Rookie Move

by Sarina Bowen

She gathered the tattered remains of her Type A personality together and pushed herself up. “I mean it. Gossip is not what we need right now. We can’t have everyone whispering about our one-night stand.”

  Leo reached up with one of his long, edible-looking arms and tugged her back down onto his spectacular chest. “Fuck that,” he said. “You and I don’t have one-night stands. We have forever-night stands.”

  Georgia’s heart took an hour-long tango lesson when he said that. When she’d been young and deep in puppy love, she and Leo had used the word “forever” with each other. And then when they hit the skids, it had hurt worse than anything. She turned her face to the side, turning away from all the brilliance that was Leo. It was hard to think rationally while lying on his body.

  But Leo only began nuzzling the back of her neck. “You can run, but you can’t hide, Georgia girl. Even if you give me the cold shoulder on the plane today. Even if you go all shy on me. It’s on.”

  She slowly sat up again and gently disentangled herself from Leo. But the cold air was a shock, and she missed the hard press of his body immediately.

  Gah. Make up your mind, crazy lady.

  “I need another shower,” she said. And it was certainly true.

  “Mmm,” Leo growled from the mattress. “Wonder why that is?” He sat up, too, and pulled her into his embrace. He kissed her neck, and she shivered everywhere. Leo was hard again. She felt him pressing against her hip. Her latent teenage bad girl considered ignoring the lateness of the hour altogether.

  But that wouldn’t go well for either of them. “Let me up, hunk. I have twenty-five minutes to try to look like a professional.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said between kisses to her neck. “You know, the whole sexy publicist look really works for me.”

  “Leo,” she grumbled, but it was just posturing. It had been a long time since she was someone’s object of attraction. It made her feel young again.

  “That tight skirt you wore to the game last night made it hard to concentrate.”

  “I’ll wear something baggy to the next one. We need the wins.” She slid off his lap and moved toward the edge of the bed.

  “Wait.” His long arms reached for her hips. “I need to say good-bye to the tatas.”

  Georgia’s heart squeezed as Leo leaned down to nuzzle her left nipple. “Later,” he said, the word muffled by the swell of her breast. Then he dipped his head to have a word with the other one.

  It was absolutely ridiculous. And yet Georgia’s eyes got hot. Because he used to do the same thing after they’d fooled around in high school. When it was time to get dressed and take Georgia home to meet her curfew, he’d say good night to her boobs. Although both of them enjoyed it, it was a joke.

  Except it wasn’t anymore. Now it was just one more thing to remind Georgia how much time had passed. Was it their ritual alone? What other sets of knockers had Leo conversed with over the past six years?

  Don’t go there, she coached herself.

  Leo lifted his chin and gave her a very sweet kiss on the lips.

  Then, with a lump in her throat, she pulled away, retreating to her own room to shower and dress.

  * * *

  “Morning, Princess!” Georgia’s father greeted her in the hotel lobby with a peck on the cheek.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said with forced cheer. She was a girl with a secret. And even if it was a damn good one, she felt a tiny twinge of guilt.

  “How did you sleep?” her father asked.

  Gulp. “Just fine. You?”

  “Eh. Can’t wait to get home on Friday. I see the bus outside. Shall we?”

  She sat beside her father at the front of the bus for the ride to the airport. And even though she conveniently looked out the window when Leo boarded, she felt him pass by. In the harsh morning glare of the hotel parking lot she could hardly believe her own daring. She’d been the instigator of the morning’s festivities. She’d touched him through his clothes, her hand stroking his erection as he’d hissed. She’d been the one to rise up above him, lowering herself down on his . . .

  “Princess?”

  “Mmm?” she said, shaking off the memory. “What?”

  “I was just asking if you were okay. You look a little flushed.”

  “It’s just, uh, warm in here.”

  The Deep V of Trouble deepened in his forehead. “It’s actually freezing in this can of a bus. Hugh just complained to the driver.”

  “You know, this sweater is really warm,” she babbled. “It’s cashmere.”

