Finn's Shot (Eden's Odyssey Book 1)

Finn’s Shot

Eden’s Odyssey,
Book 1

Tiffani
Lynn

Finn’s Shot

Copyright
Ó
by Tiffani Lynn

This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are
products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual
events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

ALL
RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission from the author.

For
information contact Tiffani Lynn at
www.tiffanilynn.com

Cover
Design by Bella Media Management

Editor:
Bella Media Management

Dedication

To Teddy, for giving me my happily ever
after and my introduction to hockey. I love that you continue to nurture my obsession
with this crazy-amazing sport. Cheering for our Tampa Bay Lightning next to you
is one of my favorite things to do.
Go BOLTS!

Acknowledgements

Author and friend, Lexi Post, you have
not only been a great support to me through this process but you’ve also been a
wealth of knowledge. I want to thank you for selflessly sharing with me all
you’ve learned with romance writing and self publishing. Mentoring is a tough
gig but you’ve taken on the task with patience and a smile even when you’re
knee deep in your own deadlines. Our long lunches always get my creativity
flowing and the idea for Eden’s Odyssey came to me during one of those.

Carol Webb at Bella Media Management you
created a website I’m proud of, provided editing that was helpful and
professional (never hurtful), a sexy cover for this book, and answered a ton of
questions for me during every phone call. I look forward to working with you again
soon. Thank you for everything!

A huge debt of gratitude to my friend and
fellow author Kat Mizera for sharing all the things you’ve learned during your
own self publishing process this year and helping me rename this Chicago team. I
also want you to know how much I love having a woman friend who loves and
understands hockey like you do. One day we will go to a game together!

A special thanks to Judy Swinson for
encouraging me to self publish. You knew I could do it before I did. Your
positivity is contagious!

Finally, I’ll never tire of thanking my
Beta Babes. Your honest opinion and insight is more helpful than you can
imagine. Alison Dye, April Klusman, Barb Teeter, Barbie Stokes Timpson, Judy Swinson.,
Kat Mizera, Lisa Qualls, and Maria Robinette if I had a million dollars for
each of you it still wouldn’t come close to your worth.

Author’s
Note

The character of Finn Thompson was
inspired by a mixture of my favorite NHL players and not one specific player.
If you contact me, I’ll be glad to share who my favorites are and why. I also
wanted to note that because this is a work of fiction I changed the Chicago
team name to reflect that. Last, I felt it worth mentioning that I took some
liberties with the schedule and it may not match up exactly with the
traditional NHL schedule.

I spend a ridiculous amount of time
watching hockey and am therefore well acquainted with the teams, many of it’s
players and a lot of the rules. I wasn’t sure how much hockey my readers were
familiar with so I didn’t include as much ice time as I would have liked. If
you’d like to see more game time included in future works please feel free to
contact me and let me know. I look forward to hearing from you, I hope you
enjoy what find between the covers of this book.

I smile to myself as I step
out of the double doors and away from the empty arena. I took my time leaving
tonight hoping to be able to walk to my truck without a horde of hockey hookers
following me like the pied piper of fake boobs and stilettos. It looks like I
waited long enough. If I were Irish I’d do a damn jig to celebrate, but I’m
Canadian and we’re far more reserved than that.

It’s not that I haven’t
enjoyed my share of puck bunnies over the years, but the groupie scene gets old
after awhile. I’m old enough now that I need more substance. Just getting my
rocks off doesn’t quite cut it, so I don’t bother with those women unless I’m
desperate. It’s been awhile, but not so long that I need to go that route.

I sling my duffle bag onto
the back seat of my truck, shut the door and press the button on my keys to
lock it up. After the tell-tale beep of the lock, I stride to a bar about three
blocks down. I’m not going to stay anonymous in this suit for long, but I
forgot to bring a change of clothes. It’s a league rule we arrive and depart
from the arenas in a suit and tie. With my height and build sporting a suit makes
it hard to remain inconspicuous in a bar, especially near our home ice.

Buddy’s Bar is one of my
favorites near our home arena, and I drop in every chance I get. I don’t drink
much, especially during the season, but I like the staff, the kind of clientele
they draw and the enormous televisions all turned to different hockey games
during the season. In the off season it’s just a nice place to relax.  

As I approach, a petite woman
with long blonde, curly hair catches my attention. She’s standing on the street
corner in front of Buddy’s like she plans to cross, but hasn’t moved. There’s a
crowd of people behind her and they all step out and around her, moving past
like she’s a statue in their path.

Why isn’t she moving?

I’ve stopped moving as my
gaze runs the length of her. A black thigh length pea coat is wrapped around
her and tied with a red sash in the front leaving her toned shapely legs visible. 
The last thing I notice is the sexy high heels on her little feet. Something
about this woman has me like a duck in an oil slick, unable to move. She
continues to stare straight ahead as the windy Chicago air toys with the ends
of her hair, lifting and twisting the strands. The movement is hypnotizing.

Almost as if she knows I’m
staring at her, she turns her head toward me, her eyes locking on mine. Her
lips part, but she doesn’t say anything. Her eyes sweep me from head to toe,
and then meet mine again. I smile at her, unable to help myself. Her features
are delicate with a small and slightly upturned nose, plump rose-colored lips,
skin a soft alabaster, and cheeks pink from the cool air. She’s simply
stunning. Classy and beautiful in a way I haven’t seen in a long time.

