Boarding

by Elise Faber

  PR-Rebecca was the only one without a happy expression. She crossed her arms, tapping her foot on the new floors Mandy had installed. “When were you going to tell me?”

  Mandy winced. “Uhhh.”

  The other woman’s brightly painted red lips pulled down. “So that’s never.”

  “I—uh. It’s new?” Mandy tried to spin it.

  “Hmph.” PR-Rebecca pulled out her phone and made a few notes. “With your dad who he was, this might be a bigger story than you expect.”

  “I won’t talk to the media,” she said. “Not now. Not ever.”

  “You might—”

  “No.”

  PR-Rebecca froze, studying her for a long moment before nodding. “Okay. It blows up, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you.” Mandy straightened her shoulders and began passing out food. “So am I crazy? It’s—I really like him, guys.” She bit her lip. “What if he decides—”

  “You’re not crazy,” Brit said. “He’s a good guy. You can trust him.”

  Monique nodded. “And plus, hockey guys are the best.”

  “I can second that,” Sara said.

  PR-Rebecca grinned. “He hurts you . . . no brownies.”

  “I’ll gut him if he hurts you.” Eyes wide, they all slanted their gazes to Nutritionist-Rebecca, who’d spoken a line that normally would have been straight out of PR-Rebecca’s playbook. She shrugged. “What? I just think we all make a good team.”

  Mandy smiled, heart threatening to burst, thinking she was so lucky to have these strong, capable, funny women in her life.

  “You guys.” She sniffed.

  Brit grabbed the remote, turned up the volume. “No crying until Goblet of Fire. That’s an order.”

  The girls seconded that sentiment, and they all began digging into their meals as Mandy sank down onto the couch. She cuddled close to her friends, her container of chicken marsala in her lap.

  “Thanks for the push,” she whispered to Brit when she took a momentary break from hoovering the delicious food into her mouth.

  Brit shrugged, but her lips were curved into a grin. “You’re his Ginny.”

  Mandy grinned back. “Why do I think he would like that comparison?”

  “Because we are all big ol’ nerds.”

  “I can live with that.”

  Brit bumped her shoulder. “Me too.”

  Mandy glanced down at the contract Pierre Barie’s assistant had set in front of her in disbelief.

  “But that’s double what my current—”

  Pierre steepled his fingers beneath his chin, waiting as his assistant strode out of the office, shutting the door behind him. “Rule number one in negotiations: don’t act shocked when someone wants to pay you money.” His lips quirked. “Ask for more.”

  “But—”

  “Both Bernard and Dr. Carter sing your praises. Hell, three-quarters of the team have been up in my office swearing by your treatments and begging me to not let you go.”

  Mandy frowned. She’d been petrified when she’d arrived at the arena Monday morning and Gabe had said Pierre wanted to talk to her.

  He’d found out about Blane.

  She was going to be let go. She should have known better. Blane couldn’t protect her from this. Stefan was allowed to date Brit only because he was the owner’s son.

  So basically, she wound herself up into a full-blown tizzy by the time the elevator had dinged open on the top floor.

  But now she was in Pierre’s office and the conversation wasn’t going as planned.

  “I still have two years left on my current contract.”

  Pierre switched tack. “Do you want to be in a relationship with Blane Hart?”

  Her breath froze in her lungs.

  He leaned back in his chair. “Because if you don’t, and you’re feeling pressured or—”

  “No!” she hurried to say. “It’s not like that. I swear, neither of us meant for it to happen. It’s—”

  What? Different? Not a quick fling? Wouldn’t affect her job?

  All of those.

  But also more.

  “He’s . . .” Mandy sighed, tried to find a way to encapsulate just what Blane meant to her.

  Aside from her friends, she didn’t really have anyone.

