Going for the Goal

by Sara Rider

  The veins in her neck strained painfully. “What are you doing?”

  “Following orders.” He smirked like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on her.

  She refused to start her professional relationship with Nick on this note. It didn’t matter what kind of chemistry existed between them. She was a grown woman capable of self-discipline. She flashed him an unimpressed look before turning back to his closet to hunt for a tie.

  That turned out to be more of a challenge. How could a man own a Hugo Boss suit and not a single fashionable tie? She pulled out a cheap-looking brown-and-green polyester tie, which was less heinous than the yellow-and-red one next to it, to see if the natural light would make it any less awful.

  “Yikes.” Definitely worse. She chanced a glance at Nick, who was fortunately fully clothed. She’d always believed that the league’s dress code was about preserving the decorum of a game that skated a fine line between elegance and brutality. “Is that all you have?”

  Nick crossed his arms. “Yep.”

  “They’re terrible.” She sighed.

  “It’s not like I use them for fashion purposes.”

  Oooohh. She tossed the tie onto the bed next to his discarded jeans as soon as she clued in to his suggestive meaning. This was not helping her with the whole thinking-about-him-naked problem. She needed some kind of hypnotherapy or Pavlovian conditioning. A way to convince her brain he wasn’t the same dark, gorgeous bad boy who’d starred in her most illicit fantasies for the past decade. Nope, Nick Salinger was nothing but a bridge troll. A hideous bridge troll with snaggleteeth, hairy warts, and wrinkly green skin.

  “Don’t worry. He means he only wears them to funerals, not to reenact Fifty Shades of Grey,” Ben said, appearing at the top of the stairs. “Uh, unless you use them for both, in which case, ew. That’s gross, bro. However, I am once again going to save the day.”

  Ben held up a stylish silver-and-blue silk tie inside a fancy navy box. “This was meant to be your Christmas present.”

  “I hate ties,” Nick protested.

  “That’s because your neck is too big, meathead. You need to lay off the bench presses.”

  It was strangely sweet watching Nick stand still like a child while Ben threaded the tie around his neck and knotted it perfectly. He was so different with his brother than he was with anyone else. Gentler. Humbler. Softer in a way he would never allow the outside world to see.

  “Now that I’ve ruined your present, I’m going to have to go shopping again. I expect an amazing gift in return for the extra effort.”

  “You’re getting a spring break trip to Maui, like always.”

  Ben’s smile beamed so bright, her chest ached. Jillian hadn’t grown up with siblings, and didn’t know what it was like to have that kind of casual comfort with someone. She’d been tight with her dad, but their relationship had been almost entirely focused on sports from the time she was old enough to chop off her Barbie’s hair to re-create Wayne Gretzky’s feathery mullet and lead the other dolls in an epic Stanley Cup play-off game against her Care Bears.

  Nick checked his watch before crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Do you approve or do you want a fashion show with everything in my closet?”

  She was pretty sure any human being with a pulse would approve of how he filled out that suit, but more importantly, he looked respectable. Like he was willing to play by the rules for as long as it took to secure his contract. “This is a good start.”

  He tugged at the collar. “I still don’t see how this is going to help my career.”

  “You need to trust me. I’m going to turn your image around so that the Vipers management has no choice but to renew your contract.” She had a vision—a complicated one with more twisting threads than a map of the NYC transit system, but one she was confident in. “All you have to do is keep playing the way you’ve been doing and make sure you don’t let Liakos get into your head.”

  “And what exactly does this strategy of yours involve?”

  Her grin seemed to come of its own volition—the way it always did when she talked strategy. “Turning you into the hottest trade prospect in the NHL.”

  7

  Nick slung his gear bag over his shoulder, pushed open the heavy metal door, and headed to his designated spot in the locker room, keeping his head down as he walked. He didn’t understand how the way he dressed had anything to do with preventing him from getting traded before the end of the season. Hell, he didn’t understand anything about Jillian’s strategy for his career. He wasn’t quite convinced yet that the whole thing wasn’t just an excuse to screw with him.

