Quick Trick (A Rough Riders Hockey Novel Book 1)

by Skye Jordan

  She thought about that a few seconds, trying on that new description.

  Not only did the feeling fit immediately, the rightness of it wrapped her in warmth and joy.

  And those damn maybes and what-ifs filled her mind again.

  When Faith flipped the switch and all the bulbs in the last row of lights glowed, she knew she was done. Her first year setting up without her dad. Without anyone.

  Now she knew she could do it on her own.

  Instead of that knowledge relaxing her or bolstering her, it depressed her. She was tired of doing everything on her own. Her mind drifted toward the puzzle of continuing to see Grant when he returned to DC. She spun the pieces in her mind, tried to make them fit. When they didn’t, she took out those pieces and tried others. Still no good.

  Her phone chimed, and she smiled, anticipating a text from him. But when she pulled her cell from her pocket, she found a new email. From Natalie.

  “Ugh.” Dread and guilt twined as she tapped it open, wondering what snarky comment Natalie had delivered now.

  But no words filled the email. Just photos. Image after image after image of Grant with different women. Faith’s gut tightened automatically, as if fending off a punch.

  They all looked like paparazzi pics or event photos. None were provocative, but they all clearly displayed Grant as an attentive, affectionate half of a couple.

  With her stomach aching, Faith shored up a framework for her thoughts. She knew Grant was a player. A player was exactly the kind of man she’d been trying out when she’d gone into this fling. He’d never made promises. Never led her to believe anything in his life would change once he left Holly for DC or any other city. He owed her nothing.

  But, no, that didn’t magically erase the pain.

  She blew out a slow breath and focused on the single line of text below each image.

  Miriam Birovski, CFO, Birovski Vodka.

  Daphne Johnson, corporate attorney, Oracle.

  Tiffany Shapiro, model.

  Bridgette Ferreira, model, broadcaster.

  Faith continued scrolling, scanning over a dozen photographs, names, and titles while the uncomfortable tightness beneath her ribs became a stabbing pain.

  At the bottom, Natalie’s parting message hammered every one of Faith’s insecurities home: You’ll never belong.

  She forced her eyes closed and turned off her screen. None of that mattered, because this wasn’t permanent. This wasn’t real. This was a fling.

  “There you are.” Grant’s voice startled her, and she pivoted toward him. He was smiling, but not in that light, happy way she’d come to love. “I thought you were going to call me to help you set up the tables.”

  He wore his parka and jeans. His knit hat was covered with snow.

  “You were already spending all that extra time looking at my books and working on a marketing plan with Taylor,” she said, starting in his direction.

  When he was beneath the arena’s cover, he pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair while he looked around at Faith’s setup. “Man, this looks fantastic.”

  She smiled and went to him. He was still hers for a few more days. So she slid her hands underneath his jacket and over the soft cotton of his tee and all the warm muscle beneath. And she hugged him tight. “You’re fantastic.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you for finishing the video for me. And getting it up online. And…just…being so all-around amazing.”

  “Hold off on that assessment.” He wrapped her in his arms, framed her face with one hand, and kissed her. And even the kiss was different. A steady press of his lips that lingered, as if he didn’t want to let go. It tugged at her already aching heartstrings.

  When he pulled back and looked into her eyes, she knew this wasn’t going to be something she wanted to hear. She laid her hand against his chest. “What’s wrong?”

  He wrapped one big, warm hand around hers. “I just got a call from my agent.”

  Faith tensed against another blow.

  “God, I’m so sorry to do this to you, Faith.” He exhaled heavily. “He booked me for an event tomorrow, and I can’t get out of it. These appearances are in my contract, and I can’t bum it off on anyone else, because the guys who can go are already going. The others are married with kids and spending the night with their families.”

  She nodded, but she stood on the edge of a cliff with a very long fall waiting. “Where’s the event?”

  “DC.”

  Exactly what she feared, but she tried like hell to hold it together. “So you won’t be here for”—Christmas—“the contest?”