  Her mother was wrapped up in her own life, and while Mandy called on holidays and her birthday, the same courtesy wasn’t received in return. Her father was gone. She didn’t have any siblings. She had Gabe, of course, and Brit, and the girls—

  Okay, she wasn’t alone. Not anymore. She’d been steadily building her own family since working for the Gold.

  But Blane was different.

  Even with Gabe, for all the years she’d know and trusted him, she still kept him at a distance.

  Yet Blane managed to penetrate all the layers of steel she held tightly around herself.

  And he made it look effortless.

  Or maybe, he didn’t have to barge through.

  Maybe he made her want to loosen her grip on those sheets of armor.

  “He’s . . .” She began again before laying it all on the table. “Blane is more important to me than any other person in my life.”

  Silence.

  Now she’d done it.

  She’d just screwed them both—

  “Check page eight.”

  “What?”

  Pierre leaned across the desk and flipped through the papers before arriving at the eighth page. He placed his finger on a paragraph about halfway down. “Read.”

  “. . . romantic relationships are discouraged between players and staff,” she said aloud, her heart racing, “but can be sanctioned by management should extenuating circumstances apply.” Her eyes flew to Pierre’s. “I—”

  “Blane spoke to me,” he said, almost gently. Which was a word she’d never heard associated with the notoriously hard-ass businessman before. “But that will mean absolutely nothing if this isn’t what you want, too.”

  Her eyes prickled with tears, and Mandy swallowed hard. “It’s what I want,” she said with a sniff. “So, so much.”

  “Good.” Pierre picked up a pen and signed his copy then reached across and signed hers as well, leaving the pen in front of her so she could repeat the process. “That’s done, then,” he said, almost brusquely now. “I’ll pass this copy along to the lawyers. Keep yours for your records.”

  Mandy stood and nodded, knowing that was her cue to disappear. “Thank you, Mr. Barie. I won’t forget it.”

  His eyes dropped to his phone, as though willing it to ring so he could end the conversation.

  It didn’t, so she hurried out of his office and out into the hall.

  That had been excruciating . . . and amazing.

  And so she didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss or kill Blane.

  Kiss, she decided once she’d entered her office. Definitely kiss.

  A beautiful bouquet of flowers sat on her desk, alongside a note.

  Practice this morning at RoboTech.

  You staying at my place or am I staying at yours?

  -B

  The few minutes of terror had been worth it, though she really wished he’d warned her that he was going to talk to Pierre. Yes, it was a logical step if they were going to make a go of their relationship, but a little preparation would have been nice.

  It had been like being called to the principal’s office.

  Not cool.

  But considering the end result, she couldn’t complain too much.

  She and Blane could see where their relationship went without any pressure.

  And the money wasn’t too bad either.

  Smiling, she leaned in to smell a pale pink rose and nearly jumped out of her skin when Max shouted from her doorway.

  “Flowers? Oooo, who from?”

  What had she been thinking about no pressure?

  She and Blane were in for no little amount of teasing once they all found out. Which was probably going to be in two point tw
o seconds, since Max had managed to snatch up the note from her desk.

  “Your place or mine?” he asked, eyes dancing. “Signed just B? Oooo, who could that be? Brit?” He smirked, waggling his brows. “No? Fine. Only in my fantasies, I guess.”

  She fake-vomited and made a grab for the note. Not that it mattered, since he’d already read it.

  “Brian?” he asked. “No. I don’t think I’ve seen a Brian around.”

  Mandy finally managed to snag the letter and shoved it into her back pocket. “Not Brian.” She crossed her arms. “You should go or you’ll be late for practice. It’s at RoboTech”—the company had sponsored the building of a multi-sheet ice rink for both the team and city to use, and it was where most Gold practices were now held—“No one is here today.”

  “Except the person who brought you flowers,” he said. “Not Brit. Not Brian. Not Bob or Billy. It can’t be Blue, he’s too young. Oh”—his gaze locked onto hers, smile almost blinding—“I got it. Byron.”

