Yo Ho Ho Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  About this book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About

  Excerpt: For the Captain

  Yo Ho Ho

  Jenny Redford

  Maxine Quinn loved her job covering the Detroit Pirates for the city's oldest newspaper. She still got excited to interview players, attend games, and have her stories show up on the front page of the Detroit Herald. Max also prided herself on her professionalism – except for that time a year ago when she had a one-night stand with the team's star defenseman.

  Logan Moore was one of the best defensive players in the league. It earned him the respect of his teammates and the phone numbers of Detroit's single women. But there was one woman he couldn't get out of his mind. Max told him their night together was a mistake that should never be repeated, and he grudgingly accepted her decision, although he would've gladly made that mistake over and over again if her work ethics hadn't been in the way.

  But Max's world is falling apart after the managing editor announced the newspaper is shutting down for good. She only has a few weeks to do the best reporting she's ever done while maybe reconsidering her ban on having Logan return to her bed. But as she looks towards her uncertain future, if she has to decide between pursuing her writing or the man she wants, the choice may not be so easy.

  Copyright © 2018 Jenny Redford

  All rights reserved. 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 publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America

  First published 2018

  Cover by Jacqueline Sweet Design

  For my favorite elves

  Chapter 1

  The cursor on her computer screen was taunting her. On and off. On and off. It knew she had no ideas. It knew she had no plans. It knew she was stuck.

  It was taking pleasure in her writer's block.

  Maxine Quinn wasn't much for bragging when it came to her work. She knew she was part an elite group of reporters who had to scrape and fight to get a coveted job covering the Detroit Pirates as a reporter. She knew it took quite a bit of talent and tough work to get there. But she also knew she was good. She could write a post-game story in record time with the perfect quotes from players, the most accurate stats to fill in the story, and the cleanest copy on deadline. She could break news about a player's injury or a coaching change before anyone else.

  She also knew that she hated writing her columns for the Sunday paper. They had to be fun or interesting feature pieces about the players' lives — something fans don't see on the ice. But she had been covering the team long enough to know that she wasn't a feature writer.

  So that cursor blinked and blinked, and the only words on her screen were, "The intro goes here."

  Enough of this, Max thought as she forcefully shoved her chair aside and stomped over to the hotel's mini bar. She knew it was a stereotype for a reporter to drink a little liquor to get the fingers flying over a keyboard, but there was a reason it was a stereotype. Sometimes, it was actually true.

  Max grabbed a small bottle of whiskey and searched for a glass while she blindly put her fingers in the ice bucket. The frozen water sent shivers up her spine as her hand sunk up to the wrist in the bucket. The ice she got two hours ago when she started this writing charade had already melted. She let out an audible groan, grabbed her hotel key card, and headed for the hotel's ice machine. Again.

  The halls were quiet as she wandered past the players' rooms. She could hear hockey games through the doors of a few rooms as players tried to assess how the competition was doing. Others were quiet. It was late after all, and these were athletes who pushed their bodies to the limits. They needed some sleep.

  Max finally made it to the room with the ice machine, but as soon as she walked in, she froze, staring at the tall shirtless man already there.

  Logan Moore.

  She watched as his gaze fell on the slippers she always wore on the road, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  "Well, well, well. I wonder who's wandering the halls in bunny slippers at this hour."

  His eyes casually wandered from her feet as they took in her body. She wouldn't deny that she noticed their slight pause when they reached her chest before finally looking at her face. (She would totally deny the fact that it sent heat down her spine, even though it did.)

  "Hello," she said.

  She took a step forward, trying to act cool. This was just two people — a player and a reporter — running into each other at the ice machine. No big deal.

  As she got closer, Logan took a step back and winced slightly in pain. Her heart squeezed a bit with sympathy, then her head snapped her back to reality. She was a reporter, and his reaction has awakened the journalistic instincts in her.

  "You OK?" she asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

  His smile returned, still teasing. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

  "You're in pain, and you left a bucket overflowing with ice on the machine."

  He shrugged his shoulders, causing him to wince again. "Let's just say I'm officially fine."

  "What about unofficially?"

  Logan put one hand on his hip, while he kept his other arm held close to his body. "I bruised my shoulder again. You know nothing."

  "My lips are sealed."

  Max acted as if she was turning an imaginary lock on his lips, something she did without thinking. But she also didn't think Logan's eyes would immediately snap to her mouth and linger there. She felt like her hand was suddenly on fire and she quickly moved it to her side.

  She needed ice now and probably a cold shower later.

  But Logan's bucket was still sitting on the machine.

  "Need a hand with this?"

