Good Guy

by Kate Meader

  “Respectful can be just as much of a problem,” Sandy said.

  “How so?”

  Sandra took a furtive look around the hotel bar, still relatively quiet as most of the Rebels players, staff, and hangers-on were at dinner. After a sip of her fruity Cab, she tapped the table with a sharp nail. “There’s this old-fashioned idea that a woman can’t be one of the guys, so the men have to tone it down around her. But when your fellow journos are toning it down so much they don’t invite you to the weekly poker game where the good gossip is doing the rounds, or everyone goes quiet when you enter the locker room because they’d just been giving so-and-so shit, it’s just as damaging. Your presence changes the dynamic.”

  Jordan thought about this. “So you want them to treat you like one of the guys? Swear and ball-scratch and walk around naked in front of you?”

  “I’d rather that than the sullen silences, like I’ve tainted the bro-vironment.”

  “But most female reporters I’ve talked to are looking for that level of respect.”

  “You call it respect, I call it lost opportunity.”

  This was an angle she hadn’t considered before. How the gender dynamic changed male behaviors to the extent women were missing out on a locker-room landscape that might inform their stories.

  Sandra shrugged. “But then it goes to the other end of the spectrum when you have guys thinking your presence in the locker room is you showing interest. Sure, why else would you be there but to get a sneak peek at Johnny Baseball’s dick!”

  “Exactly. You’ve found the perfect job to support your voyeuristic tendencies. Flash your press credentials and it’s an all-you-can-see penis buffet!”

  That sent them both into hoots of laughter.

  Jordan asked, “So how often are you hit on?”

  “Often. Majorly often. Even with this damn fine rock on my finger.” She held up her left hand, though it was a wonder she could with the weight of it. “They don’t care. One GM used to text me at every hotel to let me know he’d be happy to give me the latest scuttlebutt and to ‘stop in any time’ because he’s a night owl. I told him my husband wouldn’t like it and he said that’s okay, he was married, too. Just in case I was in any way confused about what he was after. Once I said I wasn’t interested, he cut me off.”

  “From the harassing texts?”

  “From everything. No insider details about how Player X was doing after his rotator cuff injury. No gossip about who they were scouting for the next season. I was persona non grata because I wouldn’t play along.” She leaned in. “The trick is to keep the game going to give them hope without letting yourself be compromised.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to keep any game going!”

  “Oh, to still have your innocence, Jordan.” She smiled wryly. “Egos needs to be stroked.”

  “More than egos from the sound of it. Don’t you worry there’s only so much you can tease before they expect you to pay up?”

  “Oh, I’d never have done anything. I’m not going to sleep with anyone for a story, though if I had Levi Hunt in my sights—”

  “And you weren’t happily married.”

  She grinned. “That, too. Let’s just say that the hot soldier could get it. Guy’s got BDE.”

  “Big dick energy? Levi?”

  “Hell, yeah. Confident but not cocky.”

  Jordan shifted in her seat, uneasy with how her body seemed to so readily agree. “He’s a pain in the ass.” And other things, too. Back at the restaurant, he’d called her sexy and beautiful. My end. And then they’d laughed like schoolgirls about his erection!

  “No chemistry there, then?”

  “None whatsoever,” she lied, expecting the ghost of Gordie Howe, Mr. Hockey himself, to strike her down any second.

  A shadow darkened her periphery. Gordie?

  “If it isn’t my two favorite reporters.” Billy Stroger, defenseman for the New York Spartans loomed over them, hands in jeans pockets, a wide grin lighting up his face. Fair-haired, blue-eyed, and with all the charisma of a carved potato, he attracted a lot of attention in the form of fights on the ice and ladies off it.

  Yet he still needed the extra validation of sending Jordan dick pics. Amazing.

  “Oh, hi, Billy,” Sandra said. “You feeling good about the game tomorrow?”

  “Yup. The Rebels haven’t really gotten their act together this season yet. Too many gimps and novelty acts.”

