by Brit DeMille
“Okay, those are some good prospects,” Fiona says. She looks to the rest of the team, and they all throw out ideas for their own areas of engagement. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kacey King, the blonde reporter who seemed to have a thing for Evan after the first game of the season, wander in and go to Fiona’s office.
As the meeting ends, I’ve got a few new marching orders. I feel out-of-sorts, for some reason, stressed out. I can’t figure out why. I sit at my cubicle, but I can’t concentrate, so I get up and head to the restroom. As I’m washing my hands, Kacey King comes in. She’s in a tight, royal blue dress that really shows off her curvy figure. She looks me up and down, her blue eyes bright and cunning. Her mouth turns up in a smirk, red lips gleaming from a fresh lipstick application.
“I was hoping I’d meet you,” she says.
“Me?” I ask, confused.
“Yes, the social media guru. You’ve really breathed new life into the team’s feeds. Nice job.”
“Oh, Thanks.”
“You know,” she says, putting her hands on the sink and leaning into my space, “I heard from my friend Fiona that Evan has taken a bit of an interest in you.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that…we’ve only spoken once or twice.”
“Must have been quite a conversation, Fiona says he asked for permission to teach you to skate.”
A little laugh escapes my lips. “Yes, he did say something about it.”
“Look,” Kacey says, “I think you know the team has a strict no-fraternization policy. And Evan knows this because he’s fucked an employee right out of a job once before. So, don’t think this is new territory for him, and don’t think that he gives two shits if you lose your job. He’s a stud and studs need to rut, if you know what I mean.”
“Did he rut with you?” I ask sweetly.
“Oh honey,” Kacey says, “I can’t be rattled that easily.”
“And you think I can?”
“Hmm.” She sighs dramatically and stands up straight, turning to focus on herself in the mirror. “Well, I do like what you’re doing for the team. I hope you don’t end up getting fired for fucking the players.”
“Players, plural?”
She smiles and winks. “Stay away from Evan Kazmeirowicz.”
I try not to let my jaw hit the floor as she walks out, the threat implicit in her words and tone.
Rattled, I make my way out of the restroom and just keep walking, headed outside into the sun for some rejuvenation. I finally pull out my phone and call Pam.
“Hey honey,” she says. “Out on our lunchtime walk?”
“Yeah,” I say,” But I also needed to get out of the office. I just had the weirdest run-in with this local television reporter.”
“Which one?”
“Kacey King,” I say. “You know, the one that did the flirty interview with Evan after the first game?”
“Oh yeah, I remember her. Blonde? Big rack?”
“That one. And a nasty streak,” I say. “She basically threatened to tell my boss I’m screwing the players in order to get me fired. Said Evan—and I quote—fucked someone out of her job once before.”
“Yikes,” Pam says. “Is that true?”
“No clue, but I feel like I would’ve heard that rumor, though, you know?”
“I’d think so. Sounds like the kind of water cooler thing that one hears, especially when the player in question is sniffing around.”
“I’m, like, a thousand percent sure that Kacey and Evan got it on,” I say. “No reason to get territorial unless you feel threatened, right?”
“Agreed,” Pam says, “that bitch is trying to land her a man.”
“Do you think she just has high hopes, or am I right they’ve already done it?”
“Probably the latter. Holly, his record seems to be love ‘em and leave ‘em. She probably thinks she can be different. The one who turns his attention away from whoring around.”
I cringe. “Ugh. Who knows how many women he’s done it with, Pammy? Why do I like this guy? He probably has chlamydia.”
“Genital warts,” Pam says.
“Or Gonorrhea.”
“Herpes?” she suggests.
“Okay, Okay,” I laugh, “I’m sufficiently grossed out now. I think I can go back to work and not be distracted by thoughts of Evan.”
“Just think of him with rot-dick and you’ll be refocused on work in a jiffy.”
“Eew?” I say, giggling. “Thank you and I love you.”
We hang up and I go back to work focused once more, completely convinced that Evan Kazmeirowicz is not worth my time and energy. Kacey King can have him.
Fourteen
Evan
I’ve decided to go the romantic route with Holly. I haven’t spoken to her since our text exchange in New York. I’m a little offended she didn’t at least check in to make sure I was okay after my injury, though I did see she was posting Get Well messages from fans and giving Twitter updates on my condition. So obviously she’s been following my recovery. Which gives me hope.
I decide to sneak in before the office opens for the morning, on my way to the gym. I figure I’ll just leave these flowers for her, and let the ball stay in her court. But just as I sneak in the back way, past Bud’s office, Fiona Starling comes striding toward me.
Today, she’s in a black blouse with a deep V-neck and a knee-length pencil skirt. She has on very high heels to accentuate her long legs. Fiona is an attractive woman, older than me but certainly very put-together. She’s always been a little cold for my taste. I don’t know her well because she just doesn’t strike me as all that interesting. I envision her as a bit of a cold fish in bed.
Today, though, she gives me a cat’s smile, all full of mischief. I’m immediately taken aback.
“Up early today, are we?” she asks. “Must be feeling better?”
“Yep. Back at the gym for the first time in a week. Looking forward to it. Feeling pent up.”
