by Kennedy Fox
“No, I’m not.”
He leans his shoulder against the wall next to me and I slide a step away. “I saw you talking to Joran. Was he hitting on you?”
“I came here with him.”
“Oh shit. Really?” His hands fly up in the air. “Then I’ll stop hitting on you.”
I sip my wine and look at him over the edge of my wine glass.
“Want to help me pick up a woman?” he asks.
“Excuse me?”
He chuckles. “I really want to kiss her at midnight, but she gives the whole excuse of not dating athletes.” He rolls his eyes.
“There is such a thing.”
His eyebrows scrunch. “Who wouldn’t want to date an athlete?”
I shrug. “Someone who doesn’t want to constantly second guess what you might be doing when you’re out of town. Someone who doesn’t want to go crazy and be possessive because of the puck bunnies. Someone who doesn’t want to be second to a man’s career. Someone who likes their life private and not on public display. Dare I go on?”
His eyebrows move from furrowed to raised. “You talk from experience? Do I look like an athlete?”
I cock one eyebrow.
“How do you know I’m not an accountant?”
“First I pegged you for a PE teacher,” I say.
He points and laughs. “Even without my whistle?”
I laugh and he smiles like he’s glad he can pull that out of me. “Damn, maybe I should tell women that.”
“Sure, lie to them. That’s always a good way to start a relationship.”
“Whoa lady. Slow down. Who said anything about a relationship?”
I shake my head and tip my wine glass at him. “And there’s another reason a woman doesn’t want to date an athlete, rarely are they looking for a relationship.”
He shrugs. “Well, I have a good reason.”
I stand straighter. “This should be good.”
“I’m Russian.”
“Really?” I bulge my eyes out and he chuckles, shaking his head.
“And eventually I’ll be going back there. Not many women want to relocate to Russia.”
“If she loves you, she probably would.”
He waves his finger in front of my face. “That’s where you’re wrong. She can love me and still want me to stay here.”
“Okay. I’m not going to argue a hypothetical with you. I don’t even know you.”
He looks over my shoulder. “Here comes a guy who needs to get laid tonight.”
I turn to see Aiden approaching. Taking a moment, I watch him. Straight back, confident shoulders and an air about him that says he’s someone. I deny my urge to drool right here in front of everyone. Maybe hearing his problems with his game is pulling on my heartstrings pretty damn hard. Or maybe there’s just something about him that I’ve never noticed with anyone else.
“I know this guy isn’t your date.” Aiden says fist bumping the Russian. “Since he came with me.”
“Oh, so you two are on a date.” I give him a saccharine smile and point between them.
“Yeah, but we have an open relationship,” the Russian guy says.
“This is Maksim Petrov. He plays on the team too.” Aiden points to him. “This is Saige, she’s here on a date and manages social media for people.”
“You do? I need someone to do mine. I love to post, I hate the interaction.”
I laugh because that’s pretty typical, but usually it’s what they post that causes the problems. Digging into my purse, I grab a card and hand it to him. He twirls it with his finger and pockets it with a wink. “Okay wish me luck, I’m trying one last time for at least a midnight kiss. Who wouldn’t want to kiss this guy on New Year’s Eve?” He circles his face with his finger.
“Can’t imagine who wouldn’t,” I say.
A huge grin consumes his face.
Once he leaves, Aiden turns to me. “Where is this mystery date?”
I look around. “Not sure. You just missed him.”
He glances above my head at the clock. “Fifteen minutes to midnight. If he doesn’t show I say I’m the one who gets the kiss?”
“Hate to break it to you, but you still have to jump in the ocean.”
“I’ll jump in the ocean if you kiss me at midnight,” he says, a sexy smile on his lips.
“No. You already lost the bet. Remember that juicy orange you found only because I pointed you in the right direction?”
He laughs. “I can’t go in wearing my suit. Rain check?”
“Sure, but I should mention that men who go through with their bets really turn me on.”
He grabs my hand and tugs me toward the back door. “Let’s get this over with.”
Chapter Seven
Saige
I look right and left as he drags me from the house. Surely, Joran will see us. The worst part is I kind of hope he doesn’t. But he’s nowhere to be found, so my assumption is he’s schmoozing another client.
A few couples and groups linger outside by the stone fire pit, but Aiden breezes by them and down the stairs.
“I am in heels,” I say.
He slows down at the steps. “We’re on a time crunch.”
Stopping on the sand, he goes by a palm tree, and he shrugs off his jacket, tosses his tie and his fingers go to the buttons on his shirt. I quickly turn around, sipping the wine I’ve barely had. I should be way more drunk right now doing what I’m doing.
“How polite of you, but I’m not a shy guy,” he says from behind me.
I hear a belt unclasp and my lady bits are pleading and begging for me to turn around. Get a look at the guy.
A few minutes later, I’m patting myself on the back for having the willpower not to turn around.
“Okay, I’m going in.”
I turn and see his naked ass running toward the water. And what an ass it is. He jumps in and comes back out, his body glistening under the moonlight like he’s emerging from another planet and I’m in the middle of a dream.
