Wicked Games (Denver Rebels)

by Maureen Smith

  “Sure. I’ll go. Should be fun.” Jess grinned. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and catch the eye of one of Reid’s hot teammates.”

  Nadia chuckled. “I could definitely see that happening.”

  With her fair complexion, hazel eyes and long curly hair, Jess was a knockout. Whenever Nadia went out with her and Emily, she always felt like the world’s biggest Plain Jane. Not surprisingly, guys gravitated more to her friends than her.

  At the thought of Emily, Nadia glanced across the room at her coworker’s empty desk. Emily had called in sick today. When Nadia called to check up on her, she hadn’t answered her phone. She hoped she was all right.

  “Have you Googled him?” Jess asked.

  “Who? Reid?”

  “Duh. Who else?”

  “No, I haven’t Googled him.” Not that she hadn’t been tempted.

  “Well, what’re you waiting for?” Jess scooted off the desk, nudged Nadia out of the way and pulled up the search engine on her computer.

  Nadia gave her an exasperated look. “I’m trying to work here.”

  Jess ignored her, manicured nails clicking rapidly across the keyboard as she entered Reid’s name into Google. Over thirteen million results popped up. He was mentioned in a plethora of articles, press releases, hockey fan forums and top-ranked player lists. There were YouTube videos dedicated to his greatest hits on the ice, as well as Tumblr pages created by fawning fangirls.

  Jess clicked on a Sports Illustrated article featuring the highest paid NHL defensemen. Reid was number two.

  “He signed a thirteen-year $98 million contract,” Jess read from the piece, “so he now earns about eleven mil a year with the salary cap. That doesn’t include the $3.5 million he makes annually in endorsements.” She whistled. “Girl, you’d better sink your claws into this man before someone else does.”

  Nadia smirked at Jess. “Gold digger, much?”

  “Not gold digging. Sound investment planning, as my wise aunt likes to call it.” Jess clicked on the Google link for images.

  “Holy shit,” she breathed, her eyes widening at the photographs that filled the screen. “He is so fucking hot. Look at those eyes. Wow.”

  Nadia hated that her pulse raced as she stared at the collection of photos. There were action shots of Reid gliding across the ice with his stick, checking opponents into the boards, firing slap shots from the blue line and celebrating goals. Off the ice he was shown grinning boyishly in a Detroit Tigers baseball cap, sporting a full scruffy beard, signing autographs for young fans, holding up the Norris Trophy that he won and posing for magazine spreads. There were also a number of photos of him with various bimbos on his arm.

  “Do you think he’s ever dated a black woman before?” Jess speculated, scrolling down the page.

  “I don’t know.” Nadia sighed. “Judging by those pictures, probably not.”

  “Hmm. Well, that’s okay. You can be his first.” Jess grinned wickedly. “You know what they say. ‘Once you go black…’”

  Nadia’s face heated. “I’m not sleeping with him.”

  Jess snort-laughed. “Of course you are.”

  “No, I’m not. Seriously, Jess. I can’t.”

  “Why the hell not? You’re both adults. He’s sexy as hell, and the two of you are already in lust with each other. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that he’s a jock, and you know how I feel about jocks.”

  “Yes. I know.” Jess’s expression softened. “Maybe Reid is different.”

  Nadia frowned at a picture of a tall blonde suctioned to his side. “I seriously doubt it.”

  “You’ll never know unless you give him a chance.”

  Nadia grumbled, “You’re just saying that ’cause he’s gorgeous and rich.”

  “Well, there’s that,” Jess admitted with a grin. “But I also think you should give him a chance because you seemed to really connect with him. That doesn’t happen every day. In fact, it almost never happens.”

  Nadia said nothing.

  Jess closed out of Google and leaned her shapely hip against the edge of the desk. “So what’re you wearing to the game?”

  “I don’t know. Jeans, I guess.”

  “Uh-uh. You have to wear something sexy.”

  Nadia rolled her eyes. “I’m going to a hockey game, not the club. I want to be comfortable.”

