Page 18

Luca

“What do you mean he refused to ride with you?” I growl at Sammy. I’d expected Evan home hours ago. I planned to have dinner with him, maybe ease some of the animosity hanging between us recently. Hell, I was even considering introducing him to my family, if only to shut Isabella up. Instead, I find out he not only refused to ride with his security team after practice, but also went out drinking with his hockey buddies. “I specifically ordered you to drive him to the arena and then back here. No deviations.”

Sammy grimaces. “I know, but he was determined to go drinking with his team.”

I lean toward him and rumble, “You still should have been the one who drove him. Instead, you just let him jump in someone else’s car?”

Sammy’s big frame visibly wilts under my anger. “Boss, short of dragging the guy into the car, there wasn’t much I could do. You told me to keep a low profile. His buddy was there with him. I didn’t want to make a scene.”

I’m angry and frustrated as I snap, “Does Evan have an actual death wish?” While I’ve put the word out that Evan is off limits, there’s no guarantee everyone got the memo. It’s way too soon. “So he’s just hanging out alone at that bar with no security?”

“Franko stayed on scene.”

“Well, that’s something,” I mutter, scowling. “Tell Danny to bring the car around. I need to go talk some sense into that guy. And tell Giulia that Evan and I won’t be eating with the family after all.”

Apparently Lover Boy had wings for dinner .

“You got it, boss.” As he hurries toward the door to my study, Sammy looks only too happy to exit the room.

I finish up a few calls and then head outside to the car. Danny opens the door for me, and I slide into the Mercedes. I miss Marco. His surgery went well, but he won’t be back to work immediately. I could really use his calm support right now. I’ve taken for granted what a soothing influence Marco is on me. I’m only aware of it now because dealing with Evan is driving me nuts. My attraction to him makes it difficult to handle him the way I’d usually handle anyone else. But Marco isn’t here to bounce things off of, so I’m left to wrestle with my muddled thoughts alone.

When Danny parks the Mercedes in front of the chicken wing restaurant, I’m underwhelmed. I’ve never been a beer and finger-foods kind of guy, but if I was, I wouldn’t go to a place like Becky’s. The eatery squats between a laundromat and a convenience store in a strip mall that’s seen better days. Neon beer signs flash in the windows, their glow reflecting off the puddles in the cracked sidewalk.

I enter the noisy restaurant and my opinion of the place doesn’t improve. The walls are plastered with dusty local sports memorabilia. Signed jerseys in cheap frames, newspaper clippings yellowed with age, photos of grinning high school teams from the past twenty years. The tables are scarred wood, probably gummy with years of spilled beer and wing sauce. A dozen different games play on TVs mounted in every corner, their commentary mixing with classic rock from the jukebox and the steady hum of conversation.

I shudder and once more affirm that this isn’t the sort of place I’d usually be caught dead in. The fact that Evan came here willingly just baffles me. Still, I don’t retreat. I’m hellbent on meeting up with my little rebellious lover. He needs to understand that he can’t just run off without telling me where he is. And most importantly, he can’t ditch his security on a whim. That could be deadly this early in the game.

Franko sits on alert at a small table near the window. He looks uncomfortable perched atop a tall chair. His bulky frame hardly fits in the narrow wooden seat, and his arms are crossed, straining the fabric of his jacket. I meet Franko’s uneasy gaze and nod. I’m happy to see he understood the assignment, which was to watch Evan’s back, and hasn’t been indulging in wings and booze.

I scan the crowded room and spot the team crammed around pushed-together tables. My Italian leather shoes stick slightly to the floor with each step, and I cringe inwardly at the air thick with fryer grease and stale beer. Several heads turn as I enter the eatery. I’m conscious of the fact that I stick out like a sore thumb in my suit. Most people are in t-shirts and jeans.

My gaze lands on Evan’s broad shoulders. He has his back to the door, and he’s wedged between Noah and the rookie, Torres, with plates of wings and pitchers of beer in front of them. Noah’s arm is draped casually across Evan’s shoulders as he leans in to say something that makes the whole table laugh. The casual touch shouldn’t bother me, but it does. I don’t like it when other people touch my toys.

Mills notices me first, his eyes widening slightly. He elbows Jackson, who nearly chokes on his beer. The reaction ripples around the table until it reaches Evan. He turns his head to see what has his friends flustered, and his smile fades. Resentment glitters in his eyes as I slowly approach. I don’t like that Noah’s arm stays where it is, even when he spots me.

