by Kate Meader
“Well, hello!” Harper said. “Looks like you’re having fun.”
“Uh, no. That’s not anything I’ve invited.” This pic wasn’t from Stroger, who was currently on the ice, but was courtesy of some catch called @LovePump99. Subtle. She shrugged it off, not wanting to upset her host. “Hey, it’s an occupational hazard.”
“That’s from a player?”
“Not this one. But that happens.”
Harper stood. “Let’s take this outside for a second.”
Okay.
Out in the hallway, Harper turned to her, her expression one of genuine concern. “When I first inherited the team with my sisters, we got a lot of blowback. Sports reporters, jock radio, superfan troll boys—you name it, everyone had an opinion. Still do. Part of it was people forwarding unsolicited photos of their junk to let me know I was playing with the big boys. I also had problems with players, both in my org and out of it.” Her usually placid expression darkened. “If anyone on my team is harassing you, I need to hear about it.”
“It’s not someone on the Rebels.”
“Someone on the Spartans, then? Billy Stroger?”
Interesting that she went there, but maybe not. Billy’s reputation as a troublemaker was well known. A couple of years back, Remy DuPre was suspended after an unprovoked beat down he dealt out to none other than Billy Boy during a game. Rumors swirled that Billy had been an old boyfriend of Harper’s from her pre-ownership days, but nothing was ever confirmed.
Jordan didn’t quite feel the need to make trouble for anyone—yet. But the kernel of an idea was forming in her head. “No. Someone else.”
“I can talk to any owner and GM on your behalf. This needs to be dealt with, Jordan.”
“It’s better I handle it myself. Reporting it just gets me a rep for being difficult.”
Harper threw up her hand. “Be difficult.”
“With all due respect, that’s easy for you to say. You run an NHL franchise with a Stanley Cup under your belt. You can be as difficult as you want.”
“Oh, for the day of unmonitored Tumblr porn and Violet’s Dicktabase,” Harper said wistfully. “We could have done a name and shame, but then she was pretty picky about what she added.”
“You mean, the Dicktabase was real?”
Rumor had it that former wild child and youngest Chase sister Violet Vasquez had catalogued dick pics and gifs, which sounded like the perfect defense strategy for a stream of unsolicited junk mail.
“We had to scrub it after we won the Cup. Plus Violet’s training to be an elementary teacher, God help us all.” She laid a hand on Jordan’s arm. “If there’s anything I can do, I want to you to come to me.”
Jordan smiled her gratitude. “I’ll keep it in mind. Now, I think I spotted a platter of adorable mini cheese cakes in there, so I probably should get on that before Dante puts them away.”
15
OMFG. Just saw Theo Kershaw at the Empty Net and he’s as hot in person as he is on TV. Forget Captain America! TK’s booty is #AmericasAss.
* * *
“So you’re going to write this puff piece about hockey’s hottest rookie while gathering evidence to prove that pro athletes are asshole sexual harassers?”
Jordan grinned at Kinsey, who had left the cozy confines of Chicago to meet her at the Empty Net bar, the regular hangout for the team when they weren’t playing hockey, video games, or poker. Located on the main drag in Riverbrook, it was packed by 7 p.m. on a non-game night, mostly with men and women looking to score with the single players.
“You said yourself I should report it.”
“To your boss. To the team owners. To the NHL and whoever else runs these things.”
Jordan wagged a finger. “That’s just picking away at the problem instead of rooting it out. These organizations are built on the premise that men are placed on this earth to be worshipped, that money talks, and that the word of a woman who’s been harassed is worthless.” Hearing the experiences of her reporter friend, Sandy, and even someone as high on the NHL food chain as Harper Chase had got her thinking.
“While I’m working on the Levi piece, I’m perfectly positioned to—”
“Play Harriet the Spy?”
“To observe the power structure and gender imbalances at play, Kinsey. Do try to keep up.”
Kinsey lowered her voice. “You think the Rebels players are guilty here?”
