Getting Bodied Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

@HamiltonSteelhawks Check out our guys enjoying the end of summer while helping raise money for a good cause.

@SHSlut Love myself some hot guys in shorts

Stockwood, Ontario, early September

Maisie Kelly put her foot against the pitching rubber and breathed in. Runners at first and third, winning run at the plate. Two out. Full count. A single pitch might decide the outcome—either way.

The softball twisted under her grip until her fingers found the seams. Just like that.

She eyed the batter forty-three feet away. Tall and broad-shouldered with reddish-blond hair that curled under a red Steelhawks cap. Like any hockey player, possessed of freakish hand-eye coordination, which only meant she had to place the ball in the exact location, low and inside.

“Swing, batter, batter, batter, no batter!” The rapid staccato taunt from her sister at first base stretched Maisie’s lips. Time to end this.

She rocketed into her motion, arm muscles screaming, hand sling-shotting back. The ball whipped toward the plate.

Under the shade of his black-brimmed cap, the batter’s eyes rounded. He stepped into the pitch and sent the bat whooshing through the air. The ball thumped into the catcher’s mitt.

“Strike three!”

Maisie let the full broadness of her grin break out, as she jogged toward the dugout. From her left, a dark-haired blur thunked into her, and Rachel’s arms circled her in an embrace. “You did it, sis!”

Maisie may have chased off a few demons after months of work to get back into shape, but that didn’t matter here. They’d done it. Her hastily assembled girls’ team had defied the odds. They’d beaten the pros. Sure, a hockey team, but when that team included your brother, you were happy to kick his ass.

No one could claim the Kellys weren’t competitive.

An absolute wall nearly knocked her over. Her older brother Jayden pulled her into a sweaty hug, toppling her ball cap from her head. On purpose, without a doubt.

To prove that point, he scrubbed a fist into her scalp. “Good game, Maise.”

He didn’t know the full implication of his statement, but she wasn’t about to tell him. “You too.”

The psh-psh-psh of the camera shutter intruded on her conscience. Great. Now she was going to be all over the team’s social media, red-faced and frizzy-haired. At least, they’d already gotten the official pictures with her family and the Steelhawks posing with an enormous cardboard check made out to the Stockwood hospital out of the way before the game. Thank God for that small favor.

She plucked her cap from the ground and plunked it back on her head before exchanging “good games” and handshakes with the rest of the Steelhawks. Until she got to the end of the line and came face-to-face with one who didn’t immediately thrust out a hand. Maybe he still wasn’t over his final at bat, where she ended the game.

A pair of hazel eyes scrutinized her from head to foot, until she suppressed an urge to shift on her cleats. Heat rushed up the back of her neck.

“How do you do it?” he said after what felt like a full nine innings.

Another teammate—he’d removed his ball cap to reveal a truly spectacular cinnamon colored mullet complete with racing stripes shaved into the sides—shoved his buddy. “Looking for more abuse, Presto? Like you didn’t strike out enough times today?”

Presto. Stupid hockey nicknames. No way was she calling him that, but all she could remember of his real last name was something long and Italian. Presto hardly applied to that thin nose and even features, a face that was pleasing enough under a week’s growth of reddish beard.

“Get fucked, Rocky,” he replied.

“I’d love to, trust me.”

“Let me clarify. Fuck off somewhere else.” Then he turned his attention back to Maisie. “How do you do it? I want to know.” For some God-forsaken reason he wasn’t acting like a typical member of her brother’s team and taking the piss. The way he was looking her up and down…

Christ, Maisie, it’s not like he’s interested. She wasn’t the type of girl men flirted with. A pro hockey player? Forget it. “Do what?”

“Pitch like that. How many strike-outs did you put up today?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Twelve. She’d struck out twelve professional athletes today over seven innings, but in her experience, most guys didn’t like girls who showed them up, especially when it came to sports. So she settled for the lie.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

Oh, she remembered him all right. The previous summer, the team had come into the family pub to film a promotional feature about her brother, and this guy, this Presto, had decided to fuck around. She’d been manning the kitchen when his order came through. “Mr. Surprise-Me? How could I forget?”

“Thank fuck. I thought I was losing my touch.” He made a show of rubbing his belly. Or what would have been his belly, because his abs were completely flat. Probably ripped, as well. “To this day, the best burger I ever had.”

