by Kate Meader
Which he shouldn’t be mad about. Not that he was mad, exactly, but he was something. Irked about covered it. Was she talking to other people about him? What was she asking? What were they saying?
He was starting to sound like a middle-schooler.
“No wonder she doesn’t want to talk to you if all you’re gonna do is scowl at her,” Theo said.
“She said she was going to hang back a bit, get a feel for the team dynamics.”
“No better way than to join us for a game.” He whipped out his phone and shot off a text.
“You have her number?” Levi had it, all the better to ignore her calls. He didn’t realize Theo did, too.
“She gave it to everyone.”
“In case we think of anything interesting.” Erik picked up his hand. “About you.”
“She’s been asking questions about me?”
“Of course I have.”
Something floral filled his nostrils. He looked up and there she was—a copper-haired vision in a blue top with a sheen to it, dark-rinse skinny jeans, and boots that made her look ten times taller. When he’d kissed her all those years ago, she wasn’t so polished. But then how polished is a woman on the day she buries her husband?
He mentally squirmed, uncomfortable once more at the memory of that night. But it wasn’t so much his inappropriate behavior. It was because he’d enjoyed it and a part of him wanted to enjoy it again. Cup her jaw, curl a hand around her nape, and touch his demanding lips to her soft, giving ones.
She’d moaned. He remembered that, along with the clutch of her hands to his shoulders, digging in. Claiming.
“Levi?”
He blinked to find Jordan and the entire team looking at him.
Say something. “You get your story yet?”
She smiled, a secretive curve to her lips he wanted to—nope. Nothing. He wanted nothing.
“You’re hard to get a bead on.”
“Me? I’m an open book.”
Everyone at the table apparently thought that was hilarious. Jordan waved a hand of “see.”
His agent had called a few days ago and told him to make an effort—though he didn’t phrase it so nicely. (Asshole and its many variants might have been used liberally.) Wanting to demonstrate that he wasn’t nearly as difficult as she painted him, he asked, “What have you discovered so far?”
“Let me see. Theo says you like”—she consulted her phone—“hot sauce on your fries, which I guess is sort of revealing?”
“I like it spicy. What’s wrong with that?”
Kershaw made a noise of discontent. “It’s all we’ve got! What music do you listen to? Are you a T or A man? Who’s your favorite player in the NHL besides me?”
“That’s what people want to know?” Levi couldn’t believe this was what passed for “in-depth” these days. He raised his gaze to Jordan, who looked amused and perky and pretty and … stop right there.
“It adds color to the newsprint,” she said with a shrug.
He didn’t buy it. No one really cared about that shit, and if they did, then civilization had probably come to an end. He’d made it back to the States in one piece, a thousand times luckier than all the guys who would never come home. Here he was, living a dream he barely deserved and people wanted to read about his music preferences? He hadn’t even made it more than a few minutes on the ice! Profile someone important, for Christ’s sake.
It also chapped his dick that Kershaw would use such disrespectful language around a lady. T or A man? Really?
“Ms. Cooke, I’m probably the dullest guy in the NHL. I eat the same food every day. I work out at the same time. I get antsy if I don’t pull down eight hours sleep.”
Jordan leaned in, bringing more of her perfume. His body pleasantly tensed. “Favorite color?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Everyone has one.”
He shook his head. “I’m not a preschooler, so no.”
“Best James Bond?”
“Lazenby.”
“The one who got married. Interesting. Is our Mr. Hunt actually a romantic?” He had no chance to comment because she was on a roll. “Favorite Beatle?”
“George.”
“The quiet one?”
“Underrated talent overshadowed by superstars who eventually comes into his own. A late bloomer.”
That made her smile, and he wanted to think it was different than the standard ones she dropped on the rest of them. He wanted to think it so much that he had to mentally slap himself upside the head and put her straight.
“Not exactly deep stuff now, is it?” That he sounded like a dick made something in his chest lurch.
“Got you talking, didn’t I?” Another grin to let him know she’d won a battle in a war he hadn’t realized they were fighting.
Erik held up the deck of cards. “Jordan, you in?”
She shook her head. “I’ve got some notes to write up. Talk to you boys later.” She walked away, with everyone watching the sway of her hips. Everyone but Levi, who didn’t enjoy the power she held over him.
“Fine woman, that,” Erik murmured.
Levi rolled his shoulders because it was either that or shove Erik hard through the plane’s little window. The guy had made a perfectly legitimate comment about Jordan’s fineness, yet Levi felt that unconscionable violence would be a proportionate response.
“Heard you knew her husband back in the service.”
Levi looked up at Theo, who’d made that observation. “Yep. Good guy.”
“So you already know Jordan?”
His neck felt prickly and hot. “Met her a couple of times. Don’t know her well.”
Theo held his gaze for a beat, came to some conclusion in his head, and dropped this gem: “She’s dating someone.”
Erik sighed. “The good ones always are.”
Levi couldn’t help but bristle before spitting a question at Kershaw. “You and she besties now?”
