Game On

by Nancy Warren

  “Yes, teacher. I did my homework.”

  She felt a smile pull at her lips. She was relieved he’d dropped the attitude. He’d clearly made his peace with working with her, which gave them much better odds of figuring out the root of his problem.

  “Good. Did you discover anything interesting?”

  “You don’t waste time, do you?”

  “Not if I can help it. The sooner you have your issues under control, the sooner you can live up to your full potential.”

  “Do you really believe that?” he asked as though he really wanted to know.

  “Yes. Of course I do. It’s what my entire career is based on.”

  Those blue, blue eyes of his made her forget this was a lunch meeting and imagine, almost wish, it were a romantic get-together. A date. The kind where you bolt your food because you’re so anxious to get home and get naked. “Maybe some people aren’t meant to do great things.”

  She bet he could do great things in bed, then was shocked to realize that her thoughts were taking a whole different path than their conversation.

  “Of course they aren’t. So long as you feel you are living the life you want, that you aren’t getting in your own way, I have no quarrel. I know people doing menial work at minimum wage who are happier than you or I will ever be. They find real satisfaction in what they do. They are living up to their potential. In your case, with the Hunter Hurricanes, you play at peak performance all year until the play-offs and then your game suddenly deteriorates. Why? That’s what we want to work on.”

  “It was weird. I started writing out the games like you told me to and I got this feeling, like guilt, that came over me. It got hard to breathe and I had trouble staying in my chair to write it all out.”

  He reached for a wad of folded paper in his pocket but she stopped him. “Tell me about it.”

  “Well, I remember last year’s championship pretty clearly. Game was tied 2–2. And frankly, they never should have got two goals. Our defense was sloppy—mostly, though, our offense was weak. So I’m open. I yell. Dylan shoots me the puck. I’ve got a clear shot at goal. I mean, you could have nailed the shot. No offense.”

  “None taken. What happened?”

  “The game was won. It was over. A little tap of my stick on the puck and the cup was ours.”

  “And?”

  She heard a sound that might have been his teeth grinding together. “I missed the puck.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. I shot and missed the damn puck. A three-year-old with a plastic stick could have got that puck in the net.”

  “Interesting.” She sat back and thought about what he’d told her. “What do you think you felt guilty about?”

  “I don’t know. It’s like I wasn’t supposed to win the game.”

  “You weren’t supposed to win the game,” she parroted. “According to whom?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  “Who has the power to make you play at less than your best?”

  “I do!” The words exploded from him. She felt his frustration and imagined writing out the games had been a difficult exercise.

  “Of course you do. But someone or something else is sending you messages. I want you to think about that. Go through your day and really listen. Whose standards are you trying to live up to? A coach’s? A teacher’s? A parent’s? A boss’s? Some kind of authority figure, probably from your childhood, has buried these land mines in your subconscious. It’s up to you to find them and disarm them before they do any more damage.”

  “What am I listening for?”

  “When have you heard these messages before? You can go back to childhood and listen to the past. Replay conversations you can remember, particularly if they were around winning and success. See what comes up for you.”

  “How will I know when I find it?”

  She loved how focused he was, how he gave her every scintilla of his attention. She had another momentary flash of being naked with him and shivered. Found her own focus—on the damned topic at hand.

  “I remember working with a woman once who could not communicate anger. She was the worst doormat you’ve ever seen. Everyone in her life took advantage of her and she let them. It was making her ill. Actually ill. She got migraines and more colds and flu bugs than anyone I’d ever met. When she did this exercise, she started hearing her mother’s voice saying, ‘Good girls never show their temper.’ When she was young, if she yelled, she was punished. So she learned never to show her anger. Always to show a smiling face to the world and do whatever anyone asked of her. Once she recognized that she’d taken those messages inside and gone completely overboard, she was able to work on expressing her feelings.”

  “Wow.” He looked genuinely impressed.

  “There’s a kind of resonance when you see the pattern. An ‘aha’ moment. Chills down the back of your neck. You’ll know it when you experience it.”

  She watched him polish off the last of the largest plate of enchiladas she’d ever seen.

  “What was it for you?” he asked when he’d swallowed. “Your ‘aha’ moment.”

  She smiled at him. “One day I’ll tell you. But today we’re focusing on you.”

  “One day I hope you’ll tell me a lot of things.” His voice was warm, intimate. She felt the pull of attraction so strongly she knew she was lost.

  There was a beat of silence. Their gazes stayed locked. Then she forced herself to pull them back to the reason for their lunch. “Why do you play hockey?” she asked him.

  He looked at her as though this were some kind of test question. “Because it’s fun.”

  “Good. That’s excellent. That’s exactly why you should play a game. What do you like best about it?”

  He reached for the basket of tortilla chips and chose one. “I like the game itself. Strategy, when a play works, scoring a goal, but most of all I like the camaraderie. After a game we’ll have a beer in the dressing room and talk about stuff. Joke around.” He put the chip in his mouth. Crunched down.

  “Male bonding.”