  Right now, he didn’t have time to figure it out. From the moment he walked into the hallowed Vipers locker room with the domed ceiling, his job was to focus on the game.

  “Hey, Punisher, you trying to hide a lipstick stain on your collar with that tie?”

  “Yeah, your mom’s.” He flipped his middle finger to Mike Lambert, the Vipers’ cocky-as-hell goaltender and team captain.

  “Aw, man, you know she’s always had the hots for you.” Mike tossed his jockstrap in Nick’s direction but missed. It landed at the foot of one of the rookies on the team, who promptly kicked it back over like a radioactive potato.

  “That’s ’cause I’m irresistible.” Nick slid the damn tie off, folded it carefully, and set it in the cubby shelf, feeling like he could finally breathe properly again. He would’ve tossed it on the ground with the same carelessness as Mike had his jockstrap, except for the fact that Ben had given it to him.

  Contrary to what Jillian assumed, he didn’t dress the way he did out of disrespect for the league’s formalities. Wearing a suit and tie reminded him too much of all the miserable parts of his life before he became a hockey star. His mom’s funeral. All the times he’d had to show up to the county court to deal with his dad’s multiple arrests before he finally gave up and stopped bailing him out. It was a hell of a lot easier to focus on the game if he wasn’t constantly assaulted by those memories.

  “That’s ’cause you acted like an imbecilic flirt last time you met her.”

  “I wanted some of those famous homemade brownies she baked you. Plus, she is kind of hot.”

  Mike scowled. “Shut up about my mom and tell me why you’re wearing that damn tie.”

  “Yeah,” Luke Anderson chimed in, standing in nothing but the tighty-whities that he claimed brought him good luck. “It’d be nice to know if this is a sign of the apocalypse so I can crash the next Victoria’s Secret fashion show before it’s too late.”

  “You couldn’t get a model out of her panties even if they were on fire. Anyway, my guess is that the silk noose is Coach’s way of punishing the Punisher for beating the shit out of Liakos.”

  Even though Mike and Luke were good guys who knew Liakos was a spoiled little brat, the teasing reminder of last week’s altercation made him bristle. Despite the uncontested beatdown, the shithead had gotten off way too easy. The game against Winnipeg was in less than two hours and Nick didn’t want to dwell on it anymore. “My agent suggested it.”

  “I thought you fired him,” Mike said as he pulled on his shin guards.

  “Got a new one.” He stripped off the rest of his clothes more slowly and methodically than usual, trying to keep his mind focused on the upcoming game in spite of the unwanted conversation. Jillian was going to be either his savior or his downfall. He just hoped he hadn’t placed his future in the hands of a woman playing him for a fool.

  “Sounds like you got a wife, not an agent,” Mike said with a chuckle.

  “She knows what she’s doing,” Nick barked, pulling his pads on.

  “She? Your agent’s a woman who’s telling you how to dress?” Luke laughed. “Geez, that’s a heck of a complicated way to get laid.”

  He yanked his elbow pads on so hard, the plastic scraped his
skin. “That’s not what it’s about.”

  Mike and Luke looked at him like he’d just told them he had a live grenade in his hand. He exhaled heavily and glanced around the locker room. Luckily, the other guys were too absorbed in their conversations and pregame rituals to pay any attention to his outburst.

  “Hey, save it for the ice. We’re just giving you a hard time,” Mike said.

  Nick grunted something noncommittal. Even if the guys were just ribbing him, he resented the accusation. Yeah, Jillian was gorgeous and they had an undeniable spark between them, but he’d signed with her because of her integrity and her bold strategizing, which was exactly what his career needed if he was going to make it to the end of the season wearing the Vipers jersey. As long as her methods didn’t drive him crazy first. Even now, he could hear Jillian’s bossy voice in his head telling him to shut up and keep his cool instead of letting his irritation explode out of him.

  No fighting. Stupid clothes. He didn’t like it, but he was going to follow her plan through. For now.

