Page 5

CHAPTER 5

Waiting Behind the Door

LUCY

Monday, September 16

I look down at my phone again, checking the video feed at the Delightful Doggy Palace, the new doggy daycare I dropped Taco off at this morning. He’s currently running some kind of obstacle course. Through a tunnel, up some steps, down some steps, then jumps over a big log. Looks ridiculous, but he seems to be having a blast. I mean, I kind of want to go and do it. I let out a deep breath and lay my phone on the desk. Phew. I’m relieved he’s having a good first day.

I don’t care about this dog nearly as much as it appears.

It’s just that I’m a responsible human being. I couldn’t let Ron drop him at the animal shelter just because he didn’t realize Boston terriers aren’t completely hypoallergenic. It’s not Taco’s fault.

And even though I can bring him to work with me, he needs at least some time socializing with other dogs. And exercise, and nice pets from humans, and overall stimulation. The Delightful Doggy Palace was amazing when I went to check it out last week. Taco deserves some kind of fun, doesn’t he?

Anyone would do the same thing .

My onboarding meeting with Coach Jackson, the Blizzard head coach, isn’t for another fifteen minutes, but maybe I’ll walk down early to make sure I can find his office. My scribbled note says he’s in the second to last door on the right. I think that’s what it says, but I might have been paying attention to the continuous reel playing in my head of Taco peeing on the ice instead of details about the office floor plan from Lina. But it can’t be hard to find.

I stand and grab a notebook and pencil, then smooth down my curls—which I’ve hopelessly tried to tie half-back—and straighten my thin green sweater before walking out the door. The dress code is casual in the team administrative office so I’m wearing gray jeans and short heeled boots.

I’m excited to meet Coach Jackson. Atticus said he’s a great guy, treats the players well, and is kind and friendly. Hopefully the coach can help give me some tips on working with the team.

One part of my role while here is to follow up with key publications on getting features written about some of our top players. Then I need to make sure they are media trained—most already are—but department policy dictates we do a refresher before interviews. I’ll also need to ensure we have the right catalogue of photos. Including ones in suits. Apparently, everyone loves it when the hot hockey players walk into the games in full suits.

Not me. Hockey players aren’t my jam.

Obviously, I can see the appeal—I’m not completely dead inside—but it’d be best to not get involved with anyone who’s connected to the team I work for.

I wish I’d learned this lesson earlier and not dated Ron at all.

Kellen’s face from last week appears in my mind. Those dark strands of hair on his sweaty forehead when he pulled his helmet off, the light blue eyes. He might have made an impression on me, and I definitely made one on him. Not in a good way. Could it have been any worse? My escaped dog peed on the ice. Peed! In the rink! And that poor player scraping the stained ice off with a skate. Lordy.

None of that matters though. I just need to do well in this role so I can impress Lina and get her to agree to be a reference.

I can’t have things like Taco or fantasies about one of my brother’s teammates distract me from that.

I shake my head and pause in the hallway, counting doors. The farthest door on the right—before the exit to the arena—is the player gym. It’s got a fierce abominable snowman painted on the entrance in Blizzard colors of purple and yellow. The second door from the end of the hallway is less fancy but also decorated with the Blizzard logo. Makes sense for the coach.

It’s a keycard access door but it’s propped slightly open with a rubber door stop.

“Hello?” I pull the door and step inside a small area leading to another door. Weird. My phone buzzes with a ten-minute reminder for the meeting.

Exude confidence. Project how much value you’re going to add to the team, not just be a pain-in-the-ass PR person. Don’t think about the Taco incident.

I knock, but there’s no answer.

So, I push through the door.

A split second before it opens, I wonder why his office has double doors. And why it doesn’t have a normal doorknob. This one is just one of those swing doors that pushes out into…

A locker room.

A locker room full of men.

A locker room full of men in various states of undress.

My body turns into a statue. Holy mother of god. I’m a tree. A giant, trembling, out of place tree in a landscape of not-trees. Do I blend in? No, I definitely do not.

I’m a purple tree. The carpet in the locker room is a deep purple and there’s a yellow Blizzard logo in the center. Maybe no one’s noticed me. Maybe I blend in. My eyes dart around the room in terror.

There’s a bare ass. A man ass. I can’t help the gasp that escapes my throat. A bare, round, man ass that leads to long legs and feet that are stepping into a pair of boxer shorts. That man—I squint my eyes—is mostly naked.

One of the guys sitting on a cushioned bench in front of a wall of wide, neat cubbies looks up at me and raises his eyebrows.

“Are you lost?” His hair is wet, and he’s blessedly wearing a shirt and a pair of athletic shorts. He tosses a towel into a wheeled laundry bin. I try to keep my eyes on him, but there’s just so much skin on display in this room, and somewhere deep down inside me a voice screams to turn and run, don’t just stand there, remove yourself from this situation immediately.

But I cannot.

Because trees have roots and are not mobile. And maybe some blink like a malfunctioning neon sign so everyone will notice them.

Just like me at the moment.

“Hey,” that same man says. “You’re the woman with the dog that peed on the ice.”

“No,” I whisper in despair. I shake my head and another pair of shirtless dudes with abs for days turn in my direction, pausing their conversation.

“Oh my god.” Am I whimpering? Impossible to tell through my veil of horror and fear. I whip my head away from the shirtless men.

My body comes to life starting from the tips of my toes, and as I’m about to try to leave this place, around the corner walks a man who’s obviously fresh out of the shower with hair dark and wet and a towel wrapped so very low around his waist. My eyes rake up his body and land on his face. His eyes meet mine, and he stops in the doorway to the showers.