  He gave her an odd look. “Good to know, Princess,” he said, pulling out his Katt Phone.

  Georgia did the same, and was greeted by a text from Becca. Guess where I am! I’ll give you three tries.

  Georgia was too distracted to play the game. I give up.

  You are a drag. Now I’m not going to tell you.

  Fine. Be that way, Georgia replied.

  “Georgia?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why are you frowning?”

  “Um, just texting with Rebecca,” she said, raising her eyes to her father’s. “Why?”

  He was studying her with narrowed eyes. “You’re acting strange today.”

  “How do you figure?” Was she? Georgia had been a skillful liar during her teen years. But she was probably rusty these days.

  “Are you all right?” her father asked.

  “Perfectly.”

  “Is it hard on you?”

  “What?”

  Her father glanced around, the special scowl he saved for Leo creeping onto his face. “Traveling with him?”

  No blushing, she reminded herself. “He’s fine.” Damn. “I mean, it’s fine. I’m fine.” We are all fine! She needed to stop talking now.

  He chewed his lip. “Let me know if he bothers you in any way.”

  “Um, okay.” It felt traitorous not to stick up for Leo. Her father was the one acting strange. But her father would not like to know what had happened between them, and Georgia was too uncertain about what it all meant to make any bold declarations. So she sat there, mute, until her father finally gave up and went back to pecking at his Katt phone.

  When Georgia got onto the jet a half hour later, the first face she saw was Becca’s. Her roommate beckoned frantically. “Sit with me! I’ve missed you.”

  “But of course.” Georgia put her bag into the overhead compartment, her eyes flicking to the rear of the plane, where the meeting room door was already closed. But if Becca was here, that meant Nate needed to huddle up with the coaching staff and the GM en route to the next game. Was that weird? They’d won last night. That should put the boss at ease, right? She sat down beside Becca. “Everything okay?” she asked quietly. If Nate was worried about her father’s coaching, would he hover like this?

  Becca shrugged. “I don’t know what the boss man is up to. He called me last night and asked me to pack a bag. So here I am. Maybe he just wants to watch the new coach in action. It doesn’t have to mean anything,” she said, reading Georgia’s mind.

  Georgia wanted to believe her. “Okay. What’s up with you?”

  “The mango is gone. And there are no new science experiments in our kitchen.”

  “Yay!” Georgia clapped.

  Becca narrowed her eyes. “That is a lot of excitement over a clean refrigerator. You look awfully cheery today.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Georgia insisted. But heat began to climb up her neck.

  Her roommate’s eyes bulged. “Holy shizzle. Georgia Worthington got laid.”

  Georgia reached over to clamp her hand over Becca’s mouth. “Shut it. I swear to God. You are going to get me in so much trouble.” Becca stuck out her tongue in retaliation, wetting Georgia’s hand. “Ew!” She released Becca’s mouth and wiped her hand on Becca’s wool Bruisers
scarf.

  “Ladies,” a deep baritone said. “Is there a problem here?”

  Georgia turned to look into Leo’s handsome face. And the look he gave her could only be described as “smoldering.”

  “Damn,” Becca breathed.

  “Everything is fine,” Georgia said hastily. She made a little motion to wave him on. Move along.

  He winked, then disappeared down the aisle.

  Becca grabbed the in-flight magazine out of the seat back pocket and began to fan herself. “The heat pouring off you two is hazardous. I’d better make sure I know where they keep the onboard fire extinguisher. Because, safety first.”

  Georgia grabbed the magazine out of her hands and shoved it back into the pocket, while Becca laughed.

  NINETEEN

  Leo: Is it something I said?

  Georgia: ?

  Leo: Your friend Becca put me in a room with Silas. And O’Doul is in the adjoining room. He won’t cuddle me. :(

  Georgia: Have you asked nicely?

  Leo: Yeah. So now I have a black eye.

  Georgia: You crack yourself right up.

  Leo: Thank you, folks, I’ll be here all week . . .

  Georgia: You are bunking with Silas because Nate decided to travel with us to Texas and this hotel is full.

