by RJ Scott
They chatted about wings and lines and centers, and Gretzky, because every hockey conversation had to include The Great One, it seemed. By the time he left, Derek was sleepy, Mikey was drawing dragons holding hockey sticks, and Abby was feeding Izzy. They were a nice family, and Alex had enjoyed his visit.
He left feeling lighter than he had since the accident. There was a reason for the pain in his arm, and for missing games, and it was that Izzy and Derek were whole and alive.
Emmet-the-guard was hovering outside and stopped when Alex went into the last office before the exit door, marked as Administration.
“Excuse me?”
Three people looked up at him, two in uniform and one in a suit. “Mr. Simard.”
“Alex, please,” he corrected. “I wonder if I could have a private word?”
The woman in the suit nodded at Emmet, and he and the two nurses left. The nurses shook Alex’s hand on their way out and offered a few words of support for the team; thankfully, neither mentioned the wing situation. Alex closed the door after them and stood uneasily by the door.
“Is everything okay Mr. Simard?”
“Alex, please,” Alex said again, and offered a hand to the administrator. “I’m not sure if you can help me, or who to ask if you can’t, but the Pearson family… The baby, Izzy—she’s okay?” Something undefinable was gnawing at him like he was missing a vital part of what was going on here.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss a patient’s—”
“Oh, I know,” he interrupted. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Just, if there’s anything I can do, anything at all.” He leaned over and picked up a pen, writing the team office number on the scrap. “You can call me on this number, and they’ll get a message to me.”
Her officious mask slipped a little.
“The family is well,” she said.
“Thank you,” Alex said, and turned to leave, and then something struck him as he reached for the door handle. “If I can help personally, in a financial way, or fundraising to help the family… I mean, did they have insurance to cover all of this?” He knew how long financial issues took to clear.
“I can’t—”
“It’s okay, I know you can’t say anything. Just, you know where I am on a personal basis.”
He left with a smile and another thank you and the resolve to clear whatever debts the young couple may have accrued. He just had no idea how to go about that. Izzy had a place in his heart, and he guessed she always would.
One thing he could do was obvious. As soon as he was in his car, he put a call in to the local Toyota dealership, talking straight to the owner and discussing how he would like the guys there to donate a car, and that he would give them the next few photo op appearances for free. That way he wasn’t actually buying the family a car, and also the dealership had a win/win. So Warren would be pissed, but Alex felt like annoying his agent was way down on the list.
At least he’d helped with one thing. Next he needed to organize tickets and a tour for the next Dragons matinee game, and also some merchandise for a six-year-old boy. He knew exactly what to get for Mikey.
And now it was time for his date. With the sexy, appealing, tall, sultry-eyed, beautiful woman that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. He wanted her, in a purely basic way, the hottest way, and he also wanted to sit and talk and share everything with her.
Today was a good day.
He’d arranged with Jo that he would pick her up from her place. Jo lived not far from the firehouse, in a well-maintained block of apartments, and he parked and walked up to the entrance. There were an awful lot of names for a medium-sized building, so he guessed they had to be fairly small. He found the button for apartment eighteen and pressed it.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” he said.
“I’ll be down in five,” she said.
So much for picking her up from her door, although he guessed this was her door in a way. It opened with dramatic force, but it wasn’t Jo who came out, but a younger woman. He smiled at her, but she didn’t return the smile.
“I’m Rose,” she announced, and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Uhm, hi,” Alex said.
She didn’t seem like she was about to launch into a reason why the Dragons needed to trade in to cover the wing. Not a hockey fan, then. If anything she looked pissed.
“Jo will be down in a minute,” she announced.
Alex considered the girl more closely. There was a look of Jo about her, albeit sharper, and her hair was blonde and, hell, she was significantly shorter. But the eyes were the same dark chocolate brown.
“And you are?” Alex asked when the shorter, sharper, version of Jo simply stared and he began to feel uncomfortable.
“Her sister. Didn’t you know she had a sister called Rose? Haven’t you talked?”
Wow, the accusations were flying thick and fast. Rose was clearly Jo’s tiny territorial guard dog.
The door flew open again, and Alex stepped back and away startled, thankful when Jo appeared. She looked out of breath, like she’d sprinted the whole way to the main door.
“Rose, I said no.”
Rose looked at her sister with a suspicious, narrow-eyed expression. “You haven’t read the blog posts about him that I have,” she said.
Shit, she does know who I am.
Jo groaned. “Rose, go back up, I’ve got it from here.”
Rose leaned in to her sister, “He might be a rich, utterly sexy hockey player, but he likes them short and blonde with perky tits, sis.”
Alex couldn’t help overhearing, not so much because he had good hearing, but because Rose had a theatrically loud whisper. He wasn’t sure where to look. Jo was scarlet, Rose looked defiant and accusatory, and Alex felt uncomfortable.
Then he realized he had to take control of the situation, because no one was saying a damn thing. In a smooth move, he tugged Jo closer, catching her off guard, and kissed her like he meant it. She didn’t fight, or move, or even really take part. He backed away a little.