Theo looked at his cards, then up at Levi. “Just information I have. Must be pretty serious because they’re sharing X-rated pics. Saw her phone screen.”
Bristling would no longer cut it. “Kershaw. A word. In private.”
Theo blanched, peering up at Levi who had unfolded to his full six-three and squared his shoulders, waiting not-so-patiently for his teammate to stand. “Now?”
“Now.” Levi headed back to the galley, his fists clenched, his body so tense it would repel bullets if necessary. He debated folding his arms before Kershaw moved into position but figured that might delay any much-deserved beat down that needed to happen.
Theo appeared, half-smiling, clearly nervous. “What’s up?”
“I need you to understand something about how you’ll be acting around Ms. Cooke from here on out. You will not be commenting on T or A in her presence. Neither will you be discussing private messages or images you happened to see on her phone.”
“Hey, it wasn’t her naked!” He flapped a hand toward the main cabin. “It was some guy’s dick—”
Levi held up his hand. “Don’t need to know and neither does anyone else. That’s Ms. Cooke’s business and you need to remember that she’s a guest of the organization, and as such, will not be the subject of locker-room talk or gossip. Got it?”
The man looked suitably ashamed. “Yeah, I got it. I didn’t mean to offend her. Or you. She’s a fun gal to be around and she’s never implied that what we say is a problem.”
Well, she wouldn’t, would she? As a female reporter surrounded by penises, she had to walk a fine line. Play it cool enough to take an inappropriate joke or risk being viewed as a bad sport.
“It’s okay,” Levi said, feeling a touch sorry for the guy. He was young and clueless. “Just watch what you say around her and about her.”
“Sure, man. We good?” He held out his hand in a fist bump.
Levi gave it back. “Yeah, we’re good. Just make sure to apologize to Jordan when you get a chance.”
“W
ill do.”
Left alone, Levi leaned against the galley counter, breathing hard, willing his body to return to a state of calm. Except he wasn’t likely to get there, knowing Jordan was at risk of disrespect and worse every time she tried to do her job. His body hadn’t experienced a calm moment since she’d strolled back into his life.
What did this guy she was seeing think? He was sending dick pics, so he probably had no problem with any of it. Modern dating was an enigma to Levi.
Would Josh have approved of Jordan’s job? Hard to say. The guy was a total goof, not a cynical bone in his body, who saw the good in everyone. But surely he’d be concerned about his woman waist-deep in this testosterone-soaked culture, forced to play along with every dumb brah joke and leer.
“Okay there, Levi?” Harper appeared from the opposite side of the galley and opened a small fridge. She took out a soda and snapped the tab.
“Fine, ma’am.”
“That ma’am business? Have to say I enjoy that.”
“Sorry. Just slipped out.”
“Oh, never stop.” She cast a glance toward the cabin where Theo had returned. “How are things with our reporter guest?”
He folded his arms, realized that looked defensive, and unfolded them. A subtle uptick at the corner of Harper’s mouth was his reward. These perpetually amused women would be the death of him.
“Not sure what you’re expecting. All this profile stuff seems kind of … surface level.”
She considered that. “Our fans love to hear about the day-to-day, and if a couple of interesting tidbits emerge out of your chats with Jordan, that’s just icing. Also, I had no idea you had such good defensive skills in your repertoire.”
“Excuse me?”
She finger-waved toward the main cabin. “Your chivalry does you proud, but …”
“But?”
“Jordan can probably handle herself. If it bothered her, I imagine she’d say something.”
Perhaps, but it would be better if Jordan wasn’t in this position in the first place. Not that he’d deny her an opportunity to report on the games, but this “embedded with the team” aspect exposed her to all sorts of threats.
And exposed Levi in ways he didn’t want to examine.
* * *
Jordan rolled her suitcase into her hotel room and flopped backward onto the bed. Then she stood immediately because she’d heard horror stories about the cleanliness of bedspreads. Germ-ridden, semen-soaked horror stories.
This one was soft, fluffy, and doing a fine impression of harmless.
Kind of like Levi Hunt. But she knew better. There was nothing soft, fluffy, or harmless about the man.
Annoyingly, after a week embedded with the team, she knew hardly a thing about him. His family. His friends. The inner workings of his stubborn mind.
What she did know wasn’t really suitable for publication and could barely fill a double-spaced page in Word:
He’d been a good friend to her husband
He was a great listener
His lips knew just the perfect amount of pressure for a kiss
Not exactly riveting stuff for CSN readers. And to be honest, she’d rather block out her knowledge of point number three.
Her phone rang with a call from … shit, Mac. She considered ignoring it but decided she was a grown-up. Most of the time.
“Mac! Just landed in Philly. How are you?”
“Where are we on Hunt?”
I’m fabulous, thanks for asking. “Oh, great! It’s mostly background right now which is really helping me set the scene.” He doesn’t have a favorite color. Isn’t that so revealing? Subject change needed, stat! “The game reports and opinion columns seem to be getting good responses.” Hers had more comments than any of Jack Gillam’s columns, she was happy to say. And yes, she’d counted.
