by Stacy Lane
I prefer it that way. Anger will keep distance between us. Proven today by Chelsea skipping out of every room I entered.
I needed to stay the hell away. No more following her to bedrooms, no more close-ups like the tie situation, and no more concerning myself with her personal life. Forget the red lips and the tiny pieces of clothing she wears to bed. Ignore the tug in my chest when I see her light fizzle out whenever Vic is brought up. Most of us have crappy exes. I sure do. It’s not my place to be Chelsea’s friend, nor her hero.
She doesn’t need it, anyway. She’s no one’s trophy.
I start to smile at the memory of the power behind her words, but I shut it down. That strength had me wanting to kiss the hell out of her. Along with the knowledge that she will be single soon. And some stupid, blind craving to make sure I’m the better option than Cam.
Never in our lives have I felt the need to compete with my brothers over a woman. They had plenty of times growing up, but not me. I didn’t make the competition fun, they used to say. That’s because I wasn’t into the girls’ game. They enjoyed two guys fighting over them.
Chelsea wasn’t playing those childish games. She really wanted to go to the event alone.
I drive over to the arena in Cam’s truck. Left arm resting on the door, fingers steering the wheel, while my right hand fiddles with the tie. The damn thing still agitated me. It wasn’t tight. No, I constantly yanked on it because I could still feel her delicate hands brushing against my neck.
I played that moment over and over in my head. Cursing myself for nearly kissing her, and also for not. She lifted her face toward mine. She wanted me to kiss her.
Jo was meeting Brooks at Triplets after the game was over, but Chelsea wasn’t joining them. I was going to have to stay out late. There is no way I can go home once the game is over and chance running into Chelsea. I’d have to avoid her at all cost until I got a grip on my desire for her. A taste wouldn’t be enough. I couldn’t be within five feet of her without my head fogging up. She’s a distraction like none other.
Walking into the arena, I shook my head with hopes of it clearing. I was joining the company of the franchise owner of the Fury tonight. He invited my family and me to watch the game in his suite. Dad grumbled, he hated talking politics, but we made a compromise. The first period in the suite, and the last two on our own.
Buttoning up my suit, I glide down the hallway filled with executive suites. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting a text from a griping Cam or Dad since I was late. Stuck alone with all the other suits.
In hindsight, that wasn’t smart on my part. Out of the entire family, Dad and Cam were the most opinionated ones of the bunch. They were likely in there embarrassing the shit out of me. I’m still a couple days away from signing the official contract. Hopefully, Mr. Kendricks wasn’t planning to renege by the time I walked in.
I stare at the name on the screen, slowing my pace outside the room before entering.
When will she quit?
Elle was a part of a long list of mistakes I made in California. I didn’t heed the doctors' warnings regarding my body, and that resulted in early retirement. I didn’t listen to my family telling me Elle was only after the fame and fortune, and that took me down a long and twisted path before I finally ended it.
She believed my restoration involved her. At first, it was a possibility. When I decided to take the job and move, I thought it best to end it with her. What we had wasn’t real or healthy. She saw it coming and only made matters worse by the actions she’d taken afterward.
Without replying, I stuff my phone back in my pocket.
I step through the open doorway of the owner’s suite. Cam nudges Dad, who’s digging in a plate stacked high with hot wings, then both are muttering at the same time about me being late.
The room is filled with Mr. Kendricks’s family and close friends. The current general manager is in his own suite with his team of assistants. Mr. Kendricks wanted a chance to connect with my family. He’s a big family man.
It’s strange to be a few doors down from the guy I’m to replace. Twisted and makes me feel like I’m colluding to some grand scheme, but that’s business. It’s cutthroat.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, stepping up to their table.
A group of three girls stood a few feet away. I recognized one of them as Mr. Kendricks's daughter. She’s a college student at USF. The way she kept side-glancing and smiling, I’d assume Cam caught her attention.