  Leo: So your room, then? :)

  Georgia: Nope.

  Leo: But I need a word with the tatas. There’s something I forgot to say.

  Georgia: I’ll put them on Skype.

  Leo: Really?

  Georgia: No!

  Leo: Your room number is . . .

  Georgia: . . . is the same one as Becca’s. See above explanation about the full hotel.

  Leo: Fuck.

  Georgia: Not so much.

  Leo: I need to kiss you. Today.

  Georgia: Is this some new superstition thing? Like your lucky jock strap in high school?

  Leo: Fuck no. I need to kiss you. Everywhere. Soon. Before you invent a bunch of reasons why we shouldn’t.

  Georgia: Too late.

  Leo: Not funny. We’ll talk later. I miss you.

  Georgia: What ever happened to your lucky jock strap? Please tell me you finally washed that thing.

  Leo: Nope! I don’t wear it anymore tho.

  Georgia: Thank god

  Leo: It’s in a zipper bag at the bottom of my gear duffel. It was ten feet from the bed where we . . .

  Georgia: Ew!

  Leo: :)

  TWENTY

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 11

  18 DAYS BEFORE THE NHL TRADE DEADLINE

  DALLAS, TEXAS

  TOP TEAM HEADLINES:

  “Dallas Has a 7-1 Record vs. Brooklyn in Recent Match-ups. Let’s Make it Eight?”

  —The Dallas Tribune

  Leo caught himself humming in the showers after the morning warm-up. Everything had gone right for a change. He didn’t know whether his attitude had been buoyed by last game’s goal or yesterday morning’s perfect reunion with Georgia. Maybe both. But whatever the cause, he’d killed it at practice yesterday and this morning. Even during the three-on-twos at the bitter end, he’d sliced past O’Doul and made the puck his own.

  After the morning skate he’d stayed behind a few minutes because the associate coach wanted to talk to him about Dallas’s defensive habits. Leo was the last man off the ice, and he thought he caught even Coach Worthington wearing a look of grudging approval.

  Finally. A little momentum.

  He shut off the tap and reached outside the stall for the towel he’d hung there. But his hand met only a hook and cool air. So Leo stuck his head past the discolored shower curtain and checked the hooks on either side of his stall. They were both empty.

  Fuck.

  He stepped out anyway, dripping wet, wearing nothing but his shower shoes. Someone had decided he needed a little middle-school-grade hazing. The stack of clean towels he’d seen on the counter ten minutes earlier was missing, too.

  Whatever.

  Leo walked into the dressing room, where several guys snickered. As he passed O’Doul he made sure to shake himself like a dog, sending droplets of water flying everywhere.

  The snickers turned to full-out laughter, except from O’Doul, who swore. “It wasn’t me, asshole. Castro loves to pull that shit.”

  “Good to know.” He crossed to his locker and looked for something—anything—to dry himself off. Yesterday’s T-shirt? Good enough. He swatted at the drops of water on his chest and neck.

  “Hey, naked boy.” O’Doul stood beside him, frowning.

  “Yeah?” He dug his underwear out of his duffel.

  “We gonna win this thing tonight?”

  Leo chuckled. “That’s the plan, right?” Though Dallas was a tough team, and the Bruisers’ record against them wasn’t the best.

  “Sure. But there’s a defenseman on this crew who has it in for me. One of their guys was injured in our game last season. Career-ending. You remember Burkowski?”

  “Yeah. Broken femur?”

  “That’s the one. It was a clean hit, but they still blame us. And then I embarrassed this other asshole in a fight during the preseason. He wants a rematch. You’re the new kid so he’ll probably fuck with you to draw me out.”

  Great. Leo wasn’t exactly known for his fighting. Unlike so many other NHL players, he’d skipped Juniors in favor of college hockey, where fighting was illegal. “You want me to take a swing at him?”

  “Fuck no. Just put the biscuit in the basket, college boy. I’ll follow up. Just watch your back.”

  “All right. Thanks.”