  He looked down at their joined hands and shook his head. “I’m sorry, baby. I have to leave tonight.”

  Tonight?

  That news hit her hard. Really hard.

  She wasn’t ready.

  “Oh, wow.” Tears pushed at her eyes out of nowhere, and she let her gaze fall to his chest. “O-okay. Sure. I understand. You have to go where they want you, right?” She managed a soft bubble of laughter. “I’m lucky we met at all. If you hadn’t hurt yourself and been benched, you would never have come home for Christmas and…”

  And I wouldn’t be standing here with my hopes falling ten stories.

  Wild flutters of panic attacked, and Faith had the crazy urge to grab hold of him. She forced herself to look at this rationally. Logically. Tried to put it in perspective. They’d known each other only a couple of weeks. Their lives couldn’t be more different.

  This was good. A quick, clean end. Better than dragging it out, getting more attached. Right?

  She looked up just as he combed his hand through her hair and kissed her again. The move was so sweet, so familiar, so comforting, it killed her to think of losing him. She cupped his cheek and tried to memorize the feel of his lips.

  But he pulled back too soon. “I’ve arranged for Dwayne to step in for me so you won’t have to judge with Natalie—”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about that.” The words spilled from her mouth in a now-or-never, throw-caution-to-the-wind gamble. Because in that moment, she realized she wanted to hold on to Grant more than she wanted to hold on to her ghosts from the past. More than she wanted to hold on to her anger. “I overreacted about judging. The stress has my emotions swinging all over the place. I don’t need to judge the contest.” She smiled, trying to trick herself into easing the intensity crushing her chest. “Once you’ve seen a couple thousand ice sculptures, you’ve seen ’em all, right?”

  His brow furrowed a little, creating a vertical line. “But—”

  “And I’ve been thinking about what you said last night too. Memories live in here.” She patted his chest. “Not in any event. Not in any physical object or geographical location. So no matter what I do or where I go, I’ll always have my dad with me. I don’t need this contest or the store or even Holly to hold on to him.”

  Grant’s expression lightened, but he still looked concerned. “Baby, you’ve been through a lot, and I think you’re going to discover awesome things about yourself in the next few months.” He stroked his knuckles over her jaw, his gaze soft on hers. “But I hope you know that I think you’re already amazing.”

  “I think you’re amazing too.” Faith took a deep breath and dove in with hope sparking in her heart. She’d opened the door for him to step through, if that was what he wanted. “So what’s this event they have you doing?”

  He seemed more interested in tucking her hair perfectly behind her ear than the event. “Some special thing they’re doing tomorrow at the National Christmas Tree.”

  “Wait, is that… That’s not…” But she couldn’t think of any other event. “The one in front of the White House?” When he didn’t correct her, she added, “The one that the president and his family attend?”

  He chuckled at her awe, reminding Faith how sheltered her life was in small-town USA.

  “Yeah.” He shook his head, unimpressed. “I’ve met him before. I know it seems like a big deal, and the f
irst time, yeah, I guess it was cool, but it’s really not that…I don’t know…special, I guess.”

  Not special to him, she thought, because he was so out of her league, maybe.

  “I’m sorry,” he added after a second. “That made me sound…self-important. What I meant was that he’s actually accessible to more people than you would imagine. And he happens to be a fan of the Rough Riders. If he were a fan of the Fliers or the Islanders or something, I never would have met him.”

  He sighed with a shake of his head and rubbed his eyes. “I think the more I talk, the worse I sound. I guess, like you with ice sculptures, once you’ve seen a few tree lightings, you’ve seen ’em all. And with these kinds of events, it’s never just one thing. There’s always a pre-party and an after-party, and an after-after-party… The socializing is endless. But I need to schmooze with the media to talk up my return to the game. There’s a lot more to hockey at this level than just hockey.”

  “Evidently.” And it only made her think of all those gorgeous, cultured women he took to all those non-hockey events. “Who knew?”

  He huffed a laugh. “Right?”

