“You’ve got this, Optimus,” I whisper, willing him to hear me. “Get that puck. Pass it to Matty. He’s waiting. If you don’t hurry, he’s gonna take a nap.”
As though he heard me—which I know is not possible—Spencer connects with the puck, and he flings it backward, right to Mattias’s stick.
“Hell yeah!” I let out an excited squeal before slamming my hand over my mouth.
Matty snaps it to Benne. My breath lodges in my chest as I wait patiently…
Goal!
“Hell yeah!”
Only then do I realize I’m on my feet jumping up and down.
When the game is over, after I’ve turned off all the lights in my apartment, I find that I’m still not tired. Pacing the floor is new for me and I don’t like it. However, I can’t stop. Back and forth, back and forth. I think I’m wearing a trail in the hall carpet.
Forcing myself to stop, I step into the bathroom, stare at myself in the mirror.
Maybe I should let my hair grow out. Long. All the way to my butt.
I shake my head, watching my curls bounce.
That will take years, and during the process, I would have to endure the poufy period, which is not becoming. I look like a clown without the rainbow coloring.
I frown.
Leaning forward, I inspect my face closer and notice…
“Oh, my God!” Tilting my head, I glare at my chin. “Is that a hair?”
Rummaging blindly through the drawer in the vanity, I find my tweezers.
“Was it there the other night?” No one is here to answer me, but I don’t care. “Did Spencer see that?”
The thought of an offending chin hair being the reason Spencer hasn’t so much as talked to me makes me laugh. I sound like a hyena. A distraught one. One who just found a freaking chin hair.
I pluck it out, then thoroughly inspect every inch of my face. Is this what I have to look forward to? Chin hairs?
Not convinced I’ve done my due diligence, I pull out my magnified makeup mirror and go through the process all over again. Then I inspect my scalp. Is that a gray hair?
Christ. Am I falling apart? At thirty-four?
Opening the medicine cabinet, I rummage through all the bottles of crap until I find the hair remover lotion.
“Enough is enough,” I muse. “I refuse to be a woolly mammoth anymore.”
Good thing I took the night off. It gives me plenty of time to wax, pluck, and buff myself to a shine. Before I get to that, though, I spin around and rush to my bedroom. I scramble into the closet, searching for my bucket of fingernail polish. I can paint my toenails.
“Shit. Where is it?”
Pushing aside my clothes, I search the floor. Something falls over and thumps the wall, and I take a step back, looking at…
A hockey stick.
What the…?
Where did that come from?
I pick it up, inspecting it thoroughly.
It’s then that I notice the number seven on the blade, along with Spencer’s signature.
Holy crap.
Spencer
SITTING AT A SMALL TABLE in the hotel bar, I finally feel as though I can take a breath. The night was long but definitely worth it. We came out on top once again, which means I can relax for a little while. The puck bunnies are giggling and chirping, just like they always do. I’m immune to them tonight. It’s quite possible I’ve permanently banished them from my system.
There’s only one woman on my mind.
The same woman I haven’t called since I walked out of her apartment early Saturday morning. She hasn’t called me either, though. It’s only been four days, but it feels like an eternity. I think that pisses me off, but I’m not sure why. Noelle owes me nothing, but damn it to hell, I want to see her again.
If only it were that easy.
I would call her; I’m not above that. The problem is I don’t know what to say to her. For some stupid-ass reason, I thought she would make the first move. I’ve been waiting for her to. That’s the way most women in my life are. I don’t have to do much chasing, so this is foreign for me. That probably sounds like ego, but it’s really not. It’s fact. It comes with the job. Ask any professional sports player. There is a certain subset of women who will be right there, eager and willing because they’re looking for what we can offer.
Money, fame. It’s an aphrodisiac for some.
I know Noelle doesn’t fall into that category. She never has, but damn it, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I can’t stop thinking about her.
Taking a swig of my beer, I glance at my phone. I’m tempted to text her. Not only do I want to see and talk to her, there’s something else I need to ask her. We’ve got the mental health dinner coming up and I need a date. She might laugh in my face, but I’m going to ask her.
“Is this seat taken?”
I look up to see a cute little blonde standing beside me, her smile wide, her brown eyes reflecting her excitement.
“Yeah,” I lie. It’s easy to do. I don’t know her, won’t see her again. I don’t make a habit of lying, but this one is for my own good. It wouldn’t matter if my dick did get hard for her, I don’t want her.
“Oh. Okay.”
I’m sure she can tell it’s bullshit, but at least she walks away anyway. I should go back to my room, leave these chicks for my teammates. Benne will probably be more than happy to take two, even three back to his room. There seems to be enough of him to go around.
Rather than wave the waitress over, I get to my feet and wander over to the bar. It’ll be easier to settle my tab there.
“What’s up, Optimus?”
Colton Seguine is perched on a stool, his elbows on the bar as he nurses a beer. He looks as distracted as I feel. I wonder if he’s got woman issues. Or maybe it’s something else. I think back on last Friday’s game. The night Phoenix brought some of his friends to the locker room. It wasn’t that I was being nosy, but I couldn’t help but notice Seg’s reaction to one of those guys.