  “Girl, please,” Jess scoffed, flapping her hand. “There’s a time and a place to be comfortable, and this ain’t it. You know I love you, Nadia, but you need to step up your game in the wardrobe department. You’re gonna be competing with hot young white girls who don’t play around when it comes to getting their man. Have you seen what those chicks wear to professional sporting events? They dress sexy because it’s all about getting noticed by the players, not being comfortable.”

  Nadia scowled. “They dress sexy because they’re thirsty groupies who have no damn self-respect. I’m not trying to look like some slutty—”

  “Not slutty. Sexy.” Jess snapped her fingers. “Wear that black jersey dress you wore to the club last month. The one that makes you look super curvy and shows off your amazing ass. Dudes couldn’t keep their eyes off you that night.”

  “Or their hands,” Nadia grumbled darkly. “I seem to recall getting groped one too many times in that dress. A couple times by you.”

  Jess grinned. “What can I say? I was shitfaced drunk. And it’s not my fault you’ve got an irresistibly phat ass. Just make sure you wear a pushup bra to give yourself some cleavage. You know your girls need a little help. Ooh, and I’ll bring over my cute gold chain belt. It’ll look like you’re rocking the Rebels’ colors. And wear those spiky suede ankle boots. Those are hot.”

  “They’re also scary to walk in,” Nadia said with a grimace. “What if I fall and break my damn neck while climbing up the steps at the arena?”

  “Oh, stop it. You’re not gonna fall.” Jess’s eyes twinkled. “But if you do happen to take an embarrassing tumble, at least you’ll look hella good.”

  Nadia snorted, shaking her head in amused disgust. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? And might I point out that I caught Reid’s attention while I was dressed the way I am now?”

  “That’s true,” Jess conceded. “You’re a natural beauty, and Reid obviously recognizes that. Good on him. But just remember that he’s a fine ass hockey player who can have any woman he wants. If you want to hold his interest, it wouldn’t hurt to vamp it up a little.”

  Nadia sighed. She’d never said anything about wanting to hold Reid’s interest, but rather than argue with Jess, she simply said, “I’ll take your advice into consideration.”

  “Good. You’ll thank me later.”

  “Sure, Tyra.” Nadia swiveled back to her computer. “Now that you’ve finished dressing me for the evening—right down to which bra I should wear—you need to scram so I can get some work done. Capisci?”

  “I suppose.” Grinning, Jess pushed off the desk and sauntered toward the door. “Something tells me tonight is going to be very interesting.”

  “I know,” Nadia murmured under her breath. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  * * *

  When she arrived home that evening, she was surprised to find a large gift-wrapped box sitting on the coffee table in the living room.

  As she closed the front door, Nelson emerged from the kitchen drinking a glass of water.

  “That just came for you.” At her questioning look, he grinned and held up a hand. “It’s not from me.”

  Intrigued, Nadia dropped her purse on the sideboard and walked over to the gift box. It was gorgeously wrapped in shiny red paper and tied with a black silk ribbon with a huge bow on top.

  With mounting curiosity and excitement, she untied the fancy ribbon and removed the tape, careful not to tear the pretty paper. Nelson wandered over as she lifted the lid off the box and parted the sea of black tissue at the top.

  She gasped in shock.

  Nestled inside the
box were several brand new designer handbags.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed.

  Peering over her shoulder, Nelson asked, “What are those? Purses?”

  “Not just any purses,” she whispered, lifting one out of the box. It was a vintage Chanel shoulder bag made of black caviar leather with the signature gold chain strap. She admired it for several moments before reaching for another one, a classic red flap bag.

  “Damn,” Nelson exclaimed, picking up a quilted lambskin satchel. “How many are there?”

  Nadia counted. “Seven.”

  “Seven?” Nelson gave a long, low whistle. “That must have cost a fortune.”

  “Definitely.” Nadia was smiling so hard her cheeks felt like bursting.

  Nelson reached back inside the box and pulled out a small card. “Here. See who sent them.”

  She knew even before she opened the envelope and read the words printed on the card:

  For our next tug of war. One for every day of the week.