  “Yeah.”

  He chomped more chips. She got the feeling that if he’d known her better, he’d have reached for the half of her salad that she hadn’t been able to finish.

  “All right. Here’s your homework for next week.”

  “Will it give me writer’s cramp?”

  “No. I want you to listen for those messages we were talking about earlier. If you can find the source, then we’re going to be close to improving your performance.”

  “Okay.” He scooped the last three chips out of the basket, swooped them through the remains of the salsa.

  “And I’m going to give you a couple of mantras.”

  “Couple of what?” A bright red drop of sauce sploshed on the table as he halted the chips a couple of inches from his mouth.

  “Mantras. Affirmations. Statements you repeat many times throughout the day, especially right before you play. She pulled a notebook and pen from her bag. Spoke aloud as she wrote.

  “First one—it’s okay to win. Second—I am allowed to win. Third—hockey is fun. I love it and don’t take it, or myself, too seriously.”

  “Oh, the guys are going to love hearing me mutter that crap before every game.”

  “You can repeat it silently.” She watched him fiddle with the ceramic donkey salt and pepper shakers. “Adam.” She waited until he met her gaze. “You have to trust me.”

  “I do or we wouldn’t be here.” His eyes continued to stare into hers and she felt warmth kindle in her belly. She saw his desire for her, felt her own reflected. To her consternation, she dropped her gaze first. “Good,” she said briskly.

  When they emerged into the parking lot, he walked her to her car. It was kind of sweet and old-fashioned and she lo
ved it.

  As soon as she’d unlocked her car, he opened the door for her. She glanced up. “Thanks.” Found him far closer than she’d imagined he’d be. So close she could see the stubble forming on his skin, the intense expression in his eyes.

  “Serena,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve had an ‘aha’ moment.”

  “Really? What is it?”

  “I don’t think this is going to be a strictly-business relationship.” Before she could respond, he’d closed the tiny distance between them, pulled her to him and closed his mouth on hers. Hot, determined, possessive, his lips covered hers. He gave her a moment to accept or reject his caress and she used that moment to angle her body closer, to open her lips in mute invitation.

  He took her mouth then, licking into her, giving her a taste of his power and hunger. Which, naturally, incited her own. And, oh, she was hungry. He reminded her of how long it had been since she’d lost herself in a man.

  A tiny sound came out of her throat, half moan, half purr. He took that as encouragement and pulled her even closer, kissing her deeply and thoroughly. She felt his arousal as he held her tight against his body, felt her own arousal blast through her.

  A car with all the windows open blasting music roared into the parking lot and he quickly pulled away, shielding her with his body.

  “Aha,” he said.

  She gazed up at him, stunned at the strength of her own response. “I don’t date my clients,” she reminded them both.

  “I don’t recall asking you for a date,” he said, all sexy and pleased with himself.

  “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, I hope so.”

  She still had the shivers down the back of her neck as she got into her car and drove away.

  6

  ADAM COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time a kiss had knocked his socks off like that. That woman was something, he decided, as he thought about the previous day. He’d have her in his bed sooner rather than later. He was already enjoying the anticipation.

  His partner, Joey Sorento, wasn’t sharing Adam’s good mood. In fact, Joey seemed to grow more pessimistic with each passing day. He had a dream of moving back to his family’s ancient vineyard on Sicily where Sorentos had been making some of the best extra-virgin olive oil in the world for centuries. But he needed money to buy the place from his aging grandparents. He watched the stock markets the way fishermen watch the weather. Based on observation, Adam didn’t think his partner was much of a stock picker.

  Despite being a Sicilian, Joey didn’t have the vaguest connection to the Mob. Didn’t matter. He was known around the precinct as Joey the Virgin. Most everyone called him Virge.

  They’d been sent out to investigate a suspicious death in a leafy neighborhood in one of the more expensive suburbs of Hunter.

  “Who called it in?” Adam asked as they drove.

  “Neighbor. She went in to water plants. The guy was supposed to be in Hawaii for the winter but when she went in this morning, she found him dead.”

  Pretty much any time someone died at home, their death was deemed suspicious, except in cases of terminal illness. Most of these calls turned out to be natural deaths—heart attacks, strokes, choking. Or suicides. When they arrived at 271 Greenleaf Road, everything seemed calm. They entered through a gate, walked up a brick path and before they’d reached the front door, a woman appeared behind them. “I’m Vera Swann. From next door,” she said. She was in her sixties. A prosperous-looking woman. She seemed a little shaken. “I thought Norman was in Hawaii. I went in to water his plants, like I always do when he’s away.” She put her hand to her heart. “And I found him. I’m sure he’s dead. I used to be a nurse. I called 911. You beat the ambulance.”

  “Can you let us in?” Virge asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  The house was modern in design but smelled musty and sort of damp. As if it had been shut up for a while. Vera Swann led them into a den/TV room and there was Norman, still in his bathrobe. A newspaper was open on his lap and his head was tilted forward.

