by Jill Shalvis
“Sorry,” she called as he jogged closer. “I like to practice parking-lot safety and I couldn’t see who was under the hat.”
He pulled up the brim and twisted the cap around until he resettled it backward on his head. The hat’s team logo was one she didn’t recognize—green-and-red with a flaming hockey stick. Maybe it had been a school or college team.
“Is that better?” he asked, his white T-shirt and blue nylon shorts the team uniform for lifting and weight-room workouts.
This outfit was clean, though, the cotton still crisp where it clung to broad shoulders. She remembered he was a farm boy, his muscles earned early in life lifting hay bales. That must have been in his bio when he’d joined the team.
“Yes. Thanks.” She folded her arms, unsure of herself suddenly.
Her interactions with the team members had become fairly routine, restricted to high fives after good games or practices, although occasionally she went out to team dinners with the players when they were on the road. Her role then was usually to ward off women, a job she was good at since her time on the street had honed her ability to broadcast a serious “don’t mess with me” vibe.
What could Vincent want with her now?
“I heard you’re headed to Montreal for the game.” He waved her back toward her SUV. “I have something to give you for the trip.”
Following, she tried not to watch his awesome body in motion. Being a Phantoms fan gave her a certain amount of freedom to dream about the guys on the team, all the while knowing she was safe from any romantic interest on their part. A couple of the guys had tried to hit on her early in her tenure with the Phantoms. But she’d made it clear she was a sports groupie, not a sex groupie. And they’d been fine with it, glad to have her cheer for them and make the occasional carload of homemade chocolate-chip cookies for them after a road trip. The team thought of her as a sister these days, a fixture in the stands. The one who cheered them on when they were down.
And given her issues with men from her past, that was the nicest role she could imagine for herself.
Relaxing her guard, she honed her fan-girl knowledge. “Am I remembering right that you’re from a small town in Minnesota?”
“I grew up on a farm outside of Cloquet. It’s not all that far from Duluth in the northeast corner of the state.” His long strides required she pick up her pace. At six foot two, he wasn’t even the tallest guy on the team, either. He turned to look at her. “Do you all have your passports for the trip across the border tonight?”
“Enhanced licenses.” She’d learned that lesson the first time she’d driven all the way to the Canadian border and hadn’t been able to get in. “They’re cheaper and they’re good enough if you’re driving over.”
Reaching her vehicle in the small lot that was quickly emptying out, Chelsea saw a small box on the hood.
“I remembered you got lost the last time we went to Boston.” He picked up the package and handed it to her. “I thought this might help.”
A gift? She couldn’t believe he remembered she’d taken a wrong turn on the way to that Boston game. An odd little shiver went through her knowing he’d thought about her. Peering down at the box, she couldn’t help a startled gasp.
“A GPS?” She read the brand name and saw the long list of fancy features. She’d salivated over these gadgets long enough in the store to recognize a high-end brand. “Wow. I have a navigation app on my phone, but I’ve been wanting—” Stopping herself, she recalled that she had no business taking gifts from a man. “But I can’t accept this.”
“Don’t think twice about it. I got it for my sister last year and her husband bought her one, too. Then I forgot to take it back to the store for so long I’m stuck with it anyhow.” He took the box from her hands and opened it. “If you pop the locks I’ll have it hooked up for you by the time Misty gets here.”
He nodded toward the back door where her closest friend emerged with the cameraman who would be accompanying their group to Montreal. Chelsea could hardly pretend Vincent posed any kind of threat in her car when her friend and the camera dude were both within shouting distance. Besides, she’d known Vinny since he’d joined the team. His number was even inked in a special place close to her heart since he’d been the first guy on the team to speak to her directly, the first team member to really draw her into the Phantoms’ inner circle and make her feel safe.
The Phantoms were the closest thing she had to a family ever since the summer she was seventeen, when she’d walked out of her mother’s makeshift tent by the river. She found herself opening the driver’s side door for Vincent.
“Well…thank you.” The words were scratchy in her throat and they felt weighty as she said them. Not that she wasn’t a grateful person. But as a rule, she did not accept gifts. No handouts. No favors.
That way no one could expect anything of her in return. No one could demand something she “owed them,” a situation her mother had found herself in far too often. And the way she’d paid back generous men had turned Chelsea’s stomach.
“Actually, Vinny—” she started, about to tell him she’d changed her mind. The memories in her head were too visceral. Too disturbing.
“All done.” He slid out of the truck, box in hand and the GPS mounted to her windshield. “I’m so glad someone is going to get some use out of it. Drive safe, Chelsea.”
He strolled across the parking lot, whistling, leaving her to wonder what had just happened. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he walked away, even when Misty arrived with the camera guy in tow.
“Seriously, Chelsea?” Misty clutched her chest as if she was about to have a heart attack, her gaze following Chelsea’s while the cameraman made a second trip back to the building for more video equipment. “Are you making time with one of the players behind my back?” she teased. “Were you talking to Vinny Girard alone out here just now?”
