Unsportsmanlike Conduct: The Rules of the Game Book Four Read online

  Unsportsmanlike Conduct

  The Rules of the Game Book Four

  Emma Tharp

  Unsportsmanlike Conduct: An Older Woman Younger Man Romance (Rules Of The Game Book Four)

  By Emma Tharp

  Copyright © 2019 by Emma Tharp

  For more about this author, please visit www.emmatharp.com

  All characters and events in this book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, then please return to amazon.com and purchase an additional copy.

  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. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator” at the address below.

  www.emmatharp.com

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  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

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  One

  Wes

  I feel sick.

  Maybe it's staring at all these damn happy couples. Or it could be my stuffy suit. But most likely it's the beer. I let myself get sloppy tonight, and I'm not proud of it.

  The banquet hall is filled with my teammates and their significant others. There’s music playing—it’s a slow song. People are dancing, some are groping each other, and there are a few making out. For some reason, I can’t stop watching the couples. My stomach rolls.

  Derek must be able to sense that something is up with me because he comes striding in my direction across the room. I turn away, hoping he’ll decide to go back to Cora and ignore me.

  "Hey, man, everything okay?" Derek asks, his eyebrows pinched together.

  He's my best friend, but he doesn't need to babysit me. Especially not tonight. "Hey, I'm okay." I hear the slur in my voice and I hate it. "This is your night. Go back and find your fiancée and have a great time."

  Derek grasps me on the shoulder and squeezes. “I thought you were doing better.” He picks up my empty beer bottle and shakes it. "How many of these have you had?"

  "Too many. I think I'm going to take off." I try to stand but my legs feel like rubber and I slump back into my seat. "Maybe in a few minutes. Go enjoy yourself."

  Derek undoes the first button of his dress shirt and pulls up a chair to sit next to me. "There'll be other women. Let her go."

  No! Not like her.

  How many times has he said those words to me? And how many times will he say it before I believe it? I doubt I ever will.

  It was a party like this where I met her. The woman I love who will no longer have anything to do with me. It was a gala, actually. I’ll never forget seeing her for the first time—so elegant and seamlessly beautiful. She wore a form-fitting cream-colored gown. It was lace and it showed off just the right amount of cleavage. Her long blonde hair was down in waves across her back and she wore a bohemian-style floral headband. I had a hard time looking away from her all evening. It was my mission to find out who she was and to talk to her. She was Lydia Crow, country music mega-star.

  We did more than talk that night.

  I stare off into the crowd of people, all celebrating, drinking, and dancing. That’s what I should be doing. I shouldn’t be sitting here in the corner by myself, drinking my sorrows away. It isn’t even helping, anyway. "Thank you, but I don't think so," I say and raise the empty beer bottle to my lips and try to take a drink. Nope, it really is empty.

  "You just need to give it some more time." His tone is soothing.

  They say time is the ultimate healer. But it's been a month and I'm still a mess without her. "She was the one. Fuck the age difference. That never bothered me. I never even noticed it. I loved everything about her, her grace and maturity. And she never cared that I was a hockey player. She understood fame and all that came with it." I'm babbling now and I'm fully aware of it, but I'm powerless to stop myself. The drink and my best friend in front of me makes everything come pouring out.

  He nods. "I'm really sorry, man. You know I’m here for you. Anytime you need to talk, I’ll listen. I'm going to get you an Uber and help you outside." Derek clicks a few buttons on his phone and stands, extending his hand to me.

  Since I don't want to humiliate myself tonight like I have in the past, I reach for his hand and let him pull me to a standing position. It takes a minute but I right myself and on shaky legs take myself outside.

  Before I met Lydia, I couldn’t ever go out for just one drink. It was always a party if I went out. I’d try to be smart about it. I’d only plan it on nights that we didn’t have an early practice or a game the next day. It’d always be my justification.

  With Derek holding me steady on the way out of the hall, I remember the night when I drank too much at Rick’s engagement party. Derek and Teddy—another buddy from the team—had to carry me out of the hall after I threw up my pasta dinner all over the place. What a mess.

  We stand on the sidewalk and I breathe in the warm May air. It helps steady me.

  Derek pats me on the shoulder and says, "I know you don’t want to go back to the way things were before her. Right?”

  Shaking my head, I think about all those nights I’d stumble home drunk, or worse, the nights I’d blackout and couldn’t remember anything from the night before. “Don’t worry. This is just a setback. It’s not going to become a habit.” And I mean it. Being with Lydia changed me, and I don’t want to slip back into the boy I used to be before she helped me become the man I’m meant to be. I was the best version of myself when I was with her and if there’s any hope of me winning her back, I’ve got to continue to be a man.