“Mr. Barone.” Mills straightens in his chair. “What a… wonderful surprise.”

I appreciate that he tries to be polite, but his puzzled expression doesn’t match his words. I get it. Nobody wants their boss around when they’re trying to let loose. But I’m not here for them. I’m here to claim my door prize: Evan.

When my gaze meet’s Evan’s resentful one, I almost laugh. Mostly because the jukebox is blaring If Looks Could Kill by Heart. It’s too perfect.

If looks could kill

You’d be lying on the floor

You’d be begging me please, please

Baby don’t hurt me no more

“Hey, guys, move down and make room,” Torres shouts, jumping up from his seat beside Evan. There’s a shuffle as they make room. A spot opens up at the farthest end from Evan, but I ignore it and instead gesture to the seat next to him recently vacated by Torres.

“How about I sit next to Captain?” I flash a charming smile. “I have a few things to discuss with him.”

“Oh, sure.” Torres nods. “I’ll just sit down here instead.”

With a smug smile, I gingerly sit down beside my seething boy toy. Evan is now sandwiched between Noah and me, and Noah’s arm finally drops from Evan’s shoulders. It’s cramped, so I fold my arms instead of resting my elbows on what is most certainly a sticky tabletop. When my leg brushes against Evan’s beneath the table, he stiffens.

“Beer?” Torres offers. The kid’s eager to please, which I like.

“Sure. I’ll have a glass.” Beer isn’t my drink of choice, but it will have to do. Something tells me Becky’s doesn’t stock The Macallan 25-Year-Old Sherry Oak.

When in Rome.

Torres runs off to get me a clean glass and returns a moment later. He fills the glass for me, taking care not to give me too much foam. “There you go,” he says.

“Thanks.” I smile and take the frosty glass.

“My pleasure,” Torres says magnanimously.

“Want some chicken?” Mills pushes a bucket of wings toward me. “Becky makes the best wings in Seabrooke.”

“Uh, no thanks. I already ate,” I lie, doing my best not to recoil as I eye the sticky looking pile of wings. The sauce is carrot orange and I can already see that several of the player’s fingertips are stained bright tangerine.

Mills shrugs at my rejection of the wings. “More for us.”

Noah leans forward so that he can see me around Evan. “How did you know we were here?” I don’t think it’s my imagination his tone is vaguely accusing.

Obviously, I can’t answer him honestly. I don’t want everyone knowing that I have people watching Evan at all times. They’d wonder why that’s necessary, and that’s not a conversation I’m going to have. So, instead of telling the truth, I lie.

“Evan told me,” I say, and Evan stiffens beside me. I’m confident he won’t call me out for lying. It’s in his best interest for everyone to accept that we’re a thing. The sooner the better.

Noah’s eyes flicker oddly. “Did he?”

Now, why does he look like he doesn’t believe me?

I really hope Evan hasn’t been stupid enough to tell Noah the truth about my arrangement with him. While it’s possible some of the team might have figured out who I really am, most of them seem cool with it because of all the improvements I’ve promised them. Money has a way of smoothing over things like that. But no one can know about my plans with Evan. It can’t get out that our “relationship” isn’t real.

When one of the team members calls Noah’s name, distracting him, Evan turns to me and says under his breath, “Why are you here?”

“Am I not allowed to have a drink with my favorite hockey player?”

He presses his lips tight. “You’re keeping tabs on me, aren’t you? Is that your goon over by the window? He’s been staring at me the whole time.”

“Him?” I glance at Franko. “He’s protecting you.”

“Bullshit,” Evan snaps. “He’s spying on me.”

I shrug. “Potato, potahto.”

His eyes glitter with frustration “You need to leave. You’re ruining the vibe.”

“Don’t be silly.” I sip my beer, and it’s not bad. Probably because it’s ice cold. “The team seems happy to have me here.” I wave at Torres who’s sitting at the end of the table and he happily waves back. “See.”

“No, Luca,” he mutters. “They’re not happy. They’re faking it because you’re the owner of our team.”

“Really?” I arch one brow. “Are you sure?” I know he’s right, but it’s fun yanking his chain. His frustration amuses me.

“Of course,” he says gruffly. “Don’t pretend you don’t know that.”

I lean forward and address the guys at the table. “Evan says you guys don’t want me here. Is that true?”