  Sandra shot Jordan a look of this guy, right? More curious was why a hometown player was hanging at the visiting team’s hotel the night before a game. Rumor had it that he liked to stop in to get a head start on the gamesmanship.

  Stroger zeroed in on Jordan. “We should get together later, Red. No doubt I can come up with something exclusive for you.”

  Given that she’d seen several pictures of his most intimate anatomy, she seriously doubted he had any more “exclusives” to offer.

  “And Sandy,” he went on, “I know you don’t cover hockey but I’d be happy to let you join in. Sure I could handle you both.” He added a lascivious wink.

  Ugh.

  One of his teammates called him over to the bar, and he backed up, a smug smile on his face.

  When he was finally out of earshot, Sandra shuddered. “MCP, right?”

  Most creepy player. “You, too?”

  “It’s been a while since he’s sent me anything.” Sandra lowered her voice. “Gets bored easily, which I assume relates to all those hits to the head.”

  Jordan hoped he’d get bored with her soon. She could bring out her best bitch and slap him down, but she didn’t want to risk alienating a player who might spread rumors about her. It had happened to colleagues and ruined careers.

  At this point she was becoming expert in walking that fine line.

  * * *

  Any sign of Joe today?

  Afraid not.

  Levi frowned at the text from Lucy. During his last shift at the shelter, Joe had been a no-show so Levi had taken to texting daily to get an update. Short of contacting the Chicago Police Department and asking them to check under the viaduct at Wilson for a homeless vet who liked coffee and bacon, Levi didn’t have much leverage here. He’d seen too many former servicemen tap out once they got home for all sorts of reasons, chief among them the inability to adapt. Levi knew he was lucky—he had a skill that was marketable and paid well. But not everyone was so fortunate.

  He slumped on the bed, turned on the TV, and flipped through the channels. Dumb sitcom. Law and Order. That idiot Coby Dawson on SportsFocus, trashing the Rebels. More Law and Order.

  Antsy as hell, he wondered who was up. If he was being honest, he wanted company. Female company.

  That phrase sounded old-fashioned, yet the only person who fit the bill as far as Levi was concerned was the thoroughly modern Ms. Cooke. It was okay to fantasize about her, right? To think about her perky smile and lush lips and freckles he wanted to lick and ass his hands were made for … Yeah, it was okay, but it would get him nowhere.

  The bar it was.

  Stepping off the elevator, he heard her before he saw her, that big, dirty laugh that haunted his dreams. She stood in the lobby bar, surrounded by the entire Rebels defensive line and then some. Kershaw was on his feet, thrusting his arm toward her so she could test his biceps or something. Whatever he said made her laugh again, the sound now grating.

  Life and soul, that was Jordan. No one could fail to be charmed by her, but he wouldn’t be one of her victims. Law and Order was starting to look more attractive.

  Funny how his feet refused to cooperate. Stuck at the bar entrance, all he could do was stare as she took a few steps back, her goal the bar. Looked like the next round was on her.

  Abruptly, someone appeared beside her: Billy Stroger, a defenseman with the Spartans. Levi knew him by reputation only, namely his ability to piss off everyone on the ice, including his own teammates. He hugged Jordan, and every nerve-ending in Levi’s body went haywire. Her ba
ck was to him, so he could only see Stroger’s face. Pretty pleased with himself by the looks of it.

  Levi’s situational analysis skills clicked on just as Jordan took a step back. Subtle, but enough of a tell. She was not a fan.

  He flicked a glance to the Rebels players, crowded around a table about twenty feet away, too wrapped up in their bro banter to even notice that Jordan might be in an uncomfortable position.

  “Hey,” Levi said, his arm touching Jordan’s shoulder after he’d closed the gap in two seconds flat. “Glad I caught you.”

  Her eyes glinted with surprise and he liked to think, relief. “Oh, hello. Do you know Billy Stroger?”

  The Spartans’ defenseman assessed him with dark eyes, glazed over after a beer too many. “The army guy. Guess I’ll be seeing you on the ice tomorrow.”