  “Oh my God,” Mandy muttered. “That was a poet, not a date. I’m with Blane, okay? It’s new and good, and you’ll just keep your mouth shut about it until we’re ready. Got it?”

  Okay, so maybe the finger wagging in his face was a little much, she thought as Max paled and took a step back.

  “You’re scary sometimes, Mandy,” he said, trying to slip out the door.

  She stopped him. “Just remember who helps make your workout,” she warned.

  Max raised his hands in surrender. “I don’t know who the B is,” he said. “Not a clue until you tell us.”

  Mandy narrowed her eyes. “That’s right. Now hurry up before you’re late.”

  He turned, hesitating before rotating back to face her. “For the record, Blane”—she cleared her throat meaningfully and he jumped—“whoever this B-person is. Well, he’s a good guy, okay? Don’t hurt him.”

  She had to stop herself from making her Aw-face and only just managed to hang on to her serious expression because she knew if she gave Max an inch, he’d take a mile. She’d find both herself and Blane teased mercilessly.

  So no. No softening up was allowed.

  “Go,” she ordered.

  He went. Stopped again a few feet away.

  “Just so we’re clear. I’m still allowed to give Blane a hard time, right?”

  Mandy lifted her phone so it was in his view and began typing out a text. “Just so we’re clear, you want extra reps of abs today?”

  Max hot-footed it to the door. “No teasing. Got it.”

  “Bye, Max.”

  “Bye, Mandy,” he called adding right before the door closed. “He’s lucky to have you, by the way.”

  It slammed shut, nearly rattling the pictures from the walls.

  She shook her head.

  But she was smiling.

  Twenty-Two

  Blane

  * * *

  Road trips were a typical and lonely part of a professional athlete’s life.

  Players were away from their families, isolated in hotel rooms with too much free time on their hands.

  Oftentimes this equated to trouble.

  But this time, he was traveling with the person he was in love with.

  In love with.

  He still couldn’t believe it.

  He was head over heels, completely gone for Mandy.

  A smile spread over his face as she boarded the team’s private plane, her backpack slung over one shoulder. She wore a long-sleeved T-shirt emblazoned with the Gold logo, and her ever-present ponytail was tucked through the back of a team hat. There wasn’t a lick of makeup on her face, and she wore loose-fitting sweats.

  She was beautiful.

  And she was his.

  As she walked down the aisle, she paused to talk with Gabe then continued back toward where Blane sat. Usually this was the unofficial players’ zone, but fuck if Blane was going to sit by anyone but her.

  Eighty-two regular season games already meant that free time together was hard to come by.

  So he was going to steal every single free second he could.

  Mandy paused by his row, eyeing the empty seat next to him, and apparently felt the same way because she asked, “Is that seat taken?”

  Since bantering with her was pretty much his favorite thing, he pretended to consider that. “I don’t know,” he said, tapping his finger to his chin. “I really like to spread out on these flights.”

  “Hmm,” she said, a smirk teasing at the corners of her mouth. “I guess that just means I have to go sit with Blue.”

  Blane snagged her wrist and tugged her down into his lap. “You’re not going anywhere.” Her lips were right there, so he kissed her. “Now, do you want the window or aisle?”

  She went very still, her gaze flicking around the cabin. He followed her stare, saw that the whole team was watching them, no little amount of curiosity on their faces.

  “Did you expect me to hide it?” he asked softly, brushing his knuckles along her jaw.

  “No,” she said. “I mean, I was coming to sit by you. I just”—she shook her head, a tinge of pink on her cheeks—“didn’t expect you to declare it so loudly is all.”

  He tipped up the brim of her hat so he could see her eyes more clearly. “That bother you?” It was a serious question, but one that he didn’t know how he’d be able to address if his actions did bug her.

  Blane didn’t want to have to consider every action with her. He wanted to be able to hug or kiss or touch the woman he was in love with and not be scared she might not like—

  Mandy slung her arms around his neck. “If it bothered me, would I be doing this?” She leaned close to rub her nose along his. “Or this?” She kissed him, long and slow and deep.

