“The whole world knows what I make. Just Google it,” Ethan said, knowing there was a Wikipedia page with all of his stats on it—professional and personal. He wondered if she’d googled him already, and he cringed at what she might’ve found. The good—and the bad—was available for everyone to see. Being a professional hockey player had been his dream since he’d strapped on a pair skates, to play pond hockey with his friends in Lake Tahoe when he was eight. And it came with perks that he’d never imagined. Unfortunately, it also came with living under a microscope, where every misdeed was blasted for the world to see. And he’d had a few of them after Julie.
“Umm,” she hesitated, and he knew she’d looked him up already.
“Don’t believe everything you read, or see, for that matter.” It was moments like these that he itched to be back in Italy, where they were just two consenting adults taking in the sights and each other.
“I won’t,” she said. He desperately wanted to believe her.
“Well, now that that’s settled, you two should schedule a time to go over everything,” Robert said.
“Yes, we should,” Penny said. He couldn’t ignore the tiny thrill that rocked through him at the thought of spending more time with her. He shouldn’t crave that, but he did.
“Can I swing by after I take my former accountant out for lunch? Or we could leave Robert here and I’ll take you to lunch.” The words were out before he remembered they were still in Robert’s office, under his watchful eye.
“Umm. You could swing by my office after lunch,” Penny said, her thumb swiping over her tablet. He wondered how many lists she had on that thing and if he was in there. He’d put money on finding a pro and con list about him in there.
“See you then,” Ethan said, rising when she did, and attempting to not watch her as she exited the office. “So, lunch?” he asked, slipping on his coat, his eyes still focused on his uncle.
“Is there something I should know about? Should I have kept your account?” Robert asked.
“Nope. You trust her, so it should be fine. I’m starved. We should go,” he said, inching toward the door that had just closed behind Penny.
He would not rush through lunch just to get back to her. Definitely not.
.
Chapter 6
An hour later, Penny was still trying to figure out what had just happened. And why Robert had handed over Ethan’s account. Yes, Robert was busy, and the firm was growing, but why her? Why now? Shit. Should she have fessed up to knowing Ethan? It was the right thing to do, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell Robert the truth.
And she’d had ample opportunity to do just that. When he’d talked to her earlier this morning and initially asked if she would take Ethan’s account. That would’ve been the perfect time. Or when he’d let Ethan know about the change. Another opportunity squandered because she’d gotten caught up on how gloriously his shoulders had filled out his gray knit sweater. She could’ve emailed him in between those two times, too, but her confession should’ve been face-to-face.
She’d made a list of all the times she could’ve clued Robert into her carnal knowledge of his nephew. Not that she planned to describe her week in Italy to her boss, but a quick mention of oh, we’ve met before and maybe this isn’t a good idea, should’ve been easy. But, the few times she’d tried to tell Robert the truth when they’d initially spoken, he’d interrupted her with more details about Ethan’s account, and she’d kept her secret. Hell, this was the definition of conflict of interest. But Ethan didn’t seem to mind, so why should she?
She’d tried not to stare at her clock for the last hour, each minute ticking closer to her doom.
She snorted. A bit melodramatic, much? Her stomach was a big, ugly knot. Yes, she’d seen him a handful of times in the last few weeks, but just in passing. She hadn’t actually had a conversation with him since the first day she’d seen him in Robert’s office two weeks ago, when he’d accused her of knowing who he was and using it for her gain.
And while he no longer appeared pissed at her for bailing on him, they’d hadn’t talked about it. She pulled out her tablet and scanned through her calendar, a grocery list she’d made this morning, and her weekend to-do list. A calmness settled over her with each swipe of her finger from one list to the next. Crap, she’d forgotten to add flour to her grocery list. She’d wanted to make cookies two nights ago and had been out of flour.
How the hell had that happened? She blamed Ethan. Her leg bounced, her shoe tapped on the floor protector under her desk. She was restless. And distracted. And forgetting thinks like flour. Basic staples that she always replenished on time.