Pride bloomed in her chest. She’d sacrificed her lunch for his surprise—a combination of ingredients she’d been dying to try. At least he appreciated it. But that didn’t mean she was going to turn all gooey over his compliment.

Another shrug. “Glad you liked it.”

He took a step closer. “I still like surprises, you know.”

Was… was that actual flirting? “Listen, Mr.… I’m not calling you Presto, okay?”

“Why not?”

“It’s stupid.” They called her brother Killer, after all, but at least that one made sense. On the ice, her brother was big and mean and delivered vicious cross-checks whenever he could get away with it. “Are you supposed to be a magician or something?”

“Maybe I have magic hands.” God, it sounded like a pick-up line but… No, he was probably just fucking around. Again. She’d lived with her older brother long enough to know pranks ranked high on a hockey player’s scale of amusements. “You could call me Magic Mike. No one else does.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Hard no.”

“Maise, you coming?” Rachel stood a few feet away, her gaze darting between Maisie and… Michael. If she was going to call him anything, it would be his proper name.

“Gotta go.”

“We’re all going back to the pub for a few beers,” Rachel added with a nod in Michael’s direction. “You in?”

Michael grinned. “Hundred percent. A thousand, even.”

Maisie held her tongue until she’d gotten into the passenger seat of Rachel’s car and they’d pulled out of the parking lot. “Stop smirking.”

Rachel paid extra careful attention to the traffic in front of them, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “I’m not smirking.”

“Yes, you are, and I don’t like it.”

“Then maybe you should tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing.” Damn it, there went the corner of Rachel’s mouth again. “I told you to stop.”

“Nothing. Sure.” Rachel drew that last word out as long as humanly possible.

“Do you remember who that was?”

“From when the team was filming last summer? Yeah.”

“Then you remember he likes to fuck around.”

Rachel glanced over, and damn it, she was still grinning. “Interesting choice of words.”

“Christ, will you stop?”

“No.”

Maisie narrowed her eyes. “Look, he and his buddies had a good laugh at my expense.”

Not the first time it happened, either. They might be grown-ass men, but they clearly hadn’t evolved since high school. Typical dude-bro bullshit. Something she’d learned about through bitter experience.

Rachel nodded, but her facial expression hadn’t changed. She looked way too self-satisfied. “Uh huh. Right.”

“Well, they did,” Maisie pressed on. “He plays straight man for that other one. That Rocky guy. Fucking idiots. Anyway, if they didn’t play hockey, they could take that act on the road.”

Rachel’s lips stretched even wider.

“Stop it.” Rach was lucky they normally got along so well, because Maisie’s palm tingled with an urge to smack someone. Hard enough to wipe any silly expressions off that someone’s face. She settled for a fake punch.

“Do you want me to lose control of the car?”

“Oh please.”

Rachel rubbed her shoulder for good measure. “Did you ever hear that line about protesting too much?”

“I am not—”

“Yes, you are.” She flipped on her turn signal, in preparation of leaving the main drag through Stockwood. “Anyway, I think you should play along and see if something happens.”

“Oh, here we go.” Maisie rolled her gaze toward the sunroof. “Ever since you pushed Jayden in Cait’s direction, you think you can set everyone up.”

“He didn’t need that big a push.”

No, because Cait was blonde and gorgeous and curvy. And a total sweetheart and unpretentious, who’d overcome a lot of crap in her life. She’d just gotten back from spending a year in Paris as an au pair. She might as well change her name to Mary Freaking Poppins. No wonder Jayden had just slipped a diamond ring on her finger.

“God, he’s just been disgustingly mushy ever since they got back from France. If he doesn’t watch out, his teammates are going to change his nickname to Kitten next season.”

“Stop changing the subject.” Rachel made a left—away from the usual route to the pub. “We’re going by my place and getting changed. Ben’s meeting me later, so we’ll have it to ourselves. We can get you into the shower and fix your hair. Start thinking about what you’re going to wear.”

“My clothes are at the house,” Maisie pointed out. “You know, Mum and Dad’s.”

“I’ll lend you something.”