She looks me up and down. The expression on her face is hungry and it weirds me out.
“Pent up, huh?” she asks. “That’s a terrible feeling.”
“Uh-huh,” I answer, confused. What the hell is happening right now?
“Who are the flowers for?” she asks.
“For a friend who deserves them.”
“Well, this friend must be very special indeed, to get your attention,” Fiona says.
I bite the inside of my lip. “Look, Fiona, I know you’re a stickler on the no-fraternization policy. I assure you nothing is happening with me and my friend. She’s been a total pro.”
“Your friend, meaning Holly,” she says flatly. She looks like she swallowed a lemon.
“Holly,” I confirm. “She’s not interested in me. We’re just friends.”
She steps closer to me, so now we’re nearly chest-to-chest. She’s a tall woman, I just realized.
“I’d love to visit with you sometime,” she says, her voice lower than usual. “Privately. To discuss that fraternization policy.”
A quick drop of the eyes confirms her nipples are rock hard beneath that thin top. Oh shit. The married and seemingly uptight Fiona Starling is coming onto me. WTF?
I step back just slightly. “Well, I’m not sure what there is to discuss,” I say. I’m certain you’ve got good reasoning for it. And I’m sure it applies to all employees, even management.”
She squares her shoulders and looks over her shoulder, as if she’s worried someone has seen this little exchange. Then she gives a nod and says, “Well, I will hope to see you soon. I’d love to pick your brain since you’re clearly interested in what the media team is doing here.”
“Yeah, sure, I’m always happy to help promote the team.”
She looks around again and says something about needing to prep for a meeting. I say goodbye and she walks away, leaving me flummoxed in the hallway, wondering when the hell Fiona decided she wanted to come onto me. That’s new. And strange. I think I need a wash off
now.
Shake it off. Leave the flowers for Holly. Get on with the day.
Of course, my plan to drop the flowers and run is thwarted again because overachiever Holly is already at her cubicle when I come around the corner. She looks up as I approach, and she can’t hide the smile spreading across her face. Goddamn. It’s like the sun came out. A beautiful thing just got more beautiful.
“Good morning, Miss Laurent.” I hold out the flowers. “These are for you. My apology for being a loser.”
“You’re not a loser,” she says, taking the proffered flowers and setting them on her desk. “You’re a winner. Welcome back. How are you feeling?”
“Much better, thank you. Slightly strained tendon in my knee. Concussion in the old noggin. All cleared for play, though.”
“That was a brutal hit you took,” she says, frowning. It’s cute. Why is every face she makes so cute? “I felt a little sick watching it.”
“It was a bloody dirty move, is what it was,” I say.
“Georg thought so too. He defended your honor afterward.”
I grin. “I know. I saw the footage.”
“Kazochev is hotter than ever,” she says. “People ship you two even more after that.”
“Well, he’s not my type,” I say. “Too hairy.”
She laughs out loud. “I don’t think I believe you have a type, Evan, I believe your type is all.”
“Oh,” I say, putting my hand to my chest. “You wound me. I do want to apologize for that picture again. I really wasn’t out to meet anyone. She asked for a selfie and put my hand there.”
Holly looks skeptical. “Whatever, no need to apologize. You don’t answer to me, Evan.”
“But I need you to know,” I insist, “I get waylaid like this all the time. Women think they own me, think I’ll screw anything that moves. And when I was younger, maybe I was partial to it.”
“When you were younger, like last year?” she asks with a smirk. “Look, your sex life is your business. It’s not for me to judge.”
“Well,” I say, leaning closer. “I wish it was.”
Her eyes go wide.
“Look, Holly, I’d love a chance with you. To get to know you. I don’t just want—I mean, I want to, but not just that. Am I making any sense? I feel like a stammering teenager.”
I wipe my forehead and make an exaggerated face. She giggles.
“You make me nervous and it’s very unusual, because I rarely get nervous,” I admit.
“Well, I guess I kind of feel the same,” she says, suddenly blushing and acting shy. She looks at her shoes. She’s fucking gorgeous.
“Will you think about it?” I ask. “We have a day off in Anaheim. Maybe we could go sight-seeing? Purely platonic. Unless…it isn’t.”
“I’ll think about it,” she says. She tilts her head. “Can I change the subject for a second?”
“Sure.”
“I keep hearing about All-Star voting,” she says. “Is that a goal of yours? To get voted onto the All-Star Team?
I nod. “It is. Georg too. And I want team votes for Captain once Chalamet retires.”
“Cool,” she says. “I’m working on some new contests and polls. I can throw in some promotion for fans to vote on All-Stars. I’ll probably have to promote our top scorers. Not sure if Fiona will let me focus on just you.”
“Oh, she might,” I say. I don’t want to out Fiona for her odd little innuendo-infused hallway meeting this morning, but I feel fairly certain about her being okay with promoting me anywhere, anytime.
“She’s weird about stuff,” Holly says. “I’ll run it past her, though.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, then. I pull it out and take a look. It’s a text from Kacey King. “Sorry,” I say. “Give me a second?”
