The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

  Shit. Desperate, he recalled Mrs. Plum’s wrinkled visage and fought the flow of blood.

  Perverse as it was, some part of him still looked forward to coming here and giving himself over to her capable hands. He’d never pegged himself for a masochist.

  Firm fingers slid over his hip and he bit back the urge to shout, “down boy!” He fought to focus on his game.

  Why were these birds so angry anyway?

  Sighing he put down his phone. Looking directly at Savannah was not the best strategy for controlling his little problem, but he was tired of being rude, and ignoring her wasn’t working anyway.

  “So, how are you settling in?” he asked.

  She stilled, glancing at his face before refocusing on the bindings she was working around his thigh and between his legs. Her hand skimmed along the underside of his butt cheek.

  He bit his tongue. Hard.

  “Uh…fine.” Her brows drew together while nimble fingers smoothed tape along his leg. “The season has me busy enough that I don’t think I’ll really feel like a resident of Moncton until the summer.”

  A pang of guilt hit his gut. He should have offered to show her around. Not on a date, of course, but as a local. Dorky as it sounded, he considered himself something of an ambassador for people on or associated with the team who were new to Moncton.

  But after the wonderful first impression he’d made, he doubted she’d take him up on an offer for a tour of the town. He cringed, remembering his stupidity.

  His only defense—and he could admit it was weak—was that he’d come to the meet-and-greet nervous about the new trainer, having hated the old guy but knowing the various aches and pains in his leg and hip weren’t going to help a veteran player further his career. In fact, he’d been worried his career might be over, and damn it, he hoped to get a few more years in the league. At least long enough to figure out what the fuck he was going to do next.

  He hadn’t expected to find a beautiful woman, try though she might to hide it, standing in the lobby shaking hands with the rest of the players. She’d been wearing a frumpy suit and ugly shoes. Her disguise, as he’d come to think of it. Tonight it was loose yoga pants, a boxy men’s Ice Cats pullover that fell to mid-thigh, and sneakers. As always, a tight knot pulled her hair back from her face.

  But Garrick saw the truth. Then and now.

  The curves. The silky hair. Smoky green eyes. Long legs, swelling hips, and a little dipped-in waist. Five feet ten inches of lovely, athletic grace.

  Shit. Now he needed a distraction. ASAP.

  He smiled tentatively. “I’m from around here. Is there anything I can do to help?” At her suspicious look, he continued quickly. “I just mean, I don’t know…Good dry cleaner? Best pizza? Chinese delivery to avoid if you want to live? That sort of thing?”

  “As far as I can tell, a safe Chinese delivery place doesn’t exist here.”

  “Ah.” He chuckled, delighted that she’d actually responded. Also, the idea of food poisoning was working toward his goal of total flaccidity. “Then you have begun to settle in. I’m sorry someone didn’t warn you about that.”

  Savannah made a sound that could almost be called a laugh. Garrick grinned.

  Refusing to let his big mouth get him back into hot water when, for the first time in weeks, he had one leg out of the tub, he shut up. Savannah finished his wrap. As soon as she’d applied the last piece of tape, he moved away. This warm fuzzy moment could result in a spandex pup-tent if he lingered too long.

  “Thanks.” He yanked on his shorts—a meager defense at best.

  “Let me know how that feels. I added some extra support on the side, see if it helps.”

  “I have no doubt it will,” he said. “You’re like god’s gift to tape.”

  A grateful, albeit bewildered smile was his reward. Months of torture suddenly seemed worth it, even if he’d come across as a complete dork.

  God’s gift to tape? Very smooth, asshole.

  Chapter Two

  Bobby Kramer stood in Savannah’s doorway, clearing his throat like an asshole, ten minutes before his scheduled appointment.

  Savannah scowled at him, then rolled her eyes as she turned back to her desk. “I have to go, Callum,” she told her oldest brother through the phone.

