“I’m not giving up until you tell me, Noelle. And if you don’t, I’m calling Mom and telling her we need to schedule an intervention. Then, I’m inviting Ellie to come join the party.”
“You bitch,” I huff with a laugh. My sister would definitely do that. “Okay, fine. I’ve got space in my closet for his clothes and his shoes. You know, to let the universe know I have room for him in my life. And I sleep on one side of the bed instead of in the middle.”
“What else?”
I have an extra alarm clock on the other nightstand. I might leave room in the refrigerator for a six-pack of beer, and a few other things, that, now that I think about it, probably shouldn’t be mentioned. Ever. But I say, “Nothing else.”
“So, you don’t have his clothes actually hanging in your closet?”
I roll my eyes. “How would I do that? He doesn’t actually exist.”
“You never know.”
“Jules, please drop the subject.” I really don’t want to have this conversation.
“Do you have a hockey stick in the closet? Near his empty spot?”
“No.” Why in the world would I want to do that?
“You know, just in case this future mystery man is a hockey player. Perhaps if you did, you’d meet him sooner.”
Now Julie’s picking on me. “Shut up. This is gonna work. And honestly, I’m not looking to rush it, but if a nice guy—hockey player or not—did happen to walk into my life and we clicked, I probably wouldn’t send him on his way.”
“What if the universe is feeling a little snarky? What if this guy only has one eye?”
I don’t even bother to answer. Not because I don’t have something to say but more because Julie’s laughing uncontrollably. Rather than wait for her to calm down, I hang up the phone.
“Someone needs to order more wings!” Lance bellows from the kitchen.
I take a deep breath and head toward him.
Only figures I’d start a perfectly good Friday morning by dealing with one pain in the butt after the other.
Time to deal with Chef Diva. When Lance doesn’t have what he needs, everyone better look out.
And maybe after I do that, I’ll figure out where I can get an extra hockey stick. You know, because it really wouldn’t hurt.
Don’t tell my sister.
Noelle’s Journal
Dear Universe,
I’m in the market for a hockey stick. I’m not sure how to go about getting one. I could run to the sporting goods store, but that seems a little odd. Maybe a used one would make more sense. If I really am going to summon a hockey player, wouldn’t I want one already in the NHL? Oh, and one last thing, I’d appreciate it you’d help me keep this under wraps. Three people now know my secret. Any more find out and I might as well put out an ad for a date on the Internet. Thanks.
3
Amber
Monday, October 10th
“IF THAT WORKS FOR YOU, then I’m ready to get this under way,” Phoenix states, his dark brown eyes passing over me and Mark, then over to Coach Moen.
The three of us nod.
And just like that, the thirty-minute meeting is over and the rest of the day—the hardest part—is underway.
Ever since I received Mark’s call last Thursday night, informing me that I needed to be at the practice rink for an early-morning meeting with Phoenix Pierce and Coach Darren Moen and possibly a couple of players, I’ve been a nervous wreck. I’m happy to say, I made it through that meeting, as well as this one, unscathed. So far, so good.
Since I’ve only been a member of the Austin Arrows organization for all of three weeks, I haven’t yet had a chance to be introduced to the players. I happen to know who plays which position, I know what they look like thanks to their bios, and yes, I even know Spencer Kaufman is the captain and Colton Seguine and Cullen Crosby are the alternates.
The past seventy-two hours have been torture, but only because I’m managing to freak myself out. Somehow, I’ve kept my cool from the moment I woke up this morning. I put on one of my favorite outfits—a black, A-line skirt that comes to my knees, a red silk blouse that isn’t too loose but also not too tight. It’s not a fashion show, I know, but I also know that the right clothes instill confidence, and that’s what I’m going for. It’s not as easy for me as it once was, but I’m working on it.
Still, I’d been hoping that my first meeting with Spencer wouldn’t be a face-to-face interaction. I still remember the way he looked at me when he saw me walk into Coach Moen’s office a few days ago. While I was taking him in—the same light brown hair, a little shaggier than back in the day, the same hazel eyes that seemed to look right through you, the same long, lean build, although the few tattoos I saw peeking out weren’t there back then—he was doing the same to me.
I think it’s safe to say that he’s not at all happy that I’m here. I can’t say I blame him, either. I could see the surprise on his face when he noticed me standing there with Mark. Someone probably should’ve warned him. We’ve got history. Rocky history, at that.
Then again, we haven’t seen each other in seventeen years, so I was secretly hoping he wouldn’t remember me. Worst case, since the former probably wasn’t a possibility, I was hoping he wouldn’t be angry with me still.
He clearly is.
A big body comes to stand directly in front of me, effectively pulling me from my thoughts.
“You all right? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
I run my hands down my skirt self-consciously, both trying to ensure I look okay as well as drying my damp palms. I need to pull myself together if I expect to make a good first impression on these people. I know I’m not going to be a fan favorite amongst the team simply because of what I’m being tasked with doing, but I can’t let my fear of Spencer’s response affect my overall objective.
