Page 69 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

LINDY

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were a hockey player,” I said, dropping onto the metal bench beside Dex.

We sat just outside one of the indoor rinks at the winter complex.

He was leaning down and lacing up his skates.

His professional hockey skates he told me he brought with him to Montana.

Because supposedly professional hockey players didn’t leave home without them, even on a vacation.

No rentals for him.

I didn’t linger at work like I normally would.

I held no illusion of accomplishing anything whatsoever after Aspen and I got off the phone with Dex this morning.

So I cut out early and showed up for Sierra’s team practice.

To see Dex. To confront him as to why he hadn’t told me about his job.

No, it wasn’t just a job. A job was me being an accountant, making money to pay the bills.

The contract he had was public knowledge and for the sum he was making, he didn’t play hockey to pay his electric bill.

They gave him millions, hundreds of millions, because of talent. A skill only a few had.

It was blowing my mind.

He angled his head and looked up at me, kept tugging on the long laces. “You never asked.”

I sputtered. “Didn’t ask? You could have shared it! I mean, it’s a big deal. Something like, By the way, Lindy, I’m a professional hockey player. The best in the league.”

He finished the lace, then sat up. Eyed me with a smirk. “Is it a big deal?”

“Yes! I thought you were a lazy trust fund kid.” I looked away because it was a truth that didn’t sit well now.

I’d made assumptions about him that clearly weren’t accurate.

If what I’d found online about him, he didn’t need the James billions.

He was a self-made man, wealthy on his own.

His contract with the Silvermines was astronomical. “I’m sorry about that.”

He leaned in, even though there was music playing and sticks slapping. All kinds of noise, but he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “I’m not a kid. You know I’m all man from when you had your hand wrapped around my dick this morning.”

I blushed and there was no way he could miss it beneath the harsh lighting.

“I thought… I thought–”

“I know what you thought, sugar.”

“Why didn’t you correct me? I was hurtful to you.”

“I can’t control what people think of me. Of what’s on social media. I’m sure you learned all kinds of things about me, didn’t you?”

I had, and he was right. What I knew of Dex James from the past two days and what was written about him weren’t the same.

The photos didn’t match either. There were images of him during a game.

Before or after a game in a suit; I needed to see him dressed up so bad.

Out partying. Years ago when he was younger.

Even photos of him playing as a kid. It was all up on the internet.

Even the bar fight earlier in the summer when they said if he was going to play enforcer off the ice, he should take on that role on it, too. It wasn’t the real Dex at all.

“Because I want you to want me,” he admitted, then set his hand on his chest. “Dex James. The man. Not the famous hockey player.”

It made sense. If I knew who he was by what I read online before getting to know him, I’d have had completely different assumptions about him. A brawler. Cocky. An asshole, even.

But here in Hunter Valley, with me at least, he was just Dex. It was… simple.

Little kids cut past us in their hockey gear and started to skate. Moms and a few dads filled the stands around us doing whatever parents did waiting through a sports practice.

“What does it matter?” I asked. “With me, I mean.”

His dark gaze raked over me, then settled on my mouth. “Often when I’m out with the team, a woman, whose name I don’t even know, will give me her panties along with a phone number written on a napkin. She’s down for giving me a BJ in a bar bathroom just to say she’s been with a pro player.”

I scrunched up my nose. “Lovely.”

“I can’t tell when a woman’s being real.”

I never thought about that aspect. I struggled with men liking me for what I was without being famous. Having the media add their spin would make it so hard for him.

He stood and with his skates on, towered over me.

“With you though, sugar. I know it’s real.”

For some reason, those words seemed important. As if he’d been testing me and now had his answer. “How?”

He bent down, extra low because the skates gave him a few extra inches.

“Because you’d have ridden my dick by now.

Even if you’re playing the long game, you’d want a piece of me like everyone else.

Instead, you’ve been flaunting that hot little body of yours in those sweet as sin nighties and climbing all over me in bed and yet date other men. You’ve got the dentist.”

The dentist. Alan, the perfect man list man. Except I had zero–less than zero–interest in him.

“I don’t want the dentist. I want–”

I bit my lip, realizing I was about to say I wanted him.

“What, sugar?” He took my hand and tugged me to my feet. Put his hand on my hip and squeezed with an urgency that had me meeting his gaze. “What do you want?”

