Skating the Line (San Francisco Strikers Book 2)

by Stephanie Kay

  Shit. She had to stop. That’s it. She knew she’d see him at the game Friday night, so she was going out on Thursday and getting rid of her frustrations. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

  This time she couldn’t hold in her snort, and she shrugged when Penny looked at her quizzically again.

  Ben had no desire to go out tonight, but he followed Ethan out of the arena Friday night.

  “No bailing on us, Cheesy. We win as a team, we lose as a team, and we drown our sorrows as a team,” Harty called out when Ben headed to his car.

  Tonight’s loss had sucked. LA had handed them their asses, repeatedly. The jumbotron had blasted the final score of six to one and Ben itched to punch something. But he’d smiled through the pointless interviews after the game, knowing that the vultures were searching for scraps. He wasn’t a fan of the media, but it was exponentially worse when they lost. How was he supposed to answer their inane questions?

  “What happened out there?” They handed us our asses was the wrong response, so he’d gone with the canned answer of, we played a hard game and they came out on top.

  Followed by his favorite, “What do you think you could’ve done better?” Hit pucks in the net, blocked shots, taken fewer penalties. Sure, they were just looking for a soundbite, but he didn’t trust soundbites. Anything could be taken out of context. He’d been on the wrong side of context years ago. He was still trying to recover.

  Harty had swooped in, answered their questions with a smile, and swooped them both out. He was good at that. Ben wished he could respond that way to the media, but he didn’t have it in him, regardless of the fact that it was part of being an athlete.

  But tonight had been brutal. A basic blowout always was. They hadn’t suffered a loss that painful in ages. They’d failed as a team. They’d been off, and they should’ve just sat on the bench and let LA play target practice against Gally. Which was pretty much what had happened. Finn, one of their top four defensemen, had taken a shot to his ankle and had to be escorted down the tunnel five minutes in, and they’d spent the rest of the game a D-man short. Their bottom defense pair was still working out the kinks. Timmy had been called back up from the minors because Fishy, Finn’s normal defense partner, had been injured last week. Cohesion took time, and it was time they didn’t have.

  Giving up the two points tonight hurt, and Anaheim was still on their heels, only one point behind them. With the Central Division now occupying the two wild card spots, if Anaheim won another game, the Strikers could find themselves out of playoff contention. Not that they wouldn’t flip flop with Anaheim again, but Ben wanted to stay solidly on the path to the post season, and tonight was a clear picture of how not to get there.

  The team that showed up tonight was not one that would win playoff games and they all knew it.

  “Hey, Cheesy. You still with us?” Harty called out, pulling Ben from his frustrating thoughts.

  “We have practice tomorrow. Now is not the time to tie one on,” he called back.

  “It’s one, maybe two, drinks and then we are all heading home to rest up for tomorrow. Bugsy’s going to rip us a new one worse than LA did tonight, so I plan to be fully functioning for that tomorrow. I foresee a shit ton of suicide drills around eleven a.m., and a jumbled-up stomach will not make them easier,” Harty said, with a shudder. “And Penny is waiting for me.”

  “Yeah, what happened with that good luck charm,” Ben grumbled.

  “We lose very few when she’s in the stands. Tonight was just a bad night. We’ve won the last three, so it was inevitable. Just never like getting trounced that badly.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “So, percentage wise, she’s still a good luck charm.”

  “You going to start quoting stats?” Ben asked.

  Harty shook his head. “I’m starting to sound like her.”

  But instead of a grimace, Harty’s grin got wider. Ben refused to acknowledge the spark of jealousy that rolled through him. It was tiny, but it was there. And that was exactly what he didn’t have time for.

  “So, you coming?” Harty asked.

  “Fine,” Ben grumbled, throwing his bag in his trunk, and climbed into his SUV.

  ***

  A quick twenty minutes later, Ben walked through the front door of Crash and Byrne and made a beeline for the bar.