“I’m good,” I assure Mark, smiling up at him. The guy exudes confidence in spades. From his perfectly tailored charcoal suit, the crisp white shirt beneath, and the silky teal tie, he looks as though he had the management team in mind when he got dressed this morning. “Just a little nervous, I guess.”
Nervous doesn’t even begin to explain how I really feel.
“You’ll do fine. Think of them as a bunch of overgrown boys. But honestly, kid, I don’t think you’ll have any problems.”
I find it funny that this man calls me kid and we’re probably close to the same age.
Not that it matters.
I’m sure Mark has misjudged the reason for my nerves, but that’s okay. I have no intention of telling him that Spencer and I have a history together. Or that this will only be the second time I’ve seen him since I broke up with him all those years ago, last Friday having been the first. That is definitely better left unsaid.
“Thanks.”
“Come on. Let’s get down to the conference room. Maybe they’ll have coffee.”
Coffee is the last thing I need. I wouldn’t mind a hit of caffeine right now, but the chances of me becoming jittery are too great. What I need to do is go home and rethink this brilliant plan that I had to come back to Texas. I would’ve been better off staying in Florida, busting my ass without the possibility of promotion.
Okay, maybe not better off. There is the small matter of my ex-husband that I don’t wish to deal with. Texas doesn’t seem far enough away from him at times, but it’s the best I can do for now.
Plus, I can’t go back. I’m here now, and the only thing I want to do is make this work. I’ve got my work cut out for me with Spencer; I can sense that already.
I wish I could tell him he has nothing to worry about, but I know he won’t believe me. I have absolutely no intention of inserting myself into his life once again. Not on a personal level anyway. In fact, after the hell I’ve been through, I seriously doubt I’ll ever be ready to get personal with any man. Good
guy or not.
I follow Mark out of Coach Moen’s office and down the long corridor to the conference room. I try not to think about possibly running into Spencer again and instead focus on the click of my heels on the tiled floor. When we get to the room, two of the assistant coaches are rearranging chairs so that they are all facing one side. In a few minutes, there will be hockey players filling those seats while Mark and I stand up with Phoenix and go over the plan for the team this season. At least the plan from a media perspective.
It’s no secret that the Austin Arrows players have garnered some disdain from their fans. Not only did they let them down because they came in last place—two years in a row—but they also had a personality shift that shocked the hockey world. Since I wasn’t part of the team then, I only know what I’ve been told and what’s been relayed via television broadcasts. For the last few years, I was in media relations for Florida. After I met my now ex-husband fifteen years ago, and moved to Florida a couple of years after that, I took a position that has allowed me to grow within the hockey world. Unfortunately, my world started unraveling from there, starting with the man I married. A man who turned out to be the polar opposite of who I thought he was.
So, when a vacancy came up in Austin, and it was a promotion from my previous role, I didn’t bat an eyelash before applying. The team I’d been with was stable, the organization wasn’t changing, therefore, if I wanted an opportunity for advancement—which I do—I had to agree to a huge change. A change that involved moving nine hundred thirty-three miles from the life I’d built for myself.
And here I am.
Year two after my divorce, I have started over back in my hometown—or close to it, anyway. My parents are incredibly happy to have me back close to them, and I feel the same. It’s different, maybe even a little scary, but I’m so ready to move on with my life, to embrace this opportunity with open arms.
Or I was, right up until I saw the horror reflected in Spencer’s familiar hazel eyes. Although I haven’t seen or talked to him since my senior year in high school—his first year in college—I have thought about him over the years. It’s hard not to think about the first boy who stole your heart.
And like a junkie needing a fix, I have followed his career from the moment he was drafted into the NHL. I always knew Spencer would be greatness. And he is. A couple of bad years doesn’t change all the great that he’s done. He’ll get that back; I have no doubt.
I’m just not sure what to expect going forward. It’s obvious Spencer wants nothing to do with me, and that’s from a brief introduction and a few minutes in the same room. I wonder what he’s going to say when he finds out we’ll be working closely together.
In the very near future.
You see, in a roundabout way, I’ve been assigned to be Spencer’s handler for the entire season. His shadow. The person who ensures he conducts his public engagements appropriately.
I can already tell he won’t be happy about that, and by the end, I might be questioning my decision to take this job.
Spencer
IN AN EFFORT TO KEEP my ass out of trouble, I’d opted to go to Kingston’s for a beer on Friday night, but spent the rest of the weekend holed up in my house. Alone. While I would’ve enjoyed going to the Penalty Box and hanging out with some of the team, I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. Knowing me—and I’m pretty predictable—I would’ve picked up some puck bunny, convinced her we should go back to her place, spent a couple of hours naked, and I would’ve felt like shit until I did it all over again. Rinse. Repeat.
Needless to say, I’ve spent plenty of weekends wondering what the fuck is wrong with me. The only thing I know to do to keep my mind off the shit I don’t want to deal with is to blur it with something else. Be it an extensive amount of training and practice, or even alcohol or pussy, I know one of my vices will keep me moving along as though the bullshit doesn’t exist.