  Callum also had to go on the ice tonight, so they’d needed to wrap up anyway, but that did nothing to abate her annoyance at Bobby.

  Though she tried not to rank them, she definitely liked some players better than others, and Bobby Kramer would always reside at the bottom of that list.

  She hung up, nodding politely as Bobby stomped past her and parked himself in front of her table, his ass resting against the edge. He liked to stand for his visits, probably just so he could loom over her. Most of the guys who needed elbow work sat, either in a chair or on the table. Not Bobby. He stood, leaned into her, held his arm closer to his body than necessary, and recently had taken to bending his head close to hers, trying to force an intimate conversation.

  Just the memory of his breath on her neck made her shudder.

  She’d made it abundantly clear she wasn’t interested in him or amused by his advances. He either didn’t understand or didn’t care. The last time he’d been in her office, he asked what she was doing that weekend.

  She’d snapped, “Nothing with you, Bobby, and that’s all you need to know.”

  His friends had howled at that and she’d kicked herself for letting her temper loose. Not that she regretted getting her point across, since it seemed he’d finally heard her. The look he’d given her as he’d left her office that night had been chilling.

  The look he sent her right now wasn’t much better.

  Bobby Kramer was a local, like Garrick. Yet not like Garrick at all. He was the son of some big-wig businessman who owned half the bars, all the off-track betting joints, and a couple hotels in town. His father was a notorious douchebag, from what Savannah had heard, and he had obviously raised his son in his own image.

  Bobby was a spoiled brat. No, worse than spoiled. Entitled. He felt entitled to his position on the team, though his only specialty was foul-mouthed chirping and he was one of the weakest skaters on the roster. Entitled to the devotion of the puck bunnies he treated like something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Entitled to be late to practice and ignore the advice of the trainer, coaches, and team management alike. Entitled to show up for his appointment with Savannah any time he saw fit.

  At least today he was early, so he wouldn’t screw up everyone else’s time too. She’d scheduled him first with the hope he’d be in and out quickly. She’d love to bounce him to Steve, the very nice assistant trainer who helped out on game nights, but Bobby’s elbow work took more strength and finesse than Steve’s experience or seventy-year-old hands could handle.

  Facing her counter, she gathered what she would need and schooled her expression to be professionally blank before she turned back to Bobby.

  “How’s the elbow? Has it been bothering you at all?”

  “It fucking sucks.”

  She kept her tone neutral. “Have you been icing it after games and practice?”

  Bobby’s face twisted into an ugly sneer, which, actually, wasn’t too different from his normal expression. “I don’t have time for that shit. I shouldn’t have to. If you knew what the fuck you were doing, I wouldn’t have this problem.”

  She didn’t react, carefully placing the rolls of tape and bandages on the table next to Bobby’s hip where they would be within easy reach.

  “I think you’ll find icing after games and practice will help.” Just like I told you the last twenty times. “I can also refer you to a couple good PTs in town if you want to get another opinion.”

  “Fuck that. I don’t need any ice but the shit I’m skating on.” He chuckled at his own feeble wit. “Next thing you’ll be telling me is I have to do stretches after I jerk off.”

  Oh yes, Bobby was all class.

  She picked up a bandage an
d began to wrap his arm. He didn’t even try to keep it away from his ribs, forcing her to reposition him repeatedly. Her jaw ached from grinding her teeth, but she did her job and did it well.

  Bandage secured, she reached for the tape, her fingers barely brushing the roll before he yanked it from her grasp. She grabbed for it, twice, increasingly furious at Bobby’s asinine game of keep-away. She realized too late she was off-balance and much too close.

  She had just threaded her fingers through the tube of the tape when Bobby grabbed her ass and hauled her up against him.

  Oh shit.

  Stomach plunging, she tried to shove him away. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Using her knee against his thigh as leverage, she drilled her patella into his quad and pried herself loose. He released her so suddenly she stumbled back, slamming against the hot tub with a clang, the scissors in her back pocket digging painfully into her right butt cheek.