My eyes flick back down on my brother. Wing sauce has dribbled onto his chin, fingers glisten from the chicken in his hands, and when he smiles over at her, I catch sight of a piece of meat stuck between his teeth.
He’s a real catch.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn.
“Too late,” he grins from behind a stuffed mouth. “I love college girls.”
“That’s Mr. Kendricks’s daughter. Stay away.”
“Cameron, don’t ruin this for Alex.”
“Thank you, Dad,” I say.
“But if she follows you to the bar, that’s on her,” Dad finishes.
Groaning, I leave them to find the team owner. He’s at the mouth of the large room facing the rink below. The puck dropped ten minutes before I arrived.
“Alex!” Mr. Kendricks bellows at my approach. He’s standing with his wife and younger son, surrounded by a large group of people who all turn my way.
“Good evening, Mr. Kendricks,” I reply, holding out a hand in greeting.
He pulls me in for an unexpected hug. His wife following right after him.
I politely return with a one-handed pat on the back.
“Geoff, come say hello.” Mr. Kendricks peers behind his wife, shuffling his son forward.
“Whoa,” the little guy exhales. His eyes widen as he stares up at me. “I have a poster of you in my room. You’re bigger than I imagined.”
I smile back at the kid. He would be around twelve if I had to guess. Right around the age where my poster will soon be taken down and replaced with bikini models.
Mr. Kendricks introduces me to everyone. He’s loud and friendly and relaxed. Hard to believe he is a multi-millionaire. He’s the type of guy who goes to Jimmy Buffett concerts, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a parrot head hat.
Tonight felt like a partial job interview, even though I already got the job. I figured Mr. Kendricks would want to talk shop and ask me what my plans are next season. Thought we’d gaze down upon the game, discussing players and coaching staff. Even what my ideas are for the draft in a few months. But there was none of that.
Mr. Kendricks and my dad talked about boats and fishing. I sat down and ate from the never-ending pile of wings with Cam. We made fun of Brooks’s celly after his hat trick. Really, we were proud, but we covered it with mockery.
Dad wound up not begging to cry off and escape “the suits.” It was during the third period when Mr. Kendricks finally got around to talking business.
We sat in two armchairs near the back of the suite. A large TV on the wall faced us. We were alone, everyone keeping their distance.
“I take it your girlfriend will not be joining you?” Mr. Kendricks asked, watching the game on TV before glancing over at me.
My stomach bottomed out. “I don’t have a girlfriend, sir.”
“Right right. I’m referring to the woman you were with in California.”
Turning my head, I check to make sure my dad and brother are out of earshot. “How do you know about that?”
Mr. Kendricks smiles, but it holds no comfort. “Forgive me for being intrusive, Alex. I just like to know who I’m hiring. I was informed you were in a long-term relationship before moving here.”
Clenching my jaw, I stare hard at the too friendly man beside me. “That ended.”
I sure as hell wasn’t going to give him more explanation when my own family didn’t know Elle and I picked things back up after my injury.
“I’m very big on famil
y. It’s important to me. I was hesitant about hiring someone so young—and quite strapping, as you are—because I uphold a certain image. You’re turning thirty-one in a couple of months, correct?” I nod. “Married or otherwise is not a requirement. Maturity, however, is.”
“I’m going to be honest with you, Mr. Kendricks. I’m pissed you had someone spy on me, and I’m insulted you believe me not to be mature.”
He chuckles. “I’m sorry. I let others get in my head about hiring a Labelle. Your brothers have quite the reputation. Although, Brooks seems to be settling down. But the other one is in dangerous territory as he’s been flirting with my daughter all night.” He pauses to look over my shoulder at Cam if I had to take a guess. “I believe you are mature, Alex. I believe you are going to take this team to the Cup more than once. Peters is a fan favorite around here. As it should be after doing this for twelve years. The people love him. I love him. I don’t want to force him into retirement, but this is business. I wanted to own a hockey team. Now I want to own a winning hockey team.”
