I chuckled.
Paige, Jeannine, and Bailey had always been good to me.
Too much, sometimes, because it reminded me that I once had a girl who looked at me the way they looked at their husbands.
The same girl who was still staring at me.
“Let me take that from you, Chloe,” Bailey said, taking the platter of cookies from her hands.
Chloe blinked a few times. “Thank you so much for inviting me,” she said. “You have a gorgeous home.”
Bailey smiled, motioning behind her to Gage. “It’s all his. He just lets me live here.” She chuckled and walked away to place the platter on the table with the other food.
And then it was just the two of us standing there.
The giggles and chatter faded from the backyard party, everything in me zeroing in on the woman before me. All sharp angles and soft curves. Her pink lips just as pouty as I remembered them.
She was a girl when she’d refused to come with me to college, but a woman stood before me now. There was still that sweetness in her eyes, but matched by something harder—exhaustion and pain and . . . regret?
Maybe Rory had knocked my brain loose.
“Hi, Bent.” She smoothed back some of that jet-black hair, taking a step toward me almost like she couldn’t help it.
“Hi, Chlo.”
“It’s good to see you with your clothes on,” she blurted, then laughed as she clenched her eyes shut. “I mean, you looked great with your clothes off. I just . . . I mean—”
My laugh cut her off, the tension in my lungs loosening. “So, you would rather I be in a towel again or not? I’m not clear on what you want,” I teased.
She let out a breath and shook her head. “I only meant it’s nice to see you. Here. At this party.”
“Is it now?” I wondered how much was truth and how much was the required polite etiquette when seeing someone from your past.
Because that’s all I was.
Someone she used to know.
Someone not worth following around the world—hard to blame her but it still fucking stung.
“It is,” she said, her tone soft, her hazel eyes sincere.
A hot ball formed in my throat and I swallowed it down. I gestured to the grill where the guys were doing a horrible job pretending not to be watching our exchange. “You got an invite to a Shark’s barbecue your first week on the job,” I said, nodding.
She glanced at the grill, waving at Warren. “Mainly Kinley’s doing, I think,” she said. “We worked well together when he came to my camp.”
I nodded, remembering him talking about it when he’d gotten back. Remembering how I’d nearly lost it when he’d said her name, even in a platonic way.
“Not bad,” I said, forcing the thoughts away. “Took me over a year to get invited.”
Her eyebrows raised. “Why is that?”
I shrugged. “You know I’ve always had a mouth on me.”
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, her eyes falling to mine. “Yes, I remember your mouth very well.” Her words were breathless, almost as if they rushed out of her without her approval.
I smirked, a chuckle leaving my lips.
“You must be happy,” I said.
She furrowed her brow like she couldn’t possibly understand what I’d meant.
“About being invited?” I meant to say it as a statement but it came out a question. “Goes a long way to gaining their trust.”
“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Yes.” She sighed. “I was surprised, but happy. Yes.”
I stepped closer, looking down at her with sharp eyes.
Same old Chloe, terrible at hiding things from me. There was something there, beneath her smiles and nervous talk. Something that haunted her, and I hated that I wanted to dig it out of her. Soothe it.
“You all right, Chlo?” I whispered, the space between us crackling with energy that begged to be played with. Fuck, she smelled good—like green tea and honey. I wondered if she was still addicted to those drinks like she had been before.
“I’m great,” she said, her eyes fluttering up to mine.
Didn’t believe it for a second.
Those flecks of green blazed out from the blue, churning with intensity.
Could she feel it too?
The string between us going taut.
Hot.
Aching.
“I better go chat with the other players,” she said when I’d stared into those eyes just a breath too long.
Or maybe she doesn’t feel it.
Maybe I’m a fucking idiot.
“Yeah,” I said, walking away before she could, electing to sit next to Nine and Paige, offering to hold Katherine so Nine could go get a plate. Anything to get me away from Chloe—not that I minded holding the kids—but it was a safe space.
A barrier between what I wanted and what I needed.
Because I wanted Chloe from the second I set eyes on her.
Wanted her just as bad as if I was sixteen again, nervous and fumbling with the condom wrapper.
Wanted to hear her say those three words that had shaped my world when I was a teenager. When we’d been everything to each other.
Best friends.
Lovers.
My heart beats for yours.
I gently patted Katherine’s back, helping her fall back asleep against my chest.
Completely ignoring the way Chloe smiled and shook the hands of every Shark in the yard.
The way she nodded and listened intently to what they said.
The way she laughed at some things and frowned in concentration at others.
The way she made a point to connect with every single person at the party . . . everyone but me.
Chapter 4
Chloe
“This been giving you any trouble?” I asked Gage as I smoothed my hands over his bare shoulder.
He shook his head as he sat on my table in nothing but his Under Armour briefs. A flicker of his eyebrows—just a twitch I wouldn’t have seen if I hadn’t known to look.
I added a bit more pressure where my thumb rubbed his muscled shoulder.
