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Two days ago, Kyle Hughes was forced to sit through a phone-in disciplinary hearing and was fined twenty grand, which would be added to the Players’ Emergency Assistance Fund. Dex would have given anything to be a fly on the wall.
She shook her head. “I get it. Sometimes it’s easier to lead with our gut. Good for the ice, not always off it. At least, that’s the advice my father would give.”
“You must miss him.” Clifford had died seven years ago, leaving his floundering team to his three daughters, who had taken the baton and turned the org’s fortunes around, much to the hockey world’s surprise.
She blinked. “Yeah, I do. I’m the only one of us that does, to be honest. He was tough on all of us. Well, me and Harper. Violet never met him, but he left his mark.”
“I met him a few times. When I was a kid.” Should he tell her this? She might think he was trying to make himself sound special. But she looked interested, so he plowed on. “He sort of mentored me from afar.”
Isobel’s eyebrows lifted. “In what way?”
“He spotted me at a rink when I was twelve. I’d never played hockey and I was dicking around when he called me over and said he thought I should take it seriously. Learn to play. Then he sent Anton.”
Her green eyes went wide. They weren’t quite the same shade as Ashley’s, which were more of a Granny Smith apple green.
“Anton Ballard?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure I’d be here—playing hockey, any of it—without your dad getting involved.”
She smiled her approval. “Well, he loved finding a prospect. And I’m thrilled that he had such a positive influence on you. I know you had a rough go of it.”
Of course she did. As the team owner, she would have background information on all the players. He wondered how much. Did the details of Ruby O’Malley’s case make her file?
A shiver went through his body at the idea she might have heard the sordid details of his childhood. She might even think “like mother, like son,” or blood would out. Maybe that was what Ashley sensed in him—a no-good troublemaker who led with his dick and fists.
“Hockey means everything to me. Nothing else matters.” It was suddenly important that Isobel know this, especially with all the trouble he was knee-deep in. If he could make an impression, maybe she’d remember when it came time to talk trades or worse, waivers.
She smiled. “I remember feeling that way. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still important, but it’s good to have some balance, y’know. Friends, family, hobbies.”
Friends were few and far between and as for family, forget it. “My hobbies tend to be the X-rated kind.”
She laughed, but then she turned serious. “I think you underestimate yourself, Dex.”
How could he think of himself any other way? Even St. Ashley of Riverbrook Animal Shelter didn’t think he was good enough for a turn in the sheets, which was fine. He didn’t need this woman’s approval. All he needed was whatever reference she would provide to the judge in his court case.
Well, your honor, professional hockey player Dex O’Malley, despite his inability to be good at anything other than striking a puck—and that’s currently debatable—and screwing anything that moves, was a model volunteer at Riverbrook Animal Shelter. Every kitten adored him, every dog wanted to be his friend, and he managed to get through his shifts without drawing any negative publicity or attention to himself or the shelter. Please go easy on him.
“I’m not really anything special,” he murmured, in response to Isobel’s observation.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” She patted his arm. “Everyone on this team has something to offer. My dad saw something in you, Anton saw it, and the brass in Rebels admin saw it. It’s why you’re here. Hockey is great—it’s our lifeblood—but it can’t be the only thing. That’s why I think this volunteer gig is good for you, not as a PR move, but because it might make you see yourself in a different light. Not just as a great forward, but also as a cool human being. We have to take these challenges and see them as the opportunities they truly are.”
She shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just envious of the guy who gets to play with kittens and puppies as punishment.”
Dex held the door open for the woman coming out of the coffee shop and got a sexy smirk in return.
See, Ashley? That’s how women respond to me.
Fucking hell, it was ridiculous that he was still hung up on this! It had been three whole days since he’d overheard her talking about him to Kennedy. In that time, he’d focused on getting back to form and proving his worth to the powers that be. He’d watched tape, crushed it at the gym, attended morning skate, all the necessary to prove he meant business. And if all that busyness helped him forget about Ruby, all the better. This was his team and his town. He was going nowhere.
As for Ashley … so he’d met a woman unimpressed by his charm, good looks, and thick thighs. Big deal. No one liked to be dismissed out of hand as if they had zero to offer a top-quality woman like that, but it couldn’t be helped.
After ordering his double tall Americano, he was waiting for it on the other side of the bar when this gem tickled his eardrums:
“I don’t think men are cut out for monogamy.”
Usually that would be a woman’s line, but here it was, spoken by a guy in one of those voices where every statement was likely accompanied by a smirk. Dex couldn’t see him as he and his companion were seated behind a pillar, but he could make out a shapely leg—female—clad in dark tights with a green chevron design. They tapered to fur-lined ankle boots with cats’ whiskers on the zipper. Cute.
The reply when it finally came, because a line like that clearly prevented speech for a good ten seconds, knocked him back on his heels:
