Dirty Swedish Player: A Big Stick Novel Read online

  "A sexy NHL player, a sassy heroine, and a heartfelt romance that kept me engaged from beginning to end!" — NYT bestseller Mia Sheridan on Big Stick.

  “I knew in Big Stick I would love Oli’s story, and after getting to know this sexy giant in the pages of Butt Ending, I now think I love him more than Myles… so, therefore, I claim them both!” ~ A.M. Madden USA Today Bestselling Author, on Butt Ending.

  "Myles and Flynn's chemistry is ice-melting hot in this fast-paced, friends-to-lovers romance sure to warm your heart. Another R.C. Stephens SCORE!" - Julie A. Richman, USA Today Bestseller on Big Stick.

  DIRTY SWEDISH PLAYER

  A BIG STICK NOVEL 3

  R.C. Stephens

  Copyright © 2019 by R.C. Stephens (Irene Cohen)

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Resemblance to actual persons and things living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from The Truth About Us

  35. Chapter One

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by R.C. Stephens

  Prologue

  “Nils, come in here,” Mother called from the family room where I sat peacefully on the couch watching the game. I don’t know why I’m even here. When she phoned earlier today and asked me to come see her, she sounded . . . sad? I shouldn’t care, not after the way she left me behind, but I do. I always do. No matter how shitty she treats me, I love her.

  “Nils, did you hear me?”

  I thought if I ignored her long enough, maybe she’d stop calling my name and let me watch the game in peace—apparently not. The season just started for the NHL. I planned to spend my free time this afternoon watching the game, not hanging out with Mother and her new family.

  “She isn’t going to give up. You might as well see what she wants,” my stepfather, Steve, says dryly from beside me. He doesn’t really feel like my stepfather, since I’ve only known him a year. I scratch my head, wondering if she got a divorce from Father, back in Sweden. I wonder if Steve has had this exact thought.

  I shake my head. It’s none of my business what Mother does.

  “You’re right,” I say, forcing a smile. “They are one of my favorite teams,” I say, realizing it’s not much.

  “Mine too,” he agrees.

  I hate to think that I’m still holding a grudge about Mother not sending for me sooner. She was living it up here in America, while I survived a shitty existence with my violent alcoholic father. In the letters Mom wrote to me, I understood she was living with a man who didn’t want to deal with some abused adolescent boy from a shithole back in Sweden. I was angry when I arrived in this country, but then Steve noticed my hockey skills and called in a favor. I wanted to hate him. The anger that I harbored back in Hogsby while waiting for my mother to save me still burns inside me like an ember. I just don’t let it flare, reminding myself that I’m in college on a champion hockey team trying to secure my future. I take deep breaths.

  I’m happy Steve doesn’t talk too much. It made it easy to live with him.

  “Nils,” Mother calls out again. Fucking hell. Steve eyes me, his lip quirking on one side.

  I get off the couch and walk through the very large house. Mother is in the kitchen, cooking dinner with Steve’s daughter, Sierra. She has been living with her aunt in Chicago, so we just met today. I can’t understand why she chose to move to Chicago and not live in this amazing house.

  I walk into the bright kitchen with gray, sleek cabinets and modern trim. The stone counters look shiny and expensive, like they jumped out of a magazine. The fridge alone is probably big enough to feed all the people of our small town back in Sweden.

  “Yes, Mother,” I say blandly in English, since Mother says its rude to speak Swedish when Sierra and Steve are around.

  “Can you be a little more pleasant?”

  She gives me a chastising grin, and turns her attention to Sierra. Mom rolls her eyes and her lips tip up at the corners, as if her and Sierra are sharing a private joke.

  “I am.” I shrug. I agreed to come for dinner, didn’t I? She should be happy with that.

  “Sierra, sweetheart, would you mind giving me a moment alone with Nils?” she says, rubbing Sierra’s arm gently. She’s even affectionate with this girl. The mother I knew spent most of her days out of the house, working or spending time with her few friends in town. Mothering wasn’t at the top of her list of things to do. Although, I can’t say I blame her. I also did what I could to stay far away from Father.

  Sierra eyes me and her cheeks flush as she leaves the room. I smile briefly and take a seat at the kitchen table across from Mother. By the look on her face, I already know she wants something.

  “She is such a lovely girl, isn’t she?” Mother asks.

  “Uh . . . I guess. I’ve only just met her,” I counter.

  “Yes, I know, but she’s a pretty little thing,” she continues. Okay she is cute, I guess. I’m not really into her type. She looks like a good girl with those thick-framed glasses, and Steve is always saying what a good student she is. I have to do well in my classes to stay on the college hockey team, but I couldn’t care less about school.