  Bobby immediately advanced on her.

  “Stay the fuck away from me, Bobby,” she said, her voice loud enough to carry into the silent hallway. Where the fuck is everybody?

  Not for the first time, she regretted team management’s decision to move the trainer’s office out of the locker room when she took the position. Steve was still in the old space since this new one was so small. She could have used his help right about now.

  She dodged to the right, but Bobby blocked her. He wrapped one ham-sized hand around the edge of the tub, trapping her and killing any hope she’d had of getting between him and the door. She thrust her palm against his chest in a vain attempt to get him to back the fuck off.

  He shoved his face to within an inch of hers. “You’re a fucking bitch.”

  Adrenaline pumped into her blood and bile rose in her throat. She’d heard one of the most effective means to deter a would-be attacker was to vomit on him and always thought it would be hard to force herself to barf at a moment like this. As the burn reached her tonsils, she realized it would be no trouble at all.

  She cocked her leg, ready to thrust a knee up. “Back off. Now, Bobby.” Her command was loud and firm and it didn’t do shit.

  “You fucking bitch. You think you can talk to me like that? You think you’re better than me?”

  She wisely kept her mouth shut and shoved both hands against his chest as hard as she could. He didn’t budge. She kicked his shin. He didn’t even blink. She wasn’t even sure he’d felt it, but when she brought her knee up, his hand came down, blocking her from making contact with his groin.

  “Nice try, bitch.”

  “Back off, asshole! Now!” she yelled, hating how the mounting hysteria laced her voice. She swallowed hard, fear sweeping away the last vestiges of annoyance.

  She drew in a deep, shaky breath, preparing to scream her freaking head off.

  Before she made a sound, a huge man charged into her office, roaring like an enraged bear. Bobby shoved away from her, slamming her into the tub again. Another sharp stab in the ass reminded her she wasn’t without a weapon and she yanked the scissors from her back pocket, fully prepared—eager even—to stab Bobby, if he wasn’t ripped limb from limb first.

  Never in her life had she been so happy to see Garrick LeBlanc.

  Garrick hurled himself at Bobby, determined to tear his fucking useless head from his fucking useless body. Under any other circumstances, Bobby’s cowardly retreat up and over Savannah’s treatment table might have been funny. Garrick wasn’t amused. He was about to sail right over it himself when Savannah grabbed his arm.

  “Wait.”

  She was alarmingly pale, her knuckles white on the hand brandishing the scissors.

  His hesitation was all the time Bobby, the fucking scumbag, needed to escape. His heavy footsteps retreated down the hallway toward the locker room.

  Garrick thought about chasing him, but let it go. For now. He would definitely get back to Bobby later.

  Worried about Savannah, he spun to face her.

  Her eyes widened as she stumbled back, the scissors still clenched in her hand. Her disheveled appearance set off another surge of rage but he took a deep breath and wrestled it back under control.

  “Are you okay?” he asked as gently as he could manage. Instinct made him reach for her, freezing when she shied away. He dropped his arms to his sides, his hands curled into fists.

  God, he really wanted to hit something.

  She visibly regrouped, releasing her death grip on the scissors to straighten her clothes, her pale cheeks turning a dull red.

  “Are you okay?” he asked again.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Her voice was remarkably steady. He might have believed she had nerves of steel if he hadn’t seen her hands shaking as she put the scissors down on a tray.

  “I’m going to get Mark,” he said, referring to the team’s manager. “Do you want to come with me, or are you okay alone here for a minute?”

  She grabbed his arm. “No. Don’t.”

  “Rick, then?” he asked, not sure what she wanted.

  “No!” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Let’s just get you wrapped up for the game.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s get you prepped and we can figure out the rest later.”

  Garrick stared at her. “Figure it out later?” he repeated, trying to make sense of the words.

  “Yes.” She prodded him toward her table.

  He held his ground, because his couldn’t be right. “No.”

