I knew getting Smith on board would be hard, but I didn’t realize it would be this hard.
“Okay, is it just me, or is he grumpier than usual?” Blake shakes his head, staring after the player in question. “Sheesh. Guy needs to get laid or something.”
“Blake!” I glance around the room, making sure nobody heard him. It’s pointless. It’s just the two of us in here, just like it was me and Smith alone in here.
It was dangerous being alone with him. I know that. The minute I saw him, I should have left.
But I didn’t. I tempted fate, even though I know I shouldn’t.
For starters, he’s more than ten years older than me, and we are in two different places in our lives. I’m just getting settled in a career I plan to stay in for many years to come. His NHL career is likely coming to an end any time now.
Secondly, he’s my uncle’s player.
And finally, there’s that pesky little rule about not having relationships with the players. He’s off-limits…even if I’ve already had him.
“What?” He shrugs. “It’s true. He’s always been a grump, but damn, that was probably the worst I’ve seen so far. That’s saying something because we also work with Adrian Rhodes.”
I can’t help but laugh because he’s right—Adrian “Beast” Rhodes is a notorious grump. He’s even worse than Smith on a good day, but I can’t exactly say I blame the guy. He has a long, nasty scar along his face from a hockey injury many moons ago, and it draws a lot of unwanted attention. Being a grump is his defense mechanism.
“You think maybe if you ask him nicely, he’ll say yes?” Blake suggests as I continue snapping photos of the equipment. We’re doing a before-and-after, behind-the-scenes look at the dressing room on our Instagram, and I wanted to get these taken quickly so I can get out there and watch the game.
“How would me asking him change anything?”
“I don’t know. He seems to like you more than he likes me. He’s always scowling at me.”
“He’s always scowling at everyone.”
“Except you.”
I pause at his words but quickly brush them away. He has no idea what he’s talking about. Smith doesn’t look at me any differently than anybody else.
I don’t acknowledge Blake’s accusation. Instead, I snap one last photo, then turn his way. “I think we have everything we need for now. Let’s go watch the game.”
He narrows his eyes for only a moment, looking every bit like he wants to say something else but decides against it. That brilliant smile of his lights back up.
“You want me to go watch hot hockey players fly around the ice? Count me in.”
The Comets are already five minutes into the second period when I am finally able to go downstairs. Usually, whenever I can catch games, I watch from the upper deck with the other staff members, but tonight Hollis is here with her younger sister, Harper, who just so happens to be married to Collin Wright, one of the defensemen.
“Oh, yay! You made it!” Hollis practically squeals as I plop down in the seat next to her. She wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a tight squeeze like she hasn’t seen me in years even though I just saw her two days ago.
When I first moved out here from western North Carolina, I was sad. Not just because of my broken heart, but because I was leaving behind my best friend, especially since we’d been attached at the hip since first grade.
The last thing I expected was for her to follow me this way just two years later and end up pregnant by the team’s captain.
“How’s my baby girl doing?” I ask, placing a hand on her swollen belly.
She doesn’t know what she’s having yet, but I’m convinced it’s a girl. Lowell knows, but he won’t give any indication if I’m right or not.
She laughs. “Of course you’d ask about the baby first.” She covers my hand with hers, gently giving it a squeeze. “We’re good. Someone is just being a little sassy today.”
“You or the baby?”
“Yes.” She laughs again.
“I hope they got some good shots with Lowell and the bump.”
“Always working.” She taps her finger against the side of my head. “Shut it off. Enjoy the game.”
“Yes, Mom.” I roll my eyes. “Are you a hockey fan yet?”
She lifts her hand, shaking it back and forth. “Eh.”
“She’s here because she’s horny and hoping to get laid. I know the look,” Ryan, Rhodes’ wife, says as she bounces her brows up and down. “Lowell is so getting lucky tonight.”
“Stop it!” Hollis hisses, but she doesn’t deny it.
“What? Hockey is hot! It gets everyone’s panties wet.”