“If you think I’m letting you dress me up in some slinky outfit and too much makeup, think again. I don’t have time for that shit. And I sure as hell don’t have time for that type of guy.”

“What type of guy? You don’t even know Presto.”

Christ, that name. “Rach, he’s a hockey player. That’s all I need to know. If he wants to hit it and quit it, he can find someone else.”

“Our brother is a hockey player.” Rachel pulled her attention from the road for a second to glance over. “You just pointed out how he’s all mushy over his fiancée.”

Maisie wrinkled her nose. “Look, no one is happier than me that Jay-Jay found someone willing to put up with him, but that just proves my point. After they’re done partying and screwing around, they always end up with the same kind of girl. A girl like Cait, not a girl like me.”

Because what Maisie saw when she looked in the mirror was a feminine version of her older brother. Tall, broad shoulders, large bones. Imposing. Not heavy so much, but big.

Big like a moose. She shoved that memory back into its compartment in her brain and slammed the door.

Rachel shook her head. “Well, for fuck’s sake then, show them what they’re missing.”

* * *

Michael Prestifilippo took a long pull on his beer, the taste of hops and varied malts strong on his tongue before the cold liquid hit his throat. Amsterdam Boneshaker. Normally, he was one for trying something new, but since last summer he’d made this IPA his brand when he could get it. Support your local craft brewery and all that. In any case, this brew hit the perfect balance of bitterness, and he always went for something full-flavored with a strong bite.

He eyed the entrance to Kelly’s. Maisie hadn’t shown yet. Maybe she wouldn’t. And if not, he could knock back a few with his teammates. With September already on them, training camp loomed in three weeks. It was beyond time to get serious if he wanted to try for a spot on the third line. Damn rookies always pushing meant he couldn’t take it easy like most veteran players. Like every year, he expected a fight on his hands to avoid a trade or waivers.

But for tonight, at least, he might as well try to kick back.

He pushed off the bar and shouldered a path through the crowd, stopping for a second to sign some guy’s shirt. It was an open secret around Stockwood that fans could run into Steelhawks players at Kelly’s. With so many of them in town—though they were missing the top line and the starting goalie—for a charity event over Labor Day weekend, the pub was buzzing.

No surprise the owner, Steelhawks defenseman Jayden Kelly, wore a smile tonight. Well, that and he had one arm around his fiancée’s waist. A large diamond glittered on Cait’s finger.

Michael exchanged greetings with her, lifting her hand to get a better look at the rock. “Nice. Someone has good taste.” Then he bumped fists with Jayden. “Like what you’ve done with the place.”

Jayden made a show of looking around. “We haven’t changed that much.”

His old jerseys still adorned the walls, and a huge, flat-screen TV took up space behind the bar, but subtle nods to the Hamilton hockey team had replaced the bright green and shamrocks. Red, black, and silver accents stood out against the old hardwood.

Jayden nudged Cait with his hip. “She wouldn’t let me get rid of the pool tables.”

Two spots of pink bloomed on her cheeks. “Stop it.” Clearly it was an inside joke because she changed the subject. “Menu’s new, courtesy of Maisie. Have you seen it?”

Michael plucked a card from a nearby table. “Cute. Naming the fish and chips after Gilly.” But then another item caught his attention. Presto Burger. “Wait, is that mine?”

He read the description. Pesto rosso, caramelized onions, mushrooms, and brie. It was.

“I think Maisie’s pretty proud of that creation.” Cait was watching him carefully.

“She should be.”

“Did you know she gave you her lunch?”

“What?”

“Yeah, she was going to make that for herself.”

“Wow, really?” Michael downed the rest of his beer. He might need it for this next part, but after what Cait had just revealed, he was going to have to go through with it. Turning to Jayden, he said, “Theoretical question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Let’s say—in theory—one of the guys asked your sister out. Would you have a problem with that?” Better get it over with since Jayden was the biggest player on the team. Michael could hold his own in a fight, but taking on Jayden would be drawing way above his weight class.

Jayden’s brows shot toward his hairline. “Depends on who. Are we talking Rocky? Because he’s an automatic no-go.”

“Let’s say it’s not Rocky.”

“Then it depends on the sister.” Jayden scrutinized him through narrowed eyes. “Two are underage, Rachel is taken, so that only leaves Maisie.”