  The low-key background music in the locker room suddenly jacked up to an earsplitting volume, the usual techno replaced by death metal. Everyone in the room jumped to their feet in various states of undress.

  Before Nick could react, Mike stormed over to the stereo to kill the music.

  “What the hell?” Liakos yelled, getting right in Mike’s face.

  Fucking Liakos. Even with an injury keeping him off the ice, he managed to stir up shit.

  “You know that kind of music throws me off my game,” Mike growled. He had at least four inches on the smaller center forward, and if Liakos knew what was good for him, he’d back down before taking another beating from a teammate.

  “Yeah, well, your music sucks and we’re tired of it.” A few of the younger players on the team were stupid enough to nod in agreement.

  Jesus. Everyone knew goalies were obsessive about every tiny aspect of their pregame routines. Off the ice, Mike was one of the most decent guys Nick had ever met, but the smallest change in the locker room could make him lose his mind.

  Liakos hit the on button with a defiant grin, making it clear he didn’t give a crap about the success of the team and was only interested in causing trouble.

  Dammit. The instinct to protect his goalie was as deep as his need to breathe. Nick jogged the few short steps to Mike and threw an arm across his chest to stop him from throwing the first punch. He killed the music once again and sent a hard glare at Liakos. “You want to change the music? Fine. Bring it up at the next team meeting. Not on game night.”

  The little punk narrowed his beady eyes. “Out of my way, Salinger.”

  Nick should’ve walked away, but the urge to slam his fist into the prick’s face gathered speed in his veins like a cresting roller coaster. Liakos was the worst kind of locker room cancer—the kind of guy who liked to cause trouble because he thought he was better than everyone else, regardless of how much the team suffered. “Sit your ass down before I make you.”

  A brief flash of fear crossed over Liakos’s face.

  “Salinger!” Coach Phillips shouted. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Liakos cast a smug smile and stepped out of Nick’s way.

  “Nothing, Coach. Just discussing a change in tonight’s musical selection.”

  Coach crossed his beefy arms with a skeptical look. “I’ve made it clear I don’t want to see or hear about any more fighting on this team. The only thing I care about is winning.”

  “No fighting here. I was instructing some of the rookies on how to add the music issue to the next team meeting agenda. Liakos and I have learned to settle our disagreements like teammates.” The words were dry and bitter on his tongue but they earned him a satisfied nod from Coach.

  “Fine.”

  Nick sat down on his bench and pulled on the rest of his gear while Coach ran through the game plan. Liakos had been baiting him on purpose, and he’d fallen for it like a fool.

  It wasn’t an outright slaughter, but considering Winnipeg was one of the lowest-ranked teams in the league, it sure as hell felt like it. The Vipers lost 5–3, setting them two more points away from the play-offs as they headed into the short holiday break. After that, they were on the road for a week. They might have done better tonight if Mike’s concentration hadn’t been shot to shit, or if Luke hadn’t gotten rammed into the boards so hard in the second period that the Vipers had to play without their top scorer for the rest of the night.

  Add in the fact that Liakos wasn’t on the ice, either, and their offensive edge had gone to hell.

  At least Nick had managed to get an assist and remind Coach Phillips and the rest of the Vipers management that he was one of the best assets they had. But unlike Liakos, he wasn’t concerned about personal glory if his team wasn’t getting anywhere.

  The somber mood in the locker room made him itch to race out of there as quickly as possible, but he knew the media were still hanging around outside the doors. Even if they were impressed by his performance, he knew they’d be more interested in his impending trade.

  “Hey, Punisher?”

  Nick looked up to see Jake Newsome, one of the assistants to the assistants to somebody in upper management, standing in front of him with a comically large cardboard box in his hands. “What’s up?”

  “Uh, I’ve got some merch for you. For some charity thing on . . .” Jake read the label on the side of the box and raised his eyebrows. “Christmas?”

  “Sounds right,” Nick said through gritted teeth.

