d much rather be left alone unless absolutely necessary.

Ivy had hundreds of friends.

I had few.

She loved widely and trusted quickly.

It took much more work to earn my trust.

Maybe I was the skeptic because I was born four seconds earlier than her.

“Wingwoman me?” She asked, drawing me back to the party.

“What?” I blinked. “No! I don’t know him. I haven’t had my first day with the team yet.”

“Well,” Ivy said, pushing out her chest. “Now is good a time as any to meet all the newer players we’ve missed out on in the past few years.”

“I don’t want—”

“Love you, Pepper. You’re the best sister ever!” Ivy cut me off, dragging me across the room before I could blink.

There were times I was grateful that she yanked me out of my shell.

Now was definitely not one of those times.

Crosby was six feet of bulk with black hair and stark brown eyes. He turned the second Ivy stopped beside him as if she had some kind of magnet wrapped around her neck. He spared me a glance, then back to Ivy, and then me again. This kind of look had occurred our entire life—so many times I could see when the twin realization hit.

“Hi,” I offered, awkwardly waving even though only a few feet separated him, me, and Ivy. “I’m Pepper Harris. This is my sister Ivy.”

His eyebrows raised. “Crosby,” he said. “Some introduction earlier on the deck.” He sucked his teeth. “Coach’s daughters,” he uttered the term like a challenge.

“And you’re one of our lead defensemen,” I said. “Now that our titles are out of the way—”

Ivy elbowed me in the ribs, cutting off my sharp retort. I flashed her a subdued glare. She knew I couldn’t stand to be labeled as nothing more than the Coach’s daughter. Or Ivy’s twin sister. Someday I’d come up with my own title—a cool one—like The Peppenator or Pepper Prime.

The thought made me snort, which earned me a mortified look from Ivy. For as drunk as she was she sure could lob the guilt my way.

“I’m going to…be elsewhere,” I said, gesturing behind me and backing up without looking.

Right into something very hard and very big.

“Sorry!” I spun around, met face to face with the big hard thing. A chest, chiseled, broad, and covered in a soft black cotton T. I looked up. And up. Until I locked eyes with the most intense pair of green eyes I’d ever seen in my life.

Oh holy hell.

I hadn’t noticed how green Eric Gentry’s eyes were in the hallway earlier.

Damn. Damn.

Two steps out of one awkward situation and I’d smacked right into another.

A totally, stupidly hot piece of awkward.

He’s a Shark!

Right.

“All good,” he said, grinning down at me with no move to leave. “So, Pepper,” he said my name like a victory.

My lips parted, the words tying on my tongue. No one ever guessed my name first. It was always Ivy, and after that introduction on the deck, from a far distance, he shouldn’t have been able to tell us apart that easily.

He tilted his head, his long red hair tied back in a man bun. “I like it better than Statistician.”

No coach’s daughter jokes? Fuck, this guy was damn near perfect.

“Yes,” I said and cleared my throat when it cracked. “Enjoying the party, Goalie?” I teased to try and shake off the sparks making my heart race.

“You say that like you have something against them,” He said.

I chuckled. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Not at all. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the upcoming weeks. Just surprised to see you again so soon. Was there something you wanted in particular?”

That damn smile. It was somewhere between a sexy smirk and a good-ole’-boy grin.

Goalie. Shark. Hockey player.

Right. Oh well. No harm no foul.

“I wanted…” his voice trailed off and his eyes widened slightly like he was rummaging his brain for an excuse. Finally, he shrugged. “It’s about time I made a new friend. Why not with my new Statistician.”

I laughed, the tension in my shoulders loosening from the joke. “A whole roster of guys isn’t enough friends?” I teased.

r /> He scrunched his brow. “Hell no,” he said. “Half of them are out of their mind.”

“And the other half?”

“They’re old and washed up,” he said, jerking a punch into Warren Kinley’s shoulder as he walked past. “Way to be late, Kinley.”

“Who you calling old?” Warren growled, but there was as much of a smile on his lips as Warren ever had. “At least I can buy a drink, youngen.” Warren laughed and then his eyes bulged when they fell on me.

One second I stood on my own two feet, the next I was crushed against the huge beast’s chest. “When the hell did you get back in town?” He set me down.

“Last week,” I said, smiling. I glanced over my shoulder to see if I could wave Ivy over, but she was incredibly busy putting on the flirt game with Crosby. Lost cause. “How have you been?”

“Fantastic,” he said. And that was that. Warren never was one to overly share.

“I’m so glad to hear it.”

“I’m so glad to see you…” his voice trailed off as he leaned down, eyes scanning the small pieces of pink hair that fell over my shoulders. “Pepper,” he sighed. “Fuck, why do you have to make it so hard to figure out?”

I chuckled. “Wouldn’t be fun any other way.”

Though Eric hadn’t struggled…

“So glad you’re an official Shark now,” Warren said, effectively cutting off my ridiculous thoughts. He gave me another bone crushing hug. “I’ve got to go check on the wife. She’s up to her elbows in food.”

I furrowed my brow, totally not following that line but shrugging anyway.

“It’s not that hard,” Eric said, reminding me of the gorgeous goalie’s presence.

“What?”

“Telling you two apart.” His eyes were focused over my head, and I turned to follow his gaze.

Ivy. Laughing and practically falling all over herself in front of Crosby.

“You don’t think so?” I asked, never taking my eyes off the scene.

The heat increased behind me as Eric shifted to lean closer to my ear. “Nope.”

“Why is that?” I asked, ignoring the chills erupting across my skin.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked.

“Obviously not,” I chided.