“There’ve been a few off-color comments, nothing really actionable. But, I’ve been talking to women on the front lines, fellow reporters and the like, and I could easily use the cover of being embedded to speak with other women in this space. The physical therapists, the front office staff, the PR people. The women in these orgs are dealing with entitled, richer-than-God, think-their-shit-don’t-stink jerks every day. Someone needs to tell their stories.”
Kinsey looked impressed. “Go, you.”
Jordan arced her gaze over the crowd. Even the player-fan interactions might contribute to a meatier exposé. Ethnographic research to make her mother proud.
Because let’s face it, as much as she enjoyed talking to Levi, he was never going to give her full access to his puzzle-box brain. Now that they’d crossed the line, the story’s integrity was spiraling out of control, anyway. Better to have a backup plan. There was a better story worth exploring that might get her into Mac’s good books.
Three days had passed since New York. They’d traveled back on the same plane, ignoring each other like it was an Olympic sport (gold medal for him, silver for her). Sensual awareness of him kept her glued to her seat, headphones on, her gaze trained on a blurry page that refused to form into anything legible for the duration of the trip. On exiting in Chicago, she’d locked eyes with him, and with a quiet nod, he released her from a sensual captivity, one where she relished the bonds a little too much.
Not enjoying that conclusion, Jordan caught the familiar eye of the bartender.
“Hi, it’s Elle, isn’t it? I’m Jordan.”
Elle picked up a damp towel and wiped the bar. “So it’s not enough that you feed them pizza, go to all the matches, and travel with them on chartered planes, you want to drink with them, too?”
Jordan laughed. “Yeah, my life does tend to revolve around these people a little too much, but it’s all for a story. When did you start working here?”
“Yesterday. I’m trying to get enough cash together to move out of Hunt’s. I mean, he’s not shoving me out or anything, in case you’re thinking there’s some story there.”
Jordan hid a smile at Elle’s guard dog loyalty. “Didn’t think there was. He said you two were good friends.”
“Yeah, he’s the kind of guy who’s always stepped up. But he has a hard time letting people see that.” She leaned in. “Whatever you write better make that clear. He’s one of the good ones even if he is beating down on whoever deserves it in the hockey match.”
“Game.”
“Whatever. What are you drinking?”
“IPA times two, please.”
Elle squinted over Jordan’s shoulder. “Well, here come the freakin’ All Stars.”
Jordan looked behind her to see the crew walking in, led by Theo. Jorgensen, Burnett, Petrov were in tow, but no sign of Levi, which was good because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to remain neutral in his presence.
She turned back to find two bottles of Sam Adams IPA and Elle sizing her up. “On me. Don’t be a bitch, ’kay?”
“Okey dokey. Thanks.” Note to self: do not piss off the woman in combat boots.
Kinsey elbowed her. “I’m disappointed there’s no Levi, but why didn’t you tell me that Theo Kershaw is so gorg—oh, God, here he comes!”
Theo swaggered over. “Howdy, Hockey Grrl, you here to watch us score off the ice?”
“Oh, I’d love to see that, Superglutes! Please show me how it’s done.”
“Superglutes?” Elle yelled. “That’s your nickname?”
“No, it’s—”
Bu
t Elle was too busy laughing her head off to hear Theo’s denials.
“Thanks, Cooke,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth.
Jordan grinned. “You’re not digging it? I heard you were having trouble getting pants past your manly thighs and gluteus maximus.”
“Hell. No.” Elle stood on something behind the bar that gave her a foot in height as she leaned over to ogle Theo. “Your ass is too big to handle?”
“The struggle is real.” Theo gave a booty shake. “And every part of my anatomy is too big for you to handle, cupcake.”
“Cupcake? That’s the best you got?” Elle turned to Jordan. “You have got to put that in your article.” She dragged a palm across an imaginary billboard. “’Hockey player’s ass too big to fail. Subtitle: Thinks cupcake is an insult.’”
Another customer snagged her attention and she went off, shaking her head and chuckling.
