by Lainey Davis
I can’t help myself. I look up at the box again, smiling at my family, and then I lock eyes with Juniper. I see her blush and smile, and I remember why I became a professional athlete to start with. Moments like this. But I'm not just a superstar to her. She gets what it took to be here, how it fucking feels to score like that. She knows how I feel right now. I’m grinning like a lunatic, which is why I don’t even see it coming when Houser clocks me from behind.
I don’t know how I keep my feet, but I sway, giving him time to toss off his gloves and come at me again. This time, I’m ready and my conscious mind goes dormant. I’m totally in primal mode. I don’t even know how many times I hit him. Both our helmets have flown off at this point and I can see blood flying. I land an uppercut under Houser’s jaw and he flies backward. The ref comes in to break it up, dragging me over to the penalty box.
When I look over at Coach, he draws a hand across his neck and I know I fucked it all up. After my two minutes is up, the team manager comes to escort me down the tunnel. Shit, they’re not even letting me finish the fucking game, I think. “Coach, he hit me first. He fucking started it, Coach.”
Coach turns away from me, which pisses me off. Murphy and Kingston stare down at their skates. This isn't fair and they all know it. I've done my part. I reined it in. All I've done wrong is lust after my lawyer, and I'm pretty sure none of them know that. I think. Now I'm not being allowed to play hockey, and I'm wild with rage. I see red and start kicking the wall with my skate on. Fuck that guy. Shit. My whole body hurts from that fight.
I see Matty come charging down the tunnel and he pulls me aside. “Ty, baby, Houser says he’s pressing charges for assault.”
I actually laugh, because the thought is so ridiculous. But Matty tells me the entire thing is under review, and I can’t be on the ice until they reach a decision. “Where’s your attorney, Ty?”
“You know where she is, Matty. Why do I need a fucking attorney for this? It’s a god damned hockey fight that I didn’t even start.”
“You didn’t drop your stick when Houser hit you the first time,” he explains. I can’t even remember. It came out of nowhere. When did I drop the stick? Is he seriously trying to claim I used my stick as an assault weapon? Matty's long face tells me this is really happening. My jaw drops and for the first time, I’m worried they’re going to end my career over some stupid technicality after I got sucker punched.
Fifteen
JUNIPER
"What the hell is happening?” I lean over to Thatcher Stag as I see some officials hauling Ty out of the arena. He shrugs. “Surely this isn’t typical after a fight?”
I hear the door slam and through the windows of the box, I see Matty running down the hall. I sigh and reach for my bag. I do a quick mental scan through Ty’s contract, remembering he has a morality clause in there and specific language about instigating a fight. They’re replaying the whole thing on the jumbo screen again, so I can see quite plainly that Ty was sucker punched by the St. Louis player.
My phone starts to vibrate and I see that it’s Ty’s agent. “Matty, what’s going on?” He shouts some nonsense about a dropped stick and tells me to get down to the locker room.
By the time I reach Ty, the press is swirling around trying to get a comment. I can barely push my way through and Matty yanks me into the room and slams the door on the reporters.
“This is clearly an intimidation tactic by a bunch of sore losers,” Matty declares. I’m sure he’s right. St. Louis is about to lose their third game in a row and the Fury are basically clinching the Cup...but I’m only concerned about my client right now.
“So what do we do about it?”
It turns out we just sit around and wait until the officials can all agree that Houser’s claims are utterly bogus. Meanwhile, the game has continued and St. Louis has enjoyed 25 minutes of ice time without the Fury’s leading goal scorer. It’s a pretty brilliant strategy on their part, I guess. Bait and attack the notorious hothead. Get him out of the way. If you can’t win with talent, I guess you have to resort to this kind of thing.
"This is bullshit," I say. "Where is Ty?"
Matty waves over in the direction of the training room. I'm desperate to see him, and I can't tell where my professional obligation to him ends and my personal care for him begins, but when I walk in the room and see him wincing in pain as the trainer treats a cut, I just about lose it.