“Gah.” He flinched away from the touch.
I raised a brow at him. “It’s my job to listen to your body—not your mouth.”
He sighed.
“You think I can’t tell by now when one of my players is lying to me?” I slid my hand down his arm and lifted it over his head, watching his face carefully.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes it hurts. Locks up. But only after a lucky hit or if I overwork it in the gym.”
I prodded the muscle with his arm raised, kneading my fingers over the shoulder and down his back. The scar tissue had healed nicely.
I’d seen countless other teammates already today—my inspections part of my own process of getting to know them better.
I saved Gage and his friends for last. They seemed to be the apex of the group, the ones the other’s looked to when a decision needed to be made.
I let Gage’s arm drop gently on his thigh. “That’s normal,” I said. “I know you’ve healed, but you still need to be cautious on the ice. A too lucky hit and it could re-damage the muscle.”
He nodded, full understanding flashing in his eyes like he’d worried about it before.
If I’d been on the team for months, I would’ve pushed him about the thoughts furrowing his brow right now. But I’d only been here two weeks. And even though I’d been invited to his barbecue last week and bonded with a good amount of the players, we hadn’t formed that trustworthy and easy communication yet.
Eventually.
Hopefully.
I resisted the urge to sigh.
I’d been with Ontario for years. The Shark’s rivals in every single way. There were even some off-ice feuds that stemmed from the long-standing team brawl. It made me wonder if they would ever, truly trust me.
Gage—a leader in so many ways—had taken a giant step when inviting me to his house, though I’m sure Warren kno
wing me had helped. Meeting Gage’s wife and family, his friends, it had been wonderful—especially because I didn’t know anyone out here.
Anyone except for Bentley.
A warm shiver danced up my spine, and it had nothing to do with half-naked Gage sitting on my table.
It had everything to do with the current of energy that buzzed around Bent. The memories that pulsed from his skin, and the man he’d grown into that stared at me with eyes that could still see right through me.
I’d forced myself to avoid him the entire party after our brief encounter.
Because I knew if I spent too much time with him, I’d end up crossing a line . . . somehow.
“Anything else giving you trouble?” I asked Gage, returning my focus to him.
“Haven’t been sleeping well,” he admitted.
“Anxiousness?”
“Overcrowded bed,” he said, chuckling. “At any given time, I either have a six-year-old’s foot in my face or an eighteen-month-old drooling onto my chest.”
“Sounds pretty incredible,” I said, flashing him a smile as I motioned for him to stand.
“It is.” He glanced down at me. “Am I good to go?”
“Yes,” I said as he headed toward the door of my exam room.
It was two down from the Coach’s office in the rink, with my own tiny office connected to it. Two doors, one on each end of the room—one led to the office, the other led to the locker room for easy access.
“Gage?” I asked, and he paused at the door to the locker room. “Please do tell me if the shoulder gives you any extra pain. Anything at all.”
“I will.”
I eyed him.
He raised his hand, laughing. “I will, I will,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said. “Would you mind sending in Jackson?”
“No problem.” He turned out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
I took a few minutes to glance over Rory Jackson’s file before he sauntered into the room. No major injuries but more than enough fights—on and off the ice it would seem. He was lucky he’d never damaged that near perfect face of his.
“Where and how do you want me?” he asked, his voice full of confident bravado.
I’d gotten a taste of that at Gage’s house when I’d spoken to him and his wife. Paige had teased him throughout the party, calling him on the cocky attitude he couldn’t seem to withhold.
“Shirt and pants off, please,” I said, and motioned to my table.
He smirked, discarding his clothes in a motion so smooth I was shocked the muscular man could manage it. The end of his chin tipped up as he set his hands on his hips, something like a superhero pose—clearly proud of all that carved muscle and smooth skin.
“Couldn’t wait to see me with my clothes off, huh? Don’t worry. It’s natural,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes at him, knowing full well from the party he was madly in love with his wife. He only had eyes for her and his daughter, Daphne—hell, it had looked like he breathed for them—but I sensed Rory would never shed his over-confident personality, and really, it suited him.
I’d worked with hockey players for almost a decade. The shock at so many cut bodies had worn off years ago.
“What’s this from?” I asked, eyeing a small scar near the left side of his abdomen. It was barely two inches long, the skin long since puckered and healed.
“Non-hockey injury,” he said, his tone switching from playful to serious in seconds.
I circled him in front of the table as he stood, scanning.
There were a variety of scars across his chest, up near his collarbone, and down his back.
None of them looked ice-related. And my heart ached for him, for a story I didn’t understand.
Like Gage had tried to hide his pain from me, so often others did as well. I had to look beneath the surface and listen to their bodies more than their mouths. Hockey players were usually incredibly strong and incredibly stubborn. They’d rather pretend pain didn’t exist than tell me about it.
Rory hopped onto the table when I patted it, and I worked my hands over his thighs and knees, testing the flexibility, making sure there weren’t any pain-flashes when I moved his legs forward and back. Knees were super vulnerable from so much time on the ice, so I always kept a close watch on those.
