Page 17

Dax’s head felt like someone had stuffed it with an old, whiskey-soaked jacket, complete with pins—now needling his brainpan.

He should have said no to the vodka. He should have known Lucy would find a way to get him to the photo shoot. And for all of those reasons, he should be down in the dumps. But there he was, nonetheless—and even smiling about it. The smile was persistent and highly unsettling. He was rather certain Lucy was to blame. He should be angry at her for breaking into his loft and waking him up so rudely. That was definitely going too far!

So why wasn’t he ticked off that she was the first thing he’d seen when he woke up? That she’d snooped around his apartment and asked him personal questions?

Maybe because she already knew the worst, just as he knew the information was safe with her. It was a relief that he no longer had to carry it around alone. Evidently, she didn’t feel sorry for him, which was what he was most afraid of. Then there was the fact that they were actually something like…normal again. And he needed that.

Overall, he was in a shockingly good mood for being so hungover. The feeling, however, only lasted until he walked onto the set.

“You can’t be fucking serious,” he exclaimed, staring in horror at the costumes hanging on two chairs in front of a white screen.

Lucy blushed and scratched her head. “I admit, it wasn’t my idea, but…the photographer thinks it will look impressive.”

Stunned, he stared at her. “I’m not wearing devil horns!”

“Honestly, Dax,” she whispered, leaning toward him conspiratorially, “don’t you prefer those to the angel wings that Jack has to wear?”

Instantly, his gaze slid to the pile of feathers on the other chair that would have made any chicken back away in shock. Well, there was something to that, but still… “Shit, no! This is just too much, Lucy!”

“It’s good publicity!” she assured him, her face bright red. “ Devil and Saint meet and become unlikely friends.”

“ Idiotic friends dressed like 6-year-olds!” he corrected her caustically.

She waved it off. “It doesn’t matter, the message is the same.”

“No!”

“Well, Leslie loved it,” she said, frowning. “I couldn’t talk her out of it.”

“That’s your problem! It was my rule that I would not do anything with Jack West that was only for the sake of improving my image.”

“This isn’t for your image! This is about ticket sales. This…”

“Oh my God, no,” a horrified voice interrupted them and they both glanced up.

Jack had arrived and his face looked like Dax felt. “No!” He pointed to the wings. “No.” He pointed to the devil’s horns. “No.” He pointed at Lucy.

Well, what do you know; they were on the same side, for once.

She moaned—and as much as Dax enjoyed the sound, it was inappropriate for the workplace.

“At least try it!” she pleaded. “If the photos look stupid, we’ll take some more without the props.”

“No!” he and Jack responded simultaneously.

Dax glanced at his brother and, for a few seconds, a memory flashed through his mind: He and Jack telling their mother that they wouldn’t be taking their little sister to hockey practice, they weren’t eating Brussels sprouts, and they weren’t giving Dax’s dad his booze back.

“Yes,” Lucy insisted, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin. Oh, good God, she was ready to fight! At least, that was how she always looked when she was preparing to launch an attack. “You two are the biggest fish on the ice right now and the reason why half of America is talking about the Hawks! You owe it to me to try.”

Yep. Her blows were deep and hard and left a feeling of guilt and unease in the stomach.

“What’s the point of all this?” Jack asked, apparently unaware he was fighting a battle that had long been lost. “What’s the point of the costumes?”

“Well, they’re supposed to…make you look masculine, I guess,” she said, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“Wings and horns are masculine?” Dax echoed. Because if that was true, he had been dressing all wrong for years.

“Well, there’s also a sword and a bow and arrow,” she explained matter-of-factly, gesturing to the weapons lying on the floor in front of the chairs, which Dax hadn’t noticed until now.

“I’ll take the sword!” he and Jack said in unison.

Dax narrowed his eyes at his brother. “What does an angel want with a sword? Angels don’t like violence. The devil does.”

“The devil has horns, so he doesn’t need anything else to impale sinners,” Jack lectured. “With that bow and arrow, I’ll look like I’m about to lose at the Hunger Games.”

Dax grinned smugly. “With the wings and the bow and arrow, you’ll look like you wanted to bring love to the people. What could be manlier than that?”

“I think if you believe that, you’ve lost touch with your manhood,” Jack remarked dryly.

