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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright 2016 by Victoria St. George Publishing - All rights reserved. No part of this publication or the information in it may be quoted from or reproduced in any form by means such as printing, scanning, photocopying or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder.
Table of Contents
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
"Are you sure you don't want to come along?"
I pulled my purse out of my locker and reached in to grab my keys, shaking my head toward Gloria. My keys had manage to sink all the way to the bottom of my purse and I had to sift through makeup, hand sanitizer, a brush, tissues that had wriggled their way out of their tiny pocket pack, and various other odds and ends of life. I made yet another note to myself to invest in one of the little hooks that you could put inside your purse to hold your keys. My mother had gotten me several already, but I never managed to keep hold of any of them for long enough to actually put them in place. Everywhere else in my life I was a stickler for organization and control, but there was something about my purse that just made it the one thing I couldn't keep arranged.
"No. I need to get some sleep. I have to fly out tomorrow and I have a ton to take care of before I go."
Gloria stuck out her bottom lip dramatically. I laughed at the vivacious blond reporter and started out of the break room. She likely knew that wasn't the truth and that I had had my suitcase packed and sitting by the door for two days. I couldn’t stand the thought of packing the night before leaving for anything, much less a whirlwind business trip.
"You never do anything fun," she complained as we walked together toward the parking lot."
"I do plenty," I protested. "I'm just really focused on my career right now."
That part was absolutely true. At 27 I was already far further along in my job as a sports reporter than many people got in their entire lives, and I wasn't about to lose momentum on my trajectory. Gloria leaned against my car and gave me a look that told me what I had just said really did sound a cliché as I thought it did when it came out of my mouth, no matter how true it was.
"When was the last time that you went on a date?"
I unlocked my door and paused for a moment to try to remember the last time I even had a real conversation with a man that lasted more than fifteen minutes and involved sports, much less did anything social with one.
"Last June maybe? That lawyer who was way too invested in his relationship with his cat."
I opened the door and slid behind the wheel of the glittering black coupe that was my favorite new display of the success I had worked so hard to achieve. It still had that right-off-the-lot smell and I took a deep breath of it to convince myself that this really was worth the total sacrifice of my social life. I wished that they could actually bottle that smell. I'd tried the air fresheners and sprays that proclaimed themselves to be "new car smell" before, but not only were they exceptionally far off from what a new car smells like, some were so bad that they contributed to my trading those cars in and starting over.
"Come on, Hannah. Just come with me for an hour." I closed the door and started rolling down the window. She leaned in as it lowered. "Half an hour. I hear that there are going to be some hot hockey players there."
Gloria said it like it was a temptation, and I couldn't help but give her credit for how hard she was trying. Maybe I should get out of my routine a little and try to relax. It wouldn't kill me to spend just one night not sitting in my sweatpants in the living room of my apartment practicing my interview questions.
"Fifteen minutes." I stuck my keys into the ignition and turned back to her. "But not because of the hockey players."
Gloria nodded, her wide eyes sparkling like she was trying to restrain herself from actually giggling and clapping. I waited while she scurried off to her own tiny red car and hopped behind the wheel. As soon as I cranked the engine and started out of the parking lot, I started to regret agreeing to go to the party. The truth was my career path of choice meant that I already spent most of my life around the most successful and desirable athletes from all different walks of the sports world. They were enough to make any girl's mouth water, and though I wasn't necessarily beating the men off with a hockey stick, it wasn't like I never got any propositions. Even a fling with one, though, could mean bringing my career to a screeching halt. It just wasn't worth it to let myself even entertain the thought of trying to date any of them.
That wasn't what was bothering me at that moment, though. I had never had trouble staying professional around the players before. The threat of stumbling off of the height that I had so carefully climbed myself to and having to try to find a new path in life was enough to keep me on the straight and narrow. That night, however, Gloria had specifically mentioned hockey players and all I could think of was the gorgeous hockey player I had met just a few days before. We had only spent a few minutes together, but I hadn't been able to keep my mind off of his intensely blue eyes or genuine, playful smile. All I wanted was the see him again, but I knew that if I did, I might just be putting everything I ever wanted at risk.
Four days earlier
I shivered slightly as I walked to the edge of the rink and leaned on the wall so that I could look out over the ice. My mind went to the cardigan that I had draped over the back of the passenger seat of my car and I silently reprimanded myself. No matter how often I spend time in ice rinks interviewing hockey players, I never seemed to remember to bring in my sweater to ward off the chill. Especially early in the training season when the weather outside was still clinging to the summer heat and humidity, my brain just didn't want to think about picking up that extra layer of clothing.
