Playing It Cool: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 8)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  She tightened her fingers around the pen then, very carefully and deliberately, placed it to the side. The young man in front of her didn't seem to notice. If anything, the sudden silence made him shrink even more into himself. His shoulders hunched around his ears and his gaze was focused on the wall just over her left shoulder. The urge to glance behind her to see exactly what he was staring at was strong but she held it in check—barely. Instead, she let her gaze slide to the woman seated at the desk behind the young man and silently asked for assistance.

  Anita was no help. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, telling Pamela without words that she was the one taking the lead on this one. Only she didn't want to take the lead—she didn't want anything to do with it all.

  She probably should have thought of that before asking Anita to summon Danny to the office.

  She'd had every intention of reprimanding him. Of putting him on notice and giving him one final warning. He'd been working for them for a few months already, he should be comfortable with the systems they had in place by now. What they did wasn't rocket science, not even close.

  Yet Danny still struggled with most of the tasks assigned to him. He excelled at customer service but beyond that, he fumbled with nearly everything. It was almost like he was trying too hard, like his eagerness to master everything was getting in the way of succeeding at anything.

  "Danny." Her voice was soft, carefully modulated. Controlled. But the young man still jumped as if she had screamed his name at the top of her lungs. Pamela shot another glance in Anita's direction then bit back a sigh when her friend and business partner ignored her silent plea for help.

  Fine. She'd just handle this on her own.

  She leaned back in the chair and fixed the young man with her most understanding expression—at least, she hoped it was. Not that it mattered because Danny still wasn't looking at her. She swallowed back a sigh then leaned forward and propped her elbows on the desk.

  "You can relax, Danny. This isn't a firing squad and I'm not going to terminate you."

  Brown eyes filled with surprise finally met hers. Behind the surprise was relief, and maybe even a little confusion. "You're not?"

  "No, I'm not."

  His shoulders dropped with the loud sigh that escaped his lips. Color returned to his face and one corner of his mouth twitched in a quick smile. "I thought for sure that was why you called me back here."

  "It wasn't to fire you. But—" She held up one finger, stopping him before he could say anything else. "—we need to discuss your performance."

  Tension pulled his shoulders tight once more. "My performance?"

  "Yes. Danny, the customers love you. You're funny. Witty. Always smiling." At least he usually was. Now was definitely an exception. "Your customer service is amazing. It's just—"

  Pamela took a deep breath, searched for the right balance of words that would get her point across without being too negative. "I need you to focus on everything else, too, with that same enthusiasm. Stop trying to do everything at once. Focus on the task at hand before moving on to the next one."

  "I can do that. Focus." He repeated the word with a nod then shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Uh, anything else you want me to do?"

  Pamela swallowed a sigh. "Just your assigned tasks, Danny. That's it."

  "Awesome. I can totally do that." A bright smile spread across his face as he backed toward the door. "Thank you. For not firing me, I mean. I love working here. I won't let you down. You'll see."

  Pamela blinked at the rush of words, blinked again when he disappeared through the door with surprising speed. She finally shook her head then looked over with a frown at Anita's laugh. "What is so funny?"

  "You. I think you have a fan for life now."

  "What are you talking about?"

  Anita motioned to the closed door. "Danny. I think he just elevated you to mentor status. Or maybe mother status, hard to say."

  "Not hardly. If anyone around here is the mother figure, it's you, not me. I'm just trying to run a business."

  "If you say so."

  "I say so."

  Anita made a small humming sound then leaned back in the chair. "He's a good kid."

  "I never said he wasn't."

  "And it's his first job."

  "I'm aware of that."

  "He really is trying."

  "I'm aware of that, too."

  "I'm glad you didn't write him up. That would have devastated him."

  "I wasn't going to 'write him up'."

  "Reprimand, then. I think the way you handled it was more effective."

  "I didn't handle anything, and you know it. And I have a feeling we'll be having this same discussion with him this time next week."

  "Don't be so cynical."

  "I'm not—I'm being realistic."

  "He's trying."

  "He's trying too hard."

  "Give him a chance, Pam. I have a feeling he might surprise you. He really does have potential."

  "I am giving him a chance." She narrowed her eyes and leveled a pointed glance at Anita. "Another chance, I might add. But I need to draw the line when mistakes start costing us money."

  "It's not going to reach that point. Trust me, you'll see."

  It was Pamela's turn to make a noncommittal hum, all of her disbelief wrapped up in the small sound. Anita opened her mouth to respond but a knock on the door interrupted before she could say anything—which was probably a good thing, as far as Pamela was concerned.

  The door slid open and Danny poked his head in. "Ms. Pamela, there's a man out here to see you."

  "Okay, Jason." Pamela reached down for her tote bag, paused when she realized Danny was still standing there, watching her. "Thank you, Danny. You can tell him I'm on my way out."

  "Oh. Okay. Sure. Will do." He nodded, backed out of the office and closed the door with a small click. A second later, Anita's laughter filled the room.

  "I told you: he's elevated you to mentor status."

  "Anita—"

  "Or maybe he's even appointed himself your protector now. That's so sweet."