Evan gives a little strangled sound, and the team stares at me uncomfortably. Then they suddenly all start talking at once, saying how happy they are to have me join them. The moment is painfully awkward, but I find it hysterical. I almost laugh, but manage to stifle it. I know perfectly well they don’t want me here, but I don’t give a damn.

Once the assurances peter out, I turn to Evan. “See? You’re mistaken. They love having me here.”

“Yeah, right,” Evan grumbles, and then whispers, “You’re truly an egomaniac, Luca.”

“You think so?” I frown. “Hmm, should I ask the team what they think about your description of me?”

He snaps his head toward me, his green eyes glittering with pure resentment. “Don’t you dare.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d want that.” I grin and take another sip of my beer.

The conversation turns to hockey, no huge surprise there. I enjoy the press of Evan’s leg against mine as I listen to Jackson and Torres discuss the team they’ll play on Saturday.

Jackson reaches for another wing. “We’ll have had a couple of days off, but the Arctic Wolves have been rolling. They won five of their last six.”

Noah says, “If we’re not sharp, we’re gonna get steamrolled.”

Evan half-listens, nursing his beer, but he doesn’t join in.

“Steamrolled?” Torres scoffs, dunking a fry into ranch dressing. “Come on, man, we just took down Chicago.”

Murphy mutters, “We’ve been way too fancy around the net lately. Somebody needs to start crashing the crease instead of trying to make everything a goddamn highlight reel goal.”

“Yeah,” Deck agrees.

Not thinking, I say, “The Wolves have been on a hot streak, but their goaltending has been shaky.”

The table goes quiet and all heads turn toward me.

I laugh self-consciously as I realize I said that out loud. I hadn’t actually intended to get involved in the conversation, but I love hockey and never get the chance to talk about it with anyone.

Jackson raises an eyebrow. “You been studying film, Mr. Barone?”

I grimace. “I’m no expert, but I enjoy the game. That’s why I bought the team.”

Evan shifts beside me, letting out a little disgruntled chuff.

“I love that.” Torres grins. “Having an owner that knows the sport is fantastic.”

Jackson nods. “It’s definitely a nice change. And you’re right, the Wolves goaltending has been shaky.”

I’m pleased they seem to appreciate my observations. “I’ve been watching your practices and noticed a few problems with the Ice Hawks too. Do you want to hear what they are?”

There’s an awkward silence, but then Deck says politely, “Of course.”

“Great.” I clear my throat. “You guys give up way too much space in the slot. And, Torres, you’re fast, but you overcommit on the forecheck and leave gaps behind you.”

“Yeah.” Frowning, Torres rests his chin on his hand, poking at the condensation on one of the pitchers of beer. “Coach said the same thing to me today.”

I give a smug smile. “Great minds think alike, I guess.”

A few of the guys laugh.

Leaning forward, I say, “I’ve noticed something about you too, Mills.”

Mills blanches. “Uh, is that right?”

I nod, opening my mouth to speak, when Evan kicks his leg sideways, connecting with my shin. “Ouch.” I scowl at him. “You kicked me.”

“Sorry.” He’s smiling, although it looks more like he’s baring his teeth. “But that’s probably enough criticism for one day, don’t you think? Why don’t you give it a rest?”

“Why? I’m trying to help the team. My team .” I frown and address the men at the table. “Do you guys mind if I comment on a few more things I’ve noticed?”

“Um…” Jackson gives a weak laugh. “I mean, you can weigh in… if you want.”

“See, they don’t mind.” I give Evan a triumphant look and then turn back to the table of players. “Mills, you’re getting caught puck-watching instead of tying up your man. That’s why you let in two goals against Chicago, you’re making it too easy for teams to set up in your zone.”

Murphy chokes on his sip of beer and starts coughing loudly, and one of the guys slaps his back, looking concerned.

I give a smug smile, positive I’ve dazzled them with my amazing hockey knowledge. “I may wear a fancy suit, but I notice things.”

“You’re very observant,” Torres says politely.

“Yeah. I am.” I sigh and turn toward Noah. “I’ve noticed something about you too. Your glove hand has been looking slow lately—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Evan interrupts, shifting toward me and dropping all pretense of subtlety. “Please. Stop.”

“What?” I frown. “These are just a few things I’ve noticed, that’s all.” I shrug. “But hey, what do I know? I’m just the guy who signs your paychecks.”

“Luca,” Evan says in a strained voice. “We’re here to relax, not think about anything that stresses us out.”

“You guys started talking about hockey first.” I sigh and sip my beer. It doesn’t taste that great now that it’s not as cold.