  Adam approached, checking the area as he did so. Nothing suspicious. He checked the guy’s pulse. The skin was already cold and waxen. He nodded. “Dead.”

  “Looks like a jammer,” Virge said.

  “Yep. Or a stroke.”

  “Coroner will figure it out, I guess.”

  Because they were there, they followed protocol and did a quick walk-through of the house. Adam checked out the upstairs, and Virge took the basement.

  While he was wandering through empty bedrooms wondering where he and Virge should stop for coffee, he heard a yell. Virge didn’t get excited by much, so the yell sent him pounding down the stairs, through the main floor and down to the basement.

  “Well, well, lookie here,” he said as Virge walked among rows and rows of constructed wooden planters sporting thousands of leafy green plants. “We’ve got ourselves a grow op.”

  * * *

  SERENA REALLY LIKED it when her speaking engagements were in Seattle. Oh, she’d travel wherever the work took her, but it was so nice to drive to the conference center or a big hotel, give a workshop or luncheon address or whatever was asked of her and head home to her own bed. The Pacific Northwest Executives Association was today’s client and they’d booked her for most of the day. They’d hired her to present a breakfast address called “Reaching for Success” and later a workshop on inspiring optimal performance from employees.

  Between the two, she had a quick meeting with the owner of a chain of salons and spas about giving an all-day workshop to the company’s staff and contractors. It was more work and Serena was grateful to be so in demand, but she needed to clone herself.

  As soon as the afternoon workshop ended, she hopped on the I-5 and headed not for home, as she would have liked, but to meet Adam at her office.

  She was tired, feeling a little scattered. She could cancel, but she didn’t. She liked Adam. After his initial resistance she felt that he’d come on board and was willing to do the work required to solve his problem. He was also very nice to look at.

  She returned to the office at four-thirty. Adam was coming at five, which gave her time to return calls and take care of any pressing business. “Hi,” Lisa said when she walked in. “How did it go?”

  “Great. I think the workshops went well and we likely got some more business because of it.”

  “I like your new suit. The blue suits you.”

  “Thanks. First time I’ve worn it.” She didn’t tell Lisa that she had a personal shopper at Nordstrom who called her when new stock came in in her size and style. The woman knew Serena’s wardrobe almost as well as Serena did. Serena didn’t like wasting time shopping but she needed to project an image of professionalism and sophistication. She had to appear to have it all together even when that felt laughably untrue. However, having her own shopper made her feel vaguely guilty and self-indulgent, so she tended not to mention it.

  While she quickly flipped through the messages Lisa handed her, she paused at one. “Marcus was in today?” She glanced at Lisa. “We didn’t expect him, did we?”

  “No.” Her assistant held her gaze but her color rose. “I...um...I want to talk to you about something.”

  “Okay.” Now wasn’t the time. She was tired and Adam was on his way, but instinct told her she needed to listen to Lisa. And do it now.

  “What’s up?”

  Lisa fiddled with her hair, a sign she was nervous. “I love working with you. I enjoy the clients and I can see that you really make a difference in people’s lives.”

  Sure, Serena thought, butter me up. Then stick it to me. She merely nodded and waited.

  Lisa stacked the Post-it notes beside her computer, then straightened a perfectly perpendic
ular pen. “I see that you have to turn down work, that you have more clients than one person can possibly handle.” She licked her lips. “I want to take on more responsibility. Maybe one day become a junior partner.” The last part came out in a rush, as though she’d memorized the words but hadn’t practiced the speech enough times.

  Serena felt one more weight added to her already overburdened shoulders. She’d known she’d lose Lisa; she simply hadn’t expected it to be this soon. “I work alone, Lisa. I always have. I admit I’m a control freak. I can’t imagine having a partner. I think I’d always be double-checking your work to make sure it was done the way I’d do it.”

  “But you could train me. I’m a fast learner.”

  “When would I have time to train you? I’ve barely got time to eat lunch.”

  “I really feel like I could be an asset. Marcus came in today because he asked me to go over the last exercise you gave him. I was able to explain things to him when you were busy with something else.”

  A spurt of irritation blasted through her. What right did Lisa have to explain her exercises to a client? The woman was her admin assistant, not a certified performance coach.

  Before she did something stupid like say things she might regret, Serena said, “Can you let me think about this for a few days? Maybe we can talk again after I’ve had time to digest?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  As Serena was heading to her office, Lisa said, “I followed your advice, you know. You always say if you don’t ask, you won’t get.”

  She turned.

  As Lisa was speaking, the outer door opened and Adam walked in, flashing his killer smile at the pair of them. “Ladies.” If his eyes telegraphed wicked messages, they were only for her.

  Perfect timing, Serena thought as she welcomed him, glad he’d broken into a conversation she didn’t want to finish. “Come on back to my office.”

  When she looked at him, she forgot Lisa. All she could think about was that kiss, that earthshaking, spine-melting kiss that she’d thought about far too often in the past few days.

  She wanted him, she realized, looking at the long-limbed, sexy man with the killer blue eyes.