That day I was definitely feeling the chill and cursing myself even more than usual for forgetting the sweater. It seemed like the rink was colder than I was used to, and I found myself bouncing slightly to warm myself up as I waited for the players to take the ice for their practice.
"Considering a new career as an ice girl?"
"Excuse me?" I asked, turning toward the unfamiliar voice.
I felt the breath escape my lungs in one big breath when I saw the man who was standing behind me. It was Jake Wilson, the star of the Vikings, and arguably the most important professional hockey player in more than a decade. I had spent much of the last two years of my career following his incredible rise to fame but had never had the opportunity to actually interact with him outside of press conferences. Now he was standing just a few feet from me, the piercing, intense blue of his eyes evident even in the dim lighting of the rink. I couldn't help but take a moment to let my eyes linger on his body, appreciating how the fabric of his warmup pants and long sleeved t-shirt accentuated his muscular frame.
"With all that bouncing you are doi
ng it looks like you are getting in some practice to be on our ice squad. I must say, though, as much as I'm sure our fans would appreciate seeing you out there, it would be a great loss to sports reporting."
I snapped my fingers sarcastically.
"Well, darn," I said. "I guess that's just a career path that I'm going to have to chalk up to being a dream I'll never fulfill."
He laughed and shifted the equipment bags in his grip so that he could extend one hand to me.
"Jake," he said.
I took his hand and shook it, nodding to show that I knew who he was.
"Hannah."
"I know." He took a step up closer to me and looked out over the ice. "So what are you doing here today?"
I gave him a strange look and then turned back to the ice.
"Working," I told him. "I'm supposed to interview the coach after practice and catch a few words with some of the players, which, of course, I thought you were going to be one of. Why aren’t you out there today?"
"Coach wanted me to take it easy during practice today and then come in for some individual drills."
"You aren't injured are you?" I asked.
He slid his eyes toward me.
"Are you asking out of concern or because you want to run off and print it as an exclusive?"
The bluntness of the question stung a little, but I couldn't really blame him for asking it. He spent his entire life being hunted down by all types of reporters, from the most well-known of television interviewers to the bottom-of-the-barrel paparazzi and I was sure that he had had his fair share of experiences with people asking questions that seemed to be caring but turned out to have ulterior motives.
"Genuine concern," I told him. I tucked my pen into my pocket and my pad into my bag and showed him my empty hands. "See? No notetaking paraphernalia. It is, quite literally, off the record."
Jake nodded and I saw his full, tempting lips curve up into a smile.
"Thank you. He mostly wanted me to take advantage of a little time off during this practice because he's going to be running drills and plays that don't necessarily involve me, and he would rather have all of my energy for some focused practice. But, since we are off the record and everything, I've been feeling a twinge in my back since a fall last practice."
"Are you alright?" I asked, feeling honest worry about him.
"I'm sure I am. The trainer says that I might have damaged a muscle near my spine. I have to go in for more tests to find out. Best-case scenario, there is a pull and I can work it out with a little bit of physical therapy and heat."
"And the worst case?" I asked.
Jake gave a sigh and stared out over the ice where the rest of his team was running final formations before wrapping up practice.
"Worst case, the muscle is torn and I'm on the IRL for a couple of months. Just enough to sink my season and possibly ruin my career."
"I don't think that's going to happen," I told him, feeling a strange compulsion to comfort this man who I didn't even know. "You are far too valuable for them to overlook you just because you need to recover from an injury."
Even as I said it I wasn't sure that I was telling the absolute truth. At 29 Jake was still plenty young enough for a continued career, but there were some hot young prospects waiting in the box just chomping at the bit to get a chance to show off what they could do. Spending several weeks on the injured reserve list, especially right at the beginning of the season, could conceivably be enough to topple even the great Jake Wilson's place on top.
"I hope you're right," he said. He paused for a moment and then looked at me again. "Would you want to—"
"It looks like the players are coming off of the ice. I have to go. Thanks. I hope that you feel better soon. Off the record, of course. On the record, have a great season."
I rushed toward the locker room door, not giving in to the urge to glance back over my shoulder to see if he was watching me. I had cut him off before he could finish his question, not knowing what it was that he was going to ask. If it was something having to do with my interview or any of the stories I was working on, I was sure that I would get another chance to hear it. If it was something else, though, something more personal, I didn't want to hear it. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I was feeling tempted, and I just couldn't allow that to happen.
Jake
"I am confident in my team and know that we have all put everything we've got into training during the off-season, so I'm excited to see what the season has in store for us."