“Short blondes were my choice until I met tall, sexy and gorgeous here in the shape of your sister,” he said. “Ready to go, Jo?” He held out a hand, and she took it, and Rose still hadn’t moved, although her concern had become a soft smile instead.
“Have fun, guys,” Rose announced, and went back inside.
“I’m so sorry,” Jo said. “She’s really protective and thinks she can just say what she wants. One minute she wants me to have sex with you, the next she’s all protective and worried.”
They made it to the car without Alex focusing on the word “sex”, which he thought was quite impressive. Alex hadn’t brought the Ferrari, leaving that at home for another day when he wanted to be millionaire-sportsman and not new-guy-Jo-just-met. Instead, he’d borrowed Loki’s truck. Still newish, it had that battered look about it, because let’s face it, Loki did not love cars the way Alex did. He held open the door, reached in and buckled her belt, stealing a quick kiss as he did so, shut the door, and jogged to the driver’s side. Only when he was in, with the doors closed, did he turn to her.
“In the interests of fairness, there are posts out there about me and other women. Even though NHL hockey is kinda new in town, this is Burlington, and hockey is everywhere. I sometimes get papped.”
“You’re saying I might end up on a blog?” She was teasing now; he could see it in her eyes, and the way her lips curved in a smile.
“Photos,” Alex said. “I can’t stop that other than by taking the right precautions.”
She appeared to consider the situation, worrying at her lip, and then she got a sly look on her face that had Alex smiling back.
“Okay, but you’d better like brunettes, because I’m not dying my hair blonde,” she said.
Alex reached over and captured a handful of her dark hair. “Never do that.”
“And I’m not getting a boob job.”
Alex released her hair and trailed a finger to
her lips, holding it there for a moment. “Don’t you dare, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, and she pressed imperceptibly against his touch. “Just looking at you makes me hard.”
Her mouth fell open, and she grasped his hand. “I don’t do casual,” she said, so softly that Alex had to strain to hear. “But I don’t want forever.”
Alex chuckled and slid his hand free of her grasp, “So we’ll aim for something in the middle.”
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to push up her T-shirt and free her from her bra, and taste the nipples that hardened as they talked. Then he wanted to taste the rest of her, have the strong woman writhing under him.
With a chuckle of regret, he pressed a hand against his hard cock, and hoped that she didn’t notice. But she clearly had, because her tongue darted out to wet her lips and her eyes widened. He tried to apologize, because he wasn’t a fucking sex-driven Neanderthal, but then she moved in her seat, only a small movement but enough for him to know that she could be turned on right then; that she could want him.
“Alex?” Her voice was breathy, and he wanted to kiss her right there in the car.
“Don’t do that,” Alex pleaded. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
Alex shifted a little, his cock painful against the fly of his jeans. “Like you want me to… Jeez… We could go back to mine.” He hadn’t wanted that; not casual sex. He wanted to talk and get to know her, to do it right, but the way she was looking at him.
“I think the restaurant you chose would be safer,” she murmured.
Alex knew she was right, and he started the truck and left the parking lot, joining the main road and heading west. Had he blown everything by suggesting his place? That had so not been his intention, but it seemed that with her he’d lost his smooth.
“Raincheck?” she asked as they hit a forty zone, and he slowed. He couldn’t look at her, because she was so fucking sexy and he was clearly a horny teenager without any fucking sense. Literally.
“Cool,” he said, because that was the only word he was capable of. He wanted to readjust his cock, he wanted to taste her mouth, pull her to orgasm with his mouth and fingers. He wanted all that. But he wanted it the right way. So yeah, a raincheck was good. “Raincheck it is.”
Chapter 8
The place Alex took them was off the beaten track; small and in a neighborhood where Jo would never have imagined seeing hockey players or any kind of meathead guys at all. Weren’t sportsmen all about sports bars? Because it certainly was not a sports bar. There wasn’t a TV in sight, and the restaurant was empty.
Completely empty.
Had Alex pulled some kind of rich guy’s trick where he’d paid everyone off? That sounded way too much like the kind of thing that was a hundred kinds of douche, and for a second she balked at the door.
“Where is everyone?” She gestured at the ten or so tables, all set for the evening with crystal and silver and flowers on each one. The handwritten menu board showed it was the kind of intriguingly formal/informal place that she loved, where the food was good but the service and atmosphere were relaxed.
“They don’t open at lunchtime,” he said, and helped her off with her jacket, although she fought him a little, because she wasn’t sure she was staying.
“Then why are we here?”
Again, it smacked of elitism. She didn’t like it; she’d spent her entire adult years escaping privilege like that. Rose would have loved it; she thrived on that whole rich kid thing, hated that Jo was in her poky apartment when she could have better. But Jo? She immediately felt out of place.
“I want to go,” she said, firmly, so as to leave no room for interpretation.
But Alex didn’t hear her. He was crossing to the bar area, where small spotlights illuminated beautiful wine bottles and created cascades of rainbows. He banged on the counter, and a man walked out from behind the bar, his nose in a book, glasses on his forehead, all kind of balanced there and defying gravity.
“You made it,” he exclaimed, and reached over to bump fists with Alex.