“Anything giving you trouble?”
“Not a thing,” he said, that smirk back on his lips. “I’m pretty much as perfect as they come.”
I chuckled softly. “So, I’ve heard.”
His eyes widened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shifted my weight, nerves flaring. We hadn’t established a back and forth yet—I had to be sure not to cross any lines—but he seemed inviting enough.
“It means,” I said, “that I spent half of Gage’s party chatting with your wife.”
And it had been the most fun I’ve had in such a long time.
The women were incredible, and despite their close-knit trio, they’d included me into the group effortlessly.
Taking pity on a stranger in Shark-infested waters.
“Damn,” Rory said, a laugh in his tone. “I thought it would at least be a couple months before they got to you. Now you’ll know everything, and I won’t be able to joke around.”
“Oh, I don’t know everything,” I said. “Not yet. Joke away.”
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Is that the joke?”
“No.” He shook his head. “How are you holding up? After working with a shit team like Ontario all this—” His words died when I raised an eyebrow at him. “What? You’re a Shark now, right? You’re kind of expected to hate them on principal.”
My stomach twisted.
There was one Ontario player in particular I hated.
“Whoa,” he said, eyeing me. “Didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”
“You didn’t,” I said too quickly. “And I’m adjusting, thank you. It’ll take time, but I meant what I said on that first day. I’m honored to be a Shark now.”
Even if it was Bentley’s team.
Especially because it was his team.
Even if my heart skipped simply thinking about his upcoming examination.
“You’re all right,” he said, hopping off the table when I gave him the nod.
“Thanks.” It was a step in the right direction. “Send Kinley in here for me, please.”
“You want me to bust him up a bit first?”
I gaped at him.
“So you have something to fix?” he teased.
“In one piece, please.
“And here I thought you were going to be fun.” He tsked at me playfully before turning out of the room, leaving me gaping at the closed door.
Maybe this job wouldn’t be all about the paycheck.
Maybe I’ll make some friends.
I wouldn’t mind hanging with Paige, Jeannine, and Bailey again. Women strong and sassy enough to check these guys were the real superheroes.
I buried my hopes while looking at Kinley’s file—I knew him from the training at the Olympics, but it had been months and I wanted to refresh.
I tried not to think of the player I’d saved for last—because I knew seeing him, feeling him again, even in the most innocent way, would wreck me.
Warren popped his head in my office, walking in with a timid glare.
“Hi, Kinley,” I said. “Good to see you again.”
He gave me one nod, shutting the door behind him.
Still the silent broody type, though Jeannine had softened the beast up a bit since the last time I’d seen him.
He was still confident and calm, like a simmering storm that could burst any second. Only Jeannine brought out the mega-watt smile and easy charm that lay beneath all that . . . brute. It had been nice to witness at Gage’s house.
Warren gathered his shirt at his shoulders, pulling it over his head without me having to tell him. Then went for his pants.
“If yo
u could just step over—”
My gasp cut me off, my eyes popping out of my head as he dropped his briefs to his ankles.
“What are you doing?” I flew around, my back to him and my eyes clenched shut.
There was no way to unsee what I just saw.
Holy hell.
I’d had plenty of players “accidentally” drop their towels around me or shift just enough to show off their goods during an exam—trials of being a woman in a male dominated field. Nine times out of ten it wasn’t threatening, more like a monkey who wanted to show off.
But this—a routine welcome exam—caught me entirely off guard.
“Rory said you needed me to be naked. Something about a prostate exam?”
“Oh fucking hell, Jackson!” I hollered loud enough that I hoped he heard me. No doubt he was standing outside the door to hear his joke play out. “I’m not that kind of doctor, Warren.”
“Fucking dead man,” Warren growled.
“Are your briefs back on?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” The man actually sounded chagrined.
“Okay.” I let out a slow breath and turned around. “No worries. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” I chuckled awkwardly.
He cocked an eyebrow like he wanted to argue.
But he couldn’t.
He was . . . formidable.
Damn near faint worthy.
But Bentley . . .
I blinked out of my gaze and secured my professional face. “I didn’t notice any injuries in your file,” I said, circling him like I had the others. My eyes scanning, searching, trailing over all the muscle. “And I know you were in top-shape the last time I saw you.”
Warren was a beast.
Tall and wide and thick.
I was shocked he had less fights in his record than Rory. Jackson was big and cut, too, but he was leaner, graceful.
Shouldn’t assume who has the anger issues, I suppose.
But I couldn’t help it. Anger was a trigger for me, something I had a sixth sense for after . . .
Well, hockey was a naturally aggressive sport. I knew that, and I would not allow my history to taint the image of my new players.
“None,” he said. “You remember I’m careful.”
“Yes,” I said but eyed him as I asked him to sit on the table, preforming the same flexibility tests as I had the others.
Rookie (Seattle Sharks Book 4) Page 3
