High Risk Rookie

by Odette Stone

  The rookie won, and I let my white-hot anger sink into me. These bullshit antics not only took years off my life, but they also felt like a personal attack on my own dreams and goals.

  I stalked behind them, watching as they disappeared into the men’s change room.

  I pushed open the door and walked towards the sound of voices.

  “You want to stay here or go someplace else?” a male voice asked.

  I walked past sinks and mirrors and turned the corner. The two friends were leaning against wooden lockers, heads tucked over their phones.

  “Let’s have a couple here and then move on.”

  “That works.”

  My rookie was nowhere to be found. Ignoring them both, I started towards the back, determined to find him.

  “Whoa, lady. I think you’re in the wrong area. This is the men’s change room.” One of the guys tried to step in front of me.

  “Out of my way,” I ordered him.

  He lifted his hands and stepped back.

  I walked to the back and moved around the corner. Levi Ziegler, also known as my rookie, straightened up to his full height. He was stupidly tall. He stood in the middle of the room wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, but he made no move to cover himself up.

  He stared at me without expression, reminding me of that aloof, sun-kissed, sculpted god from the roof.

  He was also a complete idiot.

  Why were the people who’d been given the most in this life so determined to throw it away? Every inch of advancement I’d made in my career had been the result of relentless focus, work, and grit. The fact that he was also blessed with a face of beauty annoyed me beyond measure.

  “What kind of bullshit was that stunt?” I planted my hand on my hip and glared at him.

  He didn’t seem shocked or taken aback by my vitriol. He looked amused. “What’s it to you?”

  His voice was low and smooth, a typical Canadian accent with a hint of something European, almost too faint to identify. His enjoyment of my emotion only fired me up further.

  “What’s it to me?” I repeated. “Do you know how many assholes have been spending their valuable time and resources looking for you?”

  Something shifted in him. He jerked his head at his friends, who crowded at the door. They disappeared. He didn’t speak as he continued to get dressed.

  Watching him pull on his jeans was like witnessing a commercial for… damn near anything. The sponsors would be climbing over themselves to get near him.

  He bent over his bag. “Who do you work for in the hockey world?”

  “I’m going to ignore your assumption that I need to work for someone.”

  He lifted his face towards me. “Still don’t know who you are.”

  “Krista Taylor. I’m a sports agent.”

  Even that didn’t get a response out of him.

  I took a step closer. “You’ve been given an insane amount of talent. You have the kind of gift that only a few are blessed with, and instead of cherishing that, you’re pissing away your opportunity.”

  He pulled a faded green T-shirt over his head. I couldn’t seem to glance away when he pulled the fabric down over his hard, muscular core. “And you care because…”

  “Because I watched your demo tape, and it would be a shame if someone with your level of talent didn’t play professional hockey this year.”

  He lifted his head. “Where did you see it?”

  “A friend gave it to me. What’s going on with your agents?”

  He shrugged as he shoved his belongings into his bag. “My current agent is a complete dick.”

  “Have you been invited to any training camps this fall?”

  I had his complete attention. “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s because your agent is either incompetent or indifferent.”

  “Or he’s just a dick.”

  There was no love lost in that relationship. It would be interesting to see what his current agent said about this situation. “Do you want to play hockey or not?”

  His eyes didn’t leave my face. “Yes.”

  “Do you have an agent in Germany?”

  “Nope.”

  “And you’re trying to further your career in North America?”

  He tilted his head at me. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “I’m a sports agent, and my agency is interested in potentially representing you. I’d like to talk.”

  He studied me for a long moment. “You want to go get a drink somewhere?”

  Forty minutes later, we were in a small tequila bar up the road. His friends were standing around the pool table in the corner, but he had secured two chairs for us at the bar. I ordered a vodka soda, and he ordered a beer.

  He was even better-looking closeup, which unnerved me. Now that I wasn’t angry, I was noticing all the little things, like how big his hands were and how thick his neck was.

  “Ask me a question,” I demanded.

  His face broke out into a smile full of straight teeth. “What is your official job?”

  “I negotiate and secure your legal player contract with the team and the league, as well as the contracts for any other endorsement sponsorship.” I took a sip of my drink and glanced at him. “And I do a lot of fucking babysitting.”

  He laughed. “Do people put up with that attitude?”

  “They love it,” I shot back.

  Our eyes met, and I watched as heat flickered around the edges of his gaze. “I bet they do.”

  I was used to receiving male attention, but rarely had I felt this much temptation roll through me in response. Which was ridiculous, because I wasn’t attracted to professional athletes. Especially not hockey players. And definitely not fucking rookies. “My commission is four percent of your contract and twenty-five percent for sponsorships.”

  His eyes dropped to my mouth.

  I wasn’t clueless to his interest. The chemistry crackled between us. I needed to redirect us towards a professional relationship. “I don’t sleep with my clients, before or after I sign them.”

  His gaze lifted to mine. “Not ever?”