  “Steve is so happy she agreed to move back here to go to Minnesota State, and I’m proud of you, too, Nils. Thank goodness Steve was able to convince the recruiters to come and see you.” Her lips spread wide and she bats her lashes.

  “Thanks for reminding me every chance you get,” I say. Fuck. This is worse than torture.

  “Don’t be like that.” She places her hand over mine.

  “Okay,” I answer, because arguing with her gets me nowhere. I stare into crisp blue eyes that mirror my own. “What’s going on?”

  Mother takes a deep breath. I dart my gaze around the kitchen, pots and pans cooking on the stove. I don’t remember her preparing food when she was home, yet she moved to America and became wife of the year.

  “Nils, I need a favor.” Of course she does.

  “You have my attention.” I sit back in my chair and cross my arms in front of my chest.Mother peeks over her shoulder, I guess to see if the coast is clear. She turns to me and straightens her spine. Mom moves closer, as if she wants to share a secret. “She’s having some trouble adjusting at school. She hasn’t made friends and Steve is unhappy about this,” she says.

  Sierra attends Minnesota State because her father is the Dean of the College of Arts and Humanities. I don’t see her around since
I spend most of my time with friends I’ve made on the hockey team.

  “I’m hoping you can help her out. She had a hard time in Chicago, and he’s worried about her. She’s very shy,” she says. I figured as much; Sierra didn’t even make eye contact when I said hello.

  “What do you mean help her?” I ask.

  “Befriend her. Maybe you could introduce her to some of your buddies on the hockey team? She just needs someone to give her a little push.” She bites her lip, a tell-tale sign that she has a scheme brewing in that warped brain of hers. She pulls her gaze from me like she’s deep in thought. “I have a much better idea.” She grins wide and puts her pointer finger up in the air. I already know I’m not going to like this.

  “What is it?” I ask. “I’m no therapist. I can’t teach his daughter to be outgoing. Besides, why would he want her hanging around the hockey team? Most of the guys only care about having sex. Is that what he wants for his daughter?” I grimace. I know Steve likes to get what he wants, and he can be pompous and self-righteous.

  “No, no, you are right.” She presses two fingers to her lips, and it looks like she’s deep in thought.

  Shit. What will she come up with now?

  “I have the perfect idea.” She claps her hands. Her English is better than mine, but she still has a heavy Swedish accent. “You pretend to be Sierra’s boyfriend. This way, boys don’t come onto her because she will be under your protection. You are popular. Introduce her to other girls so she can make friends. It’s perfect.”

  I jerk out of the chair. “Hell no. That is not perfect. Messed up is more like it. You want me to pretend I am dating my stepsister?” Of all the crazy shit this woman has done in her life, this has got to be at the top of the list.

  “Nils.” She stands and pushes my shoulder, urging me to sit back down. “Think about it. Nobody knows she’s your stepsister. You have only just met each other. You are not blood, and this would help her so much. She has a hard life. I want to see her smile.”

  Dammit, I can’t believe how sincere my mother sounds about helping this girl.

  She cups my chin and directs me to look at her. “I brought you to this country. I’ve given you a good life. I’m asking for a favor. And let’s not forget that it would make Steve happy,” she says. The ember inside me ignites. My gaze flails wildly from side to side. My instinct is to stand and fling the chair into the wall and watch it break into pieces. I picture Mom’s eyes wide and filled with hurt and maybe fear. I don’t want her to fear me, per se, but maybe the idea that I am exactly like my old man. Angry. And I am so damn angry at this woman, who seems to think of everyone but me. I clench and unclench my fists. I won’t lose my temper today.

  I won’t lose my temper today. Repeating the mantra helps, to a point.

  “Is that all you care about? Making Steve happy. Fucking hell, I am your son,” I hiss. Don’t you care what makes me happy? The words die on my tongue.

  “And I love you,” she places her hand over my clenched fist. Memories of my attempts to save her from my father’s wrath cross my mind. Something eases in my chest. “Sierra is very smart; maybe she can help you with your homework. You know, fix the English on your assignments.” Mom sweetens the deal with those words and any anger I feel releases. She’s thinking of me, too. I could use the help with my classes. It’s only fall semester and I’m already struggling.

  “If I agree, we call it even, you stop throwing Steve’s help in my face,” I say, my tone angrier than I mean it to be.

  “Agreed. You do this and Steve will be grateful. We can call it even.” She squeals and gives me a hug.

  I turn around and roll my eyes. “It’s a deal,” I say, heading back to the family room. Even though Mom was acting as if she just came up with the idea, I know better. She had this planned before I arrived. Steve is one weird fuck. Why would he want his goody two-shoes daughter to hang around someone like me?

  I take a seat on the couch in front of the TV. I would ask Steve what I missed, but fewer words are better with him.