  That uncomfortable tightness gathered at the center of her chest again. “But still, that’s an opportunity most people will go their whole lives without ever experiencing. And it sounds pretty damn swanky.”

  “I guess.” He lifted a shoulder. “I know it makes me sound ungrateful, and I’m not, but I don’t want to go.”

  She didn’t want him to go either. And if he had to go, she wished he’d ask her to go with him. She’d done everything but invite herself. But she was starting to realize that idea was straight out of a fairy tale.

  “The event will be televised. You might see me on the edge of the crowd, standing with a gaggle of other scruffy guys.” He slid his arms around her waist, then lifted his mouth in a half smile. “Will you watch?”

  Ice water doused Faith’s last flicker of hope. Natalie had been right. Grant wouldn’t ask her to come with him, because she didn’t belong in that world. His real world. Holly was his temporary fantasyland. Hockey and all the locations it took him—that was Grant’s real world. The world with all the lights and cameras, autographs and interviews, dates with supermodels and CFOs, and meeting the freaking president of the United States.

  And Faith, small-town hardware store owner on the verge of bankruptcy, not only didn’t belong, she couldn’t fit in no matter what she did or how she tried.

  The reality of that hurt in a way she couldn’t put into words.

  “You bet.” She forced a smile, patted his chest, and stepped out of the circle of his arms. “I’m going to let Natalie know she’ll be judging the contest on her own, and I’ll be sure to surf cable tomorrow night to see if I can catch sight of you.”

  He looked disappointed and a little lost. Twisting his wrist, he glanced at his watch, then dropped his arm. But he didn’t ask her to come. Didn’t suggest plans when he returned. And she couldn’t bear dragging out this good-bye any longer.

  “Don’t be late,” she said with a smile and shooing gesture as she walked backward. The more space she created between them, the less likely she would be to lunge after him when he turned to go. “You shouldn’t keep the president of the United States waiting.”

  “I, um…I looked through all Taylor’s numbers and jotted down a rough sketch of a similar plan for you. It’s on your desk.”

  “Great. I’ll look it over tonight. Thanks again. For everything.”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” he added, still not moving.

  She nodded, kissed the fingertips of one glove, and used that hand to wave to him. “Safe travels, Grant Saber.”

  And she turned away, put her gaze on the dirty snow path leading to the parking lot, and kept her head down and her mind focused on getting one foot in front of the other.

  13

  Grant was fucking miserable.

  Everything about this gig had been as tedious as he’d expected—the flights to get here, the traffic from the airport, the wardrobe fitting for a tux, Bridgette’s pawing at the cocktail party beforehand, and now, he and his teammates were standing in a brutally cold DC wind that created a thirty-four-degrees-feels-like-seven-degrees situation just to watch some lights turn on.

  The only light in this dark cloud had been the performance by Giselle Diamond. Despite the cold and the wind, she’d put on an outstanding show. Her voice silenced the massive audience until the end of a song when the applause and cheering rose to ear-splitting levels. That had been the only part of tonight he was sorry Faith had missed.

  Faith.

  He took a covert glance at his phone to check for texts, emails, or voice messages. Still nothing. That knot of fear digging into his ribs tightened a little more.

  “Would it be...how you say...vulgar, to ask how the fuck we got here?” Andre Kristoff asked in his thick Russian accent.

  “It’s called rude,” Beckett Croft, one of the team’s best defensemen answered. “And sometimes, you just gotta say what you gotta say. What I want to know is how the fuck do we get out?”

  “Better question,” Tate Donovan said under his breath, “is how to shut you guys up so we don’t get kicked out.”

  “Whose idea was it to bring the fuckin’ Boy Scout along?” Rafe Savage cut a look at his best friend since childhood and his current teammate on the Rough Riders. “I’ve got my eye on a couple of sweet pieces of ass from the cocktail party, and I’m taking at least one of them home tonight. So if you plan on acting as the goddamned hall monitor, stay the fuck away from me.”