“It’s good work, Jordan, even if we have to moderate more than usual because some readers can’t handle a woman reporting. This embedding opportunity is better than I expected, though. With you deep in the belly of the beast, keep your ear to the ground. Players screwing up, trade rumors, gossip—I want to hear it.”
She supposed reporting was a form of espionage, but she had enough trouble getting Levi to open up to her. Expecting more scoops was the kind of pressure she could do without.
Still, all stakeholders must be kept happy. “I’m on the case!”
He hung up without saying goodbye. Charming.
She had an hour before the team dinner, where she was determined to sit beside Levi, probe better than a Roswell alien, and failing a good result from that, see if his carb-inhaling technique could give her any clues. First, a shower to slough off the grime of travel.
Ten minutes later, she was towel-drying her hair when a rap sounded at the door. She checked the peep hole and barely withheld her gasp.
“Levi,” she said as she opened the door. Her story stood before her in his game day duds, looking rumpled, annoyed, and like he was ready to tear his jacket off and do violence to it. What was it about beefy guys in suits that got a woman’s pulse racing?
His gaze skimmed her Juicy sweat bottoms and Georgetown tee. “Could I have a word?”
“Sure, come on in.”
He moved past her, taking up considerable space in the entryway despite her placing her back against the wall. She led him to the cozy love seat near the window because sitting on the bed was just … strange.
Also sperm-cooties.
“What’s on your mind?”
“You.”
She gaped for a few embarrassing seconds before finally managing a witty “Me?”
“I feel like we’re playing a game here,” he said. “Like we’re both waiting for some inflection point that will kick start the real interview.”
“I’ve been trying to respect your wishes not to get up in your face. And in the meantime, it’s been interesting watching your interactions with the team and hearing what people say about you.”
“According to you, people say nothing because I’m a cipher.”
“You’re not as forthcoming as some of the other players, but I’ve talked to you before. I know you have things to say.”
His brow crimped, making him look like a confused Easter Island statue. Her stomach wriggled not unpleasantly.
“I think that’s part of what’s making this weird,” he finally said. “We have talked before. And—”
“We more than talked.”
His jaw tightened at her interruption. “And now you’re here, using that connection between us to get the inside track.”
She suspected he’d wanted to describe it differently. Yet she understood exactly what he was implying with the word “used.”
“You’re right.” At the widening of his eyes, she continued. “Without our previous connection I wouldn’t have even got my foot in the door because there are plenty of other reporters willing to chase down this story. I’d like to say I have what it takes to stand apart but it’s a dog-eat-dog world in sports media. My employer saw an opportunity. As did I.”
The silence in the wake of her speech seeped into her bones. Working in this business, she was used to dealing with men unable to adequately express themselves. Josh hadn’t been like that, though. Her husband had been open and guileless, with no artifice to him. Levi was like a hunk of rough-hewn marble that needed constant chiseling to reveal its glories.
There was also the kiss-sized elephant in the room, and it was likely blocking the free flow of information.
“Maybe we need to lay our cards on the table,” she said.
“I would have screwed you that night.”
His words impacted like a blow, deliberately inflicted to shock her. Into giving up?
Or giving in?
There was a power game at work here. She needed to meet him at his level.
“I would have let you.”
He growled, and Lord above that did something hot and liquid to her insides. “It would have been a mistake,” he
grated.
“I know.”
The volleys back and forth made her blood fizz like champagne. She snatched a breath to get some balance.
“I’m not a good person, Jordan, certainly not whatever you need for this profile. I wanted you that night. A wounded, vulnerable woman, the wife of my friend.”
“It’s not the kind of thing that would go into any profile of you.”
“Maybe not. But it gives you an edge.”
“And you don’t like when someone has the upper hand.”
“I don’t like to feel at a disadvantage. In any situation.”
Who did? But women—and especially women reporters—encountered it so much more often in their battles with men, their bosses, and the targets of their stories. Probing for a vulnerability was her job.
“There’s more equality here than you may think. You’ve seen me at my lowest point. Ugly crying, half-drunk, nymphomaniac tendencies—”
His snort sounded impossibly like a laugh. “Hardly nymphomaniac.”
“What else do you call a woman who scales a guy outside a bar and tries to stick her tongue down his throat?”
No response was forthcoming.
“Exactly.” She smiled, trying to lighten the mood because boy did it need lightening. “So neither of us is proud of our behavior that night. But there’s no reason why it should interfere with what we’re trying to do here. Today.”
His scowl said that it was already interfering. “The Rebels management want you to paint a picture of a war hero. Some noble guy who gave up the money for his country. That’s not me.”
“You saved people’s lives.”
“Not everyone’s.”
The one he didn’t save sat up between them. “Are you talking about Josh?”
“Among others. I—” He inhaled a ragged breath. “It could have been any one of us. We always think we could have taken another path, turned a different corner, had that second cup of coffee. Would it have changed anything? Would he still be here, me in the ground instead?”
It was the longest speech she’d ever heard him give and was weighted with so much: regret, pain, but most of all guilt that he’d survived. No one should ever feel bad for living.