Gamed (Minnesota Caribou Book 4)

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Gamed (Minnesota Caribou Book 4) Page 3

by Colleen Charles


  The corners of my mouth tug upward. So much for complete anonymity on this mission. “In the flesh.”

  Her shaky hand finally reaches out toward mine. “Why are you here? Don’t you have practice or something?”

  I shake my head. “Not in the summer. We’ve had a couple of mini-camps though.”

  Her mouth pops open and then snaps shut again. “Why?”

  I point toward my legs. “Even athletes need some time off. Saves the knees.”

  She glances around. “But why would you work here? Ya know… during your time off. You’re rich. You don’t have to do something like this for minimum wage.”

  I suppress a chuckle when I notice Sue-Ann’s narrowed eyes. “Actually, I’m free labor. Because I owe a favor to a man. A really big man.”

  Emma’s gaze sweeps my body. “Hard to imagine a bigger man than you.”

  My arms swing wide like I’m talking to a toddler. “He’s twice my size. Isn’t he, Sue-Ann?”

  Her eyes flutter shut, and I hope images of me are appearing behind her eyelids and how big I might be.

  Everywhere.

  She puts her palms up. “Um… I guess I really didn’t notice either of you in relationship to your size.”

  Emma looks to her boss. “I’ve got all the new bracelets sorted by color. Anything else you need before I bring the new t-shirts to the display table?”

  “No. You can do that before lunch.”

  Emma spins to disappear, calling over her shoulder, “Nice to meet ya, Max. Welcome.”

  “Same here.”

  I shove my hands into my pockets, suddenly shy and unsure of myself as I stand here alone with Sue-Ann. What if she puts me to work sorting bras and panties or some equally girly shit that I shouldn’t even put my big paws all over unless I’m taking it off a flesh and blood woman instead of a mannequin?

  A shiver of darkness steals my good mood. I can still picture Liberty Acres perfectly. The dented and ramshackle trailers. The rusted cars in the driveways, some of them abandoned in pieces in the back of lots. Kids playing in the dirt.

  Every time my mind drifts back to that time, I feel less-than. And then I overcompensate. And right now, surrounded by all this very expensive and feminine stuff, I feel like a draft horse at a pony show.

  Sue-Ann clears her throat. “So, are you ready to get started? I have some boxes in the back that need to be broken down and recycled. Then I have some that need to be moved. And anything that’s too tall for me to reach. I guess I don’t belong on the ladder.”

  “I will be your arms in the sky,” I say, my lips tugging upward as I breathe a sigh of relief that panties aren’t on the menu. At least for work. “And your muscle.”

  I tingle everywhere her eyes touch and when they finally land on my biceps, I can’t help but flex them just a little. I have no idea why this tiny slip of a woman yanks my chain. It has to be because she’s not falling at my feet to worship me like most of them do when they learn I play in the NHL. Sue-Ann seems completely unfazed by my status as a professional athlete. But then again, she must be around Spencer a lot, so she’s used to it.

  “Well, we can sure use some muscle around here. I think Emma and I both equal one of you. I’m not gonna lie. I’ve strained my back lugging around boxes and then needed extra yoga to fix it.”

  The bell above the door jingles, and a group of young women saunter in. “Hey, Sue-Ann,” a blonde says, flipping her shoulder-length hair back. “Word on the street says you might have the new Rag & Bone jean jacket. I had to get here right at opening to find out if it’s true?”

  Sue-Ann lets out an exhale that floats her hair upward. “It’s kind of true. They were delivered yesterday. Unfortunately, they’re still in a stack of boxes in the back.”

  I set my hand on her shoulder. “Just tell me where it is, and I’ll go get it for you and open it up. I’m sure I can find a jean jacket in a size small. How hard can that be?”

  “How did you know Lori is a small?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.

  I shrug. “She’s a woman. A small woman.”

  I don’t admit to the ladies’ clothes that are always littered all over the floor of my condo after I rip them off.

  Sue-Ann hands me a box cutter. “The boxes are clearly marked Rag & Bone. Be careful when opening them that you don’t slice anything inside. Once you find the jean jackets, you can bring that size small back out for Lori to try on.”