My gaze falls down his strong shoulders, taut pecs, and nipples to his valley of abs. He’s got tattoos from his shoulders to his elbows and a small one on his rib cage and let me say it only ups his fuckability. He cannot be real. As I continue to soak him in, it isn’t until he’s way too close that I realize he’s naked.
I screech and turn my back to him.
“It was fucking cold so I would prefer my member not to be pre-judged.”
I bend over at the waist in full on laughter and hear him chuckling behind me.
“I didn’t look.”
“Sure, you did. I would’ve if it was you.”
I bite my lip because of course I looked at him. And holy hell if that’s him with shrink dick, what does he look like under normal circumstances? It boggles the mind.
“I’m heading to the pool house to dry off and change. Be my lookout?”
“Sure.”
He walks by me, his clothes in his hands while he peeks around a tree before tiptoeing into the pool house. I walk up to the expensive stone patio that surrounds the pool.
I need to leave. This whole thing is only trouble. At first, I didn’t know he was Joran’s client, but now I do. Plus, he has so much hanging on the line with his career, no way do I want to impact that somehow. The man doesn’t have time for a relationship and I’m not all that big on dating a professional athlete anyway. Not that it’s a deal breaker but I definitely don’t want to date one who’s in some pivotal part of their career.
“If he doesn’t score in the next two games, you start looking,” I overhear Mr. Gerhardt’s voice say to someone and I duck under the awning from the balcony to the pool.
“You want to go after a rookie, or someone more established?” a man asks him.
“I want the best of the best. I thought I had it. I feel for the guy, I do. But I’m growing an empire here. It was supposed to be our year.” Mr. Gerhardt sounds sincere, but I see both sides. He can’t afford for Aiden to just come b
ack around. Then again, Aiden’s probably won him a lot of games, too.
“You sure you don’t want to wait for the season to end?” the guy asks.
“No. The longer he goes without producing the less he’ll be worth. Two games and we look at trades. That’s plenty of time before the trade deadlines.”
“Okay consider it done.”
I close my eyes feeling pain for someone I barely know.
“But keep it quiet. The last thing I need in that locker room is news I’m getting rid of their captain.”
“Definitely. No worries.”
The door of the pool house opens, and Aiden emerges dressed back in his suit, but his dark hair is damp now. Again, his beauty takes my breath away.
“Funny thing. I checked my phone while I was in there and guess what?”
“What?”
He doesn’t stop approaching me until my back is to the wall. “It’s almost midnight.” He lifts his head and looks around. “And I don’t see your date anywhere.”
“He’s here somewhere.”
I should leave. I need to leave.
He lifts one arm and places his hand next to my head on the wall. “You’re really not going to give me a midnight kiss? You might end up being my new lucky charm.”
“Don’t go putting that kind of pressure on me.”
I press my hand on his chest to gain some space to think about what I’m doing. He might not believe I’m here with someone, but I am. Regardless of whether that guy cares to spend any time with me.
He chuckles. “Guess what jersey number I am?”
“I have no idea. One?”
He laughs again. “You think I’m cocky, huh?”
“No—”
“Thirteen.” He smirks and the girl inside me who loves guys just like him wants to know why he’d pick an unlucky number.
“Thirteen is unlucky.”
“They call me Shamrock. I’ve been lucky as fuck my entire life. I’ve never had to be superstitious before like my teammates. But now I’m thinking maybe a kiss from you and I’ll score a goal after a long dry spell.”
“Is this a line? Because up until now I thought you were a great guy, but this all sounds like extreme bullshit.”
“I didn’t much care for you to know that I played but Ford ruined that. I figure might as well be honest with you, especially if it earns me a kiss.” He bends down closer and inside the music stops and someone starts the countdown at ten through the microphone.
I press my finger to his lips. “And what if you kiss me tonight and score in your next game? What are you going to do, chase me down to kiss you before every game?”
He chuckles again, gently lowering my wrist to my side. The guy says eight in the microphone and my chest constricts. “Well, I’d hope that after I kiss you, I could grab that phone number and maybe we could see each other once you end whatever you have going with your date.”
“You want to date me or go on a date?”
The guy’s voice says five and cheers erupt through the house. But we’re in our own little bubble tucked away under the overhang of the balcony. “I know athletes get reputations but I’m not really a one-night stand kind of guy. I want the real thing. I think we have a connection.”
The guy gets down to three on the microphone and my stomach turns over with queasiness.
“So, what do you say? Can I kiss you?” He leans in, millimeters from my face and I close my eyes as the guy announces two… one.
I panic and before I can stop myself my hand is already moving. I throw my drink in Aiden’s face.
“What the hell?” He backs away, wiping his hand down his face.
“I’m sorry. I can’t.” I run out of our hiding spot and hit the bottom of the stairs, but Jaron’s there.
“There you are.” I glance back and Aiden’s right behind me.
He comes to a dead stop. “What the hell man? Did you piss a girl off like usual?” Jaron asks, but he doesn’t wait for him to answer. “It’s midnight and I didn’t have anyone to kiss.”
“Probably because you spent the whole night away from me.”