“Yeah, and?”

He chuckled. “It’s not me you need to worry about. She’ll take you down if she’s not interested.”

That reply should have brought relief, but somehow it only made matters worse. “I guess I could have figured that out.”

“Just one thing.” Jayden punched Michael’s shoulder, perhaps a little harder than necessary. “If anything happens, no bragging. I don’t want to think about any of my sisters in that context.”

“Not my style, man, you know that. I know when to clam up, especially in the room.”

“You’d better start now, both of you.” Cait raised her hand to wave. “Over here!”

Michael glanced toward the entrance. Maisie and Rachel were making their way through the crowd.

He blinked. Holy fuck, that was Maisie? Damn, she looked good.

Last summer, her no-bullshit attitude had piqued his interest. Her clear blue eyes had blazed when she shut down Rocky’s comments. Then Michael’s teasing lunch order had sent her back to the kitchen half pissed off and half determined to take up the challenge, which she had—brilliantly. He could still taste the way the flavors exploded in his mouth.

And after watching her pitch seven innings this afternoon, he wanted to get to know her better. You sure as hell didn’t meet a girl like her every day.

But now want was fast turning into a need. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves, the darkness a perfect contrast to flawless skin. And her top… Black fabric hugged her frame and crossed over the delicate swell of her breasts to loop into a bow at her side, baring a sliver of toned skin right above her jeans.

Yeah, with a body like that, she gave as good as she got on the field. And in bed? He only topped her by maybe three inches—barefoot or in those bright pink Chucks made no difference. She’d probably put him through the wringer and make him beg for more.

Get your mind out of the gutter, you maniac. Killer’s right there, and she still hasn’t given you the time of day.

Her blue eyes met his, and her lips flattened. Yeah, he was going to have to work his ass off for this. Given who her brother was, he couldn’t coast on being a pro hockey player, but he preferred it that way. High risk, high reward.

He tapped his empty bottle. “Anyone want a refill? Ladies, what are you drinking?”

“Rum and coke, please,” Rachel said.

Maisie looked away, hand on her hip. “Bud Light.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. With all the craft offerings on the menu, she had to be shitting him. Anyone with her taste wouldn’t settle for mass-produced horse piss. “Really?”

“Whatever you’re having then.”

When he returned with the drinks, Jayden was chatting with his dad, while Mrs. Kelly and Rachel buzzed around Cait excitedly. As he passed Rachel her glass, the words “venue”and “summer wedding” cut through their chatter—ah, right. Which left Maisie standing next to them, hands shoved in her jeans pockets, gaze darting toward the swinging doors to the back.

He handed over her beer. “Not a fan of wedding plans?”

Maisie snorted and took a sip. “They just got engaged like a week ago. Leave it to Mum to go off the deep end. Now that she and Dad working fewer hours, she’s got too much time on her hands.”

“Is that a bad thing to have?”

“I wouldn’t know. I have all the hours I can handle in the kitchen.” She nodded toward Jayden. “You know my idiot brother actually ordered the rest of the staff not to let me in there tonight. He thinks I need to enjoy myself.”

He clinked his bottle with hers. “I’ll have to thank him later, then.”

Her blue eyes narrowed. Gauging him. Like she was trying to work out if he was shitting her. At least she didn’t stalk off or cross her arms. Progress. Time to make a move before Jayden or Rocky or one of the other guys butted in.

“Cait showed me the new menu.” He smiled. “Very nice. Though I don’t remember agreeing lend my name to a burger, no matter how delicious it was.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “You took out a trademark on your nickname?”

“Still, I think we should discuss this. Over dinner, for example. Maybe you can introduce me to the food scene.”

This time, she snort-laughed. “Food scene? In Stockwood?”

“I’m always up for trying something new.”

“Right. It’s thriving, let me tell you. The Tim Horton’s here only uses the best imported blueberries and fair-trade cocoa powder.”

“I’m always down for Timmie’s. At least, you know exactly what you’re getting.”

Her fingers fluttered over her beer bottle. “I guess there’s that Italian place… They’re pretty good.” Her gaze softened into something that hinted at teasing. “It’s a little place in a strip mall. Take-out only. I don’t know if it’s up to your standards.”

“Only one way to find out.”