“Didn’t mean it as an insult, Sergeant Cupcake,” Theo muttered, then louder, “And I was here first to order, you know!” Sighing, he took a seat beside Jordan. “So, traitor, how’s your day been?”
She couldn’t help her laugh. Theo was such a hoot and not even the ruptured aneurysm that put his career on hold for almost two years was enough to change his fun personality. He reminded her of Josh.
“Sorry about that. Honestly. By the way, this is my friend, Kinsey.”
Theo shook Kinsey’s hand. Jordan had never seen her so shockingly starry-eyed. With a zillion hot brothers-in-law, the woman should have been immune, but Theo’s glimmer blinded even the most jaded.
“Hi! Big fan!” Kinsey gushed just as her phone rang, the screen lighting up with an image of her handsome firefighter husband.
“That’s right, friend,” Jordan said. “Don’t forget the old ball and chain, the father of your children. How old are they now?”
“Oh, shush.” Answering the call from Luke, she turned away from Jordan and Theo. “Babe, remember when we were talking about celebrity hall pass choices? I may need to mix things up a little …”
Theo nudged Jordan and jerked a chin at Elle. “When did Sergeant Snippy start working here?”
“Never mind that. So, you and I haven’t talked much.”
“For the profile on Army Dude?”
“Correction. He was a Green Beret, the most kick ass military force on the planet.”
“More than the SEALs? I thought those guys were the bomb.”
Jordan shook her head. “The Green Berets go through the most physically grueling training program ever created, plus they have to be able to speak another language, scuba dive, jump out of planes, and know how to deal with the locals in hostile climates. It just so happens that this one on the Rebels can do all that and play hockey.”
Theo rolled his eyes. “So he’s a superhero. Why the hell do you want to talk to me?”
“Just curious about how he’s fitting in. That kind of thing.”
“Well, he’s already beating my ass at video games after only his second try. First shooter ones because, military, natch.” His gaze strayed past her shoulder to where Elle was busy chatting with a customer. “Quality selection of cheese in his fridge. Poker face to beat the band. Above average tipper. So-so cook but I guess he’s keeping the good stuff for the homeless volunteer stint.”
Jordan’s ears perked up past her hairline. “The homeless what now?”
“He makes breakfasts once a week at a shelter in the city. He’s trying to keep it on the down low so it’s not overwhelmed with women looking to impress him or draw the wrong kind of attention to the cause …” He trailed off, his attention refocusing on Jordan. “Shit, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. He let it slip one night because he had to get up early. You need to keep it to yourself.”
She plated up her sweetest smile. “Me? I wouldn’t tell a soul. Where did you say this shelter was again?”
“I didn’t and I need to get this round in, so kindly leave me alone.”
* * *
Levi replaced the empty coffee urn with a fresh-brewed one and tidied up the sugar packets while he was at it. He liked this time, that early morning hum of quiet before the guests came in hungry. With his mind so full of everything these days—the games, the profile, but most of all, Jordan—this was the one place he didn’t have to feel so on.
Since returning from New York four days ago, he hadn’t heard from her or even spotted her around Rebels HQ. He was trying to give her space so she wouldn’t feel hounded, when really not seeing or tasting her made him tenser than his bomb disposal days.
“Think those sugar packets are arranged just fine, Levi.”
He blinked at his big paws mauling the condiments and turned to Lucy. “Sorry, mind elsewhere.” The room was starting to fill up and he watched the entrance for Joe.
Reading his thoughts, Lucy said, “They take off sometimes, worried they’re getting too comfortable or are being watched. He’ll probably be back in a while.”
“Would you text me if he shows? If I’m in town, I’d like to come and talk to him, give him some assurance.”
“In town? Off on a secret mission, are you?”
“Something like that.”
Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Sure, I’ll let you know. But be careful about getting too close. Making promises you can’t keep. I know your heart’s in the right place—”
“Front and back of the hand right there.”
She grinned. “Just some advice, that’s all. Now, let’s get serving.”