  Her hands fell away and her shoulders slumped. “You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you? Can’t we just forget about this?”

  “Can’t we just…what?” he yelped, regretting how it made her jump. Maybe he wasn’t being the sensitive new-age guy he was supposed to be in this situation, but he really couldn’t give a flying fuck. “Are you seriously asking me to forget that Bobby just attacked you?”

  He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more—what Bobby had done or that she was going to let him get away with it. He would have sworn she was smarter than that.

  “No, of course not,” she said, clearly trying to placate him. His anger and disappointment ratcheted higher. “I’m obviously not going to forget that. All I’m asking is that I be allowed to get through my pre-game work, then I’ll go to Mark and tell him myself.”

  Okay, that was better, that made more sense, but Garrick was still only mildly relieved. “Bobby is bad news. You should tell Mark now.”

  “And what? Send you and everyone else out on the ice without proper prep? Pretend they’ll delay the game while Mark scolds Bobby for being a colossal asshole?”

  “We can live without you,” he said, skillfully proving yet again his superior ability to lodge his foot in his mouth around her.

  “Gee, thanks.” She grabbed more bandages.

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant for one night. Tonight.” He sighed and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. He was fucking this up. She’d never listen to him if he kept insulting her, for Christ’s sake. “You’re the best trainer this team has ever had.”

  She stopped what she was doing and blinked up at him. “Thank you.”

  “My point,” Garrick continued, “is that Bobby can’t get away with this shit. And you can’t think it’s okay.”

  Her shoulders slumped and she rubbed her hand across her forehead. “No, you’re right. Of course, it’s not okay. I give you my word I’ll go to Mark. But all he’s going to do is slap Bobby’s wrist and I’d rather minimize the drama as much as possible.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.

  “Look, I’m the new girl, right? And, you know, a girl. Well, a woman, actually, but that’s an argument for another night. I’m pretty sure it won’t shock you to learn that I get hit on sometimes.”

  He cringed, taking some solace that the corner of her mouth kicked up in response. Like just maybe she could find humor in his idiocy.

  “The last thing I need is some huge
brouhaha that impacts the entire team before a game because of some shit like this. I promise you I will speak with Mark. Tonight. And if it’s okay with you, I’ll tell him to verify what happened with you if he feels it’s necessary.”

  “Please do.”

  “But as much as I’d like to have Bobby smacked down in front of the entire team, I would rather have this handled discreetly.”

  Garrick frowned. Why shouldn’t Bobby be smacked down? Handed his ass and his walking papers? The asshole deserved that and more. Though Garrick wasn’t naïve. It was highly unlikely to go down that way. Unfortunately.

  Savannah gently urged him toward her table again. “I’m asking you for a favor,” she said, her eyes pleading. “I don’t think I can explain to you in the next five minutes just how much this job means to me.”

  Sighing, he stripped his gym shorts off and stood where she wanted him. “Try.”

  Her lips curled, just a little, and she met his gaze. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He tried to ignore what her smile was doing to his insides. “I’m going to talk to Mark an hour after the game. If you haven’t told him by then, I will.”

  She nodded, looking him straight in the eyes. “He’ll know.”

  Garrick still didn’t like it, but he believed her. “Okay.”

  She immediately went to work wrapping his hip.

  Distraction time.

  “So why hockey? Why this job?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “It started with my brothers.”

  “Are they hockey players?”

  She laughed. “Yes. All six of them.”

  Two hours later, early in the second period, Savannah stood with Mark in the tunnel to the locker room, next to the bench. She kept one eye on the players and the game, always on the alert in case they needed her. A line change came off the ice and all sat without a glance in her direction.

  Quickly, quietly, she told Mark what had happened.

  She fought to remain detached as she laid out the details, only stopping when Mark moved toward Bobby, clearly furious. She put a quelling hand on his arm, discreetly pointing out the TV cameras, her smile fixed in place.