She stood up and walked around her office, pinching the bridge of her nose. She had to get a grip.
Stop thinking about him. Or how he looked last night…
Ugh. She had to focus on work. Of course, telling herself not to think of him had the opposite effect. Now she was thinking about his sweaty abs on the jumbotron, and his grin when he’d spotted her through the glass.
A knock pulled her from her thoughts with a hard jerk. She spun, losing her footing for a minute, and grabbed the edge of her desk as Ethan’s smile turned to one of concern. He rushed into her office, reaching for her, the door shutting with a soft slam behind him.
His hand gripped her elbow, pulling her into his body, and the air rushed out of her lungs, stealing her squeak.
“You okay?” he asked, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. That damn crooked smile would be the death of her, if a slip and fall didn’t do her in first.
She should pull back, but she didn’t want to. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her, settle his hand at the small of her back, and tug her close. Jesus Christ. She needed to gain control and tell her stupid brain—and body—to shut up.
“I’m fine. Thanks,” she said, pulling free and instantly missing his warmth. He was like a space heater, and her office was cold. She took a calming breath, her rationalizations bordering on insane.
“How’s the knee?” He gestured to her leg.
“Better. Almost done with therapy, and I can walk faster than I did in all of those museums,” she said with a soft laugh.
“Your pace was fine. And I should’ve asked that when I first saw you, but I was in shock. I should apologize for how I reacted in your office. I know you never expected to see me again—hell, I never expected to see you again…” he trailed off. She refused to hear wistfulness in his tone. She was imagining things.
Her laugh came out strained. She could handle angry Ethan, could brush him off, but sweet Ethan—he would break her.
“That’s okay. It was a shock to me, too. And I want you to know, that I didn’t ask to take over your account,” she said, keeping her expression open, honest.
“Oh, Penny,” he said, linking his hand with hers, his blue eyes piercing right through her, and she struggled to take in a breath.
“What?” she rushed out, schooling her body’s instant response to him, willing her heart to stop pounding every time he touched her.
“I didn’t think that for a minute.”
She pulled free of his hand. “I should tell him about our history. About Italy.”
“I don’t think you need to do that. I’m fine with you handling my account,” he said.
“But you don’t even like me anymore.” Why had she said that?
“That’s not true,” he said.
And then he touched her cheek. Oh look, the butterflies had returned and they’d taken some speed before showing up. She bit the inside of her cheek to resist the urge—no, the need—to wrap her arms around his neck and take what she wanted. What she couldn’t—and shouldn’t—want.
She swore she was going to get whiplash. Hadn’t he hated her just last week? “I thought you hated me for what I did.” she said, her voice low, not wanting the answer but unable to stop the question.
“I don’t hate you, Penny. I hate how everything ended, but I understand it. Seein
g you was a surprise, and my reaction was just that, surprise, confusion.” He took her hand again. “But now that we are both here, aware of who the other person really is, what do you say to dinner?”
Again. Whiplash. She stared at him, her mouth gaping. “Seriously?”
“Why not? We had fun together. You know we never ran out of things to say during all our meals in Italy.”
She felt a tug at her heart, remembering how easy everything was back then. The conversation, the sweet kisses, the constant touching as he guided her through museums and vineyards, and in bed. She fought back her shudder. He’d been amazing in bed. Especially their first night together. When she’d cried. God, it’d been embarrassing. Her knee wasn’t up to bending, and she hadn’t told him about her injury, but after she did, the tenderness he’d shown her. Well, the casual hook-up had turned into so much more.
And that had scared the hell out of her.
“What are you thinking about?”
Her skin heated, and she focused back on him. “Nothing.”
“Not our nights in Italy?”
Dammit, how could he read her so well. Of course, the flush she must be sporting was probably a dead giveaway. But did he have to freaking point it out?