They were the same age and they’d met in a women’s shelter downtown one winter after Misty’s father had kicked her out of the house at sixteen—his new wife hadn’t wanted her around. But she’d rebounded quickly, finding work at a makeup counter thanks to her natural gregariousness and good looks. With her dark blue-black hair and green eyes, she had a doll-like fragile beauty that belied the powerhouse personality beneath.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Chelsea chided, only able to tear her eyes away now that Vincent disappeared inside the building. “He just wanted to be sure we made it to Montreal safely.”
It was incredibly thoughtful, really. Even if she was still a little uneasy at the idea of accepting his generous gift.
“What do you mean?” The question barely left her lips when Misty peered inside the open door of the SUV. “Oh, my God. Did he give you that?”
Her friend was already crawling into the driver’s seat for a closer look, her curls spiraling out of control in the spring warmth.
“He had an extra one—”
“And it has maps for Canada! Coolness.” Misty tapped in an address on the digital keyboard. “I told you he has the hots for you.”
“Excuse me?” Chelsea felt something shift inside her. Her stomach dropped the same way it did when she took a high-speed elevator.
Misty pressed another button on the GPS and remounted the screen to the windshield.
“He likes you, Chels. I tried to tell you that earlier this season when he invited you to dinner with the team.”
“He didn’t invite me.” She vividly recalled the first time Vincent had suggested they join the Phantoms for one of the team meals. “He invited all of us.”
“Only because he knows you would have never said yes otherwise.” Misty waved to their other friends, Rosa and Keiko, as they stepped into the parking lot along with Bryce, who seemed to be on his second trip carrying equipment.
Chelsea was so stunned by what Misty was suggesting she couldn’t seem to move past it, however.
“Vincent Girard plays in the NHL. He’s handsome. He’s thoughtful. He
’s rich. The guy could have any woman he wants.”
“Really?” Misty gave her a curious look. “He wants you, Chels. I don’t care how much he has going for him, I’m betting he’ll have his hands full trying to make that work.”
Misty knew about her hang-ups. Her reticence with guys no matter how hot they were. Misty started to move toward their friends, but Chelsea tugged her back, confused and wary.
“What are you talking about?” She knew Vincent liked her, but the relationship was more friendly than anything. He looked at her like a sister, trying to make sure she didn’t get lost on the way to a strange city or giving her some company for dinner when the team was on the road.
Misty pinched her cheek as if she was an ancient Italian grandmother doting on a child.
“Wake up, Chelsea. You’re so gun-shy you can’t see when a guy likes you. Can I help it if I feel sorry for Vin when you won’t give him a chance to get close?”
Something about Misty’s earnest expression made her realize her friend genuinely believed that Vincent liked her. Really liked her. In a way that was more than just friendly.
Around her, Rosa and Keiko arrived with their overnight bags, excited and giggling over some shared joke. Bryce loaded up another camera and a battery pack into the trunk. But the whole scene unfolded through a dense fog for Chelsea.
She felt light-headed. Dizzy. Sounds grew faint. But it wasn’t until she went to speak and couldn’t force out any words that she realized she was having a full-on panic attack.
All because a guy might like her.
No wonder Misty felt sorry for Vincent. He might have the world by the tail, but clearly the woman he was interested in was a complete basket case.
* * *
FIVE HOURS LATER, JENNIFER had finished her call to her boss and smoothed over the rough edges with him. She’d mapped out a few ideas for subplots in the hockey documentary series—subplots she hoped would be interesting enough to keep Colin from focusing too much on her relationship with Axel—which wasn’t a relationship at all, but simply an ill-timed kiss.
Or so she wanted Colin to believe.
Scooping up her notes to review on the team plane to Montreal, she emerged from her office. She’d tried tracking down Axel to speak with him privately before their scheduled departure, but he’d been tied up with phone calls of some sort. He’d sounded harried when they’d spoken, and he’d always had another party on the other line. He’d told her back in her office that he’d have to do “damage control” because of his kiss with her.
Apparently, his appearance in the documentary—specifically his appearance kissing her—was going to cause personal trouble for him. Who would care about him kissing her…besides another woman?
Hurrying down the stairs to meet the bus that would take the team and staff to the airport, Jennifer stopped short. What if a publicized kiss with her was going to create trouble with someone else in his life? That would account for the unease she’d heard in his voice when he was on the phone, as well as his need to do damage control. Could he be the kind of two-timer who would kiss one person while another waited for him at home? With dawning horror, she realized she hadn’t even asked him if he had a girlfriend. How had she rushed into kissing a guy without learning such basic details?
“Jen?”
Axel appeared out of nowhere. A leather overnight bag slung over his shoulder, he wore a charcoal-gray suit that must have been custom-made given his size. A silvery-blue tie held in place with a gold pin in the shape of a hockey stick made his eyes appear all the more aqua. He bore little resemblance to the sweaty, fiery competitor she’d met the day before. Now he looked like he would have been at home in Monaco, sidling up to the bar next to James Bond.
In other words, he looked like the kind of man who probably had women falling all over him.
“Did you finish your damage control?” she asked, tipping her chin up and blowing right by him toward the doors that led to the parking area. “I remember you said the on-screen kiss was going to create some problems for you.”
