Page 13 of Hotshot

“Me?”

“Yes, it wouldn’t take much of your time, and we could film at the rink or—” I stopped midsentence, narrowing my gaze. “You just turned gray. Are you going to be sick?”

“No, I’m fine. But I’m not the guy you want. Jake Milligan has been in the league longer. Ask him. Or ask Vinnie Kiminski, Riley Thoreau, Court Henderson, Smitty Paluchek. They’re all better options.”

“They’re not you. We want a rookie, and the fact that you’re originally from Colorado like us is a nice selling point.”

Denny frowned so hard his eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead. “Wait. That’s your proposition?”

“It’s actually more of an offer than a propo?—”

“Worst propzishun ever. Complete fail.” He jumped to his feet. “I wanted sex and a cowboy. Not a job offer. Thanks for nothin’.”

I was stunned speechless for a moment, but I sprang into action when he moved to the door.

“Hold up.” I grabbed his elbow, unthinking. “I don’t even know you. Did you really think this was about sex?”

“Yes. Sex, sex, sex! That’s what makes propzishuns interesting,” Denny insisted indignantly.

“This is—you’re joking, right?” I sputtered.

“I’m not sayin’ I woulda been into it, but it makes for a mush better story, ya know? Mush mush better.”

Uh…I had nothing.

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not in the habit of propositioning men for sex.”

He cocked his head curiously. “’Cause you’re shtraight?”

“No, because I’m not a creep,” I retorted, wondering why I was sparring with a drunk.

“Are you straight? Or gay or bi or somefin else?”

“That’s none of your business,” I snapped.

Denny huffed in mock dismay. “Youpropositioned me, remember? I should know what I’m getting into.”

I was officially unsure where I’d gone wrong.

I should have introduced myself in the bar pre-tequila. That was on me. I hadn’t been able to figure out how to get him alone at first, but I hadn’t been overly concerned ’cause I’d learned more about Denny Mellon than I’d bargained on from the bartender and the locals over a couple of beers.

They’d said Denny was intense, smart, competitive, and that he had an instinct for hockey that couldn’t be taught.

It was nothing I hadn’t heard from rabid fans and sports analysts who were cautiously optimistic that the rookie was the one to watch. He was special. The media was already swarming and big endorsements would surely follow. We wouldn’t be able to afford him this time next year.

The locals had also said he was painfully quiet, but this guy hadn’t shut up since I’d tracked him down in the parking lot and now, I had to admit, Denny Mellon was throwing me off my game. He shouldn’t be here, and we definitely shouldn’t be talking about indecent proposals.

Sure, he was sexy as hell, but this was not a one-night stand in the making, damn it. This was business.

I scowled. “How drunk are you?”

“Very.” Denny’s eyes twinkled merrily as he reclaimed his water, gulping the rest till the screech and crinkle of plastic echoed off the walls. He smashed the bottle in one hand and tossed it into the trash before flopping onto the sofa. “I told you…tequila. It hits funny, you know. One minute, you’re fine and the next, you’re hot and horny. Tired, too. Or maybe just hot. I’m kinda hot. Are you hot?”

“No, I’m fine, and I—what are you doing?”

Denny jumped up again, unzipping his leather jacket as he strode to the sliding glass door.

“Need fresh air,” he announced, pulling the curtain aside and unlatching the lock.