  “Rough loss tonight, man,” Adam, the owner of the bar and a former AHL hockey player said, popping the top off Ben’s favorite beer and handing it over.

  “Brutal,” Ben grumbled. “Just trying to focus on the next game.”

  “It’s Colorado, so hopefully they’ll continue their losing streak,” Adam said.

  “Here’s hoping,” Ben replied, nodding with his beer, before Adam turned to his next customer and Ben could escape. He didn’t want to talk to anyone tonight. He should’ve just gone home. But Harty was right, a little team bonding after a loss was a good idea.

  He spotted an empty stool in the corner and grabbed it. His teammates were starting to trickle in, but a second of calm and quiet was just what he needed before they all descended.

  There was a comfort of hanging out at C&B, the unofficial team bar, where chatting about hockey was the norm, but no one gawked at them or constantly asked for autographs. Not that anyone was looking for those after tonight’s performance.

  Shit. They had to get it together. He was supposed to lead a cohesive team and he needed to figure out why they were off.

  “Cheese, you starting without me?”

  God, he hated when she called him that. He’d known she’d probably be here, but he wasn’t in the mood to be awkward, which was exactly what happened whenever he was around Amanda.

  He glanced up, taking her in. The smile that did things it shouldn’t to his gut, her silken hair that he itched to tangle his fingers into again. And that mouth…hell, that mouth. Full lips he craved another taste of. One corner tilted up in a smile that said she was just as interested as he was.

  He took another long pull on his beer, the cold and bitter liquid doing nothing to cool his heated thoughts. What would she do if he pulled her into his lap? For that matter, what would he do?

  “Umm, Cheese. You going to stare at me or grab me a drink?” she asked. “Not that I mind the staring.”

  She had no filter. It was refreshing, and he loved it. That confidence. She probably saw no reason to keep secrets from anyone. Heat fired off every corner of his body. He just wasn’t sure what to do with it. Planting another kiss on her always lingered in the back of his mind, but now wasn’t the time. Especially when his teammates gathered around a cluster of high top tables across the room. Harty made a beeline for his girlfriend, Penny, a few of the other guys right behind him.

  He nodded toward the group. “We should probably head over there.”

  She looked over her shoulder, and shrugged, before turning back and leveling him with her silvery eyes. They were a grayish blue that looked like a stormy purple, depending on the light.

  Not that he’d done an intense study of her eyes. That would be weird.

  “Or you could buy me a drink, and we could hide here in the corner,” she replied, nudging his shoulder.

  She did that a lot. Touching. A brush of her hand. A nudge to his shoulder. Not that he was averse to it. Not in the slightest. But she twisted him up inside and he never knew what to say. And then he was right back to tripping down the steps of her house after that kiss.

  “Sure, what are you having?” he asked. He could do this. Have a normal conversation with her. Not remember the soft moans she made under his touch.

  For fuck’s sake, get a grip.

  “Pale ale for me, please,” she said, sliding onto the stool next to him, swinging to face the bar.

  “Pale ale for the lady, and I’ll take a ginger ale,” Ben said when Adam paused in front of them.

  “Have another drink. You need it after that loss,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Only one drink a night du
ring the season. I have a system.”

  “I’ve heard that about you,” she said.

  “What? Are you checking up on me?”

  “Just researching hockey players. I’m a new fan,” she said, then took a sip of her beer, her tongue darting out, and he ached to kiss her again. Her darkening eyes told him she was on board with that plan.

  “Of the players or the game?”

  “You’re flirting with me. Didn’t know you had it in you.” She continued before he could sputter. “And the answer is both. Oh, and I’m sorry about the loss tonight.” She shook her head. “That score was rough.”

  “Not really in the mood to talk about that,” he grumbled. He took every loss way too personally. The team was better than the score that had flashed on the jumbotron tonight. But every team had to lose sometimes. He just never wanted to get decimated, which is exactly what a six-one score suggested. He’d rather work on flirting with her.

