A Perfect Compromise. Anna Sugden

mistake. His head throbbed from the loud music, his stomach roiled from the fiery nachos and tequila shots, and his entire body felt like it had gone the distance with a heavyweight boxer.

      Kenny and Mad Dog were busy with a couple of hockey groupies in town for the game. Hailey, the blonde J.B. had been chatting with, wanted to dance, but he knew if he stepped into that mass of sweaty, gyrating bodies, he’d either pass out or puke. Or both. Kasanski was looking better by the minute.

      “Sorry, Hailey. Another time. I’m beat. I’m gonna cut out of here.”

      “Stay a little longer. Please.” She trailed a finger down his chest.

      “I can’t. I’m dead on my feet.” He smiled wearily. “But I’ll take a rain check. Next time I’m in Denver with a free night, I’ll look you up.”

      J.B. turned to let his friends know he was bugging out.

      That was his first mistake. His second was underestimating how unsteady his legs were.

      Hailey tugged his arm. As J.B. pulled himself free, he felt his feet slide out from under him and went down hard, smacking the back of his head on the floor.

      Unfortunately, as he fell, J.B. caught Hailey with his arm and knocked her backward.

      All hell broke loose.

      “Oh, my God. That jerk hit Hailey,” a woman yelled.

      “You drunk ass,” shouted another.

      J.B. tried to check if Hailey was all right but couldn’t see her through the gathering crowd. “I didn’t mean to hit her,” he tried to explain but no one was listening.

      A male voice joined the rising wave of female outrage. “We’ll show you how we treat bullies in this town.”

      “Bastard,” someone else swore.

      J.B. felt the kick but didn’t see it coming. Curling his body to protect himself brought on a wave of nausea. He should get up, get out of there, but he was so woozy he could hardly move.

      After that, everything was hazy. J.B. was vaguely aware of Kenny and Mad Dog pulling people off him, dragging him to his feet and out of the club, and shoving him into a cab. They managed to get him back to his room before the nachos and tequila made a violent reappearance in the bathroom.

      At some point they must have put him to bed because, when he awoke the following morning, he was facedown on the bed, still fully clothed. His mouth tasted like he’d spent the night licking his hockey gloves.

      “Coffee, ibuprofen, juice and dry toast,” Kenny said.

      J.B. groaned and gingerly rolled over.

      “Do you want the good news or the bad?” Mad Dog’s quiet words triggered memories of what had happened the night before.

      J.B. swallowed the pills, then drained the juice before answering. “I’m in a crapload of trouble. History has pretty much repeated itself, only this time no one can bail me out.”

      Back in his rookie season J.B. had got into a predicament in a nightclub that could have ended his career before it got going. Not only had his teammates rescued him, but Bad Boy had taken the blame in the media. It had been a rude wake-up call and J.B. had steered clear of situations that could go belly-up ever since.

      Until last night.

      “Yeah. And the story is all over social media,” Kenny added helpfully.

      Damn it! “Coach Macarty will love that. Not.”

      “He’s taking it better than expected, but he doesn’t want to see your face until this has died down.”

      “How am I supposed to avoid him? We’re taking the same plane back to Jersey.”

      Mad Dog looked uncomfortable. “He’s arranged for you to fly home separately so you can keep a low profile. I volunteered to go with you.”

      “Thanks, man.”

      “Coach is also delaying your end-of-season interview for a week,” Kenny said. “He reckons he’ll have cooled down by then.”

      Not only did J.B. feel like crap he also had the indignity of having to sneak out of Denver like a crook on the lam. Plus, he’d blown his reputation to hell—once again. “And the good news is?”

      “Instead of going home,” Mad Dog said. “I thought it’d be better to get out of the country altogether and hang out for a few days someplace where they don’t follow hockey.”

      “Where’s that? The Sahara Desert?”

      “Funny.” His friend slapped a piece of paper on the bedside cabinet. “Antigua. The Golden Sands Resort. All inclusive. Adults only. A two-bedroom, beachfront bungalow.”

      J.B. frowned. “Isn’t that the place we’re heading to in a couple of weeks for our vacation?”

      “Ding, ding! Give the man a prize. I got hold of Tracy at Making Your Move and asked her to pull our reservation forward to tomorrow. Not today, because I don’t want you spewing in my lap at thirty thousand feet. We fly at noon.”

      “But I’m supposed to go to my parents’ place.”

      “You can head to the farm after you’ve got back from the Caribbean.”

      “We haven’t got the right clothes with us.”

      “Jeez, chill. You can buy what you need when you get there.”

      “Okay. Great.” Maybe he’d feel half-human by then.

      Kenny shook his head. “A vacation on a tropical island. Even when you screw up, you land on your feet. Think of me. While you’re sipping frothy drinks with umbrellas, I’ll be working with hordes of kids at Ike’s summer hockey camp.”

      “Them’s the breaks.” Mad Dog grinned.

      Kenny flipped him the bird. “Just make sure Larocque stays out of trouble.”

      “It was a freaking accident,” J.B. protested, massaging his aching temples.

      “We know. But bad stuff always seems to happen to you, even if you don’t go looking for it.”

      “I promise to be on my best behavior. I’m not interested in anything but chilling and deciding which ‘frothy drink’ to have next.”

      Besides, how much trouble could anyone get into at a fancy Caribbean resort?

      * * *

      “I CAN’T WEAR THIS.” Isabelle Brandine held up the tiny but admittedly cute red polka-dot bikini she’d just pulled out of her suitcase. “It’s so...small.”

      “It’ll look great on you.” Her best friend, Sapphire Houlihan, who was lounging on the other bed in their resort room, waved her hand. “It’ll show off your fabulous figure.”

      “That’s not what I’m worried about it showing, Sapphie.” Issy dropped the bikini on the bed and continued unpacking.

      “Tough, because your frumpy one-piece is in the trash back in New Jersey.”

      Issy stopped for a moment. “You threw away my swimsuit?”

      Sapphie sipped the Antiguan rum punch they’d been given at check-in. “You’ve had it since college. Consider it a gift for coming on the trip with me.”

      Though she knew it wouldn’t change anything, Issy made a token protest. “You already paid for my ticket and this gorgeous beachfront room. Besides, this is meant to be your thirtieth celebration. You should be getting presents, not me.”

      “This is for me.” Sapphie shot her a wicked grin. “No hot guys would come near us if they saw you in that ancient thing. Now we’ll be fighting them off.”

      “I’m not interested in a holiday fling.”

      “Why