  As I trot off toward the stock room on my mission, Lori’s voice drifts toward me. “Jeez, Sue-Ann. Where’d you get the hot-as-hell stock boy? Can I get one too?”

  “Don’t ask,” she mumbles and as I slip through the door, their voices mute.

  After I find the boxes in question, I make short work of cutting them open and carefully rifling through their contents. The jean jackets are at the bottom of a box that also contains jeans in various rinses and cuts. I hold up the small jean jacket encased in plastic like it’s the Stanley Cup.

  Victorious, I search around for a hanger. When I find a velvet hanger swinging from a metal rack on wheels, I slide the jacket on it and cart it back out to the sales floor.

  I find Lori looking through the jewelry display, Catrick weaving in and out of her legs like a purring furball. He gazes up at the woman with his hypnotic blue eyes until she reaches down and scoops him up. After Catrick’s performance, I can see why Sue-Ann takes him to work with her. Women fall all over pretty, snuggly pets.

  “Ouch, Lori. You’re going to get full of fur.” Sue-Ann steps away. “Let me get you a lint roller. I know that blouse you’re wearing is expensive. I remember when you bought it for your Aunt Jill’s fiftieth.”

  “But Catrick loves me, don’t you, sweetie?” The sexy blonde rubs her cheek against Catrick’s silky long fur until her gaze lands on me. “Look, Sue-Ann, the stock boy even put it on a hanger. He looks familiar. Wherever did you find him?”

  Sue-Ann grabs the jacket from me as she wields the lint roller with the other. Once she’s satisfied that no Catrick fur remains on Lori, she helps her slide the jacket over her narrow shoulders. Lori claps her hands and executes a perfect twirl in the full-length mirror near her.

  A satisfied sigh falls from her injected pillow lips. “It’s perfect. I must have it. Are there jeans to match? Please tell me it’s an entire outfit.”

  Lori’s gaze meets mine, and that’s when I see it as a jolt of anger flashes and lands. She doesn’t recognize me, so just because I’m working inside this boutique means I’m beneath her and her haughty air and American Express Black. If it wasn’t for my status as a professional athlete, I’d still be the same piece of trailer park trash that princesses like Lori bullied and demeaned all the way through high school and college.

  When they made fun of me.

  Until I got drafted in the first round.

  And everything changed.

  Until I started getting too big for my britches.

  And I ended up here.

  Full circle and right in the middle of my quarter-life crisis.

  “Size four, right?” I ask, turning to head back to the opened box.

  She looks at me as if I’m for sale along with her expensive denim. “Right, sexy stock boy. Are you available for private hire? I need my closet Marie Kondo’d.”

  Ignoring her rude comments, I disappear into the back. Once I find them, I walk back with the jeans in hand, and she snatches them away from me. “I’m trying this on. Could someone get me a chai?”

  Sue-Ann and I share a look and a covert eye roll. She’s great with the customers, and I realize that I might have underestimated her. Dealing with women like Lori must take a lot out of her all while running the business end of things. I have people upon people. All I have to do is haul my ass out of bed in the morning and get it to the rink.

  Maybe it is time for me to start summoning more gratitude for the blessings I’ve worked hard to achieve.

  And gratitude for Milo that he cares enough not to let me throw it
all away on the wings of Don Julio and women who don’t see me as anything more than a means to an end.

  Lori opens the door to the dressing room and steps out. The stretch denim hugs her ass and long legs. I have to admit the ensemble looks good on her. Damn good.

  Sue-Ann clucks her tongue and adjusts a few things until she stands back and nods. “Wow. I’m sure glad you were the first customer to try on the new Rag & Bone, Lori. After you, anyone who wears it is going to pale in comparison.”

  Lori’s eyes light up as her hands flutter to her chest. “Aw, thanks, Sue-Ann. I think it needs a necklace, don’t you? Can you help me find one? You have the best eye in the business.”

  Lori’s posse gathers around her, and they go to work twirling all the racks of necklaces, bracelets, and earrings, oohing and aahing.

  I slip back into the stockroom and find Emma so she can show me where the new denim goes out on the sales floor. After Lori, I’m feeling a little down and just want to disappear to lick my wounds until my self-confidence seeps back in.