Her face lights up with a
playful smile, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. She looks
back to the street. Feet still cemented into place, I haven’t moved. Neither of
us say a word but the connection is instant, and I know I
can’t
let her
leave.

“Wait!” I shout, surprising
myself. “Wait!”

She pauses and glances back
as I approach from behind.

“Hey. Are you busy now?” I
ask.

I should probably introduce
myself, but I can’t seem to make my mouth say what I believe needs to be said. She
shakes her head but doesn’t actually speak. She just gifts me with another
dazzling smile.

“Want to join me for a drink?”
I blurt, suddenly feeling like an adolescent boy rather than the grown man I
am. I reach my hand out toward her like I expect her to say yes.

Her eyes search mine with the
hint of smile in them and finally she nods and places her hand in mine, which
is tiny and surprisingly warm. I grin at her and gently pull her inside
Buddy’s.

Once seated, I wave the barkeep
down to us and say, “Molson bottle tonight for me, Frank, and for the lady….” I
turn waiting for her response. She smiles and before she can reply, Frank answers
for her with a chuckle, “Diet and rum with a twist of lime? Hey, Darcy. Good to
see you.”

“Yes. Hey, Frankie. Good to
see you too. Sorry I haven’t been in for awhile.” The old guy chuckles again and
wanders off to get our drinks. Twisting the upper half of my body as I lean
against the bar, I shake my head and smile. “Regular here…
Darcy
?”

“Not anymore. I’m too busy. Been
coming here for years though. Even with all the bars in the area, this one’s
still my favorite.”

“I see. So what do you do
that has you so busy?”

She smiles an
I’ve-got-a-secret smile while looking at her clasped hands on the bar and
responds, “Hmmm. Let’s not go there. Let’s avoid the usual small talk bullshit
and come up with the most bizarre questions possible to ask the other person.”

One side of my mouth kicks up
as I consider her proposal. This could be very interesting. Why the hell not?
No telling what she’ll say, and she’s already surprised me enough that I want
to see what’s next. “Sure, that sounds good. I’m Finn by the way.”

She giggles a little and
says, “Nice to meet you, Finn. I’ll go first, since this was my idea. Would you
rather be attacked by a mountain lion or a bear?”

Not what I expected her to
ask. What does that even mean? My surprise is obvious as my eyebrows rise to my
hairline.

“What?”

“Mountain lion or bear?”

My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Can
I answer neither one?”

The playful smile firmly in
place, she shakes her head.

“I guess a mountain lion,
because I’ll be taller. I’ll have a better chance that way.”

She busts up laughing, the
sound infectious. What a bizarre question.

“How tall are you exactly?”
she asks.

“Six foot six.”

“I guess that’s why I have to
crane my neck back to look up at you since I’m only five foot six.” She grins
and holds her hand out, palm up, ushering for me to take the next question.

“What makes you laugh the
most? Slap stick, sarcasm or subtle humor?” I question, unable to come up with
something as bizarre as the mountain lion vs. bear one she threw at me.

“Slap stick when I’m watching
a movie. I watched the Three Stooges non-stop as a kid and couldn’t stop
laughing. Sarcasm in conversation, I guess. Subtle humor goes over my head,
more often than not.” Without even blinking, she rolls right into the next
question. “Whips or chains?” she asks with a naughty grin. I practically spit
my drink out. I
really
wasn’t expecting her to go that route. It’s rare
that a woman will surprise me, but she’s succeeded already.

“Um…”

She busts up laughing before
she shares her own answer to the question. “My preference is chains. Rather be
chained up than whipped. Pain is not my thing”

My eyes are enormous as I get
the impression she isn’t kidding. We go back and forth for an hour with more
goofy questions, and it’s the best and strangest conversation I’ve had with a
woman in awhile. Her forward nature mixed with high self-confidence and a body
that won’t quit, leads me to yell down the bar to Frank and request the check. Before
I can get a word out, she invites, “Come back to my place?”

Under normal circumstances,
forward women turn me off. As a hockey player, women tend to throw themselves
at me and expect a response. It’s not something I care for anymore, but there’s
something different about this woman, and she hasn’t mentioned the hockey
player thing. I’m not sure if she knows who I am. She doesn’t come across as sleazy
or cheap. She’s fun and charming and hasn’t acted like any other woman I’ve met.

“Sure. Sounds good. You want
to ride with me or do you have your own car?”

“My place is walking distance
from here. You can move your car to my street, but parking is limited so we’ll be
lucky to find a spot, but it’s up to you.”  

“I can just leave it where it
is now.” I almost mention it’s at the arena, but I decide I don’t want to reveal
my profession if I don’t have to. Let’s see how this evening turns out without
hockey player status.  

“Alright, follow me.”

As we pass through the glass
doors of the bar entrance, I follow closely behind her until she reaches back
and slides her small hand in mine and pulls me up next to her. Her head doesn’t
even reach my shoulder. She doesn’t say a word as we walk through the deserted
streets; the only sound is the cadence of our footsteps. Ten minutes later, we’re
riding an elevator up to the top of a nice downtown apartment building. It’s
not fancy by any means, but it’s nicer than most and seems quiet.

As she pushes her way into
the apartment, pausing to flick on lights in the place, an explosion of color
smacks me in the face. I’m not expecting it, so it’s more shocking than it
should be. The walls are sunshine yellow and there are colorful paintings all
over the place. Her bright, multi-colored furniture is all solid patterns. This
is the exact opposite of my apartment. What the hell have I gotten myself into?