“Ethan, stop. We can’t.” She had to nip this in the bud immediately before her imaginings got the better of her common sense.
“Why not?”
“Because I work for your uncle.”
“So, we can’t be friends?”
“Umm.” Was that all he wanted? Had she been reading into something that wasn’t there?
“We can be friends, I guess.”
“Or more?” he asked, that damn dimple peeking out. Why did he have to have a freaking dimple? She wanted to stick her tongue in it. She had stuck her tongue in it.
She internally shook her head. Focus, Penny, focus.
“Ethan, you can’t say things like that.”
“Why not? Are you dating someone?”
“Does it matter?”
“It’s just a question between friends.”
“No.”
“No, you won’t answer, or no you’re not dating anyone?”
“No, I’m not dating anyone,” she bit out.
“Good to know.”
“Why? I won’t go out with you.”
“I don’t recall asking.” He grinned. “Just making friendly conversation among friends.”
He was going to drive her to drink.
“But you thought it.”
Why was she continuing this line of conversation? Shut up.
“Of course I thought it. I think about you a lot.”
“Right. Sure you do.” Stop it, heart flutter.
“Why do you assume I haven’t?”
“It’s been months. You’re a big sports star. I assumed you’d found another girl as soon as I left. You always have a different girl in every picture I’ve seen.” She wanted to punch herself when his eyes lit up. Fuck. She was revealing way too much.
“So you did Google me? I told you not to believe everything you see.”
“Even the pictures?”
“Even the pictures. Which are all old by the way, because there hasn’t been anyone else since you.”
Holy hell. There she went again with her gaping mouth and wide eyes—yes, you can feel your own eyes widening. How was her heart not galloping out of her chest, and why did he have to say such sweet shit like that?
“But why? We were never supposed to see each other again. It was just a fling.”
“Believe me, if I could explain it, I would.” His harsh laugh made her chest hurt, but she couldn’t ignore what he’d said. No one. No one since her. How was that even possible?
She had to end this conversation immediately before she did anything stupid, like jump into his arms and kiss the hell out of him. He really needed to stop staring at her.
Damn his bedroom eyes.
“This isn’t going to work.”
“What? Being friends or working together?”
“Maybe both.”
He took her hand again. “We’ll figure it out. My uncle raves about you, so if you’re overseeing my books, I have the utmost faith in you.”
“Are you sure you want me digging into your financials?”
“You can dig into whatever you want.” He chuckled. “That sounded weird.”
She couldn’t stop her laugh. “I missed you,” she said, wishing she could take it back as soon as his smile widened. Damn. She hadn’t meant to let that slip.
“I missed you, too. But I have to get home for my pregame nap,” he said, giving her hand one last squeeze before he released her.
“Nap?”
“It’s a requirement so I’m rested and ready to go for the game tonight.”
“Oh. So you didn’t want to go over your account?” She refused to be sad that he was about to walk out of her office.
“Nah. But we could discuss it over dinner or drinks Saturday night.”
“That’s probably not a good idea.”
“Just think about it. And if I need to review any paperwork, you know how to find me.”
“Yes. And good luck tonight,” she said, trying to steer the conversation anywhere else.
“Thanks…if you ever want tickets to the game, just let me know.”
Right. So she could stare at his abs on the jumbotron again.
“I’m not really a hockey fan.”
He put his hand to his heart in mock horror. “Well, we’ll have to fix that. Hockey is the best sport ever created. No, the best thing ever created.”
She laughed. “Okay, okay. Don’t you have a nap to get to?”
“You could join me,” he said. There wasn’t a smirk or wiggled eyebrow in sight.
“Just go, Ethan.”
“We’ll talk soon,” he said, giving her one last smile before walking out of her office.
Shit. She was screwed.
“Just because you scored the shootout win last night doesn’t mean you can slack at practice today,” Siebs called out as Ethan skated up the ice, pissed that he’d missed that last shot. Fanned, actually. Siebs had every right to call him out.