  He reached his arm out, trying to wordlessly tell her that yes, he needed some help, and he wasn't going to make a big deal out of asking for it so just give him the bucket.

  Max grabbed it and turned, doing as he requested. "That's a lot of ice for a bruised shoulder."

  "It's not just for me," he said. "Birdie is getting nervous about tomorrow's game and he's doing that thing where he chews on ice to calm himself down."

  "That is so damn annoying."

  "I know!" He threw his hand up in exasperation, sending some cubes to floor. "Anyways, be thankful he isn't your roommate."

  Max just gave him a smirk. She was one of the few women who traveled on the road with the team. She had no roommate, which was convenient considering last year's incident.

  The Incident. Max could feel her cheeks flush with heat as the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. She kn
ew she wasn't the only one who noticed judging by the way Logan's smile disappeared from his face.

  She quickly turned and started filling her bucket up, hoping the move would distract both of them from saying things that shouldn't be said.

  "So, uh, what brings you here so late?" he asked.

  "Bruised shoulder."

  The small laugh from Logan eased the tension again, letting her know that it was OK to move on from that awkward moment.

  "Yeah, I bet lugging a typewriter around can do that to you," he said.

  See? Things didn't have to be awkward.

  "This is the 21st century. It's a laptop, and it's taunting me."

  His eyebrow quirked up. "Taunting you?"

  "I'm trying to write a column for Sunday, and it won't let me."

  "Yeah, I'm sure it's the laptop's fault," he teased. "So what's the ice for?"

  "Whiskey."

  He walked up to her — so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, making her toes curl in her bunny slippers. Max was going to need more than one whiskey to calm down tonight.

  "Sounds like you're going to have a better night than I am."

  Logan gave her a wink and wandered out, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her bucket of ice.

  Damn that man. She was definitely going to need the ice, the whiskey and a cold shower. That stupid column would have to wait until tomorrow.

  Logan trudged back to his hotel room with the ice bucket tucked under his good arm. Of all the women in the world, why did he have to run into the one he couldn't have? All he could think about now were those tight black leggings and pink fluffy bunny slippers she insisted on bringing with her on road trips. Oh yeah, he knew about the slippers. Hell, the whole team knew about the slippers.

  But there were things the team didn't know about her. Things only Logan knew.

  He gently kicked the door to his hotel room since his hands were full with the ice bucket and the shoulder injury. He could hear his lug of a roommate lumbering over before swinging the door open.

  Alex Orlov scowled at him from the doorway. "Don't you have a key?"

  "Nice to see you, too, Birdie," he replied sarcastically.

  "Took you long enough."

  Alex took a handful of ice from the bucket and started chewing. Then he finally moved out of the way to let his teammate back in before closing the door behind him.

  "It's not easy to fulfill the ice needs of a huge defenseman."

  Logan dropped the bucket on the dresser and headed for the bathroom to get a towel. But Alex just stood there, blocking his way.

  "I'm going to get punched tomorrow, aren't I?"

  Hockey players were known to be tough guys, but Alex sounded a little demoralized. Logan used his good arm to put a hand on Alex's shoulder with the Russian eagle tattooed on it.

  "We'll do our best as a team to stay out of trouble so that doesn't happen," he tried to say reassuringly.

  "So in other words, I'm going to get punched tomorrow."

  "Probably."

  Alex sighed and threw more ice chips from his hand into his mouth. "Don't worry," he said between bites. "I'll make sure none of them get to your bad arm."

  "Doesn't sound convincing, but I'll take it."

  Logan pushed past and grabbed a towel from the bathroom rack, letting it unfold as he walked back into the room. He started to grab the liner of the ice bucket before a hand came swooping around him.

  "One more bite!" Alex popped a handful of ice cubes in his mouth and turned back to the bathroom. "I'm taking a hot shower. Don't bug me," he said before slamming the bathroom door shut.

  Logan just shook his head and grabbed the plastic bag out of the bucket, tying a knot in it with one hand — a trick he had learned after plenty of injuries in the past. He gathered up his cold prize and his towel, dragging both back to his bed where he was able to position the whole package over his sore shoulder.

  And then he sat. Damn, he needed that coolness on his body, calming the ache that had been lingering from a hit two days ago. It would be fine if he had a week off after that game in Alberta, but he wasn't a football player. He was a hockey player in the middle of the regular season. He couldn't just sit and heal for six days.

  At least he could sit and have some quiet time to let his mind find some peace.

  Instead, it found Maxine Quinn.

  There were two memories that always stuck out in Logan's mind when it came to Max. The first was the day he met her almost three years ago when he got sent to the Detroit Pirates right at the trade deadline. That was fine by him. His Toronto team had been at its worst lately while the Pirates were in playoff contention. So he packed up some clothes and his hockey gear in his Land Rover and drove the four hours to Detroit with barely a passing thought of the team he was leaving behind.