"But what about the goalie's broken leg from last year's season-ender? Has he recovered? Do you expect his performance to be affected? Has he been replaced?"
"Thank you. Have a great night."
Deflecting the rapid-fire questions that the reporters shouted at me, I wove my way through the crowd and ducked into the waiting SUV. I felt like my answer was a recording and I had just put myself on repeat. I hated the small time reporters who followed me around thinking that they were going to get the big break in their career by getting an exclusive from the biggest name in professional hockey. I didn't mind answering questions at press conferences or during scheduled interviews. At least with those the reporters and analysts actually knew who I was and could make sense out of any detailed answer that I might give. These overeager field reporters, though, made me feel ambushed like they were taking advantage of me and my time without any real benefit.
As I locked my seatbelt into place and signaled the driver to go, I found myself hoping that no reporters showed up to the party I was supposed to go to that night. Almost immediately after the thought came to my mind, though, I knew it wasn't completely true. There was one reporter who I hoped I would get a chance to see again. I had met her at a practice earlier that week and couldn't stop thinking about her since. Stunningly beautiful and disarmingly at ease with herself, it was obvious that she knew exactly who I was, but didn't seem impressed. Something about that drew me to her even more. We only had a short conversation and before I could ask to see her again, she thanked me, I'm not exactly sure for what, and left. I'd been trying to find some way to get in touch with her since, but I hadn't heard back. I knew that there were plenty of reasons why I should just let the attraction go. The season was just starting up and I needed to concentrate on training and my performance. When I wasn't on the ice, I needed to spend all the time I could with my son.
Gavin was still so young. I didn't want my relationship with him to end up like the one that I had with my father. Despite the fact that I had essentially grown up to step into his skates and follow right along with his career path, I didn't have happy memories of being a child and spending time on the ice with him. Instead, I watched him play when he was on TV and occasionally got the chance to sit in the rink during his practices. The moments that we spent together were brief and I always felt like he was distracted when we were together like he was just waiting for it to be over so that he could go to the next practice or appearance. When I started my career, it wasn't to emulate him. I pushed myself to be better, to achieve more, and to make an even bigger name for myself than he did. I never wanted that for Gavin. I didn't want him to think of his father as just a name that he saw on a trading card or a jersey and helmet he saw skating across the ice on the TV screen. Instead, I wanted to give him the kind of life with me that I never had with my father.
No matter how hard I tried to stay focused and push thoughts of her away, though, all I could think about was how the sound of her voice and the curve of her lips left me breathless. Hannah had wide, dark eyes that could catch the attention of any man from across the room, and a body that was meant for far more than just the severe skirt and trim little blouse that she had been wearing at the rink. There was a tense, overly controlled characteristic about her that made me want even more to get close to her and find out what was beyond that professional façade. I wanted to pull the pins from the tight knot on the back of her head and shake loose the thick, glossy hair. Just
those few moments that we spent together made me want her like I couldn't describe.
In the days since meeting Hannah, I had contacted her in every way that I could think of, even going so far as to have my coach reach out to the news outlet where she worked. So far nothing had worked, but now that I was headed to the party there was a chance that I would get to see her again, and maybe, this time, I would be able to draw her into me the way that she had drawn me into her.
Three days earlier
"Are you still thinking about that girl?"
I turned toward Evan as he walked through the locker room and nodded.
"I can't get her out of my head."
"Fangirls are in the rink all the time trying to get your attention. Up until recently quite a few of them got it. I've never seen you stressing over one for an hour, much less a whole day."
"She's not just a fangirl," I said.
"Then what is she?"
I stood up, tying a towel around my hips as I started toward the sauna.
"I don't know," I said.
I wasn't sure why, but something was keeping me from telling him that the woman who had been dominating my thoughts since I met her the day before was Hannah Garcia, the sports reporter. The other women that Evan was talking about were, indeed, fangirls. They swarmed the rinks to pursue any hockey player that might cross their path, not usually caring who he was. That is unless it was me. Not that they really cared about me as a person. They heard "Jake Wilson" and all they thought was "money and fame." That got me plenty of entertainment when I was on the road, but I preferred to maintain more of a low profile when I was at home.
My reputation with women was no secret, especially in the earlier days of my career, but something was stopping me from telling Evan about this particular woman. Just as Evan had pointed out, I was not one to think about a woman for any longer than the time that I had her right in front of me. I didn't really know what it was that I was feeling, and I wasn't ready to give my teammate any details.
Breaking the Ice: A Sports Romance Novel (Ice Breaker Series Book 1) Page 1