  Chapter Five

  Sue-Ann

  “Can you fire an intern?”

  Jules twirls her straw between her fingers. “Is that what they’re calling them now?”

  I blink, pause, process. “What should we call him then?”

  “Is he really doing that poorly? I’m sure Milo wouldn’t mind if you tell him to go home. It’s been a few days. I’m sure he’s learned his lesson by now, whatever it might be. Although… according to Adam, he hasn’t been playing well, and there have been rumors about the Caribou front office not picking up his contract option next season. Too much booze and women.”

  I lean back in my chair and slap my bangles, sending them into a spin. Fluorescent lights sparkle overhead, shining rays of illumination on the dark wood of the restaurant. I picked Jay’s for girls’ night dinner and drinks because it’s only a few streets over from Sue-Ann’s. Emma and Max are alone until closing for the first night since he started, and I want to be within a few minutes of getting to them in case of emergency. So far… radio silence.

  No news is good news.

  Booze and women, huh? Puck bunnies with sunflower hair, fake tits, and loose vaginas. Every single thing that I’m not. No wonder he hides in the back all day. “That’s just it. He’s good. Like really, really helpful. I’d forgotten what it was like not to have to deal with heavy labor.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Julia asks, taking a sip of her mojito.

  An inhale. A heartbeat. I’m not sure how I feel. Or maybe I do, and I just don’t want to admit it, even to Jules. Because when Max Monroe wanders within three feet of me, my pussy roars to life like one of those Indy 500 racecars, purring and accelerating and waiting for him to slip into the driver’s seat.

  But he’s seven years younger than I am. I have to leave the car in the garage, so to speak.

  The question swirls between my ears—answerless. “Nothing, I guess.”

  Her brow creases. “Sue-Ann Johnson, I’ve known you for most of our lives. Something is wrong. Now, spill.”

  I buy myself a few more seconds by taking a sip of my Cosmo and welcoming the burn of the Stoli down the back of my throat. My distress is palpable. “I thought there would be a handbasket.”

  Her eyes narrow into slits. “What?”

  I flick my wrist. “In hell. My mom always said when you go to hell, you go in a handbasket.”

  “Why on earth would you be going to hell? I can’t think of a kinder person than you. You’ve been businessperson of the year multiple times. Everyone loves you.”

  My stomach sinks with that heavy, uncomfortable sensation that just won’t budge. “I like him.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me at all. He’s charming and sexy and all the things that women like about a man. And you say he’s doing a great job, so he’s helpful too. You can like him.”

  I clear my throat. “I like him.”

  She leans back with a knowing smile. “Ah, I see. Why can’t you like him? I married an NHL superstar, and everything turned out okay.”

  For a blissful second, hope grows in the space between us, soaring higher than it should. High enough that I might not be able to ride the wave back down to the cold, hard earth.

  Because sin always ends with a fall.

  “Jules, he’s twenty-five,” I whine as if the words impart every reasonable excuse in the book.

  “So? Age ain’t nothin’ but a number. You’re thirty-two. It’s not like you’re forty or something. You haven’t even entered cougar territory yet. You’re more like a Catrick. A pussycat. Heavy on the pussy.”

  My gut twists with the millions of reasons why I can’t go there. Which doesn’t even come close to stopping me from wanting to. Damn, do I want to go there.

  Twice.

  I shake my head. “It’s wrong. In my mind and heart, I just can’t get past it. He’s immature and a manwhore and all the things I always said I could never tolerate in a man. If I give in, that makes me a hypocrite.”

  She twists the paper cocktail napkin between her fingers, which only draws my attention to her huge engagement ring. “You don’t stay immature playing in the NHL. And who says he’s a slut?”

  “Duluth.”

  She chuckles under her breath. “They always say that about the Caribou players. Doesn’t mean it’s true. Or it could be some kind of urban myth. I’m sure he’s not a monk or anything. No man is at twenty-five with his kind of opportunity to get some, but I wouldn’t write him off just yet. Adam tells me he has a really sad life story, which is why everyone on the team is pulling for him, hoping he can work himself out.”