  Starting in the NHL when I was nineteen, I was still a kid pretending to be an adult. And having all that fame and money at a young age, I didn’t know how to handle it all. So, I partied and slept around. Many nights, I would be so drunk, my friends would have to get me home and put me to bed.

  Being with Lydia changed all of that. I wanted to be with her and I knew I’d have to step up my game to be worthy of a woman like her. Someone so mature and put together. She never had to ask me to change because when we spent time together, I wanted more of that, of her—and partying and random hook-ups never gave me the high I felt when I was with Lydia.

  Derek shoves his hands deep into his pockets. “Good. Glad to hear it. Your ride should be here any minute."

  “Good. Thanks. I hope I didn’t ruin your engagement party.” My gut twists.

  “No. I could tell you weren’t yourself. That’s why I came to check on you. Cora is having so much fun dancing, I bet she doesn’t even realize I’m gone,” he says.

  I stare at Derek and see a man who's so content and fulfilled. He proposed to the woman of his dr
eams and now they’re going to get married. I am happy for him. But I'm also green with jealousy. I thought I was going to have that with Lydia. That is, until she broke up with me over Skype. I want answers that make sense. I deserve them. Sure, things between us didn’t start out the conventional way, but in the six months that I called her mine, she became my everything. A tear stings my eye and I rub it away with the heel of my hand. No way am I going to cry. Not here.

  The Uber pulls up and Derek guides me to the door. "I'll talk to you in the morning. Don't do anything stupid. Stay away from your phone,” he warns.

  I get in the car and he closes the door behind me. I respect his opinion but I also know that I have to hear her voice tonight.

  Two

  Lydia

  "You look tired," Kenny, my manager, says right before he takes a bite of his filet mignon.

  “I'm okay. Didn't sleep great last night." Or any night lately.

  Kenny polishes off the last of his whiskey swirling the ice around the glass. "Is it ‘the kid’?"

  Kenny always liked referring to Wes, my ex-boyfriend, as ‘the kid’. I'm 42 and Wes is 23. Effectively he is a kid, but he never acted like one with me. Kenny is ten years older than I am—but I’ve never actually asked him. He doesn’t look old—and he is attractive. The only thing that gives away his age is his salt and pepper hair.

  "No. I'm fine,” I lie. I am tired. From not sleeping and this tour. We’ve been to fifty cities in the last two months. I need a break, but I have another few weeks to go. And I have been thinking about Wes lately, too.

  Kenny gives me a shrug. He knows I'm lying. He's been my manager for the last 14 years. He sees through all my BS.

  After the night that Wes and I met, I made a decision that he and I were nothing more than an illicit tryst, but when Kenny saw the tabloid photos of Wes and me together taken at the gala, he thought it would be good for my career if I saw him more.

  It didn't take much encouragement for me to see Wes again—but only as an occasional hook-up.

  After losing my husband tragically ten years ago, I dated a string of bad boys. Men who would use me, would treat me badly. I began to question my instincts when it came to dating. But there was something different with Wes and it scared me. In my mind it was only going to be a quick affair. That's it—or that’s what I tried telling myself.

  It shocked me how easy it was to be with Wes—how mature he is for his age—and how quickly feelings developed between us. Even though Wes and I agreed that we would keep it casual and it’d only be about sex. How could it be more with the travel we both do for our jobs and the almost twenty-year age difference? I was upfront with him. He's a young man with his entire life ahead of him. I won’t take advantage of that. I don't have children, nor do I want them. When my husband was alive, we talked about it, but it never happened. Wes deserves the type of wife who would give him a family. A son or daughter so Wes could coach their hockey team.

  I was so sure of everything. That is, until I started to see it. Wes was falling in love with me. He never said it, but he didn't have to. I could feel it. He didn’t have his guard up as high as I did. And I was getting carried away as well. That’s why it made the most sense to end it with him—before anymore feelings could develop.

  It's been a month and he still hasn't stopped trying to reach me. I can't give in and confuse him into thinking this will ever go anywhere.

  "You know the Wolverines are playing tonight. It's a semi-final playoff game. If they win, they make it to the Stanley Cup finals."

  My heart rate speeds up for Wes. It's a dream of his and his team to make it to the finals and to win. I try to catch his games on TV when I can. Even if we don’t talk, I still like to watch him play. I don’t know the ins and outs of hockey, but he looks so good playing it. It’d probably be smarter to stop watching, but it’s a small pleasure that I allow myself. It makes me feel closer to him.

  I set my napkin on the table next to my barely eaten plate. "I'm not going to watch." It’s easier to lie than to explain myself to him.

  Kenny's eyes are warm and understanding. He pats my hand and says, "Whatever you need to do to get over him."

  I've always looked up to Kenny, almost like a father figure. Although I don't believe he sees me as a daughter. He is a good man who is always on my side no matter what and I appreciate him for that. You don't always see that in this business.