Oh no. Blue eyes I can see from across the room, the same dark hair that was peeking out from his helmet last week when he handed Taco—then Waffles/Zeus—to me at the edge of the ice rink .

Kellen Bassey.

“Lucy. Good to see you again.” Kellen leans an arm against the doorframe, posing like he’s in a damn cologne commercial on a yacht off the coast of Italy. His six pack—sparkling with droplets of water that must’ve evaded his towel—twitches.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more gorgeous specimen of man. The side of his mouth quirks up. That smile. I’m melting. Dying.

And… is his towel slipping ?

He doesn’t seem concerned.

A few of the other guys chuckle, and I open my mouth to say something, anything, but words have left the building.

With much effort, I swallow, my burning face about to catch flames. Which might be a blessing. Then I could burn to ashes and cease to exist in this world and therefore not have to face this man or any of the Blizzard players.

“Are you looking for someone? I think Atticus is still in the showers.” Kellen gestures behind him.

“Oh sweet baby Jesus.” I didn’t even think of that. What if my little brother walks through that doorway butt-ass naked? I see him in a towel on the regular since moving into his apartment, but I can’t handle his bare ass.

Or worse.

“Pretty lady, are you okay?” one of the fully clothed players asks me, but I cannot rip my eyes from Kellen’s face.

“I have a… uh… a meeting. With the coach. Coach, uh, Coach Jackson…” I back up slowly, like I’m escaping from a bear without turning my back to it. That’s what you’re supposed to do with bears, right? Back away slowly, not run. But I’m not a hiker, so how would I know that? Maybe you’re supposed to sprint as fast as you can.

It’s then that I notice the coach’s office through a clear glass wall.

Ah. I understand now. His office is through the men’s locker room, and if I hadn’t come early, I probably wouldn’t have experienced any naked men. Or as many .

“Door to his office is this way.” Kellen nods behind him. “I can take you to him.” He raises his eyebrows and lowers his hand from the doorframe, crossing his arms instead and emphasizing his biceps and forearms.

I swallow with a loud, dry click that must echo against the lines of player cubbies.

Why wouldn’t Lina warn me about this? Why wouldn’t she specifically tell me that the head coach’s office is through the hockey players’ locker room? I feel betrayed.

“I’m just gonna go.” My feet finally cooperate, and I spin around and slam against the door, which doesn’t budge. “Oh no. No, no, no.” I push harder. Nothing happens. Am I somehow locked in here?

“Lucy,” Kellen calls. “You gotta pull, not push.”

I squeak and manage to pull the door open and fall out, leaving a locker room full of laughing men behind me.

I sprint down the hallway and dart into my office, slamming the door shut and wishing there was a lock. With a shaking hand, I tap my phone until I get to Raleigh’s contact.

“Lulu?” she answers immediately.

“I saw naked hockey player ass.” I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the door. Remnants of terror seep into my stomach and make me want to throw up.

“Finally!!” She laughs. “But I’m gonna need more details than that. Hold on, let me take my break.” Her voice goes muffled for a beat.

“Hurry, I’m dying.” Visions of naked ass, abs, and Kellen Bassey leaning against a doorframe in a low-slung towel fly through my head.

It’s not a terrible vision.

“Okay, tell me in great detail what happened.”

“Raleigh, I walked into the locker room. Full of hockey players. Mostly naked hockey players. It was horrific.”

“That sort of sounds like a dream.”

“No, it wasn’t!”

“Did you see all the goods?”

I gasp. “Thankfully, no.”

“Aw. I could really benefit from seeing hockey player ass, or dick, or any body parts.” She laughs and it’s infectious.

“Well, sis, you should come visit, because I’m sure that could be arranged.” I groan and cross the room to my desk chair.

“Was Atticus there?”

“Thankfully, I didn’t see him. Why? Do you want to see his ass?”

“Gross, no, he’s your little brother. I still think about him puking in the bushes outside of our dorm.”

I laugh at the memory. “He made quite an impression on you and January from the first moment.”

“Sure did. Remember how he’d follow us around to parties when he was a freshman?”

“God, he was the worst.” My heartbeat slows down, and I slump in my chair. “Oh. Raleigh Durham .” I emphasize the nickname January and I gave her during college. January has one too—Janny—and they gave me Lulu.

“What?” She huffs.

“I see what you did there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Distracted me.”

“Did it work?”

“Yes, but I still want to hide under this desk for the rest of my life.” But I’m smiling now. Talking to Raleigh and January always makes things better.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. But seriously, I’m coming to visit as soon as this divorce is final. As a celebration.”

“Yes! That would be amazing.”

“What do you think about around New Year’s Eve?”

“Really? Perfect.” I need my old college roommates. Who knows what other messes I’ll make while in Colorado ?

“And I think January is planning on being in the US for the holidays, so she said she might be able to come too.”

I sink down into my chair and shut my eyes. Seeing them is exactly what I need. Raleigh and January are my best friends, and even though we haven’t lived in the same place since college graduation over a decade ago, we’ve stayed close.

Raleigh gives me the latest details on her (second) divorce, which is almost final. She’s been back in her hometown in Connecticut since college and has had two rough marriages.

January is the wild one of our trio. She wanders the world. Paris, Sydney, Bangkok, and London, her current location. I can’t even remember when she’s been in one location for her freelance consulting job for longer than six months.

I was the one who settled a few hours from JMU in Washington D.C., back home where I grew up. I didn’t think I’d ever leave.

I try to be a good listener to my old friend, but my mind is stuck on the way Kellen’s biceps rippled when he crossed his arms on his bare chest.

My phone buzzes, and I look down at a text from Atticus.

Atticus

What on earth did you do??

I will never live this down.