“He’s here!”

“It’s really him.”

“I’m going to marry him.”

“Do you think he’ll sign my helmet?”

“He’s going to sign my forehead.”

We were interrupted as a gaggle of giggling and squealing little girls in head-to-toe hockey gear surrounded Dex.

Skates, pads, uniform, helmets. And they were oohing and aahing over him like they were in the presence of a famous movie star.

They reminded me of Bridget and her friends when she was that age, which was right before our parents died.

“Hey, girls,” Dex said. He raised a hand and impressively, they quieted right down. “Warm up is two laps and I’ll bring out the cones to do drills. On three, say, polar bears. One, two, three–”

“POLAR BEARS!” the girls shouted in unison, then poured onto the ice and began their laps, clearly not wanting to let Dex down.

He turned back to me.

“Am I the only one who doesn’t know who you are?” I asked, seeing adults in the stands aiming their cell phones our way, taking photos of Dex, of course, because they definitely weren’t taking any of me.

He took my chin and lifted it with his fingers so I had to meet his gaze. I felt like an idiot for being so clueless. “Sugar, I think you’re the only one who really knows who I am.”

With that, he grabbed a helmet and mini-cones that were stacked on the half wall and stepped onto the rink. He skated off in an effortless way that showed he was almost more comfortable on the ice than off.

Flustered and confused, I watched him drop cones onto the ice in two long lines before I spun around and looked for Aspen in the stands. She waved and I saw that Bridget was beside her. Good. I didn’t have to wait to yell at my sister.

I climbed up the bleachers to join them. I flopped down onto the cold metal as the clack of skates and sticks on the ice rang through the lofty arena. It was chilly in here, twenty or more degrees colder than outside. Dex was doing the second lap with the girls but going backwards. Show off.

“What are you doing here?” I asked Bridget, keeping my eyes on Dex.

“Dex talked to Mav earlier and told him about coaching. I thought I would come and watch because Mav’s doing CEO stuff. And before you ask, the contractors are busy at the house and have my number. And Mav’s.”

She thought of everything and shut down every option of more questions. Except one.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me Dex played hockey. How could you?” I asked even when I could tear my eyes away from the man in question.

“You didn’t know?” she asked, leaning around Aspen to stare at me, wide eyed. She pushed her glasses up.

“Everyone knows Dex James,” Aspen added, making me feel even more of an idiot.

“Well, I don’t. I don’t follow hockey.”

Or any sports.

“He’s been in People’s sexiest men list three years in a row! Sport Illustrated. ESPN. I mean, how could you not?” Bridget asked.

“Did you seriously know before you met Mav?” I asked her. “You know as much about sports as me.”

She looked away, guiltily.

“Well, I did,” Aspen said.

Dex pointed to the girls and they formed two lines, then he demonstrated what he wanted them to do, borrowing a stick that looked much too small for him. He moved with such precision through the drill he made it look easy. If I got out there, I’d look like Bambi on ice.

“I don’t follow hockey. I don’t read People or Sports Illustrated, okay? But he’s been around almost as long as Mav and there’s been ample time to spill. Why do you keep the important things from me?”

Bridget winced, then took a deep breath and stood. “Aspen, trade spots.”

They did a little shuffle and swapped seats so Bridget was right next to me. Her dark hair was back in the usual ponytail and she had on jeans and a hoodie.

“You’re still mad about MIT.” She didn’t make it a question, but fact.

She only told me last week that she hadn’t dropped out but had actually been expelled from the university for plagiarism, when in fact her professor had seduced her to steal her notes and rough draft and used them to publish a paper as his own.

For six months I thought she just gave up, which was how she explained her return.

That had me making assumptions of her. Wrong ones. Just like Dex and not giving me the full picture. I made bad assumptions with him, too.

“I’m mad that no one thinks to share things with me.”

Bridget cocked her head and gave me a smile that screamed pity. A pity smile.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about MIT,” she admitted. “I am. But this was a problem I brought on myself.”

“Men are assholes. You didn’t have to do it alone.”

On the ice, the girls ran the drill, weaving around the cones pushing a puck with their stick.

“I’m not. Mav is helping. He’s got a private investigator and a lawyer all over the situation like a bad rash.”