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“Yep.” After that, it’s going to take a little more scheduling because the hockey season can be blocked full and unpredictable. But we’ll make it work. “Try to get some rest,” I tell him as he climbs out of the car. “See you tomorrow at ten.”
“I got rehab,” he tells me. “I’ll be in at nine.”
“Sure thing.” He closes the door and I start the engine up, heading back to the stadium, and park in the head coach spot. I climb out of the car in a good mood and put my pass against the reader to unlock the door.
It’s almost six, so I grab a bottle of water from the cooler in the kitchen and head up the stairs to the offices. I’ve heard through the grapevine that Mackenzie has taken over Wayne’s office, so that’s the one I head to.
Hers is the only light still on. Everybody else has gone home. The office staff try to work condensed hours during preseason, because once the season begins everybody is constantly busy.
I knock on the door and a moment later she calls out for me to come in. Pushing the door open I’m surprised by two things.
The first is that she’s already made some headway into Wayne’s mess. The desk is empty. So is the cabinet beside it. There are still piles on the other cabinets and shelves, but damn, it makes a difference.
It also smells good. As in not like old food and dust and whatever the hell else Wayne gets up to in here.
The second thing that surprises me is that Mackenzie’s bruise has already come out. And it’s a humdinger, red and black and gray staining her right cheek, all the way up to her eye which is swollen.
“Damn. You should get that x-rayed,” I tell her. “Are you sure you didn’t break anything?”
She touches her cheek gingerly. I notice her manicure. Pale pink nails. No chips. Nice.
“I went down to the medic’s office,” she tells me. “She did a scan and everything’s fine.”
“She tell you how to treat it?” I ask her.
“Yep. Gave me some arnica and told me to ice it every hour.”
“And have you?” I scan her face for any signs of lumps. Hematomas aren’t funny, but all I see is smooth bruised skin.
“Yes, sir.” The moment she says it she winces. I don’t think it’s from the pain.
“That’s good.” I drop into the chair in front of her desk. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
She smiles, and it looks good on her. “I had to tidy up a little bit.”
“I saw the before picture,” I tell her. “That was more than a little bit.”
Her eyes widen. “It was bad, wasn’t it? I knew he was messy but…” She trails off. “I mean, my boss told me there was a lot of mess to deal with.” There’s a barely perceptible shift in her demeanor. Like she’s closed up but is trying not to show it. “Anyway, hi. I’m sorry about this morning. Can we start over?”
“What happened this morning?” I ask.
She smiles again. I’m only half joking. She looks completely different from the woman laying helplessly prone on the locker room floor, and not just because of the bruise. Sitting behind the desk she’s in control. Her hair is perfectly tied into a pony tail, her glasses are perched on the bridge of her elegantly straight nose, and her blouse is now buttoned enough so I can’t see the swell of breasts that kind of entranced me earlier.
This is good, I tell myself. I have to work with this woman. I have to make sure she does nothing to harm the team. Having fantasies about burying my face in the valley of her chest isn’t exactly professional.
“I’m Eli Salinger,” I say, reaching my hand across the desk.
She curls her fingers around my palm. “Mackenzie Hunter.”
“Have we met before?” I ask her. “It’s just that you look familiar. But I can’t place it.” I’ve always had a knack for recognizing faces. Now that she’s upright and my view isn’t obscured by Goran’s ass it’s nagging at me.
Two tiny lines furrow her brow. “I don’t think so.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“Cornell.”
“I played there a few times,” I say. “Did you go to hockey games?”