  “Trust me: once I’m your agent, your balls will shrivel when you see me coming.”

  He laughed again and studied me for a long moment. “I don’t know. My balls seem to like your attitude just fine.”

  My stomach fluttered. He was the epitome of everything this sultry night invited, but I would never step over that line. We needed to acknowledge the attraction between us and build a boundary. “If you weren’t someone I wanted to sign, I would be doing my damnedest to seduce you right now.”

  “Trust me—it wouldn’t take any effort on your part.”

  I was charmed by his flirtations. “I need us to develop a strictly professional relationship. That’s the only way this will work.”

  The bartender interrupted by placing two shooters in front of us. “Mike bought these.”

  His eyes challenged mine. “We could drink these.”

  “I’ve hung out with my share of hockey players. I’m not afraid of a shooter.”

  “Okay. Here you go.” He put one shooter in front of me and then lifted his own into the air.

  I clicked glasses with him and tossed it back. I needed to learn as much about him as I could. “What is going on with your current agent?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Nothing.”

  “He says he can’t find you.”

  “That’s a lie. We’ve exchanged texts.”

  “What’s his issue?”

  He looked around the bar, avoiding my question.

  “Tell me,” I pressed.

  “We had a disagreement.”

  “About what?”

  “His girlfriend.”

  Why didn’t that surprise me? “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to get into it.”

  “Did you sleep with her?”

  His head reared back. “No.
It was nothing like that, but things got ugly after our disagreement.”

  I made a mental note to track that story down. “Why not fire him?”

  He pressed his lips together. “That’s where it gets complicated.”

  “Yo, dude,” Levi’s friend interrupted from beside me.

  The bartender showed up on the other side of the bar and barked at Levi. “Where are the shooters?”

  Levi shrugged. “We drank them.”

  His friend appeared shocked. “You drank them?”

  “Yeah, we each had one.” He looked between his friend and the bartender. “What’s the big deal?”

  The bartender shook his head. “What the fuck?”

  I watched carefully, unsure what was unfolding here.

  His friend leaned closer towards Levi. “I need to talk to you alone.”

  Levi shook his head. “Not now, okay?”

  He slapped Levi’s shoulder. “Yes, right now.”

  Levi stood up. “Let me get rid of my can’t-take-a-hint friend. I’ll be right back.”

  The bartender shook his head in disgust and walked away.

  A moment later, Levi reappeared with a serious expression on his face. He sat back down beside me. “So… there is no easy way to ask you this.” Beside us, his friend hovered.

  “Ask me what?”

  “Do you have any underlying medical conditions?”

  I turned to face him. “What’s going on?”

  He seemed concerned. “The bartender does special shooters for people under the table. My friends bought two of them, but we drank them.”

  That didn’t sound good.

  “What’s a ‘special shooter’?”

  He winced. “The kind of shooter that costs one hundred bucks.”

  My mind raced. “Are we talking drugs?”

  In response, his lips twisted in regret.

  “What kind of drugs?”

  His friend spoke up beside us. “Kind of a cocktail.”

  I turned towards him. “Who are you?”

  “Mike.”

  Levi glared at his friend, and his nostril flared. “I don’t do this kind of shit. You know that.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have drunk my shooters,” Mike shot back.

  I stared at Levi as I contemplated the fact that I had just been drugged. I needed to get back to the safety of my hotel room. “This is exactly the kind of bullshit I won’t accept as your agent.”

  “I know.”

  I dug through my purse, searching for one of my cards. “I’m going back to my hotel. Call me in the morning.”

  Mike crowded in closer. “We actually can’t let you do that. We need to babysit you.”

  “Babysit me?” I paused. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know.” He peered at Levi and then back at me. “To keep you from choking or dying. That kind of thing.”

  “Are you shitting me?” I looked back at Levi for confirmation.

  He was pissed. I, on the other hand, had moved past anger right into fear and anxiety.

  We all sat there in silence as I tried to process what was happening to me. I had been drugged in Mexico. I could choke and die, and I was with two men I had just met. Finally, I managed to ask, “What will happen?”

  Mike shoved his hands in his pocket. “You’ll feel a sense of euphoria and deep relaxation. The world will feel beautiful, and then you will want to sleep. You may or may not remember your evening.”

  I looked back at Levi. “I want to go back to my room. Now.”

  He grabbed my hand and stared at me in concern. “We’re good guys. Nothing is going to happen to you. Mike and Andrew are going to stay sober, and they are going to take good care of us, okay?”

  I swallowed and drowned in his gaze. I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t bear the idea of being drugged in front of other people. “I want to be alone.”

  He squeezed my hand. “Once the guys know you’re not having a reaction, they are going to get you safely back to your hotel room, okay? I promise you that.”

  I yanked my hand from Levi’s and snapped at Mike. “I’m staying at the Blue Peacock Resort. I’m in room 312. My room key is in my purse. I’d better wake up alone, in my room, with all the contents of my purse intact, or I will personally come for you. And trust me, whatever you think you can lift from me will be nothing in comparison to what I will do to you in return.”