His face is swollen and bruised, his lip cut. His knuckles look like raw meat. He must have gotten Houser in the teeth with his fist. I reach out a tentative hand to touch his cheek, thinking to comfort him I guess, but he stiffens beneath my touch. The trainer looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
I clear my throat. "I'm the lawyer. And this is ridiculous. We should charge him with assault. Don't think I won't do it."
Ty puts his good hand on my arm. "Juniper. It's a hockey fight. We aren't pressing charges. I just want to fucking play in the game. I don't even want to take revenge." The trainer looks concerned again. "I swear! I just want to fucking play."
I pat his arm and look him right in the grey, swollen eyes. "I'm going to make sure that happens, Ty. I promise." I set my jaw and run through my options. I straighten up to my full height and Ty smiles.
"Matty!" I yell and march back across the locker room. "Show me where these assholes are making decisions."
Matty grabs security to walk me back into the arena. The game has restarted. "This is unacceptable," I mutter. Now the lawyer in me is fired up. This is injustice. I'm pissed.
Even though I have no idea what’s going on, I shove my way past all the security guards back in the arena, over to the off-ice officials. “Excuse me, I’m the legal representation for Tyrion Stag. I demand to know what’s going on and why the game is being allowed to continue while his status is in limbo.”
Six heads whip in my direction and I can see a group of suits approaching. I don’t care that I’m wearing a hockey jersey with jeans. My client is being treated unfairly, and this is why I’m here. I demand that the video judge run back the footage of the incident, and within a few minutes, I’ve threatened to sue the management of the St. Louis team. Not for assault. For fixing the game. That shuts them up real fast.
Ty is reinstated, and I’m still on an adrenaline rush when I return to the locker room to tell him so. Everyone around me cheers and starts patting me on the back, but Tyrion Stag picks me up and kisses me.
My heart stops. My body longs to respond. I want to melt into his soft lips, plunge my tongue into his mouth. He’s so passionate, and I fully admit it was a huge turn on when he smiled at me after scoring his goal. But I’m here at work, and my senses all fire warning signals. I squirm out of his arms and slap him.
He seems stunned and looks around the room, where everyone is staring, slack-jawed. “I’m sorry, Juniper. I got carried away.” His voice shakes.
I can’t find words, but Matty laughs nervously and says, “We’re all a little over excited here, Ty. No worries, baby. Get your ass back out there.”
I spend the rest of the night praying that Tim will be done with his baseball scandal in time for the next game. The Fury win 4-1 with Ty scoring another goal in the third period. I’m terrified to think what will happen if I have to travel with the team and find myself in the same hotel as him after another victory. My lips still tingle from his kiss long after the arena is empty.
Matty calls the next day to report that Ty is getting benched for the next game. “Matty, that’s ridiculous. He was sucker punched!” I protest, but Matty explains that they can’t afford to have something like that happen again or play short-handed.
“They’d rather play a full roster than risk Ty in the sin-bin for extended time periods and lose because of power plays,” Matty says. This is a team decision, and I can't do a thing about it, legally, and I hate that.
After work, I take out all my frustrations on the water. I’ve missed so many team practices now that I told Derrick I was withdrawing
myself from the women’s boat. I’m just rowing solo when I can fit it in. I’m surprised to see Ty standing on the dock when I get back from my row.
“Hey,” he says, sitting down.
“Hey yourself,” I reply. “I’m so sorry, Ty. I did everything I could to fight this.”
He nods. “I know you did, Junebug. The whole NHL is talking about what a stone-cold demon you were with those officials.” He grins at me and I feel slightly better. But his smile isn't a fully happy smile. He sighs and asks, “Want to watch the game with me on TV somewhere?”
I nod. "Can you wait while I change?"
"Can you just throw on a jersey and watch some hockey all sweaty?" I roll my eyes at him, but when he hands me a Stag jersey I toss it on and follow him up the bike path to one of the bars that is broadcasting the playoff game on the big screen on the deck. Ty pulls his hat low over his eyes and keeps his sunglasses on, trying to avoid being recognized.