  “But you’ll win the next time,” she said, patting him on the hand. Always touching. A spark shot through him, down to his toes.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “So tonight you should blow off some steam with your friends,” she said, nudging him again and giving him a small smile.

  “I guess,” he muttered into his soda.

  “Now, how about we join them?” she asked, sliding off her bar stool.

  He stood next to her, towered over her, really. He stood a foot taller than her and could easily pick her up. Her legs would wrap perfectly around his hips.

  Shit. And there went his brain again. But as he followed her into the crowd, her hips gently swaying in front of him, she was his only focus, and he definitely didn’t have time for distractions. Clearly tonight had been proof of that.

  Chapter 3

  Solo travel tip:

  Plans won’t always go as expected, so have a back-up. And keep some emergency cash hidden away.

  Roll it up in a tampon holder or lipstick tube. Hopefully a thief won’t find it there.

  ~ Adventurous Amanda, October 2011

  “There they are,” Penny said when Amanda broke through the crowd, yummy pale ale in her hand, grumpy giant at her back. Although he’d been flirty. It was a start.

  Amanda had resisted the urge to look behind her to see if he’d still followed her. The heat at her back, the soft woodsy smell that was pure Ben, surrounded her. God, she wanted to lean back and sink into him. He’d probably freak and bolt again, but she couldn’t stop touching him. And each harmless gesture sent sparks through her body.

  She tried to be playful, to get a read on him, but as always, he left her baffled. One minute he was flirting and the next standoffish. And then that kiss. Yep. Baffled.

  “Just grabbing a drink with Cheese,” she said, biting back her smirk at the faint growl behind her. Jesus, that growl was hot, and sent the sparks flying off again. She was well aware that he hated her nickname for him, but she couldn’t resist taunting the bear.

  “Glad you didn’t bail, Cheesy,” Ethan said, toasting his beer in Ben’s direction.

  “Yes, yes. We win together, we lose together, we drown our sorrows together,” Ben muttered.

  “Exactly,” Ethan said, then turned to face Amanda. “Loved the article today, by the way.”

  Ben wasn’t touching her, but she felt him stiffen behind her. The air changed, if that was possible. “What article?” he bit out.

  “Amanda’s a writer. Works at SF Life. She wrote an article about the team.”

  “You’re a reporter?” The words sounded like a curse from his lips, and she spun around.

  “First of all, thanks for reading it, Ethan,” she said with a quick glance over her shoulder to Ethan. Hopefully it hadn’t been too fluffy for someone who actually played the game. Then she turned her gaze back on Ben. “And what is your deal?” She didn’t miss the color creeping up his neck as a few of the other guys leaned in. Served him right.

  “I didn’t realize we had the media just walking around and taking notes when we weren’t aware. I didn’t come here tonight to have to worry seeing what I said amongst friends ending up in the press.”

  “Whoa, man. Calm down,” Ethan said, as Amanda continued to glare at Ben. He had a lot of fucking nerve.

  “What, exactly, is the big deal? I write for a lifestyle magazine. We don’t cover sports typically.”

  “So why are you writing about us? And what are you writing about us?” His face hardened.

  “I’m writing a series of articles for visitors. What to do and see in town that’s outside the normal tourist traps. I thought seeing the local sports team play was a good idea. Something different. I didn’t realize I needed a signed permission slip from you,” she bit out.

  “Okay. Okay. Ben isn’t a fan of the media,” Ethan said, trying to settle them, but she wasn’t interested in playing along.

  “You don’t say. And why is that? Someone do a number on you? You don’t like to talk about yourself. Isn’t that part of your job as a professional athlete? Talking to reporters?” The steam was rising, threatening to choke her, and her fingers itched in anger.

  “No one did a number on me. I just like to know what’s going on with my team and to make sure we aren’t giving out free press to friends who aren’t upfront about who they are.”

  Holy shit. Was he serious?

