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“True,” Frankie agreed. “But remember when he got all apoplectic and turned purple after Tampa Bay handed our balls to us a couple seasons ago? I thought he was going to bust a vessel in his head and blood would shoot from his eyes.”
“Apoplectic?” Mark laughed. “Have you been reading again?”
“Unlike most of you guys, I did spend a few years in college before I was drafted.”
As much as the guys could get on Mark’s nerves, he missed the constant razzing. He pointed to his own chin and asked Daniel, “Why are you keeping the fuzz?” He and the Stromster had played on the same front line for past six seasons. The Swede had been drafted by the Chinooks his rookie year. The same year Mark had been named captain.
&# Kwid8220;I like it.”
“You should have seen Blake’s.” Sam chuckled and took a drink from his bottle. “He looked like someone had given him a bikini wax on his face. One of those Brazilians like my ex-girlfriend used to get on her patch.”
Mark glanced toward the door. The guys didn’t know there was a woman in the house. Exactly where his little assistant was, Mark didn’t know. When he’d answered the door, she hadn’t been in the office at the front of the house.
“It was bad,” Walker agreed, “but I thought Johan’s beard was—” He stopped, and his attention shifted to the vicinity of Mark’s crotch as “American Woman” played from the pocket of his jogging pants. The nylon pocket had slid to his inner thigh, and he looked around at the curious faces. Mark stuck his hand in his pocket and dug around next to his balls. He pulled out his new cell phone as The Guess Who warned American woman to stay away. A picture of Chelsea flashed on the cell’s screen. “Yeah?” he answered.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“I guessed that. Tell me about ‘American Woman.’”
“‘American Woman’ was a song written and performed by the Guess Who and later Lenny Kravitz.”
“I know all that. Why is it on my phone?”
“It’s my ringtone so that you know it’s me. I thought it was appropriate given our relationship.”
“Where are you and why are you calling?”
“In the kitchen. I’m taking a break from answering fan letters, and I just wanted to know if you or your guests need anything.”
There it was again. Need. “I’m sure the guys could use another beer.”
“I figured. How many guys are there?”
“Six counting Vlad, but he’s not drinking today.” Which Mark knew from his long association with the Russian meant he was hungover. He flipped the phone closed and lifted one hip and shoved it back in his pocket. For the most part, when the guys got together at his house to drink or play poker or both, it was just the guys. He didn’t know how they’d react to a female in their mix. “That was my assistant,” he told them. “She’s bringing more beer.”
Sam finished off his Corona and set the empty bottle on an end table. “You have an assistant?”
“More like a pain in the ass.” Mark stuck one finger beneath the brace and scratched the back of his hand. “The Chinooks kept sending nurses over here to check my pulse and make sure I took a crap. I hated having them hover over me, watching me all the time, so I guess the organization thought they’d have better luck if they sent an assistant.”
“What’s she like?”
“Annoying as hell.” Mark leaned back against the soft leather couch. “You’ll see.”
A few minutes later she walked into the room, all five feet nothing of her, carrying a tin bucket filled with ice and Coronas. “ KronHello, gentlemen. Don’t get up,” she said, even though no one had made a move to stand. She wore those big clunky shoes she favored and a short leather skirt with animal print on it—zebra maybe. Her baggy black blouse had a big bow on the front, and her neon pink cell phone was clipped to the sparkly red belt wrapped around her waist. In the short time that she’d worked for him, Mark had noticed that she wore her tops really loose and her bottoms really tight. He wondered if she thought big shirts made her big breasts less noticeable. They didn’t. “I’m Chelsea Ross, Mr. Bressler’s personal assistant.” She bent forward to set the bucket on the coffee table, and Mark watched Frankie’s gaze slide to her little behind wrapped up in black-and-white-striped leather. “I’ve brought beer. Any takers?”
All four gentlemen raised their hands like they were in school.
“You look familiar,” Walker said, tilting his head to one side to study her.
Mark had always thought so too.
She grabbed a beer out of the bucket, slid her hands up the bottle, and twisted off the top. “Do you watch The Young and the Restless?”
“No.”
“Ever seen Slasher Camp?”
“No.”
