Present Me never been so thankful to Past Me than I was the afternoon of the Boston game when I rolled out my yoga mat.
Past me had wondered if it would be necessary to pack, if the staff would be annoyed that I brought it, if I’d even have time to use it. But present me was sighing with relief at the small bit of normalcy as I stepped onto it.
I knew it would be impossible to meditate this morning, to find any way to clear my mind, and I had been right. Everything kicked into gear quickly, and I had barely woken up before I was on the bus with the team headed to the rink for their morning skate.
So now that I had a little time alone in the afternoon, I succumbed to all my thoughts, letting them race through me as I began my practice in child’s pose. I needed to be grounded. I needed stillness.
The last week had been such a chaotic blur, I didn’t know where to start to even try to piece it all together. It was beyond me how one little gala with my best friend had turned into my entire life being uprooted. It was an exciting opportunity, but it was also draining — and I was completely out of my routine, out of my comfort zone, and more than anything, out of my usual energy level.
I was so tired, I could sleep for a year and still need more.
I decided a yin practice was what I needed, so I transitioned into a butterfly pose and settled in.
The plane ride with the team had been wild — and fun. Will Perry, or Daddy P as they called him, seemed the only one who was quiet and focused. The rest of the players let loose, singing loudly, talking, laughing, and playing cards.
I’d been a quiet observer for most of it, taking photos and videos and scratching notes down in my notepad in-between texts to Livia. She was the only person I knew I could talk to who would actually understand, given that she worked with these brutes on the daily.
I watched them with a smile on my face, marveling at how much they seemed like a family. It was like a plane full of twenty brothers, and the coaches and staff were like their cool uncles rather than their dads. At least, all of them except McCabe, who seemed to be the only one able to wrangle the boys with as little as a whistle and a stern glare.
When the guys were playing a card game in our little pod, Vince dealt me in, and though he didn’t pry, he made me a part of the conversation.
I hated how much I loved that.
I’d had my mind made up about him, and when he slung his stupid pickup lines or cocky jokes my way, it was easy to keep him in that box. He was a playboy, a cocky athlete who was used to the limelight, and even more used to always getting his way. I had no interest in him other than what he would do for my career.
I just needed him to stay there, in that box I’d placed him in, because when he asked about me, when he stood up for me to the other players when he didn’t realize I was behind him?
Things like that made the lid on the box pop open, and I didn’t like the thought of him getting out of where I’d placed him in my mind.
Throughout the day, I’d posted pictures and videos to my stories on the One Month with Vince Cool account, showing everything from the guys dressed in their travel day suits on the tarmac to them wrestling each other to the ground in the hallway of the hotel on the way to their rooms. All day long, the followers had ticked up, and any time I posted anything, it took only seconds to have thousands of likes and comments. I was also receiving direct messages with requests for what they wanted to see.
Please show us what they do after the game when they win!
OMG, please post what bar they’ll be at so I can show up and make Vince my husband.
Can you tell us what music he loves to listen to?
Can you show us pictures of him as a kid?
What does he like to do when he’s not playing hockey?
Is he DTF? If so, how do I get in on that?
How do I become his wife?
Tell Vince I said he’s a pussy.
That last one was from Jaxson Brittain, which made me laugh.
By the time my head hit the pillow last night, the account had half-a-million followers.
In one day.
That made my chest tighten with a performance anxiety I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt before. It also made me shake off my thoughts and focus on my mat. I needed to let go of all the noise. Otherwise, I’d drown in it.
I flowed through a gentle thirty-minute practice before I had to take a quick shower and get over to Vince’s room. I’d filmed a little of him at the morning skate, which was just as relaxed and fun as the plane ride had been, but then the team had retired back to the hotel to get ready for the game.
I didn’t realize that, for most of them, part of that process was taking a long nap.
So I’d retreated to my room for a little much-needed silence, and I felt a bit refreshed as I got dressed and ready for my first NHL game.
Before heading over to Vince’s room, I checked my reflection in the mirror. My outfit was much more appropriate than what I’d worn the day before. I chose a chic pair of cream slacks and a white blouse, pairing a royal blue blazer with it to match the team’s colors and to keep myself warm. My curls were bouncy and voluminous, but without the frizz I usually had in Florida. I absentmindedly wondered if women in the Northeast ever had to deal with humidity or if their hair always looked flawless. I’d also decided to wear my favorite pair of nude heels, giving myself a little height. I just prayed my feet wouldn’t be in too much pain by the end of the night.
My makeup was soft and neutral, the way I applied it when I wanted it to look like I wasn’t even wearing any at all. I used just enough concealer and foundation to smooth my skin but still let my freckles pop through, and I enhanced my brows with a little gel before running mascara over my lashes. A nude gloss finished the look, calling attention to one of my favorite assets. I loved my lips, my teeth, my smile as a whole.
When I added a delicate pair of gold ear climbers and a dainty chain necklace that hung perfectly in the V of my blouse, I called it done, and then I was out the door and on my way to Vince’s room.
Which was, conveniently, right next door.
I pulled a deep inhale through my nose, forcing a smile before I rapped my knuckles on the wood. I was about to knock again when the door flew open.
