Because it was really fucking great, too.
Another piercing whistle got their attention again. “Look, on my day with the Cup, I’m throwing a party for Jasper’s hockey team, so they can all hang with it and be cool for a couple of hours. It’d mean a lot if at least some of you could be there, too.”
“Dude.” Flynn poked him in the thigh with the end of his stick. “Why didn’t you just say it was for Jasper? I’m there.”
Finn raised his hand. “Me, too. No matter how shitty the food is.”
“Yeah.”
A chorus of yeses came from his teammates. All of them, from what he could tell.
Yeah, these guys were special. He’d been tight with the Quakes. Hadn’t really gelled with too many Snakes. But this team, the Rajuns, they’d been there for him in the darkest days of his life. And then they’d been right there, sharing the brightest as they won game after game and eventually clinched the Cup. They had a bond unlike any other team.
Shit. How could he even think about leaving them? About leaving them in the lurch as they scrambled to find another center as good as he was? About leaving the best team of friends he’d ever had? It’d be totally selfish. What gave him the right to screw up everyone else and their team mojo?
“I’ll show up for you and Jasper—but I’ll stay to try my luck with this hot mystery party planner.”
Typical Archer. He’d have to shut that down right the hell now. “She’s off-limits.”
“Why?”
He’d leave off the part where he prevented her from getting a job with the Rage. After all, Kurt never would have taken that step if he’d had any idea that she’d already quit her old job. He felt like shit about it every day. And stayed awake every damn night, wondering how to fix what he’d fucked up so epically.
“Because she was Jasper’s hospice nurse. She’s just helping me out while she’s between jobs.”
“That’d be awkward as hell for you.” Archer tossed off a practiced wink Kurt had seen aimed a hundred times at the paparazzi, the media and any woman within spitting distance. “Not for me, though.”
That cocky bastard wasn’t getting anywhere near Lisette. In the same don’t even think of fucking with me voice Kurt used during face-offs, he ordered, “Stay away. I mean it.”
“Because she’s already got Property of Kurt Lundquist stamped on her ass?” Everyone laughed.
Everybody but Kurt.
Which every-fucking-one else noticed.
Flynn rounded on him. “Jesus H., Lundquist, are you insane? Did you hit on your dead brother’s nurse?”
It sounded just as bad when put like that as it did when the little voice in Kurt’s head had told him from the start. The voice that sounded a lot like Jasper’s. “No! I mean, I didn’t hit on her. Exactly. It just sort of happened.”
“You’re an idiot.”
He’d take that verbal punch. But he wouldn’t take it alone. “We’re all idiots when we let our dicks do the thinking. Anyone who hasn’t screwed up for the sake of a good screw, raise your hand and I’ll buy you a steak dinner. Right after I call you a liar and a virgin.”
Laughter echoed off the plexiglass shields again, cutting through the confused tension in Kurt’s head. And not a single man raised his hand.
But he couldn’t let them think she was a one-night stand. That’d be wrong. Easy...but wrong. “We didn’t screw.”
His quiet statement cut off the laughter like he’d turned off a faucet.
Smirking, Archer said, “You couldn’t close the deal, Lundquist? Need me to give you some pointers?”
Not in this lifetime. Kurt could walk into a bar wearing an obnoxious as fuck Mardi Gras T-shirt that said Beers Beads & Boobs and still score before Archer got his drink ordered. “I can close any deal I want. You learned all your moves from watching me.”
“Then why haven’t you done her? I mean, besides the obvious dead brother’s nurse thing—which weirdly doesn’t seem to be a red light to you.”
It was a red light. Kurt just figured he’d gone temporarily color blind. “We’re flirting. Making out a little. Harmless fun.”
“Cut him some slack,” Finn ordered. “Sometimes, after a long time away, you need a scrimmage before heading into the big game.”
Flynn shook his head, stripped off his gloves and tossed them onto the bleachers. “Scrimmage is over. Time to do this thing for real. We’ll all be your wingmen tonight. You’ll have so many offers you’ll turn down the first five just because you can. And because you’re the guy who brought home the Cup to New Orleans.”