“At least I don’t get in touch with my manhood every night alone in bed,” Dax replied sweetly.

“I want the sword,” Jack insisted, undeterred.

“It’s my sword. Doesn’t legend have it that the devil carries a flaming sword? It fits.”

“Yes, but legend has it that you don’t have a brother—so how important are legends in our case?”

Dax gritted his teeth. “You…”

“Okay, no one gets a weapon!” Lucy interrupted, waving her hands back and forth between them, maybe to break their eye contact. “The costumes alone are enough, don’t you think?”

Too much. The costumes were too much!

Oh well. He’d been through worse. He wouldn’t let a few appendages get to him.

“Now a bit more sinister looking, Mr. Temple…yes, just like that! You should look happy, Mr. West. You’re an angel.”

Dax had never felt so stupid in his entire life. And that included the day he’d gone to a drugstore for Anna and spent half an hour getting advice about tampons and pads.

This—this was worse, though. He was wearing eyeliner and rouge and being told by a scrawny, mustached man to look at the “angel” as if he were his “absolution,” the most beautiful, awe-inspiring being he had ever seen—this surpassed everything. Although, admittedly, it was easy to produce that particular expression—he simply had to imagine he was looking at Lucy.

The spotlights, however, were too bright and radiated unbearable heat. He and Jack were both wearing three-piece suits—Jack in white, he in black, because that was apparently everyday attire for devils and angels—and the layers were threatening to suffocate him. And the damn horns, imbedded in his hair with some kind of clip, were making his scalp itch.

He could tell from Lucy’s face how stupid they looked. The woman who prided herself on always being professional had been fighting a fit of laughter for most of an hour. She might think she was cleverly hiding it, but he could see even from a distance: She was constantly biting her lip. Of course, he was probably a bit fixated on her lips, in general.

“How about lowering your head slightly, Dax?” she suggested, an innocent glint in her eyes. “So it looks like you’re impaling Jack with your horns?”

He was about as keen on that as he was on throwing his favorite hockey stick into the chipper.

“I have no idea what you mean. Maybe you’d better come closer and show me exactly what you have in mind,” he replied dryly. After all, there was no reason why he should be the only one making a fool of himself.

“Sure,” she said cheerfully, grinning broadly. “Not a problem if you copy me.”

Shit. He should have known she wouldn’t shy away from a challenge.

The photographer nodded absentmindedly, muttering that he needed to look at the previous shots. Unfortunately, this gave her the opening to stand on the white drop cloth in front of the screen, hold her index fingers to her head like little horns, bend down, and impale Jack with them like a bull in an arena.

“Something like that,” she announced, poking Jack in the stomach. Jack looked far too happy in Dax’s opinion, despite the wings and gold glitter on his cheeks. “It shows how much fun you have together and that you’ve become real friends.”

“No, it shows that you need a hobby!” he contradicted.

She laughed and straightened up. “You’re embarrassed too easily, Dax. Really.” Turning to Jack, she added, “And ouch! You could have stopped tensing your muscles.” She made a face and rubbed her fingers.

“I didn’t tense them,” he said, astonished.

“Really?” She raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Holy mackerel. Maybe it was you, not Dax, who made a pact with the devil?”

Jack chuckled softly. “Just a pact with the bench press, I’m afraid. But you look like you work out yourself, so you shouldn’t be surprised.”

Dax snorted loudly, earning a hostile glance from Lucy.

“What’s so funny about that?” she replied harshly.

Well, he didn’t mean to offend Lucy, but if she was doing any exercising, it was her fingers removing a wrapper from a chocolate bar. She had the butt and hips to prove it. Which was not a bad thing! He liked her butt and hips. They looked like they should on a woman. Perfect for grabbing and pulling against him.

But he wasn’t stupid enough to say that aloud.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” he replied seriously. “I was only thinking of a knock-knock joke.”

“Sure,” she replied, miffed.

“Don’t listen to him, Lucy,” Jack continued, undeterred. “You have a perfect figure.”

Dax’s jaw clenched. He had never said otherwise! In fact, her curves were pretty much all he had thought about for the last few days. No, that wasn’t true. It was the whole person and… Why was Lucy blushing?