“Who’s your date, Jaron?” Aiden asks quietly.
Jaron puts his arm around my waist. “This is Saige. Saige this is Aiden Drake, one of my clients.”
Aiden nods and holds out his hand. “You two have a great evening.” I shake his hand, but he pulls it back immediately and walks up the stairs.
“So how about that midnight kiss?” Jaron bends down toward me and I place my hand over his mouth, pushing him back.
“I don’t think so. I’m calling an Uber.”
I follow Aiden up the stairs, but by the time I make it through the house and out the front doors, he’s nowhere to be found.
Way to go, Saige. You finally have a great night with a guy and your conscience screws it all up for you.
But there is no way I can risk being his good luck charm regardless of whether he scores during his next game or not.
Chapter Eight
AIDEN
TWO DAYS LATER
“Holy fuck!” Maksim opens up a bottle of champagne and sprays it over the entire locker room.
You’d think we just won the cup.
“I bought this on the way here today. I knew today was your day.” He dumps the bottle over my head while I grin.
Ford slaps me on the back. “A fucking hat trick. You’re a damn beast.” He opens his mouth and Maksim pours some champagne down his throat.
The entire team is all smiles and fuck yeahs. I sit in the locker room while everyone’s talking about the big power move, our goalie’s shutdowns, and my blast from the point. Nothing has felt better in a long damn time.
“We’re going out tonight and we’re fucking partying.” Ford leans in front of me and puts both his hands on either side of my head, his sweaty forehead touching my own. “You rocked it out there!”
I can’t strip the smile off my face. Although I did score three goals, I have a long way to go to get back to the player I was. Consistency is what I need. This can’t be a one-off.
“What did you do? Taco Bell? Socks? You look like you got a haircut,” my teammate, Tweetie asks from across the room. “What’s the new superstition? Because I speak for all of us that we’ll make whatever it is happen for you.”
I rack my brain thinking about what I did differently today. I wasn’t lying when I told Saige on New Year’s Eve that I’ve never really had superstitions. Never before now. So, I think about my breakfast, my lunch, and my dinner. Same things I’ve had before any other game. I got to the rink at the same time as normal, all my clothes were all freshly laundered.
“Did you get some? Because isn’t that girl the lucky chick. She’s got you for the entire season.” Ford unlaces his skates and I shake my head before something else clicks in my brain.
I’ve been so pre-occupied to know why Saige threw that drink at me when her heart was bouncing out of her chest when I bent my head down to kiss her. What sparked that after I thought we were enjoying each other’s company? Then again, to find out her date was Joran fucking killed it for me. Not exactly like I can go after my agent’s girl and expect him to go to bat for me at the end of this season when my contract is up. But damn, could it be that Saige was the game changer for me?
No fucking way. No one’s superstition has ever been crashing and burning while hitting on a woman.
I shake my head.
“DRAKE!” Coach Vittner calls from his office.
I slide into my sandals and walk across the room still in my pads. My teammates all patting me on the back for a great job. It’s one of the best things about being on a team when you do things that boost everyone up.
“Yeah coach?” I peek my head in and he ushers me inside.
“Close the door. You guys are way too loud tonight.” Then he’s smiling and I catch an open bottle of Jack Daniels on his bookshelf. Looks like even the coach is celebrating. “Good game tonight. I’m proud of you. Wha
tever you did, you need to fucking repeat it for the next game.”
“I didn’t do anything differently and I don’t really believe in superstitions—”
“You’re a hockey player.”
Okay I should clarify it’s not that I don’t believe in them, I’ve just never needed them. I guess I’m new to the whole obsession with them.
“I just wanted to call you in here because you played great tonight. I got wind of what could be gossip, but if your performance doesn’t stay like it was tonight there’s a chance your bags are packed by the end of February.”
“Trade?”
He sighs. “If it was my decision it’s a no-brainer. I knew you’d be where you are tonight. But it’s the big man. He makes the decisions. Let’s give it to him right in the ass for even thinking of getting rid of you.”
I fucking love Coach Vittner and this is why. He’s a true leader and goes to bat for his players all the damn time.
“Shit. Just as the pressure was easing up.”
He chuckles. “I tell you this to encourage you to do everything in your power to score and win, not to make you depressed like some teenage boy who hasn’t touched his first tit. Come on, Drake. You’ve got this.”
“But what if next game I don’t?’
Even I hate the unsureness in my tone.
“Oh fuck, that’s not what I wanna hear. I wanna hear you say you’re gonna score. You’re gonna win. You’re gonna screw Carl Gebhardt right up the ass.”
“Well…” I cock my head to the side.
“Too far, I know. But go out there and celebrate tonight. And whatever you did before tonight’s game repeat it.”
“Yes, sir.” I turn and with my hand is on the doorknob I stop. “Coach?” I turn and he’s drinking his Jack Daniels from a paper cup. “The whole superstition thing is like twenty-four hours before game time?”
He shrugs. “Every hockey player has their own. I guess you’re about to find out what yours is. But don’t go experimenting and fuck it up. Anything that’s different in your life, do before next game.”