The pink that fills Hollis’ cheeks tells me Ryan is not far off the mark and that’s exactly why she’s here tonight. I really can’t say I blame either one of them. There is something insanely attractive about the game. The sounds, the way their bodies move, all the hot guys smashing against one another…yeah, I totally get it.
“You’re terrible tonight,” Harper tells her friend.
“Just tonight?” Ryan sticks her tongue out before turning back to the game.
I shake my head with a grin, shifting my attention to the ice just in time to see Smith jump over the boards and into the action. He slides into the other team’s zone and effortlessly steals a puck, then whips it over to Rhodes, who tosses it to Wright. Then it’s back to Rhodes and back to Smith again, and once more to Rhodes, who buries it on a one-timer.
The entire arena erupts in cheers, strangers high-fiving and hugging after the goal. The guys gather along the boards right in front of us, patting each other on the back and celebrating the first goal of the night.
Rhodes, knowing exactly where his girl is, looks over at Ryan and winks. It’s cute because even though Rhodes is a huge, scarred, scary-looking guy—who is aptly named Beast—he’s a softie for his wife.
Rhodes looking in our section pulls Smith’s attention, and he glances our way too. His eyes collide with mine, and I suck in a sharp breath at the intense look he’s shooting my way.
It’s not anger. It’s not elation. And it’s not indifference. Whatever it is…I don’t hate it.
But I’m not sure I like it either.
Our stare is broken when Wright bumps into him. Smith laughs at whatever he says, and they all skate away, ready to do it again. And they do, adding two more goals before the period ends, then another two in the third for good measure.
When there’s under five minutes left in the game—which is my cue to get back to work so we can wrap up all our social media posts for the night and get home at a decent hour—I head back to the upper deck to find Blake.
He ends his conversation, and we head back to our offices just as someone scores to make the game six to two.
“Apple, Apple, Apple!” The slow, steady chant leaks out into the halls.
Blake chuckles. “You’d think with the way they’re chanting his name, he’d agree to the video series. They obviously love him.”
They really do, and he loves them too. This is why it sucks so bad to know the reason he’s refusing the player profile is me.
I can’t let that happen. There’s no reason the fans should suffer because we can’t be mature adults and move past…well, our past. I have to convince him, not just for my promotion, but for the fans. It’s the right thing to do.
I only hope I can get him to see that too.
“Are you going out to Slapshots tonight?” Blake asks.
“I don’t know…” I hedge.
I don’t typically go out after games. I’d much rather head home, kick off my heels, and take a long hot shower because game days are long and tiring. If I do go out, I avoid Slapshots at all costs. There are too many hockey players and too many memories wrapped up in the place.
“You bailed last time, and the guys are on a hot streak tonight. Everyone’s going to be there. Even me. Nate’s insisting a let loose for a night.”
I grimace because he’s right. If I don’t go tonight, my absence will likely be noticed, which probably isn’t good if I’m trying to get a promotion.
“Come on,” he pleads. “Say yes. Besides, I’m sure Smith will be there. Good opportunity to corner him for the piece.”
Shit. He has me there. It would be a good chance for me to talk to him…especially since we’ll be in the safety of the public eye. No room for us to not act like professionals.
“All right. Fine. Count me in.”
After all, I have a player to bribe.
Luckily, by the time we get to Slapshots, the crowd is dwindling. I barely catch Hollis and Lowell as they’re leaving—looking every bit as horny as Ryan said—and she promises to shoot me a text.
My first stop is the bar because I know I’m going to need a drink to be able to get through the rest of the night, especially if I’m going to have to spend any length of time in the presence of Smith and act like I haven’t seen him naked.
I lift my hand toward Rod, the owner of Slapshots, who is always behind the bar on game nights. I think he loves the thrill of being able to serve the players himself. He nods, indicating he’ll be over in a second, then heads to help another customer real quick.