“Thanks, that’s sweet, but it’s not true,” she said, giving Jack a warm look.

Hey! What was that about? He had never received a look like that from her before. And it was true.

“It’s true,” Jack replied frankly. “You women worry too much about your bodies.”

“Says the guy with the six-pack.” She laughed, making a dismissive hand gesture. “But I get it. I know that and I’m fine. I like my body, no matter what some men say.” She gave Dax a meaningful glance.

Confused, he opened his mouth to assure her that he had nothing against her body and had never said otherwise, but Jack beat him to it again.

“Oh, some men are just assholes. I think what makes a woman truly sexy is confidence. The way she deals with people. And you’re seriously blessed in that area, Lucy.” Her blush deepened…as did the red that had appeared before Dax’s eyes.

What the hell was Jack doing?

A bitter, ugly feeling compressed into a black ball in his stomach. If he was any other man, he might have believed it was jealousy, but he wasn’t any other man and he didn’t get jealous.

Still, he blurted out, “Say, should I leave you two alone for a while so you can flirt a little more and Jack can spill a few more of my secrets?” He deliberately kept his tone casual, but his words were apparently caustic enough to make both of them glance up in surprise.

Jack abruptly looked at Lucy. “You told him?”

She sighed softly. “It just slipped out. But Dax, you’re standing right next to us. You’d know if he was revealing private information.”

As if he cared! Jack could tell Lucy whatever he wanted, as long as he also took a few steps back and stopped brushing against her at every opportunity.

“Okay, we have some good shots in the costumes,” the photographer announced at that moment, pulling Dax out of a sudden fantasy that involved his fist in Jack’s face. “We can move on to some sexy shots for the female fans. So, which one of you two wants to take off your shirt?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Him,” Jack and Dax said in unison, pointing at each other.

Dax snorted. He was definitely not going to take off his clothes, especially not after Lucy had turned so red this morning at the mere thought of him naked. Baring his chest now wouldn’t…contribute to normality between them.

“Really? Why do we need to take sexy shots?” Lucy asked, her cheeks darker than they had been a minute ago as she strolled back towards the photographer.

“Leslie said a few shirtless photos wouldn’t hurt,” the photographer said, shrugging.

Lucy sighed and made an irritated gesture, which the photographer took as confirmation.

“So, who goes first?” he asked.

“Okay, okay!” Jack said with a sigh, taking off his wings, jacket, and vest before pulling the shirt over his head. He stood there shirtless.

Lucy whistled through her teeth.

Dax gritted his.

Jack thumped his chest with a smug grin.

Lucy winked at him, laughing. “Turn, please. For the photographer, of course.”

Dax dug his fingernails into his palms.

“You want to see if baby got back?”

Lucy’s laughter grew louder.

Dax’s jaw ached.

“ Your actual back will do just fine, Jack,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “Now I understand why Leslie thought a few shirtless pictures wouldn’t hurt. I , for one, am not feeling any pain.”

Did she say something about pain? Yes, Dax was close to inflicting some on someone.

“Oh, you should be in the picture too, Lucy,” Jack said lightly. “To show the fans how closely players and marketing work together.”

A delicate blush crept across Lucy’s cheeks.

Blood whooshed through Dax’s ears.

“We have a rule in PR: Look, don’t touch.”

Jack grinned. “Well, I don’t mind at all if you want to touch me.”

Lucy giggled and stepped forward. “Well, I do have a professional interest…”

Dax lost his patience.

“That’s enough!” he snapped at her.

Surprised, she turned and widened her innocent, dark eyes. “What’s enough?”

“Oh, please ,” he growled, stomping toward her before lowering his voice so the others couldn’t hear him. “Don’t pretend. You’re provoking me!” he hissed, leaning forward to look her straight in the eye, his pulse throbbing in his neck. “Why else would you be flirting with West?”

“Because it’s fun?” she replied tonelessly, folding her arms across her chest.

“I’m not enjoying it, so stop it, damn it!”

“Why?” she asked innocently. “Maybe he’ll be my number twelve.”

He snorted. “As if. You’re not at twelve, you only said that to shock me—besides, everyone knows you don’t get involved with players.”

“I don’t get involved with players because you’re all little boys who whine when you don’t get your way,” she whispered, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “But Jack West is a man .”