I’ve never thought about the fact that one of my teammates might be gay, but I get that vibe from Seg. It’s strange because I’ve seen him take women back to his room, but never once have I seen him respond to one the way he did that guy. Not that it’s any of my damn business. To each his own.
“Good game, Seg,” I say, waving the bartender over.
“You gonna call it a night?”
I nod.
“Don’t blame you there.” Seg seems way too damn interested in the label on his bottle.
“Somethin’ on your mind?” I ask.
A quick nod is his first response before he says, “Someone.”
“I know the feelin’,” I tell him honestly.
Seg glances at me, seemingly studying my face for a moment. I’m not sure what he wants to ask, but there’s a question in his eyes, so I wait.
“How do you do it?” Seg questions, his eyes falling back to the bar.
“Do what?”
“Deal with someone from your past coming back like that?”
I’m confused. I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about. “Huh?”
“Amber,” Seg adds. “You two have history, right?”
Ah. Well, I’m not confused anymore. “Yeah. We do.”
“She seems like a nice girl,” Seg says, but I’m not sure whether he’s talking to me or to his beer bottle.
“I’m sure she is.” I really don’t know. I haven’t talked to her in seventeen years. Not on a personal level. And honest to God, I have no intention of doing so.
“I’ve seen her look at you,” Seg says. “She’s got her heart in her eyes.”
That’s something I really don’t want to hear, much less acknowledge. It didn’t once occur to me that Amber might be thinking of reconciliation. Sure, I’ve
tried to keep my distance, but only because she makes me uncomfortable. That’s a shit thing to think, but it’s true. She’s my past and I don’t care to make her part of my future. Then again, I don’t want to be an asshole, so now I’m worrying that I might’ve come off that way.
“It’s not like that,” I tell him.
Seg stares at me for a minute and I feel his scrutiny.
“What?” I can tell he’s got something on his mind. I want him to be out with it, so this weirdness can be over.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just thinking that you should talk to her. Give her a chance to explain.”
For some reason, I don’t think he’s actually talking about me and Amber. Rather than explain myself, I nod. “Yeah. Maybe.”
The bartender finally makes his way over and I settle my tab.
“Don’t get in too much trouble,” I say, then turn to head up to my room.
Alone.
With my thoughts.
Noelle’s Journal
Dear Universe,
I’m not sure when Spencer snuck that hockey stick in. Well, I do know. It had to have been the night he spent over here. I’m not sure what to do with it now. Can you pretend that it’s not his? That it’s random? Like I said, a doctor or a lawyer would be great. Maybe one who played hockey when they were a kid? Geez. This is getting harder.
14
Spencer
Saturday, October 22nd
I CHOSE TO MEET AMBER at the Penalty Box because I knew it would be crowded. When she called to ask if we could meet up to discuss the final details for the mental health awareness benefit, I was tempted to decline. We’ve got a game tonight, so I know I have a good excuse. I should be spending this time relaxing before I have to start preparing mentally and physically.
Unfortunately, hockey games aren’t the extent of my responsibilities, although I try to keep them as top priority. Most days.
Since the event is a week from today, I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer, so I reluctantly suggested we meet here. She proposed we talk after the game, but I might’ve actually told her I had a date tonight, however, I could meet her beforehand. It was a lie, but she doesn’t need to know that.
As I walk into the restaurant, I see that it’s already full. The lunch rush is still here, enjoying a brief reprieve from their day. There are several games, mostly college football, playing on the TVs mounted around the room, and drinks are in abundance. I definitely need one if I’m going to survive this meeting, but that’s not possible. With a game looming, alcohol is not an option. That realization doesn’t make me happy.
However, I will splurge on a Coke.
I’ve done a relatively decent job of keeping Amber at arm’s length since Phoenix dropped the bombshell that I’d be working directly with her. Our conversations have been kept strictly business, and extremely limited, and I intend to keep it that way.
Well, that was my intention until I see her talking to Colton Seguine. I stop walking. My eyes lock on the two of them sitting in a booth, chatting intimately. Amber laughs at something Seg says, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s actually flirting with him.
Not that I care.
It just seems weird, I guess. More so because it honestly doesn’t bother me.
Rather than interrupt, I opt to stop at the bar to talk to my sister. I find Noelle instead.
I fight the urge to turn around and run. Ever since I spent the night with Noelle—exactly one week ago today—I’ve successfully avoided her while endlessly thinking about her at the same time. Like the asshole that I am. Not because I don’t have this overwhelming urge to see her, because I do. I really do. And I think that’s freaking me out. I’m not supposed to be attracted to my sister’s best friend, but Lord help me, I am.
Seeing her is like a punch to the gut, stealing my breath. I wonder if that’s how it’ll always be going forward. Not since Amber have I ever met a woman I wanted to see again. I’m always careful to keep my interactions with women limited to one-night stands, with both parties knowing the score.
“What’s up, big C?” she greets gleefully.