“Stop saying that. We all did it, and you know it.” Yeah, Kurt was the one they’d hoisted on their shoulders at the end of the championship game. But he steadfastly refused to take sole credit for their victory.
“Tell us your preference, Hawk. Tall, supermodel type? Big caboose to hang on to?”
Brunette. With big breasts and a smile as sweet and hot as a chocolate cup filled with a shot of whiskey. “Thanks for the offer. But count me out.”
“Dude,” Flynn said in a low, worried voice, “you gotta get back on the horse.”
Oh, he wanted to get on. Get on and get in her. Not that he’d tell that to his teammates. But Kurt needed to get all of them off his case. “Lisette’s still helping me with the party for the next week. And...stuff keeps happening whenever we’re together.”
Zim crossed his arms. “Well, make it stop.”
Great. The guy almost never flapped his gums, and this was when he decided to speak up?
“Sub Zero’s right,” Anders chimed in. Figured. Of course the team virgin wouldn’t know how hard it was to be twisted up by a woman.
“It’s not that easy.” He didn’t know how to explain it. Kurt couldn’t explain this to himself. There wasn’t just an attraction. He and Lisette had a connection that just got stronger every time they were together. He fucking craved it. “This thing with Lisette—it hasn’t run its course.”
“Have you lost your damn mind?” Flynn let his stick clatter to the ice. “She’s eight kinds of trouble, given the history you two share. You don’t need that.”
Finn nodded. “Yeah. Walk away. No matter how hot she is. Right after telling us exactly how hot she is.”
His friends meant well. They knew he’d been out of the game for a while. But at this point, Kurt couldn’t walk away if he tried. Because he had tried to walk away. Had tried not to start anything and had tried not to take it any further. It hadn’t worked.
“You don’t understand. I’m not chasing her. And it’s more than just a hook-up. I like Lisette. A lot. I know it’s complicated, but—”
“But nothing,” Ford barked out harshly. “You don’t have time for complications right now.” The guy lived and breathed hockey twice as deeply as anyone else on the team. But he had a point.
Kurt knew, in his head, that Lisette was one hell of a complication. But to the rest of him? She felt like a gift. Not that he’d get all gooey like that when describing it to the guys, or when defending his admittedly stupid quest to spend time with her. “It’s the off-season. Now’s exactly the right time.”
“Only for a couple more weeks. Anything as complicated as this will pull your focus away.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Away from what?”
“Away from the Rage.” Aleks Lazar, the team’s former captain, came out of the shadows at the top of the bleachers. “They need you now more than ever.”
“Aleks? It’s good to see you, man.” Skates thumping against the thin carpet, Kurt lurched forward to give the man the classic back-slap/hug combo. “What are you doing here?”
Finn stepped up next to them, clapped Aleks on the back, too, and then did the same to Kurt with his other hand. “We all thought it’d mean more to you if Aleks made the offer.”
“Offer?” Kurt was lost. But damned happy to have the whole team reunited.
After clearing his throat, Aleks said, “The team wants you to be their next captai
n, Kurt. Got the nod from Coach Courage, too.” He nodded over his shoulder to where the coach had shouldered into the suddenly tight circle around them. “And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have take over for me.”
Blindsided didn’t begin to describe it. The captaincy hadn’t been on his radar at all once Aleks stepped down last month. Which was weird, because it always had been a career goal for Kurt. A marker. One that said you were more than your stats, or your paycheck, or even the number of team calendars your shirtless pecs helped sell for charity. It meant the guys you skated with respected you. Wanted you to lead them. It was the ultimate MVP award, in his book.
The fact that all the members of the Rage chose him? It was as big a moment as getting his first pro contract. It was a car on his sixteenth birthday—not that he’d gotten one—and box seats at game seven of the World Series and having a beer named after him at that microbrewery he loved in Delaware. It was everything.
And Kurt had no idea what to say in response.
No. Fucking. Idea.
Aleks lifted his eyebrows. “Come on, man, what do you say?”