  He was unpacking his bag in his new locker room when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

  "Excuse me, Logan?"

  He looked up to find a woman standing in front of him — red sweater, tight blue jeans, black boots. Long dark brown hair and dark brown eyes to match. She was heavenly.

  "I'm Maxine Quinn, reporter for the Detroit Herald."

  She was a journalist, which meant she was off limits. Of course.

  Except there was Logan's other memory of Max, one that he had never mentioned to anyone. Not to his friends and definitely not to his teammates.

  A year ago. This same hotel in Denver that they always stayed in when the team was on the road. Snow finally tapering off outside after a storm dumped piles of the white stuff in only a few hours. The Pirates had already been here for 24 hours, champing at the bit to play, only to have the game postponed because of the weather.

  It was late. The team was getting stir crazy. A few of the guys were playing cards while the reporters told stories about the crazy road trips they were on back in the '80s. The coaches were yammering on about the old days. Nachos, beers, Alex swearing in Russian as he lost another hand of poker. Some of the guys moved all the furniture out of the rookies' room into the hotel lobby.

  No one was paying attention to Logan as he slipped out of the room they were in to get some candy from the vending machine down the hall. No one saw him run into Max. No one noticed them talking shop as he walked back to her hotel room with her — and as she invited him in.

  It was no big deal. They were on friendly terms. Reporter and player debating which team in the eastern division was looking the best for a possible playoff run. Innocent conversation.

  Until somehow it became a whole lot less innocent. Logan couldn't remember who made the first move, but he really didn't care. He just knew she tasted sweet and her skin was soft and warm under his calloused fingers. And her breasts… They were the best breasts he had ever put his mouth on. All that was even before he made her moan, her nails digging into his back as she came hard and took him for all he had.

  He stayed with her for a while, her warm body so close to his before he quietly slipped out after she fell asleep. The hall was silent, the players all tucked in for the night by the time he got back to his room. Alex was snoring as Logan gently shut the door behind him, thankful that his tryst wouldn't be noticed by anyone.

  If only it could had been more than a tryst. After weeks of not mentioning it, not saying anything, after the New Year and more road trips, he finally had a fleeting moment with Max when no one else was around. That was the moment she told him their night together could never happen again.

  "You can't tell me you didn't have a good time," Logan teased.

  "It was a mistake. I'm a reporter, and we can't do that again," she said.

  "Really, Max?"

  She just gave him a stern look and turned, the tails of her bunny slippers bitterly bouncing down the hall as she headed back to her hotel room. Alone.

  The bag of ice on Logan's shoulder started to shift, and he quickly grabbed it to hold it in place. Leaning back, his head hit the headboard of his bed as he exhaled. He had his shar
e of women since that night a year ago — he was a hockey player in a hockey city after all. But none of them could live up to Max.

  That one night with Maxine Quinn. Reporter for the Detroit Herald. Totally off limits.

  Chapter 2

  "Hey, you coming out tonight?" Logan asked Pirates' team captain Jordan King as they finished changing into their suits after the game.

  "Nah. Charlotte is taking me to some fancy restaurant."

  Logan just smiled and shook his head. Jordan's girlfriend, Charlotte Stone, was a former reality star who had moved to Detroit to work on her writing career. If he hadn't seen her on that show, Logan would've thought his captain's girlfriend was a nice down-to-earth Midwestern girl. But every once in a while, Charlotte's former fancy Manhattan lifestyle would show through. A post-game dinner at a trendy restaurant in Los Angeles was one of those times.

  Logan definitely wasn't a fancy restaurant kind of guy. He knew all the waiters at his local Coney Island, and they knew his regular order. Two Coney dogs and chili cheese fries with a chocolate shake. He was a hockey player after all and he needed lots of calories.

  But a trendy L.A. bar in his game-day suit? He was all for that.

  Logan and a group of players made sure their equipment was set up to get packed by the equipment managers and then headed out. There was a bar a few blocks away from the arena that they always liked to walk to after they played a game here. Luckily, fans in Los Angeles weren't too obnoxious if they ran into players from the opposing team on the street, unlike other cities. This was definitely not like Philly.

  Plus, the bar they were headed to had more cocktails and less beers — hardly a place for the typical hockey fan. Hockey players like Logan did tend to favor a more down-to-earth beer place, but Los Angeles was special, even if it was just a typical road game like any other road game.

  Although it wasn't so typical. The Pirates went on a rout tonight, picking up six goals while goalie Matt Jackson got a shutout. It was a good night.