  He looked scared. “I’m not going to rob you.”

  I glared at him. “Room 312. Don’t forget it.”

  “I won’t.”

  Levi sat at the bar, his hand over his mouth. He glanced at me. “Are you okay?”

  “Do I seem okay?”

  “How pissed are you?”

  “Beyond pissed.”

  “Do you still want to work with me?”

  There was no way I would give up on my own dream, but he didn’t need to know that. I lifted my chin towards him. “You’re on damn thin ice.”

  Mike interrupted. “Zig, you should give me your phone.”

  “You don’t need my phone.”

  “Last time you got drunk, you texted everyone in your contact list.”

  Avoiding my gaze, Levi handed him his phone.

  Something caught my eye. I stared up at the ceiling. The lights had become a shimmering, moving green-gold. “That’s pretty. How do they do that with the lights?”

  Mike sighed. “Here we go. I’m going to grab Andrew. I think we should get out of here.”

  Levi grabbed his arm. “One of you needs to take her back to her room and make sure she’s okay.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “You guard her with your life.”

  “I swear, Levi. I’ll take care of you both.”

  Chapter Two

  Levi

  With monumental effort, I peeled my eyelids open. My head pounded in pain, and my throat was so dry I felt like my insides were sandpaper. I didn’t recognize the ceiling, so I gingerly lifted my head off the pillow. I took in the expensive decor, obviously a hotel room, but I still had no idea where I was.

  I sat up and assessed my situation. I was naked, and my dick ached. I was also extremely hungover. I tried to remember how I had gotten here, but that last thing I recalled was jumping off the building into the pool. I forced myself to stand up and walk around. The room was a mess. A lamp was knocked over and flickering. Half-eaten food was on a tray in the middle of the floor, along with multiple pillows. As I walked across the room, I counted three used condom wrappers. Apparently, the sex had been more than wild last night, but I had no inkling of whom I had slept with.

  I pulled on my jeans, but I couldn’t find my T-shirt. I opened the minibar and found a bottle of water. I wanted to chug it, but I forced myself to sip while I searched around for my phone.

  I paused and listened. A faint retching sound was coming from the partially closed door of the bathroom. I grabbed a bottle of water and then hesitated. I had no clue who was on the other side of that door. I heard the toilet flush, so I tapped lightly on the door.

  “Go away,” a female voice croaked.

  “I have a bottle of water for you. You should hydrate.”

  “Bring it here.”

  I pushed open the door and stood momentarily speechless as the second part of my evening came rushing back. Last night, Krista Taylor had come at me like a firecracker, all hiss and heat, boldly informing me she would get my career back on track. Her sultry look, both feminine and powerful, had mesmerized me.

  She had also told me that if I wanted her as an agent, we needed to remain platonic. I thought about the empty condom wrappers in the next room.

  And this is why I don’t have a career in hockey. I fuck everything up.

  Gone was the glamor of the night before. She was sitting on a towel on the floor with her back against the tub. Her makeup was streaked down her face, and she was wearing my T-shirt.

  “Are you going to stand there and stare at me all morning?”
she snapped.

  I stepped forward and handed her the bottle of water. “You’re nauseous from being dehydrated. You’ll feel better once you have some water.”

  “This is not dehydration. This is death circling me.”

  I watched as she took a tentative sip of the water. After a second sip, she greedily started to chug the bottle.

  “Easy,” I told her.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

  I thought about how we had sat at the bar.

  “We drank the shooters,” I said slowly. “I don’t remember anything else.”

  She stared up at me, her big blue eyes accusing. “I thought your friends were going to babysit us.”

  “Yeah, well, apparently they did a shit job.”

  “You need new friends.”

  I cleared my throat, hating the next part of our conversation. “I don’t suppose there was someone else here last night?”

  She gave me a hard look. “Meaning…?”

  I chose my words carefully. “I’m pretty sure I had sex last night.”

  Her tone was caustic. “You had sex with me, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”

  Fuck my life. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It was probably the best night of your life.”

  I worked not to smile. “What happens now?”

  She got unsteadily to her feet. Without her heels, she was even shorter than I remembered. “I go home empty-handed, and you carry on with your life here as a beach bum.”

  Shock jerked through me. “What about hockey?”

  “I’d advise you get a different agent, but it won’t be me.”

  I felt panic because I knew, deep down, she was the only one who could get me back on the ice. “As far as I’m concerned, last night didn’t happen.”

  “Last night did happen. I have the bite marks to prove it.”

  I tried to negotiate my way through this conversation. “You don’t sleep with clients because it changes the power dynamic or something, right? Well, I don’t even remember last night, so it doesn’t even count. The power dynamic remains the same.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’m not happy about this either. I totally screwed myself.”

  “I want to play hockey. I’ve messed up more chances than I probably deserve, but we can fix this.” I could hear the desperation in my own voice.