“He can’t say anything. Ha!” Finn slammed an open palm in front of Flynn.
“Damn it, I just lost five bucks. I was sure you’d make a speech.”
“You know, you have to say yes,” the goalie prodded. “We all vote, but you have to agree to do it.”
He couldn’t.
Because once he said yes, he’d be fully committed. He’d never go back on his word to his teammates. But Kurt sure as hell wasn’t ready to say no and open up that can of worms when he had no plan and, oh, no fucking actual decision made about his future.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Stripped off his glove, wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and tried again. “I...I need to think about it.”
“For fuck’s sake, Lundquist,” Coach Courage said. “We’re all aware that your contract is up for renewal. If this is some power play to squeeze more cash out of me, forget it. And I’ll tell your agent the same damned thing.”
Thank God. Coach Courage had just thrown him a lifeline without even realizing it. Kurt had put contract negotiations out of his mind. If he kept playing hockey, he wanted to stay with the Rage. Simple as that.
And until his conversation with Lisette? He’d dismissed his idea of college as a pipe dream. Nah, that wasn’t it. He’d been too chickenshit to figure out how to move forward on the dream. Lisette had given him the approval and nerve to think about turning it into a reality. But re-upping his contract? Going free agent? It was the perfect reason to not accept this honor on the spot.
Ripping off his other glove, he spread his hands wide, palms up. “Hey, you know my agent would kill me if I said anything one way or the other. I just push the puck. He makes the money magic happen.”
“We get it.” Finn nodded. Because Kurt wasn’t the only one in that situation. Contract time rolled around every year, and there was always a surprise or two. Hell, the biggest surprise already was Aleks leaving the team.
“Thank you all. From the bottom of my heart. There’s no team I’d rather lead. I just can’t give you an answer right this second.”
The other guys had hit the nail on the head. Complicated. That was the only word to describe his life.
Kurt had a feeling that if he didn’t make all the right choices, in the right order, at the right time, complicated would become fucked up in a heartbeat. Too bad he didn’t know what the right choices were.
Chapter Eight
Lisette had turned into a bona fide rink bunny. Because she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do than sit on the hard metal bench and watch Kurt skate. She could do it all day. Every day.
Every night, for sure.
It was one thing to watch him during a game, suited up in full uniform and pads. Then he looked intimidating, like a big tower of trouble headed straight for her. Larger than life. Rugged and raw and virile.
But watching him tonight was a million times better. Kurt wore a thin plaid flannel shirt that was flapping open over a white tee that didn’t hide a single sinew or tightly toned ab. Faded denim cupped his ass, molded to the powerful thighs. And no helmet obscured the sharp planes of his face. Nothing hid the relaxed happiness of his expression. Which was great, because he kept turning and aiming it straight at her.
“Come out here,” he hollered.
“I’m good watching you.”
Millions of infinitesimal ice crystals shattered and flew in the air as he stopped using just one foot. “I asked what you wanted to do tonight. For a date. Said I’d take you anywhere, do anything. Which, in New Orleans, is offering a hell of a lot of options. But you said you wanted a skating date.”
“Yup. I’m quite sure I chose wisely.” Getting to ogle all those muscles in action was a dream date. One Lisette was positive other women would kill to do.
“A skating date,” Kurt repeated. “Not a sitting-and-watching date.”
Huh. He’d well and truly caught her there. “You’re right. Sorry. I got distracted.”
“By what?”
“Uh, you.” Was Kurt really so unaware of his appeal? He might’ve had his head down for the past year, but before that she was quite sure he’d blazed a trail through the women in each team’s city before he switched to a new team. He was super hot, funny, talented...and that was before adding the pro-athlete-and-obvious-wealth cherry on top of the guy-goodness sundae.
“I’m nothing special.” He hung his head. “A jock. A guy who gets paid way the hell too much to work out and skate laps and just play.”
Lisette stood to stroke his head, then curve her hand down to pet his cheek. The stubble rasped against her palm. She tried very, very hard to ignore how much that turned her on. How much she wanted to feel its roughness everywhere. “Do you really feel that way, Kurt?”