  "Don't be ridiculous. And I certainly don't need a protector. Especially not a seventeen-year-old high schooler." Pamela pushed away from the desk and lifted the tote bag to her shoulder. "Are you sure you don't mind me cutting out for a few hours?"

  Anita moved her hands in a sweeping motion. "Positive. Go, have fun."

  "It's just a late lunch."

  "Yes, you keep saying that."

  "I'll be back before you know it."

  "You told me that already. And like I said already: don't rush. Have fun. Enjoy yourself."

  Pamela frowned. "It's lunch, Anita. Nothing else."

  "And I already gave you my opinion on that, too."

  Yes, she had—more times than Pamela wanted to count. Convincing her friend that nothing was going to happen, that lunch was just that—lunch—was an exercise in futility. It didn't matter how many times Pamela told her that nothing else was going to happen, Anita didn't believe it. Or rather, she did believe it and kept voicing her opinion on how foolish Pamela was for insisting on it.

  The problem was, Pamela was starting to agree with her and that was even more foolish. She wasn't the type to rush into any kind of physical relationship, she never had been. But she'd been thinking about it.

  A lot.

  Maybe too much.

  And that worried her.

  She paused at the end of the counter, her gaze immediately finding Bryan. He stood off to the side, looking both out of place and right at home. Odd how he could manage to do both and look completely comfortable at the same time.

  He was dressed more casual than she'd seen him before, in a pair of faded denim jeans that molded to his muscular thighs. He wore a black polo shirt emblazoned with the same logo she'd noticed on the player's jerseys. The sleeves of the shirt stretched around his arms, pulling tight across his biceps. He must have sensed her standing there, or maybe it was n
othing more than a coincidence of timing. It didn't matter why, only that he turned so their gazes met.

  And it was at that exact moment that she realized she was in trouble—

  Because she wasn't thinking of their late lunch. No, not at all.

  She was thinking of the possibility of dessert instead.

  Chapter Ten

  The clink of silverware and murmuring of conversation created a backdrop around them as they sat across from each other. Pamela was no longer thinking of dessert, but only because she'd forcibly pushed that thought to the back of her mind.

  For now, at least.

  It helped that their conversation had provided a distraction from that line of thought. There was nothing like trying to solve a problem to focus her attention. She thrived on problem-solving, always had. Toss a problem in her lap and she'd study it, dissect it, pick at it until she had a solution. As long as the problem didn't involve people, she could usually solve it. Unfortunately, that was exactly the kind of problem Bryan had.

  And she was coming up empty when it came to solutions.

  She stabbed a chunk of grilled chicken and plucked it from her salad, thoughtfully chewed for a minute, then washed it down with a sip of ice tea. "When did you first notice things changing?"

  Bryan wiped his mouth with a napkin then crumpled it in his hand and shook his head. "That's just it—I don't remember. There hasn't been one thing in particular that I can point to and say, 'That's what happened.' There were a few incidents last season and even one or two earlier this year, but those were all settled. At least, as far as I know, they were. And whatever's going on now doesn't seem related."

  "What kind of incidents?"

  "Little stuff, mostly. I had one player sent back down from the Banners because of performance and attitude. Turns out he was going through some personal issues and came back here to find out he was a father. But he's turned himself around and is one of my steadiest players now." Bryan reached for his glass and took a long swallow of soda before continuing. "Then two of my guys nearly came to blows because one of them was seeing the other's sister. That one is still ongoing because they barely talk to each other."

  "But you don't think that has anything to do with what's going on now?"

  "No. This feels..." Bryan paused, a frown creasing his face. He shook his head and sat back with a sigh. "This feels like it's something different. And why am I sitting here telling you all my problems? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

  "No, it's okay." Pamela started to reach for his hand and stopped herself at the last second, curling her fingers around her glass instead. "It's interesting to hear the dynamics of your team. It's almost like a family of sorts."

  "A family. Right. A dysfunctional one, maybe." Bryan chuckled and popped a fry into his mouth then wiped his fingers against the napkin. "Just don't tell me I'm the father figure—I'm already feeling old as it is. It doesn't help that I could technically be some these kids' father."

  "You're hardly old. And trust me, I know the feeling. More than a few of my staff are in high school. Talk about feeling old." Pamela pushed the remains of the oversized chef salad to the middle of the table and folded her arms along the edge. "So what other incidents have there been?"

  "Well, let's see." Bryan sat back and started counting on his fingers. "Besides the ones I already mentioned—the girlfriend of one my guys was attacked by her ex and put in the hospital. Another player's ex-wife was killed in an accident so he got full custody of his two girls who he hadn't really seen in a few years. That was Aaron, you met him at the bowling alley."

  Bryan paused long enough to take another swallow of soda then continued with a frown. "One of the guys—the last one I would have expected because he's always so damn quiet—apparently had a one-night stand and got a girl pregnant. Not sure how much of that story I really believe since they're now married and, from what I understand, very happy together. In fact, he was recently called up to the Banners and has a promising future stretched out in front of him. I had another player fly out to Vegas a couple of months ago and come back with a wife. And now I have yet one more player who seems hell bent on self-destructing and insists on breaking every rule in the book just because he can."