Levi kept his eye on the door during breakfast. He’d even made his huevos rancheros, an invitation to the universe to cut him a break and deliver Joe from the streets. As the line was wrapping up, he saw someone he recognized, just not the person he’d hoped.
Jordan.
She wore yoga leggings—those ones that should be illegal—along with Chucks, a hoodie, and a baseball cap pulled down low, as if it were an effective disguise. But he’d know that rumpus of fire-hot hair anywhere.
“Back in a sec,” he said to Lucy, sprinting out from behind the counter and barreling down on Jordan.
“Levi!”
He grasped her arm and steered her back the way she’d come. “What are you doing here?”
“I should really be asking you the same question. I can’t believe you didn’t share this.”
“This doesn’t go in the profile, Jordan. This is private.”
She stared at him. “One, nothing is private. Two, you are actually doing a good thing here so why wouldn’t you want to share that? Your connection to this charitable organization, if known, would probably increase donations tenfold. In fact, keeping it to yourself is pretty selfish.”
“They’re not wanting for donations.”
Her face brightened with the thrill of discovery. “So as well as donating your time, you also cut them a check. That’s wonderful.”
“Yeah, wonderful,” he said sarcastically.
“Levi, everything okay?” Lucy appeared at his side, looking like she wanted to protect him, which, coming from the one hundred pound woman, was hilarious.
Jordan pushed him aside and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Jordan. I’m a … friend of Levi’s.” The pause was unmissable.
“Here to volunteer?” Lucy asked, ignoring Jordan’s hand. “We don’t hold much truck with observers.”
“Sure I am,” Jordan said with a sunshine smile that ripped his heart to pieces. “Lead the way.”
* * *
Jordan wasn’t quite sure what she’d landed herself in, but elbow-deep in sudsy hot water wasn’t what she’d expected when she popped into the Uptown Mission this morning looking for Levi. Not that she doubted he was volunteering, but she needed to see it with her own eyes like a good little reporter. Her story putting himself out there instead of writing a check like every other pro athlete?
Human. Interest. Gold.
The fierce woman acting as Levi’s bodyguard despite being half his size had shoved her in the back and put her
on dish duty. It still gave her the perfect view of the man himself working the distribution line.
And she meant working it. For every one of the Mission’s patrons, he had a few words of encouragement and a couple of strips of bacon, a killer combo that should probably go into some life coaching manual.
“You really a friend of Levi’s?”
Levi’s guardian angel-slash-bodyguard had materialized and was now pulling plates from the industrial size dishwasher, which Jordan hadn’t noticed before. Why the hell was she washing these dishes by hand?
I see what you did there, mission lady.
“I heard you guys needed all hands on deck,” Jordan replied, all smiles.
“He didn’t look too pleased to see you.”
“Does he ever look pleased to see anyone?”
The woman’s mouth quirked in understanding. “Poor guy’s looking for a quiet life. Thinks he’s flying under the radar. Our guests don’t watch a lot of TV.”
“Perfect cover for Levi, then. So you know who he is?”
She folded her arms. “My brother is an Army reservist and a huge Rebels fan. Levi Hunt is all he talked about when he was acquired. But when the man himself showed up here just over a month ago, he didn’t lead with his—”
“Big stick?”
She laughed. “Right! Figured he had his reasons for laying low.”
And here Jordan was blowing it. “I’m a reporter doing a profile on him, following him around, embedded with the team. I got a tip he was here and thought it would be good for my story, but now …”
“You’re wondering if it’s worth it.”
“He’s rather closed off.” Except in bed. Between the sheets, he was more expressive. More open. Was that the only place she could get to the core of Levi Hunt?
“Maybe figure out what he cares about.”
She thought it was hockey, and while she knew he loved it, it wasn’t producing the result she wanted. “Why is he volunteering here?”
“People have all sorts of reasons.”
Ain’t that the truth. “Okay if I take these out and help out there?” Jordan nodded at the stack of plates waiting to be returned to the front.