Evan grumbles, “There’s talking about hockey and then there’s dissecting everything wrong with the team.”

“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll keep my observations to myself.”

There’s a short, awkward silence, then Torres clears his throat. “Did… did you guys see that nasty backhand Keegan pulled off last night against Buffalo? I’ve been trying to copy that move in practice but I keep messing up the release.”

Jackson hesitates, but then joins in. “Maybe work on keeping the puck on your stick first, kid. That move you tried today looked more like a baby giraffe having a seizure.”

Mills snorts. “He’s not wrong, Torres.”

The guys at the table laugh and some of the tension eases.

“At least I hit the net sometimes,” Torres responds good-naturedly. “When’s the last time you scored, Mills? Last season?”

“Fuck off,” Mills says, smiling, but then he quickly shoots me an uneasy glance. “Oh, sorry about the language, Mr. Barone.”

“It’s fine.” I shrug. “Fuck is my favorite word.”

There’s some nervous laughter, and then an awkward silence once more falls over the group. Around us, people in the dining area are laughing and chatting, but our table looks like we’re holding a wake.

A player named Rory speaks. “You guys see Chicago picked up that defenseman from Montreal? Thompson’s gonna be out six weeks with that knee injury.”

“Damn, that sucks.” Deck shakes his head. “Thompson will be lucky if the owners don’t trade him. Those bastards love to kick a man when he’s down.” The second he stops talking, he glances at me and his face turns red. “Shit. Sorry. I… I don’t mean all owners are like that, of course.”

I incline my head. “I would hope not. I’m spending a lot of money on you guys trying to make you into champions.”

Another even more awkward silence falls over our table.

Mills clears his throat. “Um… I heard it might rain tomorrow.”

“Oh, is that right? How nice,” Torres says, shifting nervously in his seat. He glances at his watch. “I should probably get going.”

Jackson nods. “Yeah, me too. The wife will be mad if I stay out too late.”

When everyone begins glancing at their watches and cell phones, Evan lets out an impatient sigh, scoots back his chair, and stands. “Hold up. Nobody is going home yet.” He meets my gaze. “Luca, do you mind if we have a word outside?”

“Outside?”

“Yes, please.” Evan’s tone is testy.

Since I’d much rather spend some time alone with Evan, I rise and address the table. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

They all nod, and a few of them mumble things like, “Of course” and “Take your time.”

Evan heads through the crowded restaurant, and I follow him outside. The sidewalk out front is deserted, which is a good thing because the moment we’re outside, he immediately ties into me. “You need to go,” he says harshly. “You’re ruining the vibe.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” He rakes a hand through his blond hair. “What were you thinking giving them hockey tips? You’re not supposed to do that.”

“They seemed to like it that I had ideas,” I say, scowling.

“On what planet would they want advice from the owner of the team? That’s the job of Coach and the assistant coaches. Not you. You’re a suit. You’re not a player.”

I frown. “I’ve played hockey.”

He looks momentarily thrown by that information, but he quickly recovers. “Even so, you’re not a member of our team. You have no business giving Jackson or Noah advice. Come on, Luca, that was completely out of line. You need to leave. You’re ruining the whole night.”

“Bullshit. The guys seem fine with me. You’re the only one with a problem.”

He laughs incredulously. “Are you serious? They’re just being polite. They’re talking about the weather now just to play it safe. The guys are terrified to speak in case they accidentally offend you somehow.”

“It’s not my fault they can’t take constructive criticism.”

“Well, it’s your fault you’re fucking up our night,” he sputters. “It’s only 7:00 p.m. and they’re all ready to go home? That’s unheard of.”

“Maybe they’re just tired.”

He laughs. “No. They’re not tired. You’re scaring them off. You must know the only reason they’re putting up with you is because of who you are. If you were anyone else, they’d tell you to fuck off. But they can’t do that because you’re our boss .”

“You don’t seem to have any problem telling me to fuck off,” I rumble.

He shakes his head, frustration radiating. “Why are you even here? Did you just drop by to ruin my fun?”

“Of course not.” I scowl. “I’m here because you ditched your driver.”

He rolls his eyes. “There was no need to rush over here. I didn’t need your guy to drive me. I got a ride with Noah.”

“That wasn’t our agreement.”

“Our agreement is that I’ll stay at your home temporarily, not that I’m not allowed to have a life.” He pushes his hands into his jeans, a stubborn tilt to his mouth. “If I want to go out with my team, I’m going to do that. My social life is none of your business. So long as I end my night back at your house, you don’t have any right butting in.”

