“So…” I wash my hands at the sink. “Crazy game. Adam and Jace got some sweet goals, didn’t they?”
“I saw that interview.”
“Yeah, they ambushed me a little bit.” I dry my hands on the kitchen towel hand-embroidered with Rudolphs I made for my mom one year.
My dad takes a deep breath. “You need to take this seriously. Coaching at the NHL level—there are men who dedicate theirentire lives to being where you are. Everyone wants to see you fail.”
“I can’t just quit now, Dad. We have to play”—Gulp—“Seattle next. I can’t leave my guys out to dry.”
Nate sags. “You’re going to get crucified.” He looks sick. He grabs my shoulders. “Just promise me,” he begs me, “please don’t sleep with one of the players.”
“Dad!”
“Just promise me.”
I think of Fletcher—of the way his hair curls over his forehead, the chiseled abs, that mouth… that mouth twisting into a sneer and spitting out a snide comment. “Don’t worry. Never going to happen.”
14
FLETCHER
Dana Holbrook. This is my shot.
I see the way she’s looking at me. She wants to fuck one of the hockey players she owns. I’m going to fuck her brains out, then I’m going to get that info off her phone.
And Hudson will pull you, and you won’t play Seattle in a few days.
So? We’re going to lose. Seattle is the current Stanley Cup champ—undefeated. They have Emil Maynard on their team, Zayne Murphy’s rival since they were drafted at eighteen. And unlike Zayne, he’s not playing drunk.
Hudson’s right. I’m not here to play hockey. I need to get my head in the game. The real game.
I’m making a risky play here, faking Dana out like you fake out a goalie. If I flirted with her, she’d think I was coming on too strong—it would be too obvious. But not a few too-long looks. Let my eyes flick to her tits then back to her face, send the signal that I’m interested. Keep looking at her as I undress, but not fully—let her admire my ass through the skintight Under Armour bodysuit.
She’s lingering. I can tell as I head to the showers, only moving to strip off the shirt when I’m just about to turn the corner so Dana only gets a glimpse.
I plot my conquest as I shower, mindful of the bruises forming all over my torso.
I think of Ellie and feel ever so slightly guilty as the water runs over my skin. Not about sleeping with her boss, because Ellie and I aren’t in a relationship. I don’t want to be in a relationship with her. I don’t even want to sleep with her, which is weird, right? Because she’s not that unattractive, and she does have a cute body. I can see it in those skintight leggings when she skates in practice.
Dana.
I shake my head, sending my nose throbbing. Turn the water to cold. Stay under the spray until the rest of my teammates have cleared out.
Dana’s perched on one of the benches, legs crossed, typing with one immaculate fingernail on her phone.
I let the towel drop from my waist, use it to towel my hair. “You here to offer me a big-boy NHL contract?”
I see her eyes slide over the tattoos tracing my hips. She draws that fingernail over her perfect lip.
She stands up. “Did you have fun fighting out there on the ice, Fletcher Sullivan?”
Something about the way she says my last name sends a shiver up my spine, and not in a good way. She steps up to me. For some reason, it feels like I no longer have the upper hand. She draws her finger down the bridge of my nose.
I stifle a wince.
Then she jams a nail in the bruise on my cheek. I bite my cheek to keep from yelling.
“For all the shit you gave my coach, someone thinks his life plan is to sleep his way to the top.”
