by Teagan Kade
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Miss Walsh,” he said, extending his hand out to me. Each nail was perfectly manicured, but I couldn’t help but notice that two of his knuckles looked rather crooked.
Concentrate.
I swallowed. “Just Rae, please. It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Bausch. Thanks for waiting for me,” I said as my hand slid into his. His touch was warm. I felt an odd magnetic pull to him when our palms met, my skin buzzing in response. Who was this guy? His name was so familiar, but I couldn’t place his face, which was weird, because who could forget a face like that?
“No need to thank me. Micah is quite a character.”
My cheeks flushed at the thought. I had kept Micah because he was one of the few agents willing to work with a female hockey player, but I couldn’t deny he embarrassed me at times — especially when he was entertaining scouts.
Micah’s hands fell upon my shoulders. “Why don’t you take a seat, Rae, and we’ll get right down to business. Scott’s already been here for a few hours. I’m sure he’s ready to get on with his day.”
I swallowed hard again as my feet led me to the seat beside this gorgeous man. He leaned back in his chair in such a relaxed and controlled manner. His arms stretched along the cushions. God, they were freakin’ massive. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be pinned by those arms, held down against the bed sheets with my heart rapidly beating in my chest, waiting, yearning…
He must have felt me eye-fucking him, because he slid his bright blue eyes over to meet mine for just a moment before I whipped my head forward toward Micah. Any more tension and I was pretty sure I’d spring right out of my seat.
Straight into his lap, my head finished.
“If you don’t mind, Micah, I’d appreciate it if I could be the one to deliver the pitch,” Scott said. His voice was like raw honey — smooth, almost smoky.
“Be my guest,” Micah said, sinking into his executive chair.
Scott turned to me, his fingers steepled before him. God, my mouth watered at the sight of him. The scent of his cologne wafted around the room. There were hints of pine and sea salt, but also something else I couldn’t place. It was intoxicating. I hoped he couldn’t see the effect his presence was having on my body, the sudden inferno that had set up space between my legs.
“So, Rae, I’m assuming you already have an idea why I’m here. The team has been shopping around for a goalie, and you’re the best option we’ve come across. We’re a new franchise based in Seattle, so it’s going to be a little ways away from home, but you’d have the starting position — not sub. As of now, the roster is full, and you would be the last piece of the puzzle.” He licked his lips as his eyes briefly glanced down before meeting mine again.
Lord help me.
“Are you interested?”
I shook my head. “No.” It hurt to turn down somebody as delicious as Scott, but I had to stick to my guns. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”
Micah coughed, choking a bit. “Rae. What are you saying?” His eyes flashed to Scott, desperation marking his gaze. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She means ‘yes,’ of course. She is very interested.”
I was surprised how much he was pushing this. “No, Micah. I know exactly what I’m saying, and my answer is no.” I kept my voice calm and low.
His hand jutted out towards me. “See? She really doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s been hit in the head a few too many times. Believe me. This is an offer she’s been dreaming about.”
I glared at him, my composure fleeting. “Micah, have you lost your mind? How many times have I told you not to set up meetings with NWHL reps. I told you exactly that two freakin’ hours ago.”
I turned to Scott, feeling as though I needed to provide some explanation for this embarrassing little charade. “Thank you for traveling all the way to Philadelphia, but I aspire for something bigger and better than the NWHL. I want to be a part of the sport in an organized, well-funded team, and none of the women’s teams offer that yet, sorry.”
“Well,” Scott began. Damn it his voice was smoldering. That fire was fast licking its way between my thighs. “I think there are two misconceptions we need to straighten out.” He extended a finger. “First, I am not a team rep. I am the coach. Secondly, I don’t coach a NWHL team. I’m in charge of the Seattle Kraken, an official NHL team. You’d be the only woman on my roster, the only woman in the league, actually.”