  “Your mom spoke to you about Sierra?” Steve cocks a brow. It’s as if he already knows I said yes. He must know how persuasive Mother can be when she wants something.

  “Yes, I will help her.” I nod.

  “Thanks. I do appreciate it,” he says.

  “Yeah. Okay.” I shrug, and return to watching the game. I wonder what his daughter will have to say about all of this. She can’t possibly think it’s a good idea.

  Sierra walks down the stairs and takes a seat in the armchair off the side of the room.

  “Nils has agreed, dear. This will be really good for you. You’re book smart but not street smart. Nils will be a good teacher,” Steve says, and I want to hit him on the head. Why does he speak to his daughter in such a demeaning way? I don’t like it. It reminds me of my father back home.

  “Dad,” she says with a chiding voice.

  “Oh, don’t be shy. Nils is family,” he says. The poor girl’s cheeks turn pink. She’s timid. Another thought pops in my head. How would she look coming completely undone? My eyes rake over her body. I shake my head. Don’t think of her in that way.

  I want to ease her embarrassment. “No worries. You will be my pretend girlfriend. I know lots of people. You make friends then we can break up.”

  She nods and stands quickly. “Oh, I thought we’d be just friends,” she says.

  “My mother thought it would be safer if I say you’re my girlfriend. Guys on the hockey team are only interested in sex. This way, you have my protection,” I explain.

  “Thank you, Nils,” Steve says, looking to me with an appreciative nod.

  “Um, wouldn’t that be weird?” Sierra asks.

  Yes, it will be, but stop being so difficult.

  “No, it’s better—”

  “He’s right,” Steve cuts in. “Make friends with the girls. Hockey jocks aren’t for you,” Steve says.

  Am I supposed to be insulted?

  “Daddy, that’s . . .”

  “You focus on doing well at school,” Steve says with a commanding tone. He likes to be in control of everything, which I now see includes his daughter’s personal life.

  “But, Daddy, I want to have a life, too,” she says.

  My stomach sinks. I feel bad for her. What have you been through?

  No, stop it. It doesn’t matter.

  I sweep my gaze over her, cataloguing everything: her pretty face, beautiful round brown eyes with flecks of gold behind thick red glasses. Her tits are on the larger side, and she has a flat stomach leading to curvy hips.

  What am I doing?

  I need to keep my gaze at a respectable level. The way she looks makes it hard not to check her out. She isn’t my type, but hell, my body reacts to her in animalistic way. Like I’m a predator and she’s my prey.

  Shit!

  Checking out my stepsister is all wrong. So why does it feel so right?

  One

  Nils

  Present

  “This place is boring.” I swivel my head and look at my buddy, Matt.

  “Fuck, man, tell me about it,” he slurs. “Maybe we should go to one of the regular clubs.”

  I shouldn’t. Coach has been riding me about cutting down on the partying and fucking around. He seems to think it’s having a negative impact on my already out-of-control anger. I don’t think I have an anger problem, but the coach and senior managers have warned me that I will get benched if I keep getting into too many fights on the ice.

  “Hello.” Matt waves his hand in my face. “Earth to Nils.” He chuckles. Fuck, he’s so drunk.

  “Fuck off.” I swat his arm. “We should pick up some chicks and go back to my place.” My house is big and empty.

  We both turn our heads to look around the bar. It’s an old dive on a bad street but it serves the purpose. I get out of my house to blow off steam while maintaining a low profile, away from the public eye.

  There are a few patrons around the bar. So
me are playing pool at a table in the back corner, and there’s a table with two chicks sitting and drinking beer.

  “They’re kinda cute,” I say, tilting my chin to the ladies. One of them notices me eyeing her and smiles, then she whispers to her friend and they both grin wide. The blonde one lifts her hand and waves. Her brunette friend smiles and then gives us a small wave, too.

  Bingo.

  “Nils, don’t call them over.” Matt’s voice is pleading even through his lack of sobriety. “I promised Coach I’d keep an eye on you,” he says, defeat leaking from his tone.

  “I don’t know about you, but I want to get my dick wet,” I say, unapologetically.

  “Can you take them to the bathroom then? If we bring them back to your place it will turn into an all-night thing. We’ll have a shit practice tomorrow,” Matt slurs. Fuck, this is funny. He’s struggling to keep his head straight, yet he knows to try to keep me in line. Coach must have threatened him really good.

  “How can you be so reasonable when you’re this drunk?” I say. His head hangs between his shoulders and when he lifts it to look at me, it seems like his whole upper body is rocking from side to side.

  I snort laugh. He places his head on the bar and groans. I get up and walk over to the girls with my signature grin and swagger.

  I stumble and sway. Fuck, I don’t have swagger. They still wave me over. Their grins tell me they are pleased with my arrival at their table.