“Wish I could say the same,” she nearly growled.
There was no love lost between Bianca and James; she’d practically hated him the moment she met him. Still, I tapped her foot under the table and she shot me an angry look. I ignored it, opting to lean in closer to Evan. He didn’t seem to mind as he held me a little closer.
“Hey Becca,” James said as he sat down.
“James,” I muttered evenly.
I didn’t miss the fact that he didn’t pull out his fiancée’s chair or even introduce her to any of us. I felt bad for her because she appeared to be very uneasy. She looked around the table, and I found myself smiling, hoping to ease the tension for her.
“I’m Bec, and this is my boyfriend, Evan.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Emily—”
“I’m sorry,” James interrupted. “This is Emily, my fiancée. Emily, this is my ex.”
Emily looked stunned, though she tried to hide it when she smiled again. Bianca introduced herself and Kirk, choosing to purposely ignore James.
“You okay?” Evan whispered into my ear.
“Yeah,” I said, looking up at him.
“Will you excuse us?” I announced to the table. “We’re going to see Shelby’s parents. I want them to meet Evan.”
We stood up and Evan placed his hand on the small of back as we walked away. The anxiety left my body as we got further from the table. I led us to the grand foyer of the banquet area and burst into laughter when we were safely away.
“You handled yourself well in there,” he said. “Gotta say though, the guy’s an ass.”
“He really is. I felt bad for Emily.”
“Me too. Did you really want to find Shelby’s parents or was that just an excuse?”
“I’ll see them later. I just needed to get away. Mind if we just sit out here for a little?” I asked.
“Not at all.”
There was an elegant beige sofa on the far side of the foyer, so we walked over and took a seat. We were sitting closer than necessary, but I was okay with that, just in case someone walked out of the banquet room and saw us. At least that’s what I told myself. In reality, I liked the way my body came alive when he was near. I hadn’t realized the lack of that in my life until that moment.
I angled my body toward him and crossed my legs. “So now that you know more about me than you probably cared to, I feel like you should tell me something about you.”
“Like what?”
I thought for a moment and then got up the courage to ask the one thing that I had been wondering since we’d talked that night in the gym. “Why are you single?”
“The short answer—I’ve been too busy with the properties my dad owns to be good at a relationship.”
“Okay. Long answer?”
He shifted slightly, and though I knew I was asking something that made him uncomfortable, I didn’t take it back. He knew more details about me than I would like, so I wanted to level the field.
“I was with someone for a couple of years and it was serious. Or so I thought. But she decided that she didn’t want to be tied down and broke it off. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t buy the ring.”
“You were going to propose?” I gasped. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was a long time ago and I’m over it. I have my work. I’m good.”
“Yeah, I get that. But I’ve been reminded numerous times that work doesn’t cuddle up with you and keep you company at the dinner table,” I answered.
“You speak from experience.” He grinned.
“I do. But work also doesn’t cheat on you and break your heart.”
“That’s true. And it doesn’t look amazing in a little black dress,” he said, glancing at my exposed thigh.
“Or make your stomach do flips because of the way it looks at you.”
I found myself leaning closer to Evan and wishing that we weren’t faking anything because I wanted to kiss him so badly.
He’s playing a part, I reminded myself, and my stomach dropped as I realized how true those words were. But before I could fully grasp the disappointment, he leaned toward me, grazing his hand against my cheek, and pressed his lips to mine.
It had been a long time since anyone had kissed me, but no one had ever made my toes curl. He deepened the kiss, his hand traveling to my waist, gripping me firmly. I held tight to his forearm, fighting the urge to wrap my arms around his neck. His kisses were urgent and set everything inside me on fire, so I was let down when he slowed the pace.
As we parted, I slowly opened my eyes and stared into his green eyes, wanting to kiss him all over again. His eyes darted off to the side and I spotted James’s reflection in the mirror behind Evan’s head. I realized the only reason he’d kissed me was because he saw my ex walk into the room and he was doing his part to sell the story.
James turned around and walked away, leaving me embarrassed that I had believed there was anything more behind the kiss. I started to sit back, but Evan kept his hand firmly on my waist and when my eyes met his, it took but a moment before his lips were back on mine.
THE EX-DYNAMIC
* * *
S.M. SOTO
ONE
ONE MORE STEP would mean certain death. I knew coming here was a mistake, but the way Reeve Bennett is glaring daggers through me is far more hatred than I expected to run into when I took this job here.
See, I grew up with two of the NHL’s most famous athletes. One plays for the Chicago Blackhawks and the other plays for the Pittsburgh Penguins. One just so happens to be my brother, and the other, well, that was the problem. I didn’t know what Reeve and I were anymore, other than enemies. He avoided me at all costs, and I cursed his name at every turn. It was just how we worked.
Call it the ex-dynamic, if you will.
I knew coming here would be equivalent to me stepping on his toes. This is my first official job as a professional sports medicine massage therapist, and I took the job that granted me the best benefits. It was also the only team available. I wanted to work with my brother’s team, on the Penguins, but they didn’t need a massage therapist. Reeve’s team did.
