Star forward.
Future Hall of Famer.
Cute. Real fucking cute. Somebody’s gotten a little too comfortable. But if she likes to play games? I hope she knows that I play to win. And I guess it’s my turn to teach her a fucking lesson.
Chapter Six
Lennon
Itry not to collapse into my office chair, but it is futile.
I’m exhausted.
The bone-deep kind that would see me sleeping for the next eighteen hours before I have to do this day all over again. This week has been quite successful if I do say so myself. The players all seem to be getting into the groove of answering to a new coach, for which I am so fucking thankful. Apart from the way three sets of eyes threatened to set my body alight at every turn.
I caught them watching me. I watched them right back. It was impossible not to.
There’s a reason why the Cardinals are as successful as they are. Holden and Sasha have earned their names fair and square. Have carved a reputation into the ice for taking names and leaving no apologies. Something that worked in my father’s favor from the moment they signed as rookies. But for me, they are already testing whatever’s left of my resolve. Sasha doesn’t even have to say a word. The way his eyes graze across my skin is enough to have every nerve in my body on edge, and no one has ever made me feel that way before.
I still don’t know if I hate it or if it is turning me on.
Who am I kidding? Of course it is turning me on! It’s all I have been able to think about.
Three sharp knocks sound at my door before it swings open.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Gilmore. If looks could get you pregnant, Volkov would’ve knocked you up four times over by now.”
I jump in my seat, startled by the intrusion, but relax a little when I see that it’s Veronica Carlisle, the team’s PR manager.
“You know, most people wait to be invited in after knocking,” I mutter, raising a brow and folding my arms across my chest. Veronica snorts, the sound entirely unladylike as she stomps further into my office. Her combat boots practically shake the floor beneath her. Lilac hair falls over one shoulder in messy waves, the dark roots long overdue for touching up, while silver hoops and studs decorate both ears. Black ripped jeans hug what I think are tattooed legs, and a faded Black Sabbath shirt disappears beneath a worn leather jacket that has seen better days.
“Most people aren’t responsible for keeping twenty-three overgrown toddlers from ending up on TMZ,” she says dryly, setting a coffee down on my desk. “Besides, if I waited for permission every time, I’d never get anything done.” I eye the cup suspiciously.
“Bribery?”
“Double shot salted caramel latte with extra caramel.” My shoulders sag immediately.
“You beautiful woman.”
“I know,” Veronica says with a grin, dropping into the chair opposite me. “I figured if anyone deserved caffeine after this week, it was you.” I take a sip and nearly moan.
“Oh, I could kiss you.”
“Please don’t. They don’t make this lipstick in this shade anymore, and I’m down to applying the last bit I have with a fucking paintbrush.”
“You know, you could just buy another shade. I think pink would suit you,” I add, setting the coffee down.
“Uh, no. This shade and I have been through three stanley cup wins, two boyfriends, and one particularly tragic micro-bang phase. We die together.” A laugh escapes me, because there’s something about her that is like a breath of fresh air in this place. She doesn’t come with burning stares and bruised egos. Veronica grins victoriously, clearly pleased that she managed to drag a laugh out of me.
“There she is,” she says, pointing at me with one of her perfectly manicured fingers. “I was beginning to think I’d have to stage a scandal just to get a smile out of you.”
“You do know faking scandals is frowned upon, right?” She shrugs.
“So is murder, but after the amount of testosterone I’ve had to deal with today, I’m willing to risk anything.” That earns another laugh from me. I missed this. Having another woman around where I can just be myself is refreshing. I don’t feel like I need to prove myself. Just…normal. Something I realize now that I don’t even get back home. With work taking up every minute of my time, it doesn’t exactly leave much room for friendship. Most of my relationships revolve around work. With people who either need something from me or expect something from me. My social life has always fallen to the wayside. And dare I say it, Veronica is the kind of person you can’t help but want to be friends with. She’s loud, unapologetic, slightly unhinged, but she’s authentic. Something I appreciate in this place.
My childhood best friend, Bronte, would love her, which reminds me, I’ve hardly had the chance to call her back. I’m unintentionally ghosting everyone these days. I know she wouldunderstand. She’s used to me being busy. But that doesn’t make me feel any better.
“So, tell me,” Veronica says, successfully pulling me from my thoughts, and taking a sip of her own coffee before squaring me with a look. “You gonna tell me what the hell is going on with Volkov and Woods, or am I going to have to play the guessing game?” I frown.