  This was Jillian’s doing. Had to be. He’d been planning on hitting up the merchandise store after the game and buying some jerseys and other team memorabilia to give away, but it looked like she’d beaten him to it by going straight to management. Exactly what he’d told her he didn’t want. Management would turn what was supposed to be a good deed into a media circus. The kids deserved better than that.

  At least it gave him a much-needed excuse to linger in the sweaty locker room getting the autographs from his teammates until the throngs of reporters had thinned out.

  “How’s the elbow?” He handed Luke a Sharpie and an extra-small jersey with the name Anderson on the back.

  “Not bad enough to keep me off the ice more than a week, but just bad enough that I can get a little extra sympathy from the ladies tonight.” Luke flashed a goofy smile while signing the jersey with his good hand, the other encased in a sling. Some of the tightness in Nick’s shoulders loosened.

  Mike joined them, grabbing an extra Sharpie and signing random bits of gear. “You mean those two mangy mutts of yours aren’t going to crap all over your floor tonight?”

  “Ha-ha. But true.” Luke hung his blond head exaggeratedly. “Those girls are driving me up the wall. How hard is it to train a couple of puppies?”

  “I’ll never understand why you agreed to dogsit for a one-night stand,” Nick said, shaking his head. Luke had one of the best hockey brains in the business, but he was completely clueless when it came to the opposite sex.

  “I thought she was coming back!”

  “What’s all this for, anyway?” Mike asked.

  “I’m taking some stuff to the St. Xavier’s Children’s Ward in a few days. Can you guys help me round up everyone’s signatures on the gear tonight?”

  “Sure, no problem,” Luke said. “You want us to come with you, too?”

  “Depends. You free on the twenty-fifth?”

  Luke pulled his jersey over his head. “You know that’s Christmas, right?”

  Nick shrugged. “Figured it’d be a good time to stop by.”

  “My grandmother would kill me if I skipped out on Christmas dinner, even for a good cause,” Mike said. “But I’ll do what I can. I might be able to swing an hour or two.”

  “Same,” Luke added.

  Yeah, he figured as much.
Since their dad decided a few years back to spend every Christmas at a local bar before being hauled off to the drunk tank, Ben had started to find their brothers-only routine of watching Die Hard and drinking store-bought eggnog a little too depressing. Ben had come up with the idea of doing a good deed every Christmas so they’d stop thinking about their own holiday misery. Over the past few years, they’d mostly volunteered at soup kitchens. Last year, they’d ended up at an addictions rehab center after Nick kiboshed his brother’s request to go caroling. They hadn’t come up with their good deed for this Christmas yet, so when Dr. Morgan had hinted about the pediatric ward, it was a no-brainer. Plus, he knew it’d make Ben happy that he took the initiative for once.

  “You coming out to McAdam’s after this?” Mike asked.

  Nick shook his head. “Can’t. Told my agent I’d meet her after to talk business. Plus, I promised I wouldn’t drink until this shit with Liakos blows over.”

  Mike let out a low whistle. “Jesus, man. Never thought I’d see the Punisher get more whipped by a woman than Luke.”

  “I already told you it’s not like that.” He did not want to have this conversation all over again, and signaled as much to the guys by rifling through the box of gear to see who still needed to sign. He swore when he realized there was a Liakos jersey included. Of course the kids would want a signed Liakos jersey. He was a prick in real life, but the Vipers’ PR department had been marketing him as the next Sidney Crosby.

  Liakos was still hanging around the locker room, probably just because he knew his presence irritated Nick, but it gave Nick the chance to get the signatures over with. He grabbed the jersey and a Sharpie and made his way across the black-and-green carpet. “Hey, man. I’m doing a donation for a pediatric ward this Christmas. Can you sign this jersey?”

  Liakos turned around slowly, like Nick’s presence was nothing but a minor annoyance. “Management forcing you to play nice for the cameras?”

  Every word from the kid’s mouth grated on Nick’s skin. “Not all of us only act like decent human beings when the cameras are rolling.”