I watch her momentarily, trying to determine if this is going to be weird between us. The way she smiles at me says she’s forgotten all about that night.
The thought pisses me off. I don’t want her to forget it. I certainly can’t. I’m not sure how anyone could forget a night like that. I damn sure haven’t been so lucky. I’m not sure I’ve ever fucked a woman before and felt what I felt with Noelle.
Again, freaking me out.
I shake it off and return her smile. “Nada. Can I get a Coke?”
“Of course.”
While Noelle retrieves my soda, I do my best not to watch every move she makes. At the same time, I refuse to think back on that night and how I spent the majority of our time together buried to the hilt inside her, her pussy clenching me, her ass gripping me. Son of a bitch, I can’t breathe for wanting her again.
I force myself to turn and look at Amber, wondering why I’m not pissed that she’s flirting with my teammate. My frustration comes more from the fact that I’m so damn confused. Here Amber is, back in my life, and I don’t have the slightest inclination to get to know her again. Instead, I’ve gone off the deep end and I’m somehow infatuated with Noelle.
Is it possible I’m deflecting?
Shouldn’t I want Amber? I mean, at one point in my life, I was in love with her. Or at least I thought I was. True, I was just a kid and love is much too innocent at that age. It’s fueled mostly by hormones. And as we grow up, things change, people change, shit happens for a reason. I know, I’ve been there.
“Hey?” Noelle’s soft voice interrupts my thoughts. “You okay?”
Not for the first time, I look at Noelle. Really look at her. The woman is so damn beautiful. Her smile is always in place and her blue eyes are always glittering. I wonder how it is that I’ve never had a thing for her before. Maybe because she’s my sister’s best friend and I’ve known her for so long. Who knows.
Before I can stop the train wreck pouring out of my mouth, I blurt, “Would you go to a charity dinner with me next weekend? It’s a black-tie deal.”
Noelle’s eyes widen, and her smile falters. I instantly feel like an ass. I should’ve at least given her some sort of warning. Especially after I fucked the daylights out of her and managed to avoid her for an entire week.
“Forget I asked,” I snap, reaching for my drink. I notice a cherry sitting on top, which means Noelle added cherry juice, which just happens to be my favorite, something my mother always did when I was a kid.
She pulls the drink out of my reach. “I’d love to go. And I might even have the perfect dress.” Her smile softens. “Friends, though, yeah?”
I hear the hesitancy in her tone. So she does remember that night. It’s quite possible she’s as weirded out about it as I am. That should be good news, but it isn’t.
I nod. “Of course.”
“Is Ellie going?”
“Yeah. Well, she’s supposed to. I told Kingston about it this morning.”
“Awesome.”
I’m not sure awesome is the right word, but for now, I feel better knowing that I do have a date for the event. After all, I told Amber I would, and at the time, I hadn’t had anyone in mind. The thing is, I don’t date much. I’ve been out a few times with some women, but nothing serious. I’m not opposed to the idea; I simply haven’t found the right woman.
“I look forward to seeing you on Saturday then. I’ll pick you up at five.”
“Five it is.” Noelle’s blue eyes sparkle as she disappears to take care of another customer.
A throat clears behind me and I turn to see Amber standing there.
“That’s your date?”
I glance behind her, fully expecting to see Seguine there, but she’
s alone. “She is.”
“Good.”
Funny how she spit the word out as though it tasted bad.
I try not to think about it.
After all, this is a work thing, and what I do in my spare time is none of Amber’s business.
Amber
WOW. BITCHY MUCH?
I cannot believe I just reacted like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if Spencer walks out of here and goes straight to Mark, telling my boss that he can’t work with me because I can’t keep this professional.
Truth is, I’m happy to know that Spencer is going to the dinner with Noelle. She’s a nice girl. Always smiling. She’s one of the few who hasn’t made me feel like a true outsider since I came back to town. She has every right to hate me as much as Spencer’s sister does, but she doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge.
On top of that, I’m running on pure fear right now. Ever since my ex-husband called me, letting me know he knows where I am and that he wants to talk. He has texted me at least ten times since then, but I haven’t responded. I know Will. He’s relentless and brutal. He won’t quit until he’s had the last word. Or punch. It depends on his mood.
That doesn’t mean I should project my fear on Spencer. I definitely owe him an apology. Before I can venture down that path, he’s on his feet.
“Let’s get a table,” he says, his voice low and commanding.
I follow him across the bar, trying to compose myself, my apology forming in my brain.
“Look,” he says when we sit. “I think we need to talk about this.”
I lift an eyebrow, notice that he’s studying my face. “This?”
His gaze drops to his glass momentarily.
I wait patiently for him to say something. The silence trails on and I can’t wait any longer. “I’m sorry, Spencer.”
He lifts his head, once again meeting my eyes. His brow is furrowed, and I know I need to explain.
“I shouldn’t’ve reacted like that. I’m truly sorry. It’s just…”
“The past is still there,” he fills in, as though reading my mind. “Suffocating us both.”
Kaufman: The Season (Austin Arrows Book 2) Page 13
