by Maria Luis
“Great!” I slide my laptop around, and then use the tip of my pen to tap on the screen. “Right there.”
Andre’s mouth moves as he reads the words to himself. One second passes, two seconds pass . . . by the time we’re nearing ten seconds, I’m squirming in my seat with nervous anticipation. “So? What do you think?”
Dark eyes blink slowly. “You want us to hold a hockey camp?”
Nerves bundle in my throat, and I push them down and away. “It’s the sort of event that most teams do,” I say, trying my very best not to let my insecurities rise. “You did it with the Red Wings every year. The Boston Bruins do it, too. But the Blades never have, not once since the franchise started.”
His teeth momentarily settle over his lower lip, and, boy, I wish that one look wasn’t so potent. “This is a big undertaking, Zoe.”
“Sure it is—but it’s also brilliant. What better way to show the world that you’re not completely heartless than by hanging with kids for the afternoon, doing what you do best?”
“Zoe, what I do best is an adults-only party.”
My mouth opens, and I go so far as to lift a finger, only to realize that I have nothing to say to that, except for, “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“I’m just being honest.”
“Stop being honest, then.”
The corners of Andre’s eyes crease when he flashes a smile. “I think you might be the only woman who has ever said that to me.”
“Glad to be the first,” I reply, before tapping my pen against the laptop screen again. “Really, though, if you think about it, this is great. We’ll get the Blades together—the whole team—and invite the media. Instead of barking at them—”
“I don’t bark.”
“Okay, instead of growling at them, you’ll have a nice, polite conversation, just like you did at Fame. Maybe we can get the local news station out there, too. Get the whole thing catered.”
“Will this be held at the Garden?” The panicked look has lessened a little, and unless I’m mistaken, he looks . . . intrigued.
Intrigued is good.
Intrigued is better than what I had expected.
In answer to his question, I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. If I have my way, and I’m fully aware that this might not happen, I don’t want any of this taking place on Blades turf. It needs to be at a local rink, a place where kids can feel like they’re really playing one-on-one with you guys. At the Blades’ practice rink or at the Garden . . . it’s too formal.”
“I agree.”
For the first time, I think he does agree. And, even stranger than that, we might even be on the same page for once.
“I know it’s not a particularly innovative idea,” I say quietly, wishing that I didn’t sound so uncertain. “It’s been done before plenty of times, and it really isn’t re-inventing the wheel, but—”
Andre surprises me by reaching out and placing a hand over mine. “It’s a great idea, Zoe.”
I blink back my shock. “You really think so?”
“Yeah, I do,” he says, nodding solemnly. Removing his hand from mine, he scrubs it over his face and then blows out a big breath. “What grades are you thinking?”
I want to know what he’s thinking, what has him suddenly avoiding eye contact.
I slam the door on that want, and say, “Kindergarten to eighth grade. Both girls and boys. I want everyone to have the chance to take part, and I don’t want anyone feeling excluded.”
“Okay.” Andre shifts on the barstool. “Let’s invite the high school kids, too. They can run personal practices with some of the vets.”
“Like you?”
His gaze meets mine. “You want me to stick around with the younger kids instead?”
Nodding, I say, “I think it’ll have the most impact on the public’s perception of you.”
“Okay.”
That’s all he says, but after a week of arguing back and forth, and a year of silence before that, it’s enough.
Chapter Seventeen
ZOE
Seven Days Left…
“Thanks for agreeing to help me out today, Tia.”
My younger sister flashes me a big smile from her seat on the metal bleacher. Her feet are stuffed into hockey skates, and there’s a glint in her eye when she says, “Did I tell you that my crush is here?”
“Yeah?” I lift an eyebrow and peek over my shoulder at the group of kids standing around in skates. “Which one is he?”
Tia doesn’t have a shy bone in her body, and she thrusts a finger forward, nearly bopping me in the nose with her enthusiastic finger-thrusting. “Kyle. See the boy wearing the beanie hat?”
Every single one of the young teens is wearing a beanie hat. “Uh, yeah.” I pretend to consider him, even though I still have no idea which one is her actual crush. “Has he asked you to be his girlfriend yet?”
Tia jams her chin on her fist as she slouches down. “Nah, not yet.”
“Maybe he will today?”
“Probably not. He really likes this girl Melissa.”
Call me crazy, but I hate the idea of this Kyle kid choosing someone else over my baby sister. Though, to be fair, having an unrequited crush is par for the course of being a teenager.
Andre skirts into my line of vision, and my heart squeezes.
Maybe it’s part of adulthood, too.
Over the last few days, we’ve surprisingly banded together to get the hockey camp ready in such a short amount of time. The Blades’ administration thought it was a great idea, and between a small group of us, we managed to pull it together ridiculously fast.
Today, the Blades will be joined by one hundred local school kids, including my sister and her crush, Kyle.
“Zoe?”
I turn to my sister. “Mhmm?”
She squirms under my stare. “I don’t want to be mean, but, like, would you go and do . . . something else? It’s bad enough that Mom told me that she’s coming to watch the second half of the day.”
A burst of laughter escapes me. “What, am I ruining your game?”