Should I ask him about the kiss? I can't read his face. I've never seen him like this before. My heart aches for him. I see him nervously drumming his fingers on the table.
"Ty." He looks over at me. His expression breaks my heart and I can't help myself. I reach out and squeeze his hand. He doesn't let go, just holds it while the game plays on without him.
We sit in silence and watch as the Fury lose 1-0.
Sixteen
JUNIPER
A week and a Fury comeback later, of course, Tim is still neck deep in his cocaine case and I have to fly to St. Louis for the final game.
I have Lisa on video chat, filling her in on everything that's happened with Ty as I figure out what to pack. "So you held hands? For like an hour? Then what happened?"
"Then he walked me home and patted me on the back like I was a teammate. He turned away and jumped in his car and took off. Hey, do you think I need anything dressy?"
She nods and reminds me there might be some sort of victory party I need to attend. Shit.
"Juniper, I don't even know this guy, but I already like him so much better than Zack. Like, before I even knew that Zack was screwing around on you, that guy gave me the creeps."
This is news to me. "Wouldn't have killed you to say something to me about it," I say.
"Girl, you know you can't tell your friends you don't like their partner. Then I'd turn into the bitch who didn't like your spouse and you'd stop talking to me. But it doesn't matter because I like this guy. He filmed you rowing, Juney. He helped you."
"Well it doesn't matter because I can't be with him unless I figure out a way to get Tim to reassign him to another lawyer. Which I can't do if I don't ever get to talk to him--he's neck deep in this court case w the damn baseball player." I sigh. "I wish your brother and I could just swap clients."
"Tell my brother I approve of this plan," Lisa says. "Whatever gets my Juniper laid."
I hang up with Lisa and drive to the airport, where I get to go through a special security line and off to the terminal for the Fury's private flight. This will never get old. I'll admit, I am still pretty starstruck by the whole process. This whole being treated like royalty bit? I could get used to this. The players are all taking selfies with the flight crew, signing autographs. I check in with Coach and the executive team, briefly review the legal needs for the trip: none unless the guys get drunk and piss on someone's porch again. I slide my tablet into my bag and get ready to board the plane. I don't even make eye contact with Ty.
He's got his hat pulled low, his headphones on. I can tell he's deep in concentration, getting ready for game mode. I don't want to interfere with this. He's coming back from an emotional hit, his hand still looks a mess, and this game could clinch the cup if they win. No pressure, right? Ha. The air is full of it. It smells of anxiety and confidence and testosterone. I can actually smell it.
I sit way up front and spend the whole flight reading a romance novel. At least someone is getting a happily ever after.
On game night I head up to the executive suite with Matty and the Stag family. Well, all of them but Tim. Thatcher seems to have brought a date, who is not wearing enough clothing to keep warm in an ice cold arena, but that doesn't seem to be the point.
Anna Stag smiles and waves me over. "Mrs. Stag," I say, shaking her hand. "How was your flight? Are you in the team hotel?"
"Fine, fine. Timmy put me up in a fancy room. They put a mint on my pillow. Did you ever have that?"
I shake my head. "I got a bag of popcorn on the night stand, though." This friendly rapport with Ty's grandmother seems oddly inappropriate, but she's nice so I try to roll with it. She gives a harsh look to Thatcher, who shrugs and puts his arm around his date. Mrs. Stag says, "I wish they'd just get started already. I really want to watch Tyrion win this thing!"
"Me, too. Trust me!" I've had about enough of meeting with stuffy NHL officials who all think I'm a heinous bitch. Every time one of them catches my eye, I see them twitch. At all our pre-game meetings, when I bring up unsavory and questionable player discipline procedures, they wince. Good. They've all behaved like assholes. Let them think what they want about me. My client is playing tonight.
I waffle about texting Ty before the game. I don’t want to distract him when he’s doing his mental prep, but I feel a deep yearning to connect with him. He hasn't spoken to me since he walked me home after we watched the game together. I sigh and pull out my phone, typing Just wanted to let you know I gave STL legal counsel the full Juniper treatment. There shouldn’t be any funny business tonight.
