Page 47

Fuck, it’s hot. The guys weren’t kidding when they told me to be prepared for it to still be a million degrees out even in late August. The humidity makes the heat even worse.

My shirt is already clinging to my body and I’ve only walked a block.

Today is definitely going to be a two shower kind of day.

But I don’t have time to worry about that right now nor slow down my pace.

I’m running late for lunch with Wes, one of my teammates, because I couldn’t find a parking on the street closer to the restaurant. Instead I had to pay an exorbitant amount to park in one of the city’s garages.

As I hurry down the sidewalk lined with oak trees, thankful for the slightly cooler temperature in the shade, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I spot a parked car in front of the high-rise buildings, and pause midstep.

Are my eyes playing tricks on me?

I stare at the car, trying to figure out if I’m really seeing what I think I am. I pull my sunglasses down as if somehow that will make the scene clearer.

Is that a woman?

Climbing into her back seat?

I scrub a hand down my face, wiping the sweat away as I watch the scene play out. Yep, definitely a woman climbing across the center console of her car to get to the back seat .

Did she just?

Yeah, she flashed me.

Holy shit.

What the hell is going on?

My brain immediately goes to worst-case scenarios and my feet move down the sidewalk as if they have a mind of their own. When I get close enough, I can see that she’s got the back seats down and is reaching into the trunk.

Is she hurt? Trapped? A prisoner?

Before I can spiral anymore, I tap on the driver’s side window. She startles and turns my way. I lift a hand in greeting. Her face is red and she grimaces before she scrambles back over the center console and opens the door. The most beautiful hazel eyes peer up at me.

“Hi.” My voice comes out hoarse. I clear my throat. “I happened to see you from over there.” I gesture to where I came from. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Not hurt. Or . . .” I shrug, studying her face.

“I’m good.” She climbs out of the car, holding a small bag in one hand and using the other to smooth down her dress. “Well, I’m not okay exactly.”

“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows as I get my first real look at her.

Well, the first one that isn’t her bare ass. I take a deep breath, trying not to replay that visual and hoping she can’t tell that my thoughts are not PG right now.

She’s probably somewhere around five-five or five-six if I had to guess, with shoulder-length curly brown hair that hangs free over her bare shoulders.

I take a step back to give her some room. I am, after all, a stranger. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. I’m hoping she’ll fill in the blanks of her story as my eyes dart around looking for the cause of her problem.

“It’s been a day. My battery is dead. At least I hope it’s only a dead battery and not something else.”

“Do you need a jump? My truck is over there.” I point in the direction of the parking garage .

“I’ve got a jump box.” She lifts the bag in her hand. “I should be good. But thanks.” She flashes me a smile.

I nod, searching for a reason to stay because I’m drawn to her. I want to talk more.

Maybe because I’m lonely being in a new city, my only friends are the guys on the team.

“Do you want me to hang around in case it doesn’t work?” The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.

She doesn’t know me. And Wes is waiting for me. But I’m not about to walk away from a beautiful woman in distress. He can wait.

“Okay. I guess,” she says, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m Madison.” She puts out her hand.

“Hunter. Hunter Rhodes.” I take her hand. It’s soft and smooth like the fresh ice before anyone has skated on it.

The minute our hands connect, I feel a zing up my arm. Curious. I study her face, wondering if she felt it too, but she doesn’t flinch.

“Do we know each other?” Here we go. She’s going to recognize me . She studies me for a beat longer before shaking her head. “Actually, I don’t think so. Sorry. You just looked familiar.”

You idiot. She doesn’t know who you are.

You’re not back home where everyone knows you as the former captain of Minnesota State’s hockey team and wants an autograph.

You’re nobody here. You haven’t even made your NHL debut.

Even after I do, it’s not like that’ll mean anything. I’m just a rookie. A nobody.

“I get that a lot,” I say, adjusting my hat.

She stares at me for another second before nodding and turning back to her car. Before she can unlatch the hood, I make quick work of getting it open and securing it in place. Putting my hand out, I tip my chin toward the bag in her hand.

“I wish I had some way to thank you,” Madison says after I’ve hooked up the jump box. “Oh, wait! I know.” Her face lights up as she opens the driver’s side door again and pulls out a white pastry box.