“I have every right when you put yourself in a dangerous situation,” I growl.

“I’m not in danger. No one has bothered me at all.” He shakes his head, eyes glittering with anger. “Noah said he’d drop me off at your place when we’re done here, so back off.”

“No, that won’t work.”

“Why not?” he grates.

I lean toward him angrily. “Because it’s not safe for you to ride with Noah.”

He laughs humorlessly. “Jesus, who are you, my dad? I’ve ridden with Noah hundreds of times. He’s a good driver.”

I squint at him. “You do realize it’s not the actual driving part that I’m worried about, right?” I study him in the reflected light from the restaurant. His split lip is beginning to heal, and his eyes are very green. “You could be ambushed. Sammy is trained in evasive driving, I highly doubt Noah is.”

Evan gives a growl of frustration. “It’s not necessary. I don’t believe anyone is after me. I think you’re just paranoid and controlling.”

I scowl. “You think I made everything up?”

“Maybe.” Evan looks around. “I don’t see anyone lurking. I suspect the life you lead has made you paranoid.”

“Fucking right it has.” My laugh is harsh. “But I’m paranoid for a reason.”

“Well, I don’t want that kind of life.”

“Too bad,” I snap. “You’re a part of it whether you like it or not now, by default. If I tell you to let Sammy drive you, then you need to obey. I know more about keeping you safe than you do.”

“Luca,” he says gruffly, “I have a right to go out drinking with my team. You don’t own me.”

I narrow my eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

Pink touches his cheeks, but he doesn’t address my possessive comment. “I needed to be around my team tonight. I needed to do something that made me feel like myself again.”

“That’s all fine and dandy, but you’re missing my point.” I move closer to him and he steps back. “I don’t care that you went out drinking . I care that you ignored my orders. If you had let Sammy drive you, we wouldn’t be having this discussion at all.”

He shakes his head. “You didn’t need to come over here yourself. Why didn’t you just let that thug by the window come talk to me? If danger lurks around every fucking corner, why would you come here in person?”

“Because I wasn’t worried about myself,” I say harshly. “I was worried about you .”

He blinks at me in obvious surprise.

I’m instantly mortified that I blurted out something so sappy, and immediately go into damage control mode. “Just imagine how weak I’d look if my brand new lover got his head blown off this soon into our relationship.”

He doesn’t speak, he just stares at me with a muddled expression.

“Anyway, I’ve wasted enough time on you tonight.” I jab my finger at him. “You’re riding home with Franko and Sammy, not Noah. If I hear you disobeyed me, I’m done with you. I’ll hang you out to dry, and you’ll be lucky if you make it through the fucking week.”

“Fine,” he rasps. “But I’m not leaving early. They’ll have to wait for me until I’m ready to leave.”

“I don’t give a fuck when you get home. I only care how you get there.” I turn and head toward my Mercedes. I don’t even bother looking back at Evan as Danny opens the door for me. I climb inside the vehicle, and stare straight ahead. Danny starts the engine and we pull away from the curb. My gut churns as I remember Evan’s surprised expression. I can’t believe the words that blurted out of my mouth. I’m fucking humiliated that I said something so pathetic.

I wasn’t worried about myself. I was worried about you.

The worst part is I wasn’t lying. When I heard Evan had refused a ride with Sammy, the only thing I thought about was his safety, not mine. That makes absolutely no sense to my brain. I’d do anything for my family and Marco, but other than them, I always put myself first.

My needs.

My happiness.

My safety.

It’s well know that I don’t catch feelings for people I sleep with. Once I’ve had them, I’m instantly bored. Marco likes to rag on me about that. He thinks it’s funny. So why did I drop everything and rush over here to play the white knight for Evan? A man I’ve only spent one night with. He didn’t even appreciate the gesture.

Ungrateful little shit .

Disgruntled, I stare out the window. There’s an aching dissatisfaction simmering inside of me. I crave Evan’s body and, more embarrassingly, his approval. He’s like a drug I’m hooked on. What is wrong with me? Maybe I need some distance from Evan. I need to figure out why I’m so obsessed with him. I don’t like it. I don’t want him or anyone having that sort of power over me.

I never should have gone to him tonight. That was foolish, pitiful behavior. I won’t ever make that mistake again. If he’s stupid enough to ditch Sammy in the future, he deserves whatever happens to him.