  “I’m not a regular reporter. I’m an editorial assistant who sometimes gets to write a few pieces for the magazine. It’s a newbie’s view of the game. There were no interviews. I didn’t quote anyone. It was my perspective as a fan. I don’t know what your deal is, but direct your distaste for the media somewhere else.”

  “So we should just assume that you won’t write about us? And why pick hockey? Because you had an in with Penny? Reporters are always looking for an in.”

  “And now we’ve moved on to general sweeping assumptions. You know what they say about assuming,” she said. She hadn’t known this asshole side existed. Sure, he was short with the media, but Ethan always joined in and took over. Had Ben always been a media nightmare for the team? What the hell had happened to him?

  “You shouldn’t call the talent an ass. They won’t do you any favors.”

  “For fuck’s sake. I’m not asking for any favors, and you’re being an ass. Don’t worry, Cheese. I won’t be revealing any of your deep, dark secrets.” How dare he accuse her of exploiting them for favors.

  His lips tightened. “What do you know about my secrets?” The question was soft, but she didn’t miss the weight behind it.

  Yes, something was definitely up with him. And now she wanted to know every secret he had.

  “While I would love to delve into the crazy superstitions that I’ve heard you all have, it was more of an overview. Fluff, really. I’m not after your secrets,” she said, unsure of why she felt the need to reassure him.

  What was his issue with reporters? Not that she classified herself as a reporter, but something was definitely going on with him. Sure, the press could crowd a person, maybe get in his face because of his elite athlete status, but that was not who she was, or the type of journalist she ever wanted to be. She was perfectly content with writing about travel and food.

  “Have you always been a reporter?” Ben asked.

  She pulled back and stared at him. He would not let this go, and it made her want to research the hell out of him. Or throw a drink in his face. She could go either way right now.

  “Cheese,” she drew out, ignoring his bristle. “I’m not a reporter. I have no desire to do an in-depth review of anyone on the team. Anything you say to me, will not end up online, I promise. The sports article is done, and I probably won’t be writing about hockey—or its players—again, so chill out.”

  “Fine. I’m just trying to protect my team,” he sputtered, and she refused to soften at his words, at the sincerity in his voice. She was annoyed with him. To even suggest…

  “Don’t assume that I’m infiltrating your ranks for a
n exposé or anything. That is not what I write or what I ever plan on writing. Ever.”

  “Let’s get another drink,” one of his teammates said, slapping his hand on Ben’s shoulder.

  “No. I’ve had my one. I’m going to head out,” he said, setting his empty glass on the high top table. The clank rang through her ears, and no one else moved.

  “Come on. We’ve explained the article. Everything’s good. We just got here,” Ethan said. “What happened to drowning our sorrows together as a team?”

  “I’ll see everyone at practice tomorrow,” he said, and without another look at her, aside from a cold nod, he left the bar.

  She stared at the door, still swinging shut. “What the hell just happened?”

  Ethan shook his head. “I have no idea. He’s prickly with the media, as you’ve gathered.”

  “That’s prickly? I’d hate to see when he really despises something.”

  Ethan barked out a laugh—an awkward laugh. “Yeah. We’re working on that. I’m not sure what happened, but something did and he doesn’t like to talk about it, so I haven’t pried.”

  “Good thing I’m not a reporter, or I’d pry the hell out of that.”

  He eyed her. “Yeah, good thing.”

  “Ethan. I wouldn’t. You know that, right?”

  “Yes. And he’ll figure that out in time.”

  She scoffed. “Anyway. Now that that’s over, I think I’ll get another drink.”

  A few of the guys clamored to buy her next round. She requested another pale ale and thanked Baz for the round. She liked him. He was charming, even without the teeth. And she pushed Ben from her mind. Far from her mind. At least that’s what she told herself as she sipped her new beer.

  “When do I get to read this article?” Baz asked. “And I’m hurt. You didn’t mention any of us?”

  She grinned. “It’s available on the magazine’s website. But you don’t need to read it. My hockey knowledge is minimal.” She hadn’t wanted to mention it or make a big deal out of it in front of the guys.