“Here.” She opens the box to display a gorgeous array of mouth-watering pastries. I spot a couple of scones, éclairs with cream perfectly piped on top, and cream puffs with powdered sugar. They’re almost too pretty to eat.

“Thank you. But I can’t,” I mumble. During the hockey season I watch what I eat. I tried eating whatever in college during my freshman season and ended up feeling sluggish all the time. I learned my lesson quickly, and I’m not about to test it out again. Not with my rookie season starting soon.

“Oh, shit. Are you diabetic? I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.” She slams the box closed, pulling it closer to her.

“No. Nothing like that.” I chuckle. “I watch what I eat.”

“Okay.” She offers me a small smile. “I can respect that.”

I exhale. I’m glad she doesn’t ask any more questions.

“How about you try your car? See if it’ll start?”

With a nod she climbs in the car and it starts on the first try. I carefully shut the hood and lean down into the open door.

“Seems like your battery is dead. But you should probably get it checked out just in case something else is wrong.”

“Yeah.” She runs her hands through her hair. “I’ll take it to my mechanic.”

I nod and close the door for her.

Rolling down the window, she says, “Thanks, Hunter.”

“Bye, Madison.” I watch as she backs her car out of the spot.

I stand there for a few moments lost in thought wondering why I didn’t ask for her number or give her mine.

Life here is lonely. Outside of my coaches and teammates this is the longest conversation I’ve had with anyone in person since I’ve moved here.

I could definitely do with some more friends.

Honking finally draws me out of my thoughts, and I realize there’s a car that wants the spot Madison vacated. With one last glance at the spot Madison’s car was in a few minutes ago I turn and continue on my way.

“Hey,” I greet Wes, who is leaning against the wall outside the restaurant peering at his phone.

Weston “Wes” Reynolds and I have become fast friends the past few weeks, bonding over the fact that we’re the two rookies on the team, and we’re both from up north.

He’s from Anchorage although he spent the past two years in upstate New York playing for the Mustangs, the Storm’s AHL team.

“You’re late,” he says, shoving his phone in his pocket and pushing his sunglasses up on top of his head so they hold back his long black hair.

“Yeah. Sorry dude. I stopped to help a woman whose car wouldn’t start.”

He raises his eyebrows but says nothing as we enter the restaurant. We order quickly at the counter and, once we have our food, find a booth in the back.

We eat in silence for a few minutes before Wes says, “I feel like there’s more to the story.”

I chuckle and launch into a recap of the events, skipping over the part where Madison flashed me because that’s something I plan to keep to myself.

“Did you get her number?” he asks between bites of his sandwich.

“No.” I shake my head.

“Damn, man. You should have. Never know if she was the one. She could have been your soulmate. Now you might never see her again and end up alone.”

I roll my eyes. Wes might be an intimidating defenseman on the ice, at six foot four and two-hundred-something pounds, but he’s a romantic at heart.

The other day in the locker room after conditioning, I heard him helping Caleb, our captain, plan a surprise anniversary date night for his wife, Jenna.

“If she was my soulmate, don’t you think the universe will find another way for us to meet?”

“Fair enough.” Wes waves his hands around. “But I still think you’ve missed out. Should have told her you were an NHL player. Betcha that would have gotten you her number.”

I groan, choosing to ignore his comment and focus on my sandwich instead. We finish eating in silence.

Long after Wes and I have parted ways, I’m still thinking about what he said .

Is it crazy to think that maybe he’s right? Maybe Madison is my soulmate and now I’ll never know. I scrub a hand down my face and try to concentrate on the TV. But I can’t.

You’re not in the market for a relationship or to date anyone or even for a hookup. You’re here to play hockey. To prove to everyone that you belong here. That you deserve a spot on the team .

Even though sometimes I think this is all some crazy dream that I’ll wake up from.

That I’ll be back in St. Paul in my childhood home.

I give myself a mental shake. But it doesn’t help.

Sighing, I focus on the television, which has now turned to some sort of baking show, and my mind wanders back to Madison and those pastries she offered me.

I should have taken one.

No, what I really should have done is given her my number.

If I ever see her again, I’m going to get her phone number or at least give her mine. As big as Orlando is I’m doubtful that happen, but having a plan makes me feel better.