“Well, I mean”—she glances away at the rink—“it’s just that if you’re hanging around, Kyle definitely won’t talk to me. So, maybe you could . . . ”
Message received, loud and clear. Planting my hands on my knees, I push to a standing position. Unlike most of the people in the ice rink, I’m not wearing skates. I may have developed a fondness for the game ever since working in Detroit, but I’ve never developed my ice-legs, if you will.
Nope, I am currently content to stand on something that isn’t frozen over.
“I’ll check in on you in a little bit,” I say, “or is that still too much for you?”
Tia shrugs. “It’ll do.”
It’ll do—so proper.
Tucking my binder under one arm, I climb down over the bleachers until I’m back on the first level.
Today’s event is officially scheduled to begin in thirty minutes. After I discussed everything with Andre, it was relatively easy to pull Gwen in on the job. She knows countless media contacts in the area, and within three days, we had a waiting list for people who wanted to bear witness to the Blades’ first youth hockey camp. Even Walter managed to drum up some excitement in the last few days leading up to the event. The man hasn’t stopped singing my praises at the office, which is a major turn of events after the Fame-speedo debacle.
But it wasn’t Golden Lights Media or my coworkers who turned out to be the most excited about today—one meeting with Andre, and his teammates were bursting at the seams with anticipation.
Then again, that might be because Andre left them little to no choice.
Either they showed up and made the day a success, or he threatened to take it out on them in practice.
With one glance around the rink, it’s safe to say that they all showed up.
As I’m shuffling my binder into my bag, I sense Andre’s presence just before I hear his rough voice. “You pu
lled it off, Zo.”
My eyes close at the nickname. “No,” I say, as he steps in front of me, “we did it. Seriously, I couldn’t have pulled this off without you.”
His fingers brush mine, and I lift my gaze to his masculine face. Hard jawline. Soft, full lips. High cheekbones. The man is too handsome for his own good. “How about we agree to disagree, then?”
I tilt my head. “Do you even know how?”
“How to what?”
“Agree with someone,” I say with a smile. “I didn’t think it was in your genetics.”
He returns my smile, albeit his is a little rustier. “It’s a learned skill set. Thankfully, my teachers have let me out of their evil lair.”
Overhead, I hear the speakers kick on as the Blades’ coach, Hall, takes to the microphone to introduce the players one by one.
“Shouldn’t you go over there?” I ask. “Rejoin your brethren for the day’s activities?”
Slowly he shakes his head. “I will, but not yet. First, I need you to do something for me.”
Immediately, my brain goes to the direst situation. A kid has landed on a skate. A kid has thrown a puck at somebody’s face. A player has accidentally whacked a kid with a stick.
Andre’s hand touches my shoulder, then cups the curve of my neck with a deep laugh. “Slow down, Zo. You’re already thinking the worst.”
“Well, yeah,” I mutter, “but look where we are. It’s a liability waiting to happen, which is why we have insurance in case something happens.”
“Nothing is going to happen.”
At his confident tone, I shake my head. “You don’t know that.”
“I know it well enough.” His hand leaves my neck to tug at my purse’s shoulder strap. “I’m going to need you to put this somewhere. Preferably behind the front counter.”
My nose scrunches. “Why?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t do surprises.”
“Sure you do.” His big body corrals me backward, until my feet are moving on their own accord to the front counter. Andre lifts my purse and gives it to the kid behind the desk. “Give me a pair of skates for her, would you? Size . . . ” He glances down at me with an arched brow. “What size do you think you are?”
Oh, no. No, no, no. “I’m not skating,” I say hastily. “You know that I don’t skate.”
His mouth curls into a sexy grin. “Just as I know that we’ve been talking about getting you into a pair for two years now. C’mon, Zo,” he murmurs silkily, “don’t let me down now.”
My heart pounds in my chest. “Today is for the kids,” I squeak out pathetically.
That sexy grin of his grows wider. “And it’s also for you. You’ve never let me see you on the ice before.”
“That’s because I spend most of the time on my butt.”
I see the devilry in his eyes just before he murmurs, “There are a lot of ways to make you feel better after.”
He’s a walking hazard, that’s for sure. I eye a pair of black hockey skates, dreading the words that I know are about to trip off my tongue. “What if I say yes?”
“To putting on a pair of skates and getting out there?”
“Yes.”
He steps close, so close that I can catch his delicious scent. “I won’t let you fall.”
My breath hitches. “That’s good.”
“I promise it’ll be better than good.”
And with that promise, he brushes his fingers against my lower back and steps away, leaving me wanting yet again.
Chapter Eighteen
ANDRE
It’s safe to say that Zoe sucks on the ice.
It’s also safe to say that I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.
“You gotta—” I break off at the sight of her legs wobbling like a newborn fawn’s. Pushing off my heels, I skate toward her, wrapping an arm around her slim waist just before she would have gone down. “Zo,” I say, glancing down at her beautiful face, “you can do better than this.”
Her hands push at my chest. “I told you,” she grumbles miserably, “I suck at skating. Just let me stay on solid ground and I’ll be okay.”
“We are standing on solid ground.”