  I can’t imagine that cocky Max Monroe has any sadness in his life because a smile is never very far from his full lips. “Like what?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Like Liberty Acres.”

  My mind races. I’ve heard that name somewhere. Then it hits me. North on the way to Gooseberry by the Kwik Trip. Trailers. Old, rusty trailers that wouldn’t last through a strong wind let alone a tornado. Max grew up poor in a trailer park? I never would have guessed it.

  My eyes search hers as I whistle low. “He wasn’t abused or anything, was he?”

  “No, nothing like that. Single mom working too much trying to put food on the table. Alcoholic dad who abandoned them. You know the drill. He’s got a little brother and a little sister. Milo scouted him and put him in his youth program. Max worked really hard and got through college on scholarships. Then he got drafted in the first round. He takes care of all of them now and is putting his brother through college. Apparently, he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Who can begrudge him a little bit of blowing off steam as a result?”

  I swing the conversation in a different direction before I start to like him for more than his hot body. “We just got the new 7 jeans in. You should come in and try them on. Makes the rump look bootylicious.”

  She snorts a laugh. “Ever since Charlie was born, I don’t need any help in the booty department. And you’re changing the subject. If you like him, you should flirt with him. See what happens. There’s no harm in a little friendly banter. He’s in the store. You’re in the store…”

  I snort a laugh, wishing it was only banter I wanted. Because my jacked-up libido screams for more. “Only for a few weeks. Then he takes his hot ass back to the practice rink or the road or wherever the hell they go.”

  “They don’t go back to camp until late August. There’s time. If you wanted to date him, that is. Take him for a spin.” She waggles her eyebrows along with the emphasized word.

  A blush crawls up my neck and lands on my cheeks, blazing heat across my skin. “Julia Spencer. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “You’re a big girl, Sue-Ann. If you want to—you know—no one is going to tell you no. Have some fun, for the love of God. All you do is work. When’s the last time you went out on a date?”

  I fan myself with a hand. “I can see my mother h
aving a heart attack in my mind’s eye. I am not doing a one-nighter with the hot younger man. In fact, I’m not doing a one-nighter with anyone.”

  She lets some air whistle out between her lips. “You’re getting boring in your old age. The Sue-Ann I used to know would take what she wanted. You might never get the chance to have a crazy fling again. Think how much stamina he must have.”

  I scrunch up my nose. “That kind of sex is never good. You think it’s going to be good like chocolate cheesecake and then you unwrap the package and it’s a cheap chocolate-covered cherry. Yuck.”

  “Hmm… well, there’s something to be said for a man with experience with that type of thing. Who knows? He might end up being a chocolate truffle. All hard on the outside and creamy in the middle.”

  I slap a hand over my eyes. “Jeez, Jules! Enough.”

  Just as the server arrives with our spinach and artichoke dip, her gaze travels to the front door. A sliver of outside light illuminates a body I’d know anywhere. Because I’ve been studying it like a map of Minnesota since it waltzed into my store.

  But this time he’s not wearing his trademark grin; he’s wearing a frown and weaving through the tables at a fast clip.

  Once he reaches us, he grimaces. “You’re not answering your phone.”

  I blink a few times, then wave a hand. “Julia Spencer, this is Max Monroe.”

  As Julia smiles, he cocks out a hip. “We’ve met. How are you, Mrs. Spencer?”

  A tiny frown tugs at Julia’s lips. “Call me Julia. Please.”

  When his expression doesn’t lighten, a shiver of unease weaves through me. “What’s wrong?” As I ask the question, I dig through my bag. Jules and I have a no phones unless there’s an emergency rule while we’re out together. Girl time is simply too hard to come by to waste it scrolling social media. When I find the ringer accidentally on silent, I cringe. “So sorry, Max. My purse must have jostled it. What’s up?”

  “Some friends called Emma for a movie, so I let her go home early. About ten minutes ago, I got a frantic phone call from a Mrs. Garcia. She was screaming in Spanish at me. Something about Herbert being loose in her store. Then she told me to come get him and started saying some Hail Marys. I have no idea what she’s talking about. Catrick is in his kitty bed, taking his evening snooze until you get back to take him home for the night.”

 

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