  “Guess you will.” Dismissing him, Levi turned to Jordan. “You ready to leave? Figured we have some time to talk.” Remembering that Jordan was sensitive about how their relationship might be perceived, he added a line for Stroger. “She’s following me around for a profile.”

  “Right,” Jordan said as several drinks appeared on the bar. “I just need to deliver these.”

  Levi peeled off a couple of twenties, placed them on the bar, and called over to his teammates. “Kershaw, drinks are up. Get your super ass over here.” Ignoring Stroger, he cupped Jordan’s elbow and headed out.

  By the time they’d made it outside the bar into the hotel lobby, he was spitting Chiclets.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, stopping and facing him.

  His palm still held her elbow, and he let himself luxuriate in the warmth and silkiness of her skin. “I think I did. You didn’t look like you were having a good time. With Stroger, that is.”

  She slid out of his grip. “He’s a jerk but I had it handled. Instead, you made it look like you had some kind of investment in rescuing me.”

  Investment? He supposed that wasn’t completely inaccurate.

  “I don’t like to see a woman disrespected, and I could tell that something was up. I’ve no doubt you can extricate yourself when necessary but I’m also aware that there are times you may need to play along and act like one of the guys so you can establish trust.”

  Surprise lit up her eyes. “That’s … an astute observation.”

  “Military training, Jordan. Body language is something I’m generally fluent in.” And right now, his own was speaking loudly and thundering out a biological imperative.

  Protect. Take. Own.

  He needed to escape before he said or did something he’d regret, but he also needed her to be safe, which meant there was only one way this could proceed.

  “I just hauled you out of there under the guise of doing this interview, so we—”

  “Probably should keep up the pretense?”

  “Correct.” He stalked toward the elevator bank, both relieved and on edge that she accompanied him.

  “Were you headed to the bar to meet up with someone?”

  “Just feeling restless in my room. Looking for company.”

  “And I ruined it by making you think you needed to play target extraction.”

  The elevator doors opened and when they closed again, he was inside and sharing the sultry air with Jordan. He pressed the button for the tenth floor. “You didn’t ruin it. Something else took precedence, is all.”

  You.

  In that moment, when he saw her, all thoughts of a night of dumb jokes with his crew dispersed to the outer limits of the Tri-State area. Sure, he noticed her discomfort with Stroger but even if he hadn’t, even if it had been Jordan in a room full of supermodels, there would have been no one else. Only her.

  This was not controlling the narrative.

  This was a fucking mess.

  The elevator reached his floor and he stepped off, with her following.

  Please. Fucking. No.

  “Well, like I said, Levi, you didn’t have to rescue me.” She placed a hand on his arm and squeezed, probably intending to be friendly. Her touch flayed him. “I had it handled.”

  He snapped. “Did you have it handled, Jordan? Because from what I can see you’re a beautiful woman forced to play nice with a bunch of jocks who probably think they have a shot with you.”

  Her eyes flashed. “No one forces me to do anything. I do this job because I love it, and yeah, the guys I cover usually enjoy a laugh and a joke. Unlike some people who’d rather scowl everyone around them into the grave. But I know where the line is and I’ve no problem redrawing it when necessary.”

  Fury shouldn’t have made her more attractive. It shouldn’t have given that wrinkle between her eyebrows new purpose or the lips he wanted to kiss a plumpness that made his mouth water. It shouldn’t have made her chest heave with effort, which only drew his attention to their lush swell and the hint of cleavage he wanted to explore.

  “I’m not saying you don’t. I’m saying that guys in this environment tend to turn into entitled asses and wouldn’t know a line if it was steamrolled all over their faces. I don’t want you to be in any situation where you have to even think about the line. Case in point, maybe you shouldn’t be fondling Kershaw’s biceps!”

  She did a double take. “Fondling?”

  “Yes, fondling. You’re a journalist. Haven’t you heard of it?” Weak, man. So weak.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” she said, a rasp to her voice. “It’s one of my favorite words, actually. Are you seriously jealous … of Theo?”