“It’s frozen water.”
“Which is solid, otherwise we’d be swimming up to our calves.”
Her mouth purses, but I can tell she’s holding in a smile. “Stop being so literal.”
“Stop being such a worrywart.” Squeezing her once, I set her free and retreat from her tempting-as-hell body. “You need to stop thinking that you’re going to land on your ass.”
“That’s because I am going to land on my ass.”
Rolling my eyes, I hold out a hand, palm up. I shouldn’t be surprised when she doesn’t immediately take it, no doubt worried that I’ll pull a dirty prank and send her flying to the ground.
I wait her out.
One . . . two . . . three . . .
With a sigh of frustration, she gives in, dropping her hand into mine. God, it feels good. Holding her hand isn’t remotely sexual, but after having no contact with her for months, it feels like everything I’ve ever needed.
My voice emerges, deep and gravelly. “You ready?”
“No.”
“Zoe, didn’t I promise that I wouldn’t let you fall?”
At that, her dark eyes fix unblinking on my face, and I feel that one look like a sucker punch to the gut. Because I can see what she’s thinking as if she’d voiced her thoughts out loud.
Why did you have sex with me, knowing that I’d already fallen?
Because I couldn’t say no. Because I needed her like I needed air to breathe and water to drink.
Because I’d needed her.
The way that I still need her.
“I won’t let you fall,” I tell her. In more ways than one.
And then we’re moving together. She struggles at first, no doubt because her ankles are weak. I order her to push with her thighs, to let her feet just be the vehicle that brings her forward. Her hand stays in mine until I grab two hockey sticks and hand her one. “Take it.”
She does so with a worried grimace. “Weren’t you ever told not to hand a weapon over to a woman?”
I laugh, loudly. “You gonna beat me with the stick, Zoe?”
“I’ve certainly thought about it,” she grumbles. She stabs the hook of the stick into the ice like a pillar to ground herself. But it has the opposite effect—the abrupt downward thrust has her legs shaking, her skates moving, and the next thing I know, Zoe has slid down the stick like a stripper on a pole.
But with less elegance, that’s for sure.
“I think I need to call it a day,” she says, staring up at the rink’s ceiling as she lays comatose on the ice. “My vanity can’t take another wipeout.”
I crouch down beside her. “You didn’t do half-bad.”
“But it wasn’t half-good, either.” She sounds so miserable that I can’t help myself. I touch her. My fingers brush her exposed collarbone, drifting up to the underside of her chin. Her breath stutters out against the rough pads of my fingers when I skim her lips, pressing my thumb to the center of her lower lip, tugging down.
Jesus. I want her.
I’ve always wanted her, from the very first moment we were introduced so long ago.
“Andre?” she whispers.
Does she want me? That’s the question at hand here. I’ve told her no. I’ve told her that we aren’t ever going to happen again. Less than thirty days later, and I’m willing to renege on all of that just for one single taste of her lips.
One taste will never be enough.
No, but it’ll have to do.
I pull my hand away, more so because I don’t need anyone thinking that we’re doing something that we shouldn’t.
“Tell me you want this, too.” My voice drops. “Tell me that I’m not alone in this, Zo. That I’m not the only one going crazy with fucking wanting you.”
Mouth lifting
in a small smile, she says, “Language. There’re kids around.”
“What I want to do to you involves a lot of language.”
Her brow arches. “And other stuff?”
“Hell, yes, and other stuff.”
With her hair fanned out around her head, she’s got to be cold on top of the ice. But all she does is watch me, touch the tip of her tongue to her bottom lip. I nearly come just at that. My body roars to life, demanding, wanting.
“As friends?” she asks. “Are we doing this as friends . . . with benefits?”
No. Being friends with her isn’t enough, not for me. I feel like a starving man, willing to take whatever scraps she can give me. It’s more than just the sex, though I want that too with her. I need . . . Fuck, what I want and need are two different things. I need her friendship, her smile, the way she looks at me as though she’s the only person who can read me, the only person who truly cares to. But if friends with benefits is what it will take to warm her up to the thought of being with me—really being with me—then that’s fine. I’ll roll with it . . . for now. After everything, I don’t want to spook her and send her running in the opposite direction when our relationship is already so fragile. “Yeah,” I tell her slowly, “if that’s what you want.”
For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Just flicks her gaze away. Then, “Not here. I don’t want . . . I don’t want to do a repeat of last time.”
I know what she means immediately. We aren’t going to have sex again where someone could find us. That I agree on fully.
“After the event. I’ll take you home, and I’ll—”
Her eyes narrow playfully. “Language, Andre.”
“Fine, fine.” I pull back, my hands going to hers so that I can help her into a sitting position. “But the minute I have you alone, you’re mine.”
I just wish it could be for longer than a single night.
I never thought I’d say this, but friends with benefits just isn’t enough for me. Take it slow, I warn myself, take it slow.
There’s the root of the problem, though—at the end of the day, “slow” isn’t a word in my vocabulary. But to have Zoe as mine? It’s time to leave my impulsiveness at the door. I don’t have another choice if I want her to look at me as anything more than a coldhearted asshole.