  “I’m going to repeat that to you the next time you call me from jail looking for someone to bail out your skanky ass,” Tate shot back, using a high-pitched girlie voice to repeat, “Stay the fuck away from me.”

  Normally, Grant found Rafe’s and Tate’s bitching entertaining. Tonight, he found nothing entertaining. Absolutely nothing. He’d only been away from Faith for about thirty hours and all he could focus on was the hollow ache in his gut.

  Rafe pulled his jacket tighter against the bitter DC wind. “Bet he wouldn’t talk so damn long if he were out here instead of up there, shielded and warm. Fucker.”

  “Say that a little louder,” Beckett told him. “Maybe to that Secret Service agent or bodyguard or whoever the hell that is on your right.”

  “It’s a free fucking country.” He met the steely gaze of the noted agent or guard. “Isn’t that right? Sir.”

  The man didn’t respond but took in every last detail of their group before scanning the crowd again.

  “Would you guys shut up?” Hendrix said from behind them, his arms crossed, jacket pulled up around his ears. He stood between Andrade and Lawless, all three of them using Grant, Beckett, Rafe, and Tate as wind blocks. “I’m trying to sleep.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Grant bounced from foot to foot, trying to stay warm. “Don’t stand still, boys, or your ass cheeks’ll freeze together.”

  “That ain’t all that’ll freeze together,” Lawless offered.

  A murmur of movement rippled close to them. Someone nudged their way to the front of the crowd. Grant glanced that direction just as Bridgette stepped up beside him. She wore a winter-white wool trench over the barely there midnight-blue dress she’d had on at the pre-party, and slipped her arm through Grant’s, snuggling up beside him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. She hadn’t been invited to the lighting, only the parties before and after as Grant’s arm candy. “How’d you get in?”

  “I used to date the security guy.” She beamed up at him with pearly whites that made her coat look positively dingy. Her bright blue eyes danced with clandestine thrill.

  In the two hours since he’d picked her up at her apartment, Bridgette had tried three times to convince him to spend the night with her. Yet all Grant could think about was Faith. Faith and what she was doing with her Christmas Eve day without the ice-sculpting contest on her agenda. Faith and all the texts she ha
dn’t returned. Faith and his calls she hadn’t taken.

  He knew how to read the message she was sending loud and clear. He just wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of it. And now that he was back in the middle of this hot mess he called a life, everything he’d found cute or quirky about Faith to begin with were the very things he loved about her now. Missed about her now.

  And he didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

  Thankfully, the ceremony ended within ten minutes. Grant grabbed a private limo ride to the reception with Bridgette and spent the ten-minute drive repeating what he’d already told her earlier in the evening. But this time, he wasn’t as nice about it. Bridgette pushed from the limo livid and strode past Donovan and Savage, who were waiting for him at the curb.

  When Grant stood from the car to tip the driver, Rafe said, “What the hell did you do to ruin that sure thing?”

  “Go find your coeds.” Grant pushed his billfold back into his pants pocket and wandered their direction. He was already exhausted and it was only eight o’clock. “I’ll keep the hall monitor in check.”

  Rafe pounded Grant’s fist. “I owe you.”

  “Grow up,” Tate yelled at Rafe’s back, which he ignored.

  Grant and Tate joined the reception, neither interested in being there. They spent half an hour talking about Grant’s shoulder, the team, and the games Grant missed while he was in Holly. Which only reminded him of that ache in the pit of his stomach and made him glance at his phone again.

  Still nothing. And God help him, all he could think about was her walking away, with her “Safe travels, Grant Saber” ringing in his head.

  Tonight, the words felt more like a permanent good-bye than a see you later.

  “Who is she?” Tate’s question pulled Grant’s gaze from his drink. Tate had his shoulder against a pillar, his eyes on Grant.

  “Who is who?”

  “The chick? The one who’s not texting you back. The one who’s making you wish you were somewhere else?”

  “What makes you think it’s a chick? Maybe I’m just sick and tired of this monkey-suit-smile-for-the-camera shit. Maybe I’m thinking about negotiating my next contract differently next time around.”