“I meant to pass it to Cheesy,” Ethan said, sliding onto the bench and grabbing the closest water bottle. They’d been working on power plays for the last twenty minutes. He and Cheesy were pretty in sync by this point in the season. It’d only taken about a month to get in line. Ethan knew that was one of the main reasons the Strikers wanted him. Cheesy hadn’t had consistent linemates for the last three years, and they’d played well together for Team USA at World Championship last year.
“Pretty sure you fanned, Harty,” Cheesy said, shooting him a grin as he ran his hand over his stick, checking for tears in the tape. That grin had taken a while, too. Cheesy was too serious. And on camera—forget it—he was a mess. Deer caught in headlights mess. And as much as Ethan wasn’t a fan of the spotlight, he hadn’t shied away from it either. Talking to reporters was part of the job. He just wished they’d keep the questions focused on his game and not his personal life.
Not that he’d helped that focus. But he was working on it. One boring night at a time. Let someone else be the bad boy of the team. Ethan was tired of that title. Of course, he couldn’t fault them since he’d contributed greatly to his image of playboy. And the rumors that had trailed him from New York hadn’t helped matters.
“You good?” Cheesy asked, nudging his shoulder hard enough to get his attention and get him to slide down the bench.
“Yeah,” Ethan said, clearing his head. He had a practice to focus on. Two dozen extra suicide drills up and down the ice was Siebs’s favorite form of torture for anyone who was slacking, and Ethan was determined to never make that list. He’d done enough of them at the start of practice and was in no mood to do anymore.
“You were on fire last night, and the night before,” Cheesy said, focusing back on the ice as they waited for their shift.
“T
eam effort. I’m just glad the points are starting to swing our way,” he said. They’d won their last four games. On top of that, last night had been the back end of a back to back. Odds were that streak would end soon, but not if he had anything to say about it. He’d prove his worth to the team one shift and one point at a time.
“Four goals and a shootout win in two games is more than just a team effort,” Cheesy said.
He wouldn’t claim that it was because of Penny, but he’d been lacking in the points department until she’d shown up at the game two nights ago. A hattie the first night and two goals the next night was rare. Extremely rare. Not that the second goal counted in his points, since it was the shootout win. He needed to get her to more games to see how much of a good luck charm she really was. Maybe he just had to see her for the magic to work. Hockey players were superstitious as hell, and he’d get her season tickets right next to the penalty box if his point streak continued.
Who was he kidding? He’d give her season tickets just to see her at every game. Her flushed cheeks when he banged into the boards in front of her, the soft gasp that reminded him of every soft gasp she’d let out as he’d kissed down her body in Italy. He shifted on the bench. Now was not the time to reminisce about Penny in bed. About what he wanted to do to her every time he saw her. He pushed her from his mind, and focused on practice.
“Just in the right place at the right time,” he said.
“So humble. You finding humility in your old age, Harty?”
“I’m not that old,” he grumbled. “I only have two years on you.”
“That’s at least a decade in hockey years,” Cheesy said. “Hop to it, old man. Just try not to fan again.”
Cheesy grinned as he jumped over the boards, Ethan right behind him. And when the puck hit Ethan’s tape, he sent it sailing into the net, right over the blocker side of Gally, their starting goalie. Nothing but net.
***
“Great practice, boys,” Cheesy said an hour later as they all filtered out of the locker room.
“Morning skate is optional tomorrow, but greatly encouraged,” Siebs called out behind them.
They had a rare three nights off, and Ethan was looking forward to the mini break. Twelve games in twenty days was a lot, and he was pleased that they’d come out with nineteen points. Now if they could just keep that up for the rest of the season, he’d be happy. He knew that it would be a feat just to get past round two of the playoffs, but if they kept this up, the idea was no longer far-fetched.
Breakout (San Francisco Strikers Book 1) Page 7