“Great. So do I. But what does all of that have to do with me being a bachelor?”
“Our personal lives and our work lives are separate. But they also mix together.” Mr. Kendricks sighs, rubbing his jaw. “Will you try not to take offense if I put it bluntly?”
I’ve already taken a big offense to him spying on me, so what the fuck does it matter at this point?
I eye him expectantly, not saying a word.
“You’re young, single, and very easy on the eyes according to my wife. What you do in your personal life is your business, but I expect you to keep your dick clean and not make a fool of this organization by showcasing your exploits every night at that bar your brother treats as a whore house.”
Somehow, I respect him more for being that blunt.
When he rises from his chair, I follow and stand.
“We’re running a team of men, though most are still babies, who have large egos and virile appetites. You’ll have your hands full from the PR nightmares they will cause. I don’t need to be worrying about you too.”
“Understood, sir.”
“There are a few new clauses we’ve put into our contracts over the last few years. You’ll notice them at signing if your agent hasn’t mentioned them already. No deal breakers for anyone so far, but we’re trying to cover our ass. You’ll understand. I trust you are perfect for the job, Alex, no matter what I brought up tonight.”
Mr. Kendricks smiles bright, clapping my shoulder with a firm grip. From the outside, one would never guess we were discussing how I needed to keep a clean reputation.
That wouldn’t be a problem. I’ve always been discreet with my partners. It’s how my family never heard about me taking Elle back after she deserted me at the hospital when she learned my career was over. When she thought my injury meant I would be paralyzed, and I would need a nurse more than a girlfriend.
No, Mr. Kendricks had nothing to worry about with me.
I knew how to be a professional.
I was led by logic.
I was old enough and wise enough to avoid temptation.
That is, I believed all of that nonsense until I moved to Tampa. Until Chelsea, who was the biggest temptation I had ever faced.
I drove over to Triplets after the game ended, needing a beer with my brothers after the conversation with Mr. Kendricks. Their idiotic behavior always reminded me I was the smarter one.
I only needed a few more days of avoiding Chelsea, and then I could move out.
Jesus. I never thought the day would come that I would be running away from a girl. My teenage self would be tossing piles of dirty magazines I hid from my mom in my face to prove this is not what we do.
“Hey, roomie!”
My head turns at the sound of the voice belonging to said temptation.
Inside the loud, crowded bar, her shout carries from the pool tables to my right.
She waved her fingers at me with an alluring smile and a tilt in her head. Jo, her best friend I saw at the apartment earlier, and her fiancé, joined Chelsea in a game of pool.
I ached to go over there.
She watched me with an expectant twinkle in her eyes.
I tore myself away from her stare with an aloof nod. The top shelf whiskey was the only siren I would be giving into tonight.
CHAPTER 8
CHELSEA
HELLO, REJECTION, YOU bitch.
Alex looked right at me, then walked away.
Geez, I didn’t expect us to be besties, but I thought we were at the point of tolerating each other. I mean, hello, I drove his puck bunny to the hospital. No one is filled with more kindness than I am.
I’m nice as shit!
I’m also drunk as shit.
Betty and Cheryl left during the second period. Taytum convinced Jo and me to do a shot of tequila in celebration to my upcoming divorcée status. By the time Nick, Taytum’s fiancé, came by to pick her up, I was drunk. The buzz felt good, and I didn’t want to lose it.
That’s how I wound up at Triplets. It wasn’t the only bar in town, but it was the best bar. I was biased, of course.
Jo never drank to get drunk, so she was on babysitting duty. I was a friendly gal on an average day. Put a little liquor in my system, and everyone was my best friend. Even the handsy guys with bad breath. Did he touch my ass? Oh, it’s okay, his hand must have slipped. Jo scolded me to stop being so polite.
Couldn’t we be delighted that I was a happy drunk?