  —R.H.

  Nadia didn’t know whether to laugh or let out a dreamy sigh. So she did both.

  Nelson grinned knowingly. “Do I even need to guess who these are from?”

  She couldn’t stop smiling. “They’re from Reid.”

  “Of course.” Her brother’s grin widened. “What exactly happened between you two yesterday?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Nelson snorted. “A guy doesn’t drop thirty-five grand on a woman he just met over nothing.”

  “How do you know how much he spent?” Nadia countered.

  “I did the math. The purse you’re holding costs $4,900. I know because Bianca wants the same one. Assuming the rest of these bags are in the same price range, Reid spent at least $35,000. Plus tax.” Nelson grinned, shaking his head. “Dude’s got it bad.”

  Nadia blushed, biting her bottom lip. She ran her hand over the luxurious leather bag, fingering the iconic gold interlocking Cs. She’d never owned such an expensive purse in her life, let alone seven of them. It was too much. Way too much.

  Nelson snagged the card out of her hand and read the message, brows furrowing in bewilderment. “Tug of war?”

  “Inside joke.” Nadia snatched the card back and put down the flap bag, then went to retrieve her phone from her purse—her cheap, practical, no-name purse that now seemed embarrassingly gauche in comparison.

  Phone in hand, she padded back to the living room and flopped down on the sofa. As Nelson checked out the remaining bags in the box, she sent off a text to Reid: Totally unexpected and amazing gifts. But u shouldn’t have.

  She assumed she wouldn’t hear back from him since he was probably getting ready for tonight’s game. So she was surprised when her phone buzzed a minute later.

  Do u like them?

  Her pulse quickened. Grinning, she texted back: It’s Chanel. What’s not to like?

  He responded: Glad u approve :)

  Her grin widened. U have excellent taste, she wrote. But what does a macho hockey player know about buying Chanel purses?

  The salesgirl was helpful, he admitted.

  Nadia chuckled. I’ll bet. She got one helluva commission. Ur probably her favorite customer now…if u weren’t already.

  She hit send and then cringed. It was so obvious that she was fishing for information, trying to find out whether he made a habit of lavishing expensive gifts on women.

  Her heart pounded while she waited for his response.

  That was my first time there.

  She felt an irrational surge of pleasure. So maybe he didn’t do this sort of thing all the time. Not that it mattered.

  Biting her lip, she stared at his words a moment longer before texting back: I love the bags, but I can’t accept them.

  Yes u can.

  She shook her head as she typed: I can’t. Really. They’re too expensive.

  I’m not taking them back, he told her.

  Just then Nelson held up a turquoise-colored fur boy bag. Oh, God. It was to die for.

  She must have whimpered because Nelson laughed.

  Reid sent another message: I gotta run, baby.

  Her stomach flip-flopped. Baby. The man could melt her with just one word, one offhand endearment.

  With a deep sigh of defeat, she texted back: See u soon.

  A few seconds passed before he responded: Not soon enough…

  7

  Eighteen thousand excited fans packed into the Pepsi Center that night for the Denver Rebels’ season opener against the Minnesota Wild.

  Sipping from a foamy glass of beer, Nadia looked around the arena as music blared from the sound system and lights flashed like strobes over the buzzing crowd. She’d been to the Pepsi Center for several Denver Nuggets games, but she didn’t remember the air crackling with this much electricity, didn’t remember feeling this heady rush of anticipation and adrenaline. She attributed the pounding of her heart to the supercharged atmosphere, and not the fact that she was about to see Reid for the first time since their explosive kiss.

  She was wearing the black jersey dress and spike-heeled ankle boots that Jess had recommended. She’d had no choice after Jess and Bianca tag-teamed her. Once she was dressed, Bianca had whipped out her big-barreled curling iron and gone to work on her hair, insisting that the tired ponytail had to go.

  Nadia had been speechless when she looked in the mirror and saw herself. With her hair parted off center and falling to her shoulders in soft waves, she’d had to admit she looked pretty damn good.

  Foolishly she’d wondered if Reid would think so too.