Luckily, the weekend is over and the risk of me fucking things up royally has passed once again. Until an away game, or, yes, next weekend. Either way, I’m sure I’ll find a way to get myself in some shit.
Now, as I head into the arena, my head down, hood covering as much of my face as I can manage, I wonder what prompted me to spill my guts to Kingston about my encounter with Amber. As of this morning, it really doesn’t seem that big of a deal that she’s here. She’s in media relations, which I have very little interaction with.
But I had a burr in my butt, and the only thing to ease the stress was to open up and spill my guts. Sure, Kingston is my closest friend. We’ve known each other since college, have played together for years. I don’t keep any major secrets from the man, but it isn’t like we talk about a lot of deep shit.
“Amber North works for the fucking Arrows.”
“Do I know Amber North?”
“My ex.”
“You’ll have to be a little more specific. There’re quite a few of those.”
“I went into Coach’s office this morning, and Phoenix was there waiting for me. I walked in, took a seat where Coach directed me, and the next fucking thing I know, Mark Coleman walks in. I hardly even noticed the guy.”
“That’s kind of hard to do considering he’s what? Six five?”
“Somethin’ like that. But seriously, I hardly saw him because my attention was drawn to the redhead standing at his side. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming freight train. I seriously doubt she was surprised to see me, but she acted like it. When Mark introduced her, I couldn’t even acknowledge her, man. I was too stunned to move.”
“Did she suck in bed? Or was she psycho? Did she roast your nuts or what?”
I ignore his lame attempt at humor. “Because she’s Amber North. Mark then rattles off an introduction, but I know she doesn’t need one. She already fucking knows me. Pretty damn well, considering I dated her for a grand total of four fucking years.”
“Oh, shit, bro. She’s the chick who Dear John’d you via voice mail?”
I wonder if Amber would be happy to know that she is referred to as the Dear John voice mail girl.
Not that I care.
It’s not at all surprising that Kingston was amused by my misery. It took a moment for him to remember Amber, and when he did, yep, the guy was grinning from ear to ear. Seventeen years later, it should’ve been easy to laugh off the fact that Amber broke up with me by leaving me a fucking recorded message. In truth, I haven’t thought about her in years. Seriously. Many, many years. Yet she pops right back into my world and all of the old anger and hurt comes flooding back.
And here I am, getting ready to deal with her on a more permanent basis. The fact that she was at Friday’s meeting means she’s going to be an integral part of the season. I wish like hell I knew a way to change that. Unfortunately, I don’t have that kind of power.
Stepping into the building, I take a deep breath and fortify my nerves. I already know it’s going to be a long damn day.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in the conference room. Something tells me I should’ve listened on Friday when Coach was discussing what would happen at this meeting. As I stand here, watching my teammates wander in, bitching and moaning already, I know this isn’t going to be fun times for all.
I’ve seen this before and I expect this to be one of those inspirational deals. Something to light a fire under our asses and let us know that the coaching staff means serious business. It’s the same shit we hear every year, only this year, I think there’ll be a little more conviction behind the words. Good thing is, we can’t go down from here. When you’re already at the bottom, the only way to go is up.
“Hello, ma’am.”
As soon as I hear that slow Canadian brogue, I half expect to turn around and see Patrick Benne mounted on a horse wearing a cowboy hat with a piece of straw dangling out of his mouth. Apparently, there are ranches in Canada, and
the kid was raised on one. Seems he finds it amusing to mock the Texas twang because everyone likes to give him shit about riding horses to school.
Instead, I see the kid hitting on Amber. Not that it surprises me. For one, she’s the only estrogen in the room. And two, this is Benne we’re talking about. I’ve only known him for a few weeks now, but I have noticed the guy’s a ruthless flirt. If there’s a puck bunny in sight, he’s right there, charming her with his megawatt smile and unbelievable charm. From what I can tell, he’s not the hit-it-and-quit-it kind of guy; instead, he’s more of the friends-with-benefits type. If I have to guess, he’s got a lot of friends. But again, I don’t know him all that well.
What I do know is that he’s about ten years younger than Amber. The kid has brass balls, no doubt about it.
“Move along, Benne,” Coach mutters, saving me from doing something stupid, like interfering. It’s not my business who Amber hangs with. Hell, she could bang the whole fucking hockey team for all I care.
Okay, now that’s a creepy thought. The Amber I knew wouldn’t give half of them the time of day. She was a good girl, a sweet girl. My girl.
Key word there being was.
She is not my girl anymore. Nor will she ever be. And I don’t know the first thing about her, either, so I can’t say whether she’s sweet or not. I’d like to think that if she can dump a guy with a recorded message, she’s not exactly Mrs. Fields.
Great. Now I fucking want cookies.
My gaze instantly drops to her left hand. I’m looking for a ring, and when I don’t see one, I ignore the little tingle of satisfaction that ignites somewhere in my gut. I don’t give a flying fuck whether or not she’s married. Really.
Phoenix walks up, drawing my attention away from Amber.
“You two know each other?”
Kaufman: The Season (Austin Arrows Book 2) Page 3