  Yes. All the yes. “Of course not. But he’s a dumb kid, and I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

  She was closer now, close enough to share a breath. To stumble headlong into her. To fall into madness.

  “And what would be the wrong idea?”

  His lungs were filled with her, her scent fueling his fall. “That you want him to touch you. To taste you. To take you.”

  “No,” she whispered as she took another step toward him. Close enough to taste. “I don’t want that. Not with Theo.”

  Not with … did she mean …? “Christ, woman, you’re driving me crazy.”

  “Not as crazy as you’re driving me.” She tilted her head, met his fire head on, because this moment seemed inevitable, as fated as the night she walked into the locker room after that first game.

  No, further back than that. The moment in that Kentucky bar, when he saw her, hesitated, and lost.

  Not this time.

  Following the beat of his heart, the thrumming, pulsing drive to possess, he found himself wrapped in her or maybe she found herself wrapped in him. Either way, they were melded together in the only way that mattered.

  “So fucking crazy,” he murmured before sending them both to hell by kissing her senseless.

  13

  He’s a player.

  He’s a story.

  He’s an ethics violation waiting to happen.

  Correction: Already happening.

  He’s … so getting some tonight.

  In Levi’s words, this was “so fucking crazy,” and if she gave it the thought it probably deserved, she would be slamming on the brakes. But she was tired of overthinking their chemistry. Jordan knew in her heart she could trust him to be discreet. The guy had made a living out of keeping secrets and helping people, both traits that she needed him to dial up to the max right now.

  She especially needed help with removing her clothes.

  But first, privacy was top of the list. One, two, five doors from the elevator and they were inside Levi’s hotel room. A single table lamp cast the room in a muted glow.

  Sex lighting.

  On closing the door, he pinned her against it. “You sure about this, Jordan? I don’t want you to feel pressured in any way.”

  Said while she felt the lovely pressure of his cock against her abdomen. Even with that obvious evidence of his arousal and the perfect, sensual weight of him, his words were the words of a gentleman—only not what she needed in this moment
.

  “I can’t say for sure that I know what I’m doing. But I can guarantee that this is what I want. You’re what I want.”

  He flipped their positions and walked her back until her legs met the bed. Then her butt. Her back. Her head.

  Levi loomed over her, his eyes ablaze. “You want it slow, fast, gentle, rough? What’ll make this beautiful body sing?”

  “Seeing you naked would be a start.” She longed to savor yet she needed him inside her now. Those competing desires would have to be dealt with.

  He stood and started to unbutton his shirt. Really, she should have been working on her own clothes removal but she suspected multitasking was not her strong suit right now. This was too good to miss.

  He fingers halted midway through the reveal. “Just to warn you, I have a tattoo.”

  Warn her? “Is it a girl’s name? A big heart with Brandi inside it? No, I know. John Wayne because of The Green Berets movie.” She’d seen those tattoos and they were troubling on many levels. She was also babbling because she was nervous.

  Finished unbuttoning, he pulled his shirt apart to reveal the Green Beret insignia and motto: De Oppresso Liber. To free the oppressed. At its center was the inscription “51” which stood for the unit and regiment—and now his number on the ice. Along his lower torso, a couple of scars created an intriguing map, badges of honor she wanted to follow to wherever this night would lead.

  She stood and splayed her hands over his chest, then she applied a kiss to the insignia, right over his heart. It was impossible not to think of the man who connected them and she knew that’s why Levi had warned her.

  For a moment, she pressed her forehead to Levi’s chest and said a brief prayer for Josh. Levi remained silent, letting her have this space to work through it.

  When she looked up, he was watching, waiting for her to make the next move.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, unbearably moved by his concern.

  The clouds on his face parted and the sun peeked through with the curve of his lips. He curled a hand around the nape of her neck, so strong and warm and life-affirming, then tilted her lips to his. The kiss was sure and sweet, an invitation back into the sexy moment they were sharing.