“Some days. It isn’t curing cancer. Or building houses. There’s no lasting impact.”
Wow. He was really going through a quarter-life crisis, about three years late. “Who says there has to be? Have you ever watched your fans, really watched them, during a game?”
His lips quirked. “Is that a trick question? Because mostly, I’m watching the puck during a game. And my teammates. And the seven other guys who would all like nothing better than to plow me over.”
“Good point. What I meant was that if the Rage happens to have any of your games DVR’d—”
“Yeah, we’ve got film. Enough to make your eyes cross.”
“Watch when the camera gets the crowd. Not even when anything exciting is happening on the ice. Just when they pan across the stands during timeouts. Those people are excited. They’re bursting with adrenaline. They’re entirely caught up in the moment.”
“Exactly.” He didn’t sound the least bit cheered up. “A moment.”
“A moment can make all the difference.” This was serious. She had to get through to him. No matter what Kurt ended up doing in the future, he needed to be proud of what he’d done with his life so far.
Lisette grabbed both his hands. “How long is a game? Two hours, give or take?”
“Sure. Plus, coming early to hang out and watch warm-ups.”
“Let’s say that for three hours, then, you transport those people. You take them away from their troubles. Away from work stress and cheating spouses and flunking kids and, yes, dying relatives. You take them away from bills and deadlines and the sinking feeling they’ve got a cavity and the overpacked Saturday full of errands and an oil change and dinner with the obnoxious neighbors they don’t like.”
With a wry grin, Kurt joked, “I think I want to hear the backstory on your neighbors.”
She pushed onward, not letting him dismiss what she said so easily. “You give them thrills. You bring them joy. You submerge them in the excitement of the game. You give them something else to think about. Something to care about. Something to root for no matter how dismal their life might be.”
“Christ, Lis
ette, the love child of Superman and Jesus couldn’t live up to all that hype.”
“What you do matters.” Lisette bit her lip. “Okay, maybe I went a little bit overboard just to get your attention. But maybe I didn’t. Either way, hockey matters. Don’t just dismiss it. Don’t dismiss your impact.”
“Thank you.” He ran the backs of his knuckles down the curve of her cheek with a tenderness that shot goose bumps down her spine. “I’m not sure I believe you. But it’s nice as hell to hear the words. To know that, if nothing else, at least you see me that way.”
“That was a long way of saying that you are special. And I like to watch you skate, because it’s possibly the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Kurt threw back his head and laughed. It was a deep, masculine sound that stirred things inside her. “That’s why you wanted me to bring you here tonight? To ogle me?”
“Pretty much.”
“Hope you enjoyed yourself, then, because that part of the evening is over. I agreed to bring you to my work...” He waggled his eyebrows. Fine. She got that it was a little bit weird to ask him to go to his workplace on a date. But she didn’t regret it for a second. “Because I wanted to skate with you.”
Instead of opening the door in the wall between them, Kurt reached over it. He put his hands on her waist and just lifted her over like she weighed no more than a feather pillow.
Wow. That, right there, was almost enough foreplay for her. For the whole night.
He set her on the ice but didn’t let go until her ankles stopped wobbling and caving in enough to keep her upright. “Guess I should ask the big question. Lisette, can you ice-skate?”
“Yes. Sort of. I did it once. On a trip over winter break in college to Chicago. They had a rink set up right near the big silver bean sculpture on the lakefront. I got to the point where I could let go of the rail and make it...well, near the center of the ice.”
“Practically a pro,” he teased. But the twinkle in his eyes faded immediately. “Here’s the thing: I won’t let you fall. Do you trust me?”
Omigosh. How could she not? How could anyone not trust him with the intensity of those glacial-blue eyes focused on them? It was so easy to see the promise in Kurt’s eyes. It was so easy to read more into that promise than just a vow not to let her butt land on the ice. Easy to imagine—to hope—that his question of trust went far deeper. That it implied so much more between them.
Check My Heart Page 8