Holly nods. “I need to get to work anyway, no worries.”
I look down and roll my eyes at the very first line.
Kacey: Hey, stud. Welcome back to the game, I hear. Can we get thirty minutes for an exclusive on your return to the ice after the hit you took in New Jersey?
Evan: Talk to Fiona to set it up.
Kacey: Did. Approved. When is good?
Evan: We’re home tomorrow and then we leave for California.
Kacey: Tomorrow then? Before you suit up?
Evan: I don’t know. Let me see how I feel.
Kacey: I can help you prep, if you’d like.
Evan: Nah. I’m all good. Just saying, I haven’t worked out in days. Might need time to warm up.
Kacey: I can help you warm up, too.
Evan: Keep it professional, K
Kacey: Not what you said when you had your head between my legs.
Evan: Last warning or no interview.
Kacey: Killjoy. Okay. Text me tomorrow with a time.
I look up and see Holly is back at her desk, studying some kind of analytics on her laptop. I take the few steps and look over her shoulder, putting my hands on the back of her chair. Even from here, I can smell her shampoo. It smells like mint. She smells like food, oh my god. Not perfume or flowers or some shit. She smells good enough to eat. Sweet and fresh. I suppress a groan. My cock even twitches in my pants, which is horrifyingly teenager of me. What is it about this woman who makes me so crazy like this?
“What’s all this?” I ask, very close to her ear.
She jumps and lets out a little yelp. I laugh out loud. “Sorry, darlin’,” I say. “I didn’t think you were actually engrossed in all that mumbo jumbo. I thought you were just pretending to ignore me.”
She turns and looks at me, her cute nose all wrinkled. “Contrary to popular belief, I do not sit around thinking about Evan Kazmeirowicz all day long. I do actually have a job to do.”
“And you’re quite good at it,” I say, leaning in. I whisper, “But I think you’re lying about the first part, because I sure as hell think about you all day.”
There is great satisfaction in watching the subtle ways a woman shows she is aroused. The slight intake of breath. The flush on her cheeks, and lower. The outline of hard nipples appearing beneath her shirt. The way she squeezes her legs together.
“Anaheim?” I ask again, softly so only she can hear it.
She swallows and nods.
After a quick look around to make sure no one was around to catch me, I lean in and give her a quick peck on the cheek. “You won’t regret it,” I say, every word a promise.
I’m out of there before I can get accosted by Fiona again, and on a call to Scott to ask if I can get out of this interview with Kacey.
“Fiona clear it?” he asks. I can hear the whir of a machine in the background.
“Are you walking on a treadmill?”
“Got a treadmill desk,” he says. “I was getting too fat sitting on my ass all day.”
“You run more than anyone I know,” I say. “I find it hard to believe you sit more than ten minutes a day.”
“Whatever. Take the interview. Fiona’s the boss on media matters, and people are curious if you’ll be in prime shape for this run of games. I mean, shit, you only missed two games and you got your clock cleaned. You actually sure you’re good to go, man?”
“I’m good,” I say. I listened to doc’s orders for seven days. I’ve worked out, been on the ice. I feel good. No worries.”
“Okay, well, let me call Kacey and set up the interview. We’ll make sure it’s short, sweet, and gets you focused on the ice in no time.”
I groan in response.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks. “You’ve never had an issue with media before.”
“Kacey’s just…” I groan again.
“She wants to fuck you. Again. Big deal. Just do what you gotta do,” he says.
“I feel personally victimized by that statement. Are you suggesting I let her have her way with me?”
“Whatever,” he says. “She gives you good press. Good press means All-Star votes. Think of it that way.”
“I won’t fuck her,” I say, “but I�
��ll do the interview.”
“Of course you will,” he says. “I’ll set it up. Call you back with the details.”
I shake my head and hang up. Fine. I’ll do the stupid interview. But only because I know I’ve got a date with Holly on the horizon.
Fifteen
Holly
Evan is holding my hand as I fumble my way around the rink. I feel like a baby, learning to walk for the first time. Or a zombie, all stiff-legged and totally lacking coordination.
“I’m so bad at this,” I complain with a laugh. “I thought we were going sight-seeing?”
“I just had this vision of teaching you to skate,” he says. “Hang in there. It gets easier.”
“I don’t know about that.” I look down at the skates. “I’m used to my running shoes.”
“Do you still run?” he asks as he moves behind me, his hands at my waist to hold me steady. “Try not to lock your knees. Just let yourself move like you normally would.”
“I do, yes. Every day almost. It really helps me decompress.”
“Did you start running for any specific reason?”
“Um, I guess I just realized it helped me tune out stress,” I say, trying to will my body to relax. “My parents were a mess when I was in high school. They divorced, like, the minute I went to college. My mom remarried in record time and moved with her new husband to Europe. My dad’s job had always taken him overseas, so he just sold the house and moved to Saudi Arabia.”
“So, they fought a lot? And you ran to shut it out?”
“Yeah. Started running in middle school, actually. Got good at it. I was determined not to allow myself to be a pawn in my parent’s legal battle over money, so I pushed myself through high school, got the attention of the UCLA cross country coaches.”