  "I think I’m going to head up and go to bed now,” I tell him.

  "Need me to walk you up?"

  "Bruno has me." I look over my shoulder at my bodyguard standing stock still against the wall of the restaurant. "We've only got to go to the elevator and up a few floors."

  "The convenience of being in the hotel restaurant when they reserve the entire place for you. I'll take care of everything down here.” He gestures toward the table and the bill. “You go ahead and get a good night’s sleep."

  Getting up from the chair, I smile at him and move toward Bruno. We go up the elevator in silence. It's one thing I love about my bodyguard. I know he's always observing everything but with him, still waters run deep. If he has something to say, it's usually meaningful. Any moment spent in silence with him is not awkward, but comforting. Once at the top floor, we head out of the elevator together and I open the door to my room and tell him good night. He simply nods and stands near my doorway.

  Changing out of my jeans and sweater, I put on the tank top and pajama pants and throw my hair in a bun on top of my head. I pull back the covers of the bed and switch the TV on to the Wolverines game so I can cheer Wes on.

  Three

  Wes

  “To the win,” we all chant from around the dinner table at Le Rosa.

  We did it. The Wolverines made it into the Stanley Cup playoffs. We will be playing the San Francisco Renegades starting next week. My heart pounds thinking about the possibility of winning the Stanley Cup. I've been in the NHL for four years and have never been this close to winning.

  Sitting around the table with some of my best friends—brothers really—and some of their girlfriends and wives, I take it all in. I'm blessed to do what I love for a living and have some of the best human beings around me. It chokes me up. The only thing missing is Lydia sitting next to me. Then my life would feel complete.

  “You feeling better now?” Derek leans in and asks. I know he’s referring to my behavior at his engagement party.

  I nod. “I am, buddy. Thanks for asking. It was a minor setback. I’m really sorry about that.” My face gets warm thinking about being so drunk at his and Cora’s engagement party.

  “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t a big deal.” Derek swats me on the back.

  Maybe I didn’t ruin the evening by throwing up everywhere or breaking something, but I have to keep myself in check. “Thanks, I appreciate you making sure I got home okay. I know my limits and for whatever reason, I crossed the line.”

  “You’ve got this. And I have to ask. Did you call Lydia?” He raises an eyebrow.

  I smirk and shake my head.

  “You did, didn’t you?” Derek laughs at me.

  “I called, but she didn’t answer.”

  Derek takes a bite of his pasta. “Good. I’m glad she didn’t. She saved you from making a fool out of yourself. Nothing good comes from a drunk dial.”

  I nod and neglect to tell him that I left a sappy ass message that I wish I could take back now.

  “Hey, how great was that save in the third period?” Teddy asks from across the table.

  “Oh, man, you were in a full split! It was sweet,” Derek answers.

  Even though I should be listening to Derek and Teddy talk about the plays from last evening, I'm drawn in to Cora and Bri's conversation. They're speaking loudly and Bri’s eyes keep darting in my direction. I'm pretending to eat my chicken but when I hear them mention Lydia's name my ears perk up.

  "Yes, I got us great seats for the show, she's playing here in three weeks."

  Lydia is
a country music sensation. Cora and Bri are a couple of her biggest fans. When we were dating and we all went out together, the girls would always fan girl over Lydia. It doesn't surprise me that they will be getting tickets to see her show when it comes here in to Nashville. I should go to a show.

  An idea sparks. I've got the weekend off. I'm supposed to be working with my trainer, but I could blow it off.

  I inconspicuously pull my cell phone out of my pocket and do an Internet search of Lydia Crow’s tour dates. This weekend she is playing at SPAC in Saratoga Springs, New York. I go on a ticket website and buy myself a ticket for this weekend’s show. If she isn't going to talk to me, then I'll go to her.

  The smile that's been on my face this evening from the win has now gotten brighter because I have a plan and I'm going to see Lydia this weekend.

  After an uneventful flight to New York the next morning, I drive the rental car to the Saratoga Performing Arts Center. My mind is racing with the possibilities of what’s to come tonight. This could be a colossal mistake—or it could be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

  In the six months that Lydia and I dated, I never did make it to any of her concerts. I have no doubt that it's going to be amazing. The woman puts her heart and soul into everything she does. I'm sure it will be the same when it comes to her art.

  Sitting in traffic behind a row of cars going toward the venue, a nagging begins to burrow. What if she tells me to fuck off and leave her alone? I hope I'm not making a mistake. No. I miss her too much. I need her to explain again why she decided we'd never work out, because I know better. We could make it. She thinks that because of our age difference she knows what's best for me, She's wrong. She thinks I want kids. I'm a 23-year-old man and I know what I want and it's her. Sure, if she wanted a child, that would be great, but I don’t think she does. I’ll be okay with whatever we decide as long as it’s together.