He caught up to her easily, her stride no match for his.
“I should talk to you about that,” he confided, his tone suggesting an intimacy she would not get sucked into.
And she would not think about the sexy cadence of his underlying Finnish accent.
“No need,” she argued, wondering how she could have misjudged him so thoroughly. “I didn’t realize that kissing me would create such difficulties for you with someone else.”
His silence felt damning. A confirmation of her worst fears. She hadn’t appreciated until then how much she’d hoped he would deny any such thing.
“I mean…” She trailed off, feeling foolish. Although, damn it, she wasn’t the one who should feel bad. “I’m not the kind of woman who would try to steal someone else’s man—”
“Whoa. Wait up a minute.” He held the door open for her but stepped into her path at the last minute. She had no choice but to brush past him, his insanely muscular torso taking up twice the room of a normal man.
“Did you honestly think I would condone something like that?”
“I honestly thought you wouldn’t jump to conclusions.” His dark glare surprised her since she was the injured party here.
Or was she?
She was quick to form opinions. It made her an empathetic filmmaker. It also could make her a bit impulsive.
She’d barely stepped outside when someone took her bag from her shoulder, a team of equipment handlers loading the luggage into the bottom of a coach bus with dark tinted windows. A few players congregated nearby, playing Hacky Sack or listening to iPods while they waited to board. They were all well dressed, a sleek-looking group in their jackets and ties.
“What do you mean?” she asked, wondering if she could have built this up in her mind based on too little evidence. But he was the one who’d stressed that the kiss was going to create issues for him.
“Maybe we should talk about this later,” Axel urged, lowering his head and his voice. “In private.”
“The way we were supposed to this afternoon?” She knew she should rein herself in. But it wasn’t easy to pull back now when she kept thinking about this man kissing her while he belonged to someone else.
A few heads turned in their direction.
Axel frowned. “I wasn’t able to get away,” he reminded her. “And are you sure you want to provide more fodder for those infernal cameras?”
She peered around, but didn’t see any handhelds trained on them this time. Besides, they needed to clear the air right now, before she set foot on a bus or a plane with him.
“I most certainly don’t.” She didn’t want to be caught on tape again any more than he did. “But when you’re emphatic about how much trouble one kiss is going to make for you, I can’t help but think you’re involved with someone else.”
6
WHOEVER SAID THAT REDHEADS had a temper wasn’t kidding.
Axel couldn’t believe the righteous indignation in Jennifer’s eyes, knowing she had zero grounds for the accusation she’d just hurled his way. A smarter guy would probably walk away and leave her to figure out she’d been shooting in the dark with that one. But, perversely, he saw beyond the wrongheaded allegation to the surprising level of emotion behind it.
Sure Jennifer might have a temper. But she also had a passionate nature that called to him like no other woman ever had.
He was silent for so long, his nosy teammates jumped into the mix.
“Axel, you have a girlfriend?” Leandre Archambault piped up in his heavy French-Canadian accent. The power forward was sour on both Axel and Kyle Murphy since their arrival had taken him off the first line to go out onto the ice. “What woman takes a second look at the defensive goon?”
“Hey, I didn’t know you were back on the market,” another player called from the Hacky Sack game. “My sister wants to meet you, Ax.”
They went around like that for a minute, half the guys
arguing that Ax had a face only a mother could love and the other half suggesting female friends and relatives for dating options.
Through it all, Jennifer appeared confused and—the longer it went on—irritated.
“Are you saying he doesn’t have a girlfriend?” she asked the player closest to her who just happened to be mouthy Leandre with the chip on his shoulder.
Axel crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the bus, not wanting to let on that he cared about the answer one way or another. Well, at least he didn’t want to reveal any hint of weakness to Archambault.
“Are you asking as a director or because you’re interested?” Leandre retorted, clearly not knowing who he was dealing with.
“Why?” Jennifer asked sweetly. “Are you pimping him out?”
The question earned a chorus of “ooohh” from the growing crowd of onlookers and Axel decided he’d had enough help from his teammates on the issue.
“Would you like to find a seat on the bus?” he asked, straightening.
“Actually, I thought I’d bring my own car to the airstrip and let some of my staff take the bus instead.” She didn’t seem deflated, exactly, but some of the temper had leaked away.
She must have realized she’d been wrong.
“Great. I’ll ride with you.” He pulled out his phone and sent a text to the coach and to his brother, Kyle, so they’d know where he was. “Where are you parked?”
“Over here.” She must have arrived at the building early that morning to have nabbed such a primo spot. A new-model hybrid rental sat right next to the rear entrance. Pulling out her keys, she paused beside the vehicle. “I don’t drive that much, living in Manhattan. Would you do the honors?”
She dangled her keys in front of him and he sensed a peace offering. But how could he let her off the hook so easily after she’d jumped to such a crappy conclusion about him?
“Depends.” He didn’t take the keys. Instead, he tugged her behind the SUV hybrid so no one in the parking lot could see them. “What will you do for me in return?”