Although, my emotions were heightened when I imbibed as well. Being shunned by Alex after flashing my most winning smile for him to join us made that rejection feel ten times worse.
I was always so eager to please.
Well, screw that shit.
I have always feared rejection because I thought it meant I wasn’t good enough. So I would pretend, play a part as someone else and treat it like a reward when they were happy with me. I became someone I wasn’t.
No more.
My husband didn’t want me.
Alex didn’t want me.
Bad breath handsy man wanted me, though.
Okay, I needed higher standards, but I was on the right track at least. I was going to be the best me I can possibly be.
Which might have to start tomorrow. Tonight doesn’t look promising after the amount of martinis I’ve guzzled.
“I’m usually really good at pool,” I slur, shuffling out of the way for the next person to take their turn.
“Sure you are, sweetie. We all know going colorblind is a side effect of alcohol,” Jo says with a soft tone after I smacked a yellow ball into the white ball. She glances down at her phone before looking up at me. “Brooks says they will be here in a couple minutes. Are you ready to go?”
“No.”
“Vic’s coming too, Chels,” Jo adds with hesitance.
“So? His uptight ass won’t leave the roped area on game nights for fear of having to socialize with his fans.”
At Triplets, since part-owned by one of the Fury players, there was a sectioned-off corner where the guys could hang out after games. Similar to a VIP section at a club, the other patrons weren’t allowed access behind the rope.
The idea came from Brooks. He loved his fans, but he also wanted a place to be able to hang out, and drink a beer, without the interruption of fans bombarding him for autographs. Cam thought it was a dick move on the hockey players part. I understood Brooks’s reasoning though. Fans were great and loyal, but the moment they see them in person and up close, they forget all boundaries. It’s hard to fault the fans too, though.
So the triplets met in the middle. Game nights they put up the barrier; all others were a free for all.
Vic was the dick who thought he was too good to interact with his fans beyond the second it takes to sign a souvenir.
Ah. Addy’s nickname for Vic is catchy.
This wasn’t just his hangout. I loved coming to this bar too. So if he stays on his side, I’l
l stay on mine.
When it was my turn again, I rubbed Nick’s shiny bald head for good luck. Actually, I kept rubbing his head for no reason at all. The bald head of a man is like a woman’s pregnant belly. Irresistible to reach out and touch.
Jo left us once Brooks arrived. Not all guys sequestered themselves in the back all night. A lot of them stayed for a beer or two and then went home. A couple of the guys, the ones really full of themselves, branched out into the crowds to prowl for someone to hook up with. The Fury was made up of a young team, only a handful or so were married with kids.
Every now and again I would glance toward the back corner, but not in search of my ex. I was looking for Alex.
He sat at the bar with Brooks and Jo, Cam standing across from them. He would do that scratch the neck thing like he felt my gaze.
Maybe I stare too much if I’m noticing that happening often.
“Your turn, bougie,” Nick called out. He gave me that nickname earlier tonight when he found out I once paid five hundred dollars for house slippers.
I severed what had my attention to eye the green table in front of me. Took me a minute, but I found the white ball this time. Bending forward, I took aim and shot.
And sunk one of Nick’s stripes.
Stretching up I came to meet a dark, smoky gaze on me. Using his recent move, I turned away.
Right into an overwhelming waft of cheap cologne.
“I noticed your partner left. Need a stand-in?” This guy’s scratchy voice reminded me of a heavy smoker’s voice.
“Sure,” I answered, catching Taytum’s unsubtle head shake too late.
She groans.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.
“I have one, thanks.” I totally don’t need a babysitter.
Taytum slides along the perimeter of the table, stepping in between the new guy and me. She’s nowhere near where she should be to make a decent shot. After she sends me a glare, I know her placement was intentional. The new guy takes a step back.
“I’m Trevor,” he introduces.
“Chelsea. These are my friends Taytum and Nick.”
“The other one,” Trevor says, nodding toward the bar, “she knows the hockey players?”
