WARD WHISTLES as I step off the ice the next morning.
“Got your ass kicked today,” he comments, and I make a noise of agreement.
My focus is shot today. My muscles ache, and my limbs feel heavy. All night, I tossed and turned, thinking about Pippa riding my hand, the sweet, soft moans she tried to muffle into my shirt as she came.
I’ve never been the jealous type, but around Pippa, I lose my mind thinking about her with other guys. I hated the idea of her going out with Miller.
Fucking hated it.
An unwelcome thought wanders into my head. Erin would hang out with guys all the time, and I never felt like this.
Alarm races through me. No more messing around. For real, this time.
I picture her getting ready to go last night and stifle a groan. Fuck, those boots. Fuck me.
Pippa Hartley has no fucking clue how gorgeous she is.
“Streicher, are you listening?”
“Hmm?” I snap back to reality. Ward’s staring at me with a strange look. “Sorry, what?”
“The charity gala. You haven’t confirmed yet.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. The Vancouver Storm is one of the main donors for the local children’s hospital, and they’re holding a gala event at the end of January in Whistler, a ski resort town two hours north of Vancouver. The team will be there along with the other donors. It’s going to be a bunch of celebrities who I have no desire to spend time with. I support the charity, I attend the events at the hospital, and I even donate anonymously, but I hate going to the galas.
My thoughts are written all over my face, clearly, because Ward gives me a hard look.
“Attendance is mandatory, Streicher. I’m not asking.”
Fuck.
I rein it in, because keeping Ward happy is part of staying in Vancouver. I’ve been playing well—even better when Pippa’s sitting behind the net, a fact I hate admitting—and I’m not going to give the guy a reason to trade me.
“Okay,” I tell him. “I’ll be there.”
“Are you bringing a plus one?”
I’m about to say no. I should say no. Pippa can stay in Vancouver with Daisy, and if something happens with my mom, she can get over there fast.
The idea of going with Pippa makes it bearable, though. I picture her in an evening dress, feeling gorgeous. Her hand on my arm. Sipping champagne, laughing.
“Yes. I’m bringing a date.”
He studies me, the ghost of a smile forming on his mouth. “Good. Happy to hear it.”
I spend the rest of the afternoon in the gym, trying to keep my mind off her and the way she said I can’t do casual.
There it is—confirmation of exactly what I thought before. Pippa wants more than I can give her, just like Erin did. I’m older now, and I know better than to toy with someone’s emotions. Guilt stabs through me when I think about how I torched Erin’s career. She’s working on some local low-budget TV show when she wanted to be a supermodel, and that’s my fault.
I won’t make the same mistake with Pippa.
My mind wanders to her interview, which should be over by now.
How’d it go? I text.
Typing dots appear before her text pops up. Great. Nailed it!
My eyes narrow. I believe her, but I’m not buying this cheerfulness. She hasn’t said she doesn’t want the job, but there’s something there, something lurking in her words. When she plays her guitar and sings, light spills out of her, filling the room, brightening everything. It’s such a stark contrast to the muted version of Pippa I see when she talks about this marketing job.
Let’s go for dinner tonight, I suggest before I can think too hard about it. I want to hear about the interview. I want to spend time with her.
We won’t be fooling around anymore, but I can’t seem to stay away from my pretty assistant.