Alex turned to Jo. “Come meet Fly,” he said, and beckoned her over.
She still wasn’t sure she was staying, but the “Fly” person caught her eye and gave a gap-toothed smile that she couldn’t resist. He was cute, and his hair messy like he’d stuck his finger in a socket. He held out a hand.
“You must be the poor woman who volunteered,” he said as they shook hands.
“Volunteered?” Jo asked, confused.
“I didn’t actually tell her,” Alex said. “Not yet. We got… We had other things to talk about in the car.”
“I’m Marty Anderson. Marty, hence McFly, which led to just Fly,” he said, and gripped Jo’s hand solidly.
“Fly was also because he was the fastest blueliner in the game.”
“Oh, you’re a hockey player,” Jo said.
Fly tapped his teeth, where the gap was obvious. “What gave it away?”
“Best D-man I played with,” Alex announced. “But don’t go telling Ryan that.”
“You know damn well that Ryan’s better than I ever was,” Fly said, and placed his notebook flat on the counter. “So tell her already,” he said to Alex.
“Fly asked me to volunteer to taste some options on his menu. You up for that?”
“Do you have any allergies?” Fly asked.
“None,” Jo said. She realized she’d relaxed in the time it took to meet Fly and see Alex grinning at the other man. “And I would love to be a guinea pig.”
He came out from behind the bar and offered an arm. “Come this way, then, beautiful—your pasta awaits.”
“Hands off my girl,” Alex grumped good-naturedly, but he made no move to insert himself between Jo and Fly. Instead, he went to the door and locked it and followed them as they moved.
She expected them to stop at a table, but instead they went into the kitchen, right in the heart of the place. At a counter, there were two stools set up, and Alex gestured for her to choose one. She sat down and waited for Alex to take the other stool. Instead he turned and opened a vast fridge.
“What do you want to drink?” he asked. “Wine, juice?”
“Water!” Fly interjected. “Water to start.”
Alex pulled out two bottles and placed them on the counter before taking the stool opposite.
“I show you all the best places,” he said, and saluted Jo with his bottle.
Jo unscrewed the cap and filled her glass, then saluted him back. “This is going to be good,” she said.
Thinking that he’d done something pretentious had set her back a little. Finding out he was doing a favor for a friend and had thought she’d be up for it was enough for that worry to vanish. Still, that gave way to thinking about things from the car that had sent her into a tailspin. The way he’d stared into her eyes when his fingers had caressed her, and she’d been so turned on. If he’d carried on much further, she could have thrown caution to the wind and gone back to his place in an instant.
A woman doesn’t give away too much. Her mother’s voice was a constant moral compass that she couldn’t shake however hard she tried.
“This is fennel, orange and watercress salad with thyme vinaigrette,” Fly said, placing two plates in front of them.
He hovered, looking anxiously at her and Alex, and she felt the pressure to say and do all the right things. What if she hated it? What kind of hockey player, all grunt and energy, could focus on the delicacies of balancing taste and texture? She smiled at him, then looked at the plate. Alex was taking it very seriously, contemplating his plate and making little comments.
“Balanced and informal,” he said.
Jo forked a little into her mouth, already thinking about what she was going to say, how she was going to word her comments with the tact and diplomacy she’d learned at her mom’s knee.
Then the combination of textures and flavors hit her taste buds, and all she actually managed to do was let out a lo
w groan of pleasure. When she looked up, Fly was grinning, and Alex looked like he’d been hit in the face with a baseball, appearing dazed, his mouth open.
“What?” Jo asked.
“You liked it,” Fly said.
“You really liked it,” Alex added. He was looking at Jo like she was the next course, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. It was only Fly’s cough that interrupted them.
“Courgette carpaccio with borlotti beans, peppers and capers,” he announced. He whisked out the half eaten orange salad and replaced it with a new one. Part of Jo wanted to demand that he return the rest of the zesty goodness, but she didn’t want to come off as needy. Anyway, the new dish was just as stunning, as was the pork he delivered next, the chicken ravioli, and the dessert taster plate, which had her in heaven.
And through it all, she and Alex talked about everything and anything.
Fly had joined them, with a carafe of bitter coffee and tiny thin mints, and he was encouraging her to ask all kinds of embarrassing questions.
“Did he ever tell you about the time we were in LA for a Kings game, and he was this green rookie, and when he got back to his room all the furniture was in the bathroom? Like, all of it. The mattress, the rest of the team had taken the frame apart, the cabinets. Even the TV.”
Alex shook his head ruefully. “My first road game and I was sharing with this other new guy, and we got into the room and it was all gone. To this day, I don’t know how the team got all of it in the bathroom.”
“What about the time he fell over coming onto the ice?” Fly asked, all innocence, as he was pouring more coffee for Jo.
“This is our first date, man,” Alex said, and his grumpy was showing again, even if it was countered by his smile. “I’m trying to impress her.”
Fly ignored him, waving away the protest and talking right to Jo. “So he’s on maybe his fifth game, just off the back of a two-goal road game, and he’s all super psyched, and the crowd was chanting his name.”
“They weren’t chanting my name,” Alex interjected.