Glad u got my back. He adds an emoji of a dragon. I smile.
This is what you pay me for. Good luck out there, Ty.
Thanks for being here, JJ.
God, I’m blushing like a teenager, I think. Eventually, the anthems and the speeches end and the puck drops. I only have eyes for Ty. He's everywhere on the ice, and I'm sure he's moving so fast his blades are melting the surface. It’s hard not to get caught up in the excitement of being here. Is it the high profile game or is it just Ty?
I spend the next three hours pressed against the glass of the suite, rapt. My body yearns for Ty as I watch him on the ice. He moves so gracefully, with such precision and purpose. He is aggressive and confident, and I hear him shouting out calls to his teammates, intercepting passes I didn’t even see coming.
I can see exactly why the Fury sought him out despite his reputation for fighting. He brings the Fury together, acts like the spark they all need to function as a unit. He's passionate and animated, shouting to his teammates as he glides by, calling out plays. He doesn’t score in this game, but gets 2 assists, and when the final buzzer sounds, the Fury win 3-2. The best in the league. They won the cup. I actually tear up, I'm so excited for him. I know he's worked for this since he was 3 years old and started bruising through junior hockey leagues.
And I know I don't just feel happy for him as his lawyer. I want him. I want this man who cares enough about me to help me with my athletic performance. I want the funny guy who tries to think up annoying nicknames for me. I want the man who smells like mint and pine and citrus. I want him and he's off limits.
This is his moment, but when they start the awards ceremony for the Stanley Cup, I know I can’t bear to watch as he starts partying with his teammates. I don’t want to think about him slurping champagne from the cup with some bimbo.
Amidst the chaos of celebration in the suite, I slip away back to the hotel to be alone with my thoughts. My feelings for Ty aren’t appropriate. He’s my client at the job I need...I cannot leave two jobs in one year, and especially not because of men. I don’t even know what’s going on with Ty. Infatuation? Is it just lust because I've never had a sexual experience like I had with him?
I feel terribly alone as I sink into my bed, wishing I had someone I could confide in about this. I can't call Lisa at this hour--she has a regatta in the morning. She'll have gone to bed hours ago. My feelings about Ty are so much more than just a lustful romp in a bar bathroom. We’ve gotten so close at
rowing practices and elsewhere, and I can talk to him about “clean eating” and interval training. I’m desperate to be around him, to make him smile, to hear his thoughts. My tears are on the verge of falling, the knot in my throat about to give way to sobs, when I hear a knock at the door of my hotel room.
Seventeen
TY
I didn’t even have to work hard to get the girl at the desk to give me Juniper’s room number. It's not like I flirted with her. I just asked nice. Sometimes you have to swing your celebrity status around. Eye on the prize. Juniper is the ultimate prize. I need her, right now, or I'm going to lose my mind.
I loosen my tie as I wait for Juniper to come to the door. I hear her shuffle up and see her eye look through the peephole, hear her little intake of breath when she sees that it’s me.
“Juniper, open up,” I whisper, not even sure why I’m bothering to keep my voice down.
She opens the door and she looks a mess, and I love it. She’s still wearing a jersey with my name on the back, but she took off her jeans, so all I’m seeing are those long legs sticking out from the black and gold fabric. “Fuck, Juniper, you look so good right now.”
“Ty, what are you doing here?” her face looks concerned, upset.
I shrug. “Do you want me to leave?”
She hesitates, then shakes her head no. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating with your team?”
I push my way into the room and close the door behind me, not taking my eyes off her. “Juniper Jones, you're the only one I want to be with tonight.” I close the gap between us so I’m standing an inch away from her, breathing in the scent of her arousal, looking into her eyes as her pupils dilate. She bites her lip. I lean in to whisper right against her ear. “And I want to celebrate by licking every inch of your body and fucking you while you're wearing my jersey.”