  Catcalls filled the plane after she pulled back.

  “Your affection doesn’t bother me, Super Star,” she said gently. “But I’m not used to it. If I freeze up—and I probably will—just smack me around.”

  Never.

  “How about I kiss you instead?”

  Her laugh made him feel about ten feet tall. “Cheese ball. But kissing, I can agree to.” She shoved his shoulder. “Now scoot over. I want the aisle.”

  The boys teased him as he gathered his stuff and shifted to the other seat, but Blane didn’t give a damn.

  He had Mandy.

  And he was going to keep her.

  Blane toweled off and slipped back into his suit, wanting nothing more than to be in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, vegging out with a very not-meal-plan-approved post-game beer.

  The game that evening had been a tough one. Their flight had been diverted to another airport because of weather the previous evening, and then their flight had been delayed that morning.

  Routine was important to hockey players, and theirs had been all kinds of fucked up.

  The delays meant their guys had struggled to get vehicles to transport their gear, and then a traffic jam just outside the city had delayed the buses further. They’d made it by game time, but it had been a close thing, and there certainly hadn’t been time for their normal pregame procedures.

  It had shown on the ice.

  Oh boy, had it shown.

  But the game was over now. Tomorrow was another day and all that shit.

  Sighing, he shoved his shoes on his feet, grabbed his bag, and left the locker room.

  Get him to the bus and the hotel already.

  He weaved his way through the arena’s hallways, up the stairs, then pushed out the doors and strode over to the bus.

  Brit and Stefan were already seated in the back, cuddled up together, and Blane sighed as he sank into a seat in the row next to them.

  Lucky bastards, getting to be together all the time.

  Brit’s eyes flashed to his, her brows drawing together. She whispered something to Stefan then got up and made her way to him.

  “Uhhh,” she said. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Tonight sucked,” he muttered. “Can we just
get back to the hotel and rehash it all tomorrow?”

  “We,” she said. “Is the key word.”

  He shoved a hand through his hair, still wet from the shower. “I’m tired and not following, Brit. Just lay it on me.”

  She huffed, crossed her arms. “Are you or are you not dating Mandy?”

  Blane straightened, stomach clenching. “Oh, fuck.”

  “Yeah.” Brit rolled her eyes. “Most boyfriends don’t forget their girlfriends.”

  “I didn’t—” He cut himself off because obviously he had forgotten Mandy. “Stefan has it easy. You’re already here.”

  “Get your ass off the bus and go grab your girl before you fuck this all up.” Brit stepped closer as a few of the guys slipped into their seats. “And I’m only telling you this because you’re my best friend, and when you’re not being a pouty, obtuse jackass, you’re a great guy, but”—her voice dropped further—“she’s got abandonment issues, Blane. I don’t know all of the circumstances, but she’s told me enough.” She poked his chest. “So don’t ruin this by assuming that you’ve crossed the biggest hurdles between you two now that this has gone public. We girls are really good at holding on to hurts, at burying them deep, and letting them fester. And we’re really fucking great at thinking we’re totally fine only to have something from our past spring up and dynamite our present.”

  He slung his bag over his shoulder. “I didn’t have it easy either, you know.” There had been asshole kids and one particularly shitty bully, not to mention the fact that his parents had gone through several rough patches—his dad had even moved out for a time before they had reconciled. There was also the entire decade of unrequited love for the woman in front of him.

  She patted his cheek. “You’re cute. But seriously,” Brit added when he opened his mouth to snap at her, “there’s normal. We”—she pointed between them—“had normal life shit that was thrown at us.” Her eyes darkened. “Or maybe a little more than normal at times, but I think Mandy has us beat, you know?”

  Guilt swamped him because, fuck, he’d seen the shadows in Mandy’s eyes. He knew Brit was right.