  Leo got dressed, wondering if O’Doul had decided to count him as a real teammate after all.

  * * *

  When the player card went to the refs before the game that night, Leo half expected his name to be missing from it. In spite of his big night in Arizona, he wouldn’t put it past Coach to try to teach him a lesson in humility.

  But apparently not. Because his name was on the card. And he was ready.

  The mood was a little slap-happy in the locker room. Castro hid several players’ protective cups during elimination soccer, and was chased around the dressing room and pelted with them when they were eventually found. But O’Doul wasn’t part of the pregame shenanigans tonight. Instead, the captain sat in the corner, his head bowed. And every few minutes he muttered to himself.

  Leo nudged Silas. “He okay?”

  Silas shrugged. “Guess so. That’s how he stirs up the crazy before a rough game. He’ll be okay after we start.”

  Leo felt buoyant, in spite of his team’s edgy attitude toward its opponent. His phone was full of well-wishes from his family and friends. This was it, ladies and gentlemen. The highest level of play a guy could see in professional hockey.

  They gathered around for a last-minute chat with Coach Karl, who looked even more ornery than usual. “This could be a real shit storm. Just let the refs do their thing and don’t lose your cool, boys. Revenge doesn’t get us to the play-offs, you hear?”

  There were murmurs of agreement, then the chute door opened and it was on.

  As predicted, the game got ugly early. Lots of tripping and slashing in the corners. Leo found himself playing dirtier than he liked to. And he took two minutes for tripping before the first period was over.

  Coach had a few choice words about that during intermission. “If you’re gonna fight back, rookie, don’t be so fucking blatant. Even my aunt Sally would have called that penalty.”

  Leo barked out a laugh. “I’ve met Aunt Sally and she’s hella sharp.”

  Worthington only growled.

  Leo’s sense of humor took a hit early in the second period, though. The faceoff positioned him against an opposing wing with a snaggle-toothed snarl. “That face won’t stay pretty tonight, boy. Rook
ie’s gonna get ass-fucked up by my enforcer,” he threatened.

  “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Leo barked without taking his eyes off the ref’s hands. Seconds later, the puck came flying out of the circle in his direction. Leo snapped it out of the air with his stick, winging it back to his own defensemen in a blur of motion.

  “Cocksucker,” the other wing growled, jamming the end of his stick into Leo’s ankle.

  Fuck. A bright shimmer of pain radiated up his leg. And since the action had already traveled down the rink, the ref didn’t notice the illegal jab. Leo skated off in pursuit. It was only pain.

  But they weren’t done with him. The jackass wing sideswiped Leo at every opportunity. It was irritating, but nothing he couldn’t handle—or so he thought. Avoiding that dude proved dangerously distracting.

  Leo never even saw the big hit coming.

  One second he was scraping the puck off the boards, looking for the pass, keeping clear of the wing with an attitude. The next moment he went flying into the plexi, helmet first. For an odd, frozen moment, he locked eyes with a girl seated in the front row while the force of impact kept him hovering over her. Then he crashed to the ice in a heap.

  The air got weirdly cold and loud. It took a moment for Leo to realize that his helmet had popped off. He was lying on the ice feeling stunned. He opened his mouth to take a breath, and it didn’t quite work.

  Shit.

  The noise in the rink pressed in on him, and the lack of oxygen to his lungs began to freak him out, too. But just as panic threatened to set in, he heard an old familiar voice in his head. Give it a second, son. That’s what his retired college coach used to say whenever he or someone else got the wind smacked out of them. So Leo waited out that awful moment when his lungs forgot their job. O’Doul was somewhere nearby, cussing up a storm. “Illegal fucking hit to the fucking head!”

  Leo’s self-preservation instincts kicked in. Even before he could properly inhale, he began scrambling upward, digging a blade into the ice and rising to his feet. Only a pussy stayed sprawled on the rink. And he was okay. He hadn’t even blacked out.

  Standing up, Leo finally got a breath of air. The bench swam into view, and Leo could see the trainer opening the door, about to walk across the ice to check on Leo.