My jaw dropped. My stomach twisted like a pretzel. This man was offering me everything I’d ever wanted and I had almost walked away. “Oh. My. God,” I stuttered. My hands were shaking. “I am so sorry. I am such a fucking idiot.” I couldn’t stop the expletive.
“No need to apologize. Just tell me you want the job.” A small, half-smile split his lips as he stared at me. I must’ve been glowing.
“I want the job,” I nearly squealed. I struggled to maintain my composure. “As long as the contract is appropriate and acceptable.”
“Which I will be sure to see to,” added Micah, who had sweated half the Atlantic by the looks of his shirt collar.
Scott nodded his understanding, keen to cement the deal. “Excellent, then both parties are agreed.”
Micah and I shared a victorious smile, but we kept it at a minimum, trying to appear at least somewhat professional.
“I guess a celebration is in order, no?” my new coach asked me.
Damn right. “Certainly,” I said, sending him an equally polite smile.
“Great.” He rubbed his palms together. “Why don’t you join me for dinner then?”
My hand pressed against my chest. “Me?”
“Unless you have a prior engagement?”
I watched as he nibbled on his bottom lip, waiting for my response. The action was distracting, playing with my imagination. Why did he have to be so damn good-looking? “All right.”
Typically I keep my personal and professional lives completely separate, a golden rule, but this time, I told myself, I’d indulge.
Just this once.
I couldn’t actually recall the last time I’d sat in such proximity to this kind of raw masculinity, ever.
But after tonight the relationship would be strictly professional.
After tonight I’d be far more diligent about the time I spent with Scott Bausch off the ice.
For the sake of my sanity if nothing else.
CHAPTER THREE
RAE
It wasn’t cold, but I wrapped my arms around my torso anyway. I felt incredibly underdressed with my café work clothes still on while Mr. Bausch sauntered around in tailored black pants and a fitted white shirt. Normally, I wouldn’t give a damn, but tonight was different. Tonight, I actually wanted to look decent — not stuck in coffee-soaked black jeans and an oversized black tee.
“Have you ever been here before?” Bausch asked as soon as the host sat us and left.
“No.” I shook my head. This wasn’t exactly a cheap restaurant. I was more of a Chinese takeaway-type girl. “I actually don’t spend much time in this part of town.”
“No?” He lifted his water glass to his lips, taking a slow sip. The ice clinked in his glass. “Why not?”
“I only came here for college, so I tend to stay within west Philadelphia near the university. I know my player profile says I’m from Philly, because that’s my permanent residence, but I am actually from Pittsburgh. I grew up watching the Penguins.”
A sigh blew from his lips. “Well, I hate to be the one to break the news, but once you put on the Kraken colors, we will expect fervent loyalty.” He grinned at me. His eyes were a piercing, magnetic blue. They were drawing me into something alright.
“That goes without saying. I’m a professional, Mr. Bausch.” I returned his smile. “What about you? What team did you grow up watching?”
“Just Bausch will do,” he smiled. “At least that’s what the guys call me. And to answer your question, my team was the Blackhawks. I haven
’t missed a game in thirty years.”
Holy shitballs.
The light bulb in my brain exploded as reality came crashing down around me. My hand slammed on the table. “You’re Scott Bausch. I knew I recognized your face.” My body went numb at the thought. I had just been drooling over Scott ‘Trouser Snake’ Bausch — a Blackhawks legend and one of the NHL’s most infamous playboys. I felt disgusted with myself. I couldn’t believe I had been attracted to, what all reports pointed to, was a conceited bag of air. Yeah, he was a great player, but supposedly his ego had enough room for half of China. “You played for your childhood team?”
He smirked, nodding. “Yeah, my one and only professional NHL team — aside from the one I’m coaching now, of course.”
I took a deep breath. I had to act normal. He was my coach as of just an hour ago. I couldn’t let it show how much I despised him. I thought back to the articles I had read. The way he just used and tossed women aside had repulsed me. I had seen his face plastered across tabloids for nearly a decade now. “What a dream that must’ve been.”