I hop up on the stool, settling in because it might be a moment. This place, even though the crowd has definitely thinned, is still pretty busy. I glance around, spotting several players all over the bar, each of them broken off into their little groups, doing their own thing. The other patrons are so used to seeing them here that they don’t even bat a lash or bother them. Either that or they’re well aware that Rod isn’t afraid to kick someone out for bugging them too much.
On my scan of the room, my gaze skates right over a pair of amber eyes I’m all too familiar with, then jumps right back.
Smith.
His gaze is locked on me, and I swear I can feel his stare raking over my body as if he were actually touching me. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am—about the last time we were in this bar together.
About the time we met.
About how I’d just moved to the city and went home with a stranger and spent two days having the most intense sex of my life only to find out he was a player for the team I’d just signed a contract with.
He has to be thinking about it too. There’s no way he’s not.
Not with the way he’s looking at me.
I’m thankful I have my thick hair swept up in a bun because sweat breaks out across the back of my neck as he drags his eyes from my crossed legs, over my simple white blouse, to my face. His stare is so intense it feels like he’s touching every inch of me, which is ridiculous since he’s across the room.
He lifts his drink to his lips, drains the amber liquid, and then rises. Suddenly he’s not safely across the room anymore—he’s stalking across it…and heading for me.
I don’t take my eyes from him as he practically glides through the crowd, his massive six-foot-six frame towering over everybody. His wide shoulders carve a path as he eats up the distance. He’s changed into a pair of jeans that cling to his legs, showing off his strong thighs, and a simple dark blue Comets t-shirt with the number twenty-seven displayed on it. His dark hair is peppered with silver, his beard full but shaped cleanly, and it’s so unfair because he’s frustratingly handsome, the kind that forces you to notice him. It’s intoxicating, and I’m buzzed just being in his presence.
He doesn’t stop until he’s sliding onto the stool next to me.
The moment he sits down, Rod appears. “Another Jim and Coke?” the owner asks.
Smith nods. “And a whiskey sour with a lime wedge instead of lemon.”
He remembers.
Rod looks over at me and squints. I wonder if he remembers too. If he does, he doesn’t comment, just says a quick “Coming right up” before he taps the bar twice and turns to make our drinks. He works fast and is sliding them across the bar top in under two minutes before hurrying off to help other waiting customers.
I sip eagerly at the sour mix, downing nearly half of it in one go before finally turning to Smith. I open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to the punch.
“What are you doing here?”
I snap my mouth shut. Is he serious?
My brows slam tightly together. “Last I checked, this is a free country. I’m allowed to be here just as much as you are.”
He sighs. “Of course you’re allowed to be here, but you’re usually not. So, what are you doing here, Emilia?”
The way my name slides past his lips sends a shiver down my spine. I think since I’ve known him, he’s only said it a few times, and never as intimately as he did just now.
When I don’t immediately reply, he scoffs. “Let me guess—this is about the player profile thing?” He takes a sip of his drink, shaking his head. “You’re wasting your time. It’s not going to happen.”
“And why not? The fans voted for you. They want that glimpse into your life. Are you really going to deny them when they give so much to you?”
“Are you guilt-tripping me?”
“Maybe.”
Yeah, okay, so maybe I am laying it on thick right now, but I kind of need to. He has to agree to this because I want that promotion bad. If it means spending more time with Smith—which I really don’t want to do—I’ll do it.
I’m not going to let one weekend that happened over two years ago dictate the rest of my life. We need to move on from it.
“You know I’m right. You owe this to them.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Do I though? I put my body on the line every night for their entertainment. Am I really the one who owes them?”
“Yes, getting paid millions to play a game is such a hardship.” I roll my eyes. “Look, can’t you just agree? It won’t take much time out of your schedule, and if it makes you feel more comfortable, I won’t be the one following you around. I can have Blake cover it all. I don’t think that’ll go over well for the promotion, but we’ll get it figured out in the end.”
“Promotion?” His brows crush together, drawing my eyes to the scar that cuts through his right one. I never did get the chance to ask him how he got it, and I really want to know.