Vince was once again shirtless, and this time, he was in nothing but a pair of navy blue briefs.
It happened so fast — him slinging the door open, running a hand back through his messy hair as he yawned and held it open wide for me to come in. He was just a tired man waking up from a nap in his underwear, nothing out of the ordinary for him.
But for me, it was like seeing one of the seven wonders of the world.
Even if I was used to his ridiculous abdomen and chest — which I wasn’t, by the way — I was now face to face with his monster thighs, too. They strained against the fabric of his underwear, though not as much as another part of him, which was framed perfectly by the white stitching in the front of those blue briefs.
He was also very much at attention.
Vince didn’t seem to notice. He just held the door open wider, and then once I had my hand on it, turned to walk farther into his suite. And when he did, I gaped for another reason altogether.
Vince Tanev had an ass of stone.
It was the largest I’d ever seen on any man in my life, but it was also cut, the muscles lean and a dip in the side of each cheek showcasing as he walked. I’d had a sneaky suspicion when I’d seen them all dressed in their suits earlier, but now, I had that suspicion verified.
Hockey players had the best asses in the entire world.
There was just no debating it.
“Coffee?” he asked me as he walked into the kitchen area of his suite, already pouring a cup for himself. He turned and leaned against the counter, and once again, my eyes flicked to where his erection was.
He followed my gaze.
And then the bastard smirked, shrugging.
“Sorry about that,” he said, reaching down to adjust himself. I had to tear my eyes away and look up at the ceiling, because seeing his gargantuan hand wrapped around his massive cock as he casually grabbed himself was too much for any woman to withstand — even one who knew he was a playboy.
“Good dream during that nap, I take it?” I said, hoping that came out as a joke more than a question I actually wanted the answer to.
“A very good dream,” he said, sipping the black coffee in his mug. “You were in it.”
That made me suck my teeth, and when I leveled him with a glare, he chuckled.
“I’m going to start getting myself ready,” he said. “And… I know it’s kind of been fun and games up until this point, but it’s game day, and my pre-game ritual means a lot to me. So…”
“I’ll stay out of your way,” I promised. “Just ignore me.”
His eyes flickered a little bit where they ran over me. “You’re entirely oblivious to what a fox you are, aren’t you?”
My neck warmed at his words, but I didn’t let myself smile or blush beneath them. Instead, I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of him.
“Keep making comments like that, and I’ll post this picture of you in your underwear.”
“Go ahead,” he dared on another shrug, pushing off the counter and heading toward the bedroom part of the suite. “Maybe a Boston Bunny will see it and find me after the game.”
“Pig,” I called after him, and his deep laugh was the last thing I heard before he was running the shower.
True to my word, I tried to be invisible as Vince ran through his pre-game routine. The only question I asked was what he did before I got there, to which he told me he had a big pre-game meal — which apparently was the same for him every game, a huge heaping pile of some sort of pasta — and a long nap with the air conditioning turned down to sixty degrees. I’d wondered why I had been freezing when I first walked in, and now I had my answer.
That little tidbit of knowledge along with what I observed him do had me smiling to myself.
Vince Cool was superstitious.
He didn’t shave on game days, and he also brushed his teeth not once but twice — once after he finished his coffee and another time after he had his pre-game snack, which was a piece of wheat toast slathered in peanut butter and topped with bananas.
He got dressed in a very particularly order, and he packed his bag to take to the stadium in a very particular way, too. When we were getting close to ready to leave, he dropped to the ground and did four pushups. Only four. Then, he surprised me further by calling his little sister.
Her bright blue eyes filled the screen, and she looked so much like Vince I wondered if they were twins. But a quick Google search told me she was a year-and-a-half younger than him.
“Hey, big bro,” she sang, her smile wide, teeth like the ones you saw on orthodontist billboards. “You ready to kick ass?”
“Almost.”
She sighed on a laugh. “You know, I might be getting too old for this.”
“You’re not allowed to. Ever. You know the rules.”
“Yeah, yeah, pre-game ritual,” she said with a grin. She perked up when she saw me standing behind her brother. “Oh! You’re Maven King!”
Vince held the phone at a better angle for her to see me. “I am,” I said with an awkward wave. “Hello.”
“Hi! I’m Grace, Vinny’s sister. Nice to meet you. I’m so excited for this piece you’re doing on my brother.” She paused, her nose wrinkling. “I could do with you showing him with more clothes on, though.”
I laughed, and Vince pointed the phone back at himself. “Come on, sis. Gotta give the people what they want.”
“Isn’t what they want supposed to be you scoring goals?”
“Yes,” he said. “And making them cream their panties.”
“Ew!” she screamed at the same time I said, “Gross!”
Vince smiled victoriously. “Alright, we need to get downstairs for the bus. Let’s go.”
“Fine,” she sang again, and then she propped her phone up so she could stand in the middle of the room. I didn’t know where she was, but it looked like a college dorm, and she swung a leg out like she was testing the space around her.
I pulled out my phone and recorded Vince from behind, arching a brow at him and then the screen.
Then, Grace started singing.