His expression softened, and a twinkle shone in his eye. “As Dickins would say, it was the best of times.” But then, like a switch was flipped, his expression hardened. Dark and even. “And the worst of times.”
“Good evening and welcome to the Firehouse.” A man in his early thirties greeted us. His dark, wavy hair hung around his face in a thick layer. His beard was trimmed to a neat, short length. “My name is Joshua. I’ll be your waiter this evening. Right now, we have an Argentinian red wine on special, a Merlot. It’s an excellent pairing for our thicker cuts of red meat. We also have a Pinot Noir from California that’s being offered this evening. It’s actually not for sale in stores yet. The owner of the vineyard is a friend of the Firehouse and has graciously allowed guests to sample it early. So,” he clapped his hands together, “what would you like?”
I groaned on the inside. Wine specials. I was so underdressed for this place.
“Actually, were celebrating. How about some champagne instead?” Bausch asked.
The waiter rattled off a list of bottles, including dates, origins, and lies about subtle hints one could taste in the champagne. My brain began to malfunction as I listened to it all. Finally, Bausch picked something that sounded fancy, and the waiter left us.
Scott tilted his menu toward himself, scanning the options as he nibbled on his bottom lip. His eyes narrowed slightly, but the piercing blue color was still vibrant within them. There was a weird power behind his look. I had seen attractive men before, obviously, but something about him constantly tugged at me. It was as though there were an invisible string tied around my waist that was continuously pulling me closer and closer to him.
Enough, I told myself. You know who he is, who he really is.
He glanced up at me, and my eyes dashed down to my menu, pretending to browse the options. Good god. I prayed he hadn’t noticed. I shouldn’t be staring at him like that. Scott Bausch was bad news. Entangling with him outside of a professional setting could be the end of my career.
Entangled — the word brought up all kinds of interesting visuals.
“What was that look for?” he asked with more curiosity than necessary.
My gut rolled into knots. I hadn’t been so covert after all. I played stupid. “What look would that be?”
A smirk bloomed upon his lips. “Alright, I’ll let you play coy, but just remember, this isn’t my first rodeo, Rae.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” As though I could forget. During his collegiate years Scott Bausch was one of the most desirable bachelors to enter the league. He had a different woman at his side in nearly every photo. Then, he got married. I didn’t read much into the gossip, but the press hated her. Eventually they split, and he returned to his old ways. A classic playboy tale.
At thirty, he won his third Stanley Cup with the Blackhawks, announced his retirement the following day, and proceeded to plow through every willing woman he could find. He was the type of man you went out with but didn’t hang your hopes on. Once he was bored, he tossed you away like used chewed gum. It was inevitable he would get bored.
I didn’t know the guy personally, of course, but all this was well documented, fact passed around the league.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Your Stanley Cup wins. How did they feel?” It would have been mortifying to tell him the truth.
“They felt…” His fingers tapped on the table. “They felt amazing, as though I had reached the summit of my career and all the work I had endured, all the blood, sweat, and tears finally meant something. It wasn’t all for nothing. But—”
The waiter placed two crystal flutes on the table, cutting Bausch off. “A great choice, sir. This is one of my favorite champagnes.” He popped the cork and filled our glasses halfway, bubbles racing to the rim. “Do you know what you’d like to order?”
We gave him our orders and were left alone once again.
Bausch lifted his champagne flute. I followed suit. He opened his mouth to give a toast, but I jumped in. “To the Seattle Kraken,” I said, intending to demonstrate my already budding loyalty.
“To the Seattle Kraken,” he repeated. “But mostly to you, Rae.” His eyes locked with mine. My throat tightened. There was something so captivating about his gaze. I couldn’t seem to tear myself away from it. “This is your night. Congratulations.”
Our glasses clinked and the tiny vibration ran through my fingers. We drained the champagne, sweeter than I expected, Bausch quickly refilling our flutes.
“So, tell me about the team,” I said, taking another sip. This was Seattle’s first season, and unfortunately, I hadn’t been following the trades as closely as I should have.