I nod. “Yeah. Tori’s quitting.”
“Oh, good. That lady scares the shit out of me even.”
I laugh at that, considering how big and scary he is. But that just proves my point even more—Tori is terrifying, and she’s not messing around when she says she wants Smith for this series. If I can’t get him on board, I can kiss that promotion goodbye.
“So, this is why you want me so desperately? For a promotion?”
I choose to ignore his phrasing and the way it makes me feel. “Yes. It’s my dream job.”
“Funny, I seem to recall that you weren’t even sure things were going to work out here for you.”
I did tell him that back when we first met, and I meant it. I didn’t know if uprooting my whole life was a good idea at the time, but I had to try it. There was no way I was going to be able to stay in that small town and face my ex and the woman he fathered a child with while we were together.
“A lot can change in two and a half years.”
“Tell me about it,” he mutters quietly.
We sip our drinks in silence for several minutes. Then several more minutes, and several more.
I have no idea how long we sit there, but the silence becomes unbearable, and I can’t go another minute sitting in it.
“Are you really going to make me beg, Smith?”
His head whips my way, and I immediately regret my choice of words. We both know what happened the last time I begged him.
His eyes spark with a darkness I am all too familiar with, a darkness I yearn to awaken in him again, even though I have no business yearning for it at all.
I don’t know how or when it happened, but we’ve inched closer to one another…too close, dangerously so…yet neither of us makes a move to put space back between us even though we both know we should.
His eyes drop to my lips, then he slowly drags them back up, and the fire that’s blazing in his gaze burns hotter.
“Smith…”
I don’t know why I say his name. I’m not exactly sure what it is I even want.
Do I want him to kiss me?
Do I want to kiss him?
Yes.
The word whispers through my mind, even though it shouldn’t, and I inch closer to him, even though I shouldn’t.
“Can I get you another drink?” Rod asks.
We jump apart like we’ve been caught doing something we shouldn’t, and quite frankly, we have. This bar is full of hockey players and other members of the staff—how could we be so careless?
Smith nods, and we don’t speak until Rod slides fresh drinks in front of us.
The hockey player tosses his whiskey back, nearly finishing it in one gulp like he hasn’t had a drink in days.
I don’t touch mine. I’m not a big drinker, and I’m already feeling buzzed. I don’t know if it’s because of the alcohol or Smith. Either way, I should be careful so I can keep my wits about me.
“I’ll do it.”
His words are quiet, but they still cause me to jump, probably because his voice comes out all scratchy like he hasn’t spoken in hours when it’s only been minutes.
“Huh?”
“The player profile…I’ll do it.”
“You will?”
He nods. “But I have one condition.”
Of course he does. “Name it.”
“I want you.”
My breath is stolen from my lungs with those three words, and my thighs clench together of their own accord. “E-Excuse me?”
“I want it to be you,” he amends. “I don’t want to have to answer questions, play silly games, and make ridiculous content and whatever else with some random person. I want it to be you.”
“Smith…” I say quietly, and that’s all I say because he knows what I mean.
It’s a bad idea. Horrible, really. The worst damn idea he’s ever had.
But he seems determined. I can see it in his soulful golden eyes.
“Okay,” I relent. “Okay.”
“Good.” He nods. “Good.” He clears his throat. “When do we start?”
I can’t help but laugh at how pained the question comes out. “Well, we won’t start filming anything yet, but I’d like to talk about what to expect with the series since it will last for the rest of the season. Perhaps we can meet after your morning skate tomorrow?”
He winces but nods again. “That’s fine.”
I know I’m asking a lot of him. Smith is a private guy.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “It means a lot to me.”
He glances down, and only then do I realize I’ve placed my hand on his arm. I yank it back quickly, like touching him is suddenly burning my skin.
Slowly, he drags his eyes back to mine. “For the fans.”
I swallow. “For the fans.”
Except it doesn’t feel like it’s for them at all.
This feels like it’s for us…when we both know it can’t be.