  When the Rebels were introduced, the team skated onto the ice to a thunderous roar of cheers from the crowd. The players looked as massive as Nadia remembered from two nights ago at practice. They were tough, brutal, manly men. Gladiators on ice. And more than a few of them were hot enough to set off every fire alarm in the arena.

  Nadia’s pulse thumped as she stared at Reid in his black-and-gold number six jersey with his last name sewn across the back. At six four, he was one of the tallest players out there. As he skated a lap around the rink, he looked intense, focused, ready to do battle. He seemed oblivious to the loud music and the rowdy fans screaming his name as he glided past them in the stands. He was in the zone.

  But as he neared where Nadia sat, he lifted his head and gave her the barest hint of a smile as he skated by.

  The simple acknowledgment warmed her cheeks and spread heat through her body.

  “Oh my God!” Jess squealed, grabbing her arm excitedly. “Did you see that? He just smiled at you!”

  “Really?” Nadia murmured, lips twitching. “I must have missed it.”

  Jess grinned, shaking her head. “First he tracks you down to ask you out on a date. Then he spends a shit ton of money buying you Chanel purses. Not one, not two—seven! And now he’s giving you special smiles right before the game.” She sighed enviously. “I hope you know how lucky you are.”

  Nadia smiled. She had an inkling.

  When the Minnesota Wild made their entrance, the crowd booed and jeered at them.

  As the two teams warmed up, Nadia kept one eye on Reid while chatting with Jess, Nelson and Bianca. Although Nelson had passes to the press box, Reid apparently wanted Nadia to experience her first NHL game in the stands, close to the action. So somehow he’d hooked them up with seats five rows up from the boards, which gave them an unobstructed view of center ice.

  By the time the teams took to the ice to start the game, the stands were rocking, and the roar of the crowd was electrifying. Once the puck dropped, the Rebels won the faceoff, and it was full throttle ahead.

  Nadia had always heard that hockey games were exciting. But nothing could have prepared her for the speed and intensity of the game. It was hard to keep up with the breakneck tempo as players skated up and down the ice, passing the puck and shooting at the net while separate battles unfolded in the corners. There seemed to be so much going on at once. Not surp
risingly, she found herself focusing almost exclusively on Reid.

  Thirty seconds into the game, she understood why they called him The Rocket. He was insanely fast as he raced across the ice, his eyes blazing behind his helmet as he chased down the puck and aggressively checked opposing players. He moved like lightning and struck like thunder.

  At one point during the first period, he slammed an opponent into the boards with enough force to rock the Plexiglas framing the rink.

  The crowd roared with approval.

  Nadia cringed and covered her eyes with both hands.

  Nelson, Bianca and Jess laughed at her.

  When she hazarded a peek, Reid and his opponent had lost their helmets and dropped their gloves and were throwing punches at each other. The crowd ate it up, cheering them on like bloodthirsty spectators at a Roman gladiator match.

  Reid had the upper hand, landing more blows as the other guy struggled to keep a grip on his jersey. They went at each other until the Minnesota player slid down to the ice, at which point the referee finally intervened. When he sent Reid to the penalty box, the fans protested the call with a hail of boos and jeers.

  Reid spat out a mouthful of blood and skated off the ice in disgust, then plopped down in the sin bin with a ferocious scowl. Watching him, Nadia wondered if he was more frustrated with the penalty or with himself for losing his temper. She doubted it was the latter. Brawls were so commonplace in hockey, most players probably didn’t think twice about throwing down.

  But for someone as fiercely competitive as Reid, being taken out of the game must have felt like the worst punishment ever. He looked sullen and agitated in the penalty box. Nadia watched, with amusement and sympathy, as he restlessly bounced his right leg and shifted on the bench between glaring up at the scoreboard and watching the game. He was clearly dying to get back into the action. With his face streaked with sweat and his unruly dark hair sticking up, he reminded her of a scrappy kid who’d been put in timeout. Or a big black panther trapped in the world’s smallest cage.

  As if sensing her gaze, he suddenly turned his head and looked right at her.