My brother, Crew, was the one who talked me into it. After applying to teams and not hearing back for months at a time, I’d almost given up. Until the Blackhawks. They were in a pickle because they needed someone for the start of their new season. I had planned on saying no because I knew who their star player was, and I just knew this would not go over well. But of course, I listened to my idiot brother. Crew made it clear that Reeve was over me, over everything in our past.
He was obviously wrong.
As the head coach introduces me to the team, Reeve glares at me like I’ve smeared shit on his favorite shoes.
So, yeah. One more step for me equates to certain death.
But that was what love did to people, wasn’t it?
It was the death of all things good. In my eyes, at least.
“Camila will be here with us for the long haul, and I expect you all to treat her with the utmost respect. This is a big year for us. If you so much as feel a goddamn Charlie horse coming on, you give Camila a call. We were robbed of our trophy last year, and that won’t happen again.”
After the head coach finishes his inspiring speech about winning this year’s Stanley Cup, most of the teammates head back into the locker rooms after their successful practice. A few others linger, shaking hands and welcoming me aboard. Through the entire ordeal, I can feel his gaze incinerating me, damn-near flaying my skin off. Curling my hands into fists, I feel my hackles rise as I wait to hear what kind of bullshit he’s going to spew at me.
From the second I walked into the Blackhawk’s practice stadium, my eyes gravitated toward Reeve Bennett. That was just the effect he had on people. He made you want to look at him. Standing at a whopping six feet four, Reeve was all broad shoulders, corded muscles, and steel. His eyes were ice, but his voice was like melted butter, gliding through you. With shaggy brown cur
ls and the beard to end all beards, he was the perfect combination of rugged and frighteningly gorgeous.
He dominated out there on the ice, even during practice. He had a gaggle of puck bunnies who were at every game, home or away, and he was every woman’s wet dream. He was also my cheating ex-boyfriend. But that was neither here nor there. We all made mistakes, and I guess we were just kids, so I couldn’t really hold a grudge.
That was the excuse I gave everyone else.
The truth? I did hold a grudge. I wanted to be here about as much as he wanted me to be here. But it was a job, and I wasn’t going to let some asshole who’d already ruined my life once dictate what I could and couldn’t do with my future.
I’m just wrapping my scarf around my neck to ward off the bone-deep chill in Chicago when I hear someone clear their throat behind me. I know who it is without turning. Hell, I can feel the tension crackling in the air around us.
“Of all the teams to choose from, you went with this one. Are you kidding me?” His frustration is clear in his tone. Hiking the strap of my purse on my arm, I shoot a glare at him over my shoulder.
“If you think for one measly second that I followed you here instead of my brother’s team, you’re dead wrong. Just stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. We good?”
“Far from it, princess.” He snatches his duffel off the bench and storms away. Meanwhile, my heart is tripping over itself in my chest at the use of his old pet name for me.
TWO
IF I’D KNOWN working so closely with Reeve was going to be this hard and cause this much stress, I would’ve turned it down. He’s a nightmare. The past two weeks have been absolute hell. If any of his teammates so much as talk to me or even look my way, Reeve is there, like the knight in shining armor that I certainly do not need. Then, he has the gall to get pissy at me as if I asked him to come to my aid.
He’s driving me nuts. Point, blank, period.
I try to focus on the game, my craft, and any other players on the ice instead of him, but it’s hard not to since he’s in the middle of every play, every pivotal moment. Even with his helmet hiding most of his face, I can imagine the concentration there, written deep in those lines marring his features and the focus in his ice-blue eyes. I’ve never had the privilege of being this close to the ice, but being a part of the team changes that. Every time Crew invited me to his games, I sat in the suite with the families of the team. It’s a great view, don’t get me wrong, but nothing, and I truly mean nothing, can beat this.
Sitting on the bench with the rest of the second-string players, I have my bag of supplies on my lap in case I need it. The sounds of blades scraping against the ice and hearing the trash talk of the players are incredible. Hell, I can even feel the shaved ice spray my face during certain plays. It’s thrilling.
I let out a gasp when one of the other team’s players from the Calgary Flames crashes into the glass right next to me. I swallow. Hard. My eyes widen when I realize who it is.
Beau Crosby.
Three-time Stanley Cup winner.
Ice god.
Our eyes lock, and my breath catches as he grins at me. It only lasts a few seconds, but it’s long enough that the crowd notices. An over-the-top “oooh” reverberates around the stadium, and I feel my cheeks redden. When he skates off, diving back into the game, I’m left breathless. Glancing around, I suddenly feel feverish, even sitting next to the ice.
During the next play, when Beau gets slammed into the glass again, he doesn’t immediately skate back on the ice and resume playing. Instead, he pounds his hand on the glass to get my attention.
“Dinner after the game?” That’s what it sounds like he yells, and my mouth drops open in shock. He’s not asking me this in the middle of a game, is he? Sure enough, he is. He skates away, to help out his teammates, but comes right back, waiting for an answer. My mouth is gaping as I fumble for an answer. I’m just about to do something crazy and respond when Beau is gripped from behind and dragged away by none other than Reeve Bennett. Reeve shoves him. Beau shoves back. And yup, that’s how the first fight of the night breaks out.