“Well, the starting lineup includes you as goaltender, Erik Monahan as right defenseman, Cormac Dennison as left defenseman, Brody Holmes as right winger, Jensen Pettigrew as left winger, and Liam Golder as center.”
“Wow!” I exclaimed. “Jensen and Liam together must be quite a knockout duo. Whoever put that together is brilliant.”
“Thank you.” He grinned at me. “I pushed for those trades, and it’s just like you say. Their styles sync up, and they play unusually well together. But they can also be huge assholes. They’re BFFs now, and you can’t disagree with one of them without the other sticking their nose in it. I have no problem knocking some heads around if I have to, though.”
I nodded with understanding. “Every team has its troublesome duo.”
“Yes. Luckily, you shouldn’t have to deal with them much. The two defensemen, Erik and Cormac, are pretty easy to manage and adapt well. We had a few practices with our former goalie — before his unfortunate accident — and they listened, to their credit.”
I sipped more of the champagne. “That’s good, because I’m pretty bossy.”
“On or off the ice?” he queried.
I’d always prided myself on being above a playboy’s grasp, but Scott Bausch … curse him for being so damn tempting. Is it even possible to despise and want somebody at the same time? “Both,” I answered.
“Typical Pittsburgh woman.”
I laughed. “Have you been with many women from Pittsburgh?”
He shook his head, struggling to hold in his own laughter. “Not a single one.”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
The phone in my pocket vibrated. I pulled it out and saw Micah’s name staring up at me. “One second, I need to take this, sorry.”
Bausch nodded his approval.
I lifted my cell to my ear just as the waiter arrived with our food. Ugh, I felt so incredibly rude. “Hey, Micah,” I whispered.
“Are you still with the stud?”
“What?” I hissed. He was my coach. I didn’t need others encouraging the thoughts I was already struggling to suppress.
“I’m going to take that as a yes, so I’ll try to make this as quick possible in order to not ruin your da
te.”
“It’s not a—”
“I just got off the phone with the Kraken owners, and we’ve come to an agreement on salary. Before I release the final number, I just want to let you know they did try to lowball us, but your trusty agent reminded them you were their starting goaltender and if they wanted the rest of the league to treat them like an NHL team, then they needed to pony up and act like it.”
“What’s the number?”
“Two and a half million.”
“Two and half—” I choked on my own spit and began to cough. It was more money than I could ever even dream of.
“It’s crazy, right?” I could hear from Micah’s voice he was equally as excited, and understandably so. Micah would receive five percent of that. “Two-and-half-million dollars, Rae! Buy a yacht! We’re going to be rich!”
I wanted to squeal along with him, but with Bausch sitting across from me I had to maintain my composure. “Let’s get that in writing first.”
“Two-and-half-million dollars,” he repeated.
“Yes.” My stomach fluttered. “I gotta go, Micah. I’ll talk to you soon.” I slipped the phone back into my coffee-tainted pants. “Sorry about that.”
“Good news?” Bausch asked, picking up his fork. He knew exactly what that call was.
Amazing news. “Kind of. Nothing’s signed yet, so I’m reserving my celebratory freak-out for later.”
He nodded. “Makes sense. Don’t want to peak too early.”
“Exactly. I avoid premature parties whenever possible.” I slid a spoon of creamed spinach into my mouth.
He stared at me. A small smile grew on his face.
“What?”
The smirk widened. “You’ve got some cream right here.” He pointed to the side of his mouth.
“Oh, thank you.”
Well, that was wonderfully embarrassing.
“No problem.” He took a long drink of his ice water. “So, Rae, what was it like playing for the Philadelphia Panthers in the NWHL?”
I swallowed. “Do you want me to be honest?”
He nodded.
“It was a mixed bag. I’ve always wanted to be a professional hockey player. It’s my passion. There’s no better feeling than being on the ice. So when the Panthers came calling, I was ecstatic. Plus, it meant that I could stay close to my dad.”