Well, it wasn’t really singing as much as it was half-cheering, half-squawking like a bird. She did the most ridiculous dance, her hair flying about as she chirped something about forty one, best under the sun, forty one, let’s have some fun, Vinny, Vinny, you’re so cool, you’re so cool you rule the school and then she ended it all with a back tuck into a split.
Vince held up his fist when she finished. “Perfect ten.”
“I know,” she said, climbing to her feet. “Go get ’em, big bro.”
“Later, sis.”
The call ended as abruptly as it had begun, and I turned off my own video, momentarily stunned.
“Um…” I laughed. “What was that?”
Vince shrugged, and I noticed he’d slipped out of his usual goofy demeanor into one more serious. The transition had been slow, starting from the moment I’d walked in the door and getting more severe as the hours ticked on.
He was mentally preparing himself for the game, that much was easy to see.
“Just a little tradition,” he said.
I couldn’t help but laugh again. “What — your little sister doing a bizarre dance and backflip?”
“Yes,” he said, snapping his eyes to mine. “Is there an issue?”
I swallowed under his gaze, which was harder than it ever had been when it was on me. “No,” I said. “I just wasn’t aware you needed someone to squawk like a bird to feel game ready.”
He narrowed his gaze, standing from where he had been on the couch. It always took my breath away, how tall and broad he was. “It was something she did to cheer me up before a game in high school when I was on a shit streak. I got a hat trick that game, and so now it’s routine.”
“But… you’ve lost games since then,” I pointed out. “So it can’t always work.”
“You don’t get it.”
He was gathering the last of his things to head out the door when I cut him off. “So explain it to me.”
He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. The movement exposed that long column of his throat, and I traced his Adam’s apple with a bolt of electricity firing off between my thighs.
How is this man’s throat so damn hot?
“I can’t. It’s just… I don’t know. Something I have to do.”
He walked toward his bedroom then, which confused me, since we needed to head downstairs. I followed him, and when he turned on his closet light instead of flicking it off like a normal person would do before they left, I laughed.
“Don’t tell me this is part of it, too?”
He didn’t answer, but the muscle in his jaw ticced.
I shook my head on another quiet laugh, jotting it all down in my notes. “What’s next? Going to hop on one foot, rubbing your belly and patting your head at the same time?”
At that, Vince gritted his teeth, the muscle of his jaw flexing under his skin. “Can you stop being such a bitch?”
My jaw fell open at that.
“What did you just—”
“A bitch. That’s what I called you. Because that’s what you’re acting like.” He stepped into my space, sucking all the air out of the room when he did. “Maybe this isn’t important to you. Maybe all you can focus on is getting your little photos and videos and likes and shares. But just like that’s your career, this is mine, okay? It’s my whole fucking life.” He stepped even closer. “It’s important to me. And if you can’t respect that, then we can’t work together.”
We were chest to chest now, and his was heaving almost as hard as mine.
“You’re such a bastard,” I said, lifting my chin to let him know I wasn’t backing down. “So, what? I’m a bitch because I didn’t smile and tell you how adorable you are when you do idiotic, superstitious stunts before a game?”
He puffed his chest even more, and that scarred eyebrow dipped low and menacing.
I couldn’t explain it, the electricity buzzing through me then. He was angry. He was staring at me like he wanted to wring my neck.
And something inside me was giddy about it.
“Fine,” I said after a moment, dragging the word out. I knew I sounded like the bitch he’d accused me of being even as the words came out of my mouth, full of sarcasm and not genuine in the least, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to test him, to see just how far I could push. “I’m sorry. How dare I not understand why it’s so important to turn on your closet light before a game? I promise to be more respectful of your precious little rituals.” I smiled sweetly. “Okay, Tanny Boy?”
His hand shot out so fast I couldn’t register it.
One minute, I was smiling up at him with my little jest.
The next, he had my chin gripped tight between his thumb and forefinger, his knuckle guiding my chin up even farther so he could properly look down at me. He was just above me, his lips maybe only an inch from mine, so close I could smell the mint on his breath when he spoke.
“If only you had something better to do with this smart mouth of yours.”
He spat the words like a curse, like he wanted to throw me to the ground and leave me there. Instead, he held my chin in place, dark hazel eyes flicking between mine before they fell to my lips and stared hard and long.
Shock zipped through me from where his bruising grip held my chin, but it was quickly washed away by the stronger, more prevalent sensation I couldn’t quite name. It was hot and charged, reckless and consuming.
I should have been appalled. Intimidated. Scared, even.
Instead, I was aroused.
I didn’t have a single ounce of fear in me that he would hurt me. I wasn’t afraid of how hard he gripped me, or how he was so close I could feel his breath on my lips.
All I could focus on was his hazel eyes and how they darkened the longer he stared at my mouth.
He blinked, three times in rapid succession, like he was waking up from a sleepwalking dream. His expression softened, along with this grip.
Vince released me, tilting his chin a bit higher before he turned and took all the heat with him.
He grabbed his bag without another look in my direction, tossing it over his shoulder and barreling out of the suite with the door clicking shut behind him.
And I just stood there, blinking, sucking in a breath that burned as my hands floated up to trace where his had been.
What the actual fuck was that?