  Pamela slowly blinked then bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Not because anything Bryan had mentioned was humorous, but because it made her own small frustrations with her staff seem minor in comparison. "Wow. I thought I had issues when one or two of my employees showed up a few minutes late."

  Bryan laughed, the sound rich and warm. "I guess all that does sound a little much, huh?"

  "Maybe just a bit."

  "Honestly, it's not as bad as it sounds. At least, I never thought it did. For the most part, everything's worked out for everyone and they all seem happy."

  "Even the rule breaker?"

  Bryan frowned and shook his head. "Everyone except for him. And if he keeps going the way he is, he won't be around much longer."

  "You'll fire him?"

  "It doesn't work quite that way—there are contracts and everything in play—and the call won't be mine but yeah, something like that. The best he could hope for right now is to be included in some kind of trade deal. And honestly, right now, that might be the best thing for him."

  "Has he always been that way, or did something happen?"

  "He's always been a bit on the wilder side but nothing like this. He started going downhill a few months ago when the one guy came back from Vegas married. It got a little worse when Banky got called up to the Banners. I was really hoping he'd step up since then but so far, no luck."

  "You keep saying the Banners. Is that another team?"

  "The Baltimore Banners, yeah. The Bombers are their affiliate. For the most part, we feed them players after development, get them ready for the next step. Not that all of them will make it that far."

  "Sounds complicated."

  "I guess it can be. And again, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to dump all this on you. I just—" Bryan ran one hand through his hair then smoothed it down before shaking his head. "I'm driving myself crazy trying to figure out what's going on and how to fix it."

  "I told you, no need to apologize. If nothing else, sometimes just talking to an objective third party can help."

  "Maybe." The green of Bryan's eyes deepened just a bit when he smiled at her, the small gesture sending an unexpected warmth radiating through her. "It's nice to have someone who's so easy to talk to."

  Heat filled Pamela's face and she quickly averted her gaze, firmly telling herself not to read anything into it. She shifted against the vinyl bench and cleared her throat. "Thanks. I think."

  "It was definitely a compliment."

  She raised her gaze, met Bryan's clear one and felt even more heat rush through her at the warm expression in her eyes. Caught off-guard, she did what she did best: deflected and changed the subject. "Honestly, just from what you told me, I think everyone just needs a break. You know, something to reset."

  "That's not as easy as you might think, not when we still have more than a month left in the season."

  "It doesn't have to be a break like a vacation. Sometimes it can be something as simple as a night out. Or a party. Something different and unexpected."

  "A party?"

  "I don't know. Just something different. Anita insists on having a cookout at least twice a year for the staff. It's not much but they seem to enjoy it. And we'll surprise them with Italian ice during the summer. Or pizza during a crazy shift. Little things like that, when they aren't expecting it."

  "And that works?"

  "I guess. Like I said, they seem to enjoy it. And we really don't have much turnover so..." Pamela shrugged.

  "A party." Bryan frowned then tilted his head to the side. "You know, maybe that isn't such a bad idea. At this point, it certainly can't hurt. I'd have to find a place to have it. Call a caterer—"

  "We usually just have the cookouts at Anita's place."

 
"So I should have it at my house?"

  "You don't have to—"

  "No, you're right. I think I should. It would be more informal that way. More relaxed." Bryan covered her hand with his and squeezed. "It's a great idea. Thank you."

  She stared at the hand covering hers, felt an odd thrill at the sight of it and an unexpected surge of excitement when he kept it there. "Sure. No problem. Glad I could help."

  Bryan gave her hand a final squeeze then sat back. "Um, I do have one question."

  "What's that?"

  "Do you feel like taking pity on me and helping me with this? Because I have no idea where to even start with something like this."

  "Uh—"

  "I'm fine with bribery. Or begging. Whatever it takes, I'm not proud."

  Pamela laughed at the look of desperation on his face. And as much as she wanted to say no—she wasn't a party planner, she always left those details up to Anita—she couldn't. One party, how hard could it be?

  She leaned forward with a melodramatic sigh and rolled her eyes. "Since you put it that way. Fine. I'll help. But fair warning: I'm expensive."

  "Deal." Bryan leaned over the table, laughter glinting in his eyes a second before his mouth caught hers in a sweet kiss that stole her breath. She blinked when he pulled away, stunned at the sudden heat in his gaze as he studied her, like he was as surprised as she was.

  And how foolish was that? It was a simple kiss, a hundred times less passionate than the one they shared the other night.

  Wasn't it?

  Yes, it was.

  But she couldn't shake the sudden feeling that something else had just happened...she just didn't know what that something was.

  Chapter Eleven

  "You need your head examined."

  "I know."

  "You've finally lost it."

  "I know."

  "You'd never let me hear the end of it if I did something like this."

  "I know."

  Anita leaned one hip against the counter, folded her arms in front of her, and fixed Pamela with a narrowed gaze. "And I totally owe you for this one."