Once both guys have served their timeouts, and they’re back on the ice, the game is tied 2-2. But Beau is persistent. Whenever he gets the chance, he skids to a halt in front of me, awaiting my answer, and each time, Reeve looks murderous. So murderous and worried about Beau that he doesn’t have his head in the game. He collides on the ice with an opposing player, and when he hits the ground, clutching at his knee, I shoot to my feet, my eyes growing wide.
Shit. If he’s hurt, I’ll never hear the end of it from him.
• • •
He’s hurt.
That was the first thing out of the medic’s mouth when they took the reigning MVP, Reeve Bennett, from the ice. He tore his ACL, which means I’m the one who has to put him back together, starting today. It’s the first day of therapy for him, and I’m ashamed to admit I’m nervous. I can’t see this ending well.
His injury could’ve been a lot worse, but luckily, the tear doesn’t require surgery like most ACL injuries do. I know my exact plan of action I’ll need to take to help him on his road to recovery. I just hope he lets me.
When Reeve limps in on crutches five minutes late, I have a reprimand on the tip of my tongue, but when I get a good look at him, I let it go. I drop the items from my bag and run to his side to help.
He jerks away from me. “I don’t need your help. Let’s just get this shit over with.”
I raise my hands in surrender and let him get situated. Once he’s on the table, I roll up his sweatpants, warming his skin between my hands as I prepare for a massage. I try to ignore the way my hands vibrate on his skin. It feels so weird to be touching him like this again after so many years. I try to ignore the way fire slithers through my veins at such a small, innocent touch. He lets out a few hisses of pain, but for the most part, he seems to be handling it pretty well.
“Lie back for me.”
He does as I say, surprisingly, and I get to work, stretching his leg just enough to keep his muscles trained but not enough to push him past his limits. At one point, I glance up at him to discern his level of discomfort only to have my eyes widen when I realize he’s been watching me this whole time. At being caught, his face sours. Thick, silky, lustrous dark hair falls over blue eyes that are so cold; it feels like shards of ice are piercing my heart.
“This is your fault, Camila.” He says my name with such venom; it slides inside my blood and burns. I try to refrain from flinching away from the truth that’s there to be read in his eyes like the pages of a frayed book.
My eyes narrow with disbelief. “My fault? How is this hockey injury my fault?”
“Nothing like this ever happened to me before you got here. The second you walked through those doors, you’ve been screwing shit up.”
“And what would you have me do, Reeve? Quit my well-paying job and be homeless?”
He rolls his eyes. “Always so fucking dramatic. You and I both know your brother would never let that happen.”
“Crew has his own life to live. He’s not responsible for me.”
“Obviously.”
I drop his leg a little too harshly than intended. I prop my hands on my hips and glare down at him. “That’s it. Just get it out. All the anger you have, whatever it is you have against me being here, get it out now. Because guess what? I’m not quitting this job. We’ll be seeing each other very frequently, so just deal with it.”
“You know what I think, Camila? I think this is all just a part of your plan to ruin my fucking life. You still haven’t forgiven me. You never have. I moved on—why can’t you?”
I scoff. “You’re damn right, I haven’t forgiven you, Reeve. I was in love with you, and you cheated on me. What did you expect, I’d go running back into your arms at the first sight of you? And who says I haven’t moved on? You’re not on my radar anymore.”
He frowns. I’m not sure what part of my rant has
him making the face. “No, I expected you to want to stay far away from me. Why else would you take a job here where I am?”
“Crew said you were fine with it. That you were over the past. I didn’t think coming here would be a big deal for you.”
He pauses at the mention of my brother. We share a look, and he heaves a deep sigh. “Fucking Crew. The bastard never knows when to mind his own fucking business.”
My stomach knots. “So I take it you had no idea I was considering a job here, and you are not, in fact, okay with it.”
Reeve’s lips press together in a grim line. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“I’m not quitting,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Let’s just get you better and back on the ice, and it’ll be like I’m invisible.”
He mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like, “Impossible,” but I brush the thought off, knowing that can’t be the truth. I try to focus on my job, which usually is an escape for me, but working with Reeve is different. It’s taking all my willpower to focus. I have to will my hands to remain steady so he doesn’t see how much I’m shaking from just our proximity.
“How did this happen during the game again?” I ask, still trying to figure out how he didn’t avoid such an injury like this. It was a rookie mistake. He’s been in the hockey game for a long time, and Reeve Bennett has never been injured. It’s just strange.
“I don’t know. I was distracted by you and lover boy quoting Shakespeare, all that fucking Joanie Loves Chachi, shit.”
I freeze with my hand on his calf. Our gazes lock, and my throat works a thick swallow. “Why were you watching Beau and me, and not focusing on the game?”
If it was possible, his eyes would literally be shooting balls of fire at me right now. “You distracted the whole team, not just me. Don’t let it get to your head,” he all but growls, noticing the look on my face. He always did know me better than I knew myself.
I roll my eyes, deciding to let that one slide. We spend the rest of the session in silence even though I want to say so many things. Everything I know about Reeve’s life now is only because I own a television, and he’s still best friends with my older brother.
One More Step Page 16
