Page 30 of Her Puck Daddies
Cecille’s lips curve in a secretive smile.
“Yes. But the poses are tastefully done so that their man bits aren’t hanging out for everyone to see. Still, there’s lots of skin, just no peens.” Her eyes glaze over.
“Why are there two calendars?”
“Both are done for charities, so it’s all good. The second one is always made up of the players who are single. I don’t blame the wives or fiancés of these guys from keeping them limited to wearing their suits. If I was attached to one of them, I wouldn’t be thrilled about him showing his ass to a large portion of the human race, either.”
I make a mental note to check who posed in last year’s calendar. The naked versions of Sven, Eric, and Levi are definitely gorgeous enough to have made the cut. Not that I’d ever ask Cecille about it.
Stepping back without looking, I bump into someone and nearly jump out of my skin at the unexpected contact. For some reason, my first thought is Dean, but when I turn, it’s just Nate, our ever-eager, youthful equipment manager.
“Whoa there, Ava. You okay?” he asks, his expression full of concern.
I let out a breath, feeling a little ridiculous. Nate is barely eighteen and looks as thrilled to be here as a six-year-old in front of a birthday cake.
“Fine.”
“Tipsy already?” he jokes, gesturing to the champagne I’m holding, but I’ve barely even taken a sip.
I half expect speeches and toasts, but none come. The atmosphere stays casual, lively. Though I catch glimpses of the three men I should be most cautious around, I keep my distance.
Just the memory of the “special treatments” I gave Eric and Levi sends heat creeping up my neck. I shove the thought away.
I know I’m treading dangerous ground, crossing lines I shouldn’t. But I did what I did because it was the best solution I could come up with.
‘Liar,’my own brain accuses me. Sex wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t sex. Not technically, I argue with myself, though the defense feels weak. Maybe I’m losing it. Maybe I already have.
Shaking off the mental tug-of-war, I weave through the suite, making sure coach and the other higher-ups see me. My appearance here matters, at least for now. The moment Cecille gets wrapped up in a conversation with Penny, I start edging toward the exit. I need to get out of here.
Sneaking out isn’t hard, and I’m relieved to find myself alone in the empty hallway. It’s darker out here than I remember, especially along one section where some of the overhead lights seem to be on the fritz, dimmer than the rest.
Unfortunately, that’s the way to the elevators.
I hear a door slam, and I spin around to see who it is. No one’s there, though. I don’t even know which door opened and shut. I rub my palms along my bare arms, suddenly cold in my short-sleeved dress despite it barely being autumn.
A shadow emerges far down at the other end, and my heart flies into overdrive. Panicking, I race to the elevators despite the high heels I’m wearing.
Goddamn stilettos.
Still, I manage to cross the threshold of the elevator and plonk my finger on the button of my floor again and again. The doors are closing, thank god.
But before they can, an arm blocks it, an arm that I swear must be Dean’s.
And I have nothing left to do, but scream.
Chapter 11
SVEN
“Aaaah,” a woman shrieks inside the elevator car as I push past the metal doors.
“What? What is it? What’s wrong?” I ask, realizing that the woman I’m asking is Ava.
“Uh, n-nothing,” she stutters out in a high-pitched voice, her body shaking like a leaf in the wind. “Sorry.”
“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” I counter, watching her. She has both hands over her mouth as if to stop herself from making more noise, and they’re trembling so much that she’s smearing her lipstick.
While I’d usually love to smear a woman’s lipstick under more pleasant circumstances, that bright berry shade wiped across her chin like a mark of something gone wrong ignites every protective instinct I have again. It’s like a switch flips, and I replayeverything that just went down in my head, like a hockey game reel, dissecting each moment.