His jaw cracked. God, how he would love to show her how much of a man he was. But they weren’t alone. He could feel the curious glances of the photographer and Jack on the back of his neck. Besides, they wanted to act normal and… Shit, he had to get out of here. He couldn’t think clearly anymore. Lucy was clouding his mind.

“Screw this,” he muttered stiffly before abruptly turning, crossing the room, and yanking open the door.

“Uh, Lucy…we need him!” he heard the perplexed photographer call out as he was slamming it shut.

Dax exhaled with a hiss and rubbed his face with both hands. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down, but the tightness in his chest wouldn’t go away. Neither did the bitter taste in his mouth. This wasn’t good. Nor were the footfalls he heard on the other side of the door before Lucy pulled it open.

“Where are you going?” she asked wide-eyed, her cheeks still red. And because of Jack, not him!

Fuck.

He didn’t feel like talking to her and couldn’t guarantee anything if he did. So he pushed open the nearest door leading into an empty office space and quickly stepped in, but as he turned to close it, Lucy’s foot shot out to hold it open.

“What the hell is up with you?” Stunned, she stared at him and pushed the door wider with brute force. “Are you seriously running away from me?”

“You’re asking me what the hell is up?” he replied heatedly, his voice growing louder with each word. “You’re the one who just practically threw yourself at Jack!”

“Don’t yell like that,” Lucy hissed, glancing worriedly into the hallway before hastily shutting the door, throwing her purse onto the floor next to it, and crossing her arms. “And I didn’t throw myself at him. We were just…talking.”

“Oh, come on! I recognize verbal foreplay, Lucy!” he snapped.

She blinked in surprise. “Verbal…what? God, Dax! You’ve lost your mind. It was fun. Besides, I can talk to Jack however I want.” She raised her chin defiantly. “I don’t have to explain myself!”

Oh, he saw it differently.

“Shit. This isn’t working,” he replied, annoyed and pacing.

“What’s not working?” Lucy asked, confused.

“This!” he snapped, waving his hand between them. “Being normal when it comes to you! You can’t break into my loft and then flirt with Jack. You can’t close your eyes when I walk by you naked—and then blush when Jack takes off his shirt! That’s fucking uncalled for! ”

He hoped Lucy wouldn’t ask why again because he had absolutely no answer for her.

Thankfully, she didn’t bother.

“What’s going on with you, Dax?” she replied, annoyed. “Why are you suddenly acting this way? You only kissed me because you wanted to make a point! You flirt with me to annoy me. You provoke me because you enjoy it! And now you’re jealous when I look at someone else’s nice six-pack?”

“I’m not jealous,” he said derisively. What a ridiculous thought. “It bugs me that you two are plotting against me!”

“What?” She snorted loudly, rolling her eyes before leaning against the strange desk with her hands clasped. “We were joking around. What’s so awful about that?”

Heat swirled in his chest, burning his skin from the inside, and he opened his mouth…only to close it again a second later.

Lucy sighed heavily and rubbed her forehead with her palm. “I don’t understand you, Dax. Your loft looks like you’re all grown up, but you act like an angry teenager, leaving me to think, no, I only imagined he could be reasonable and responsible! The fact that you’re so angry now has nothing to do with me and everything to do with Jack. If I had flirted with Matt or Fox, you wouldn’t have cared at all.”

His jaw cracked. Why the hell would she mention Matt or Fox? Did she want them?

“I have no desire to be caught in the crossfire,” Lucy continued unperturbed, staring at him firmly. “You have to get your act together. Either you talk to Jack or you forget what happened. Because if you carry on this way, you’ll not only destroy his and your career but probably mine as well. Not to mention you are driving me crazy!” Shaking her head, she ran her hand over her hair. Then she laughed dryly. “Do you know that I used to be a fan of yours?”

Confused, he blinked. “What?” He couldn’t keep up. Her brain jumped from one irrelevant point to the next, and the only thing he could do was stare at her lips.

“Yes. Before I met you, you were my favorite player.” He blinked again and took a few steps forward, because he must not be hearing her correctly. He couldn’t explain what just came out of her mouth any other way.

“Not because of your six-pack or because you’re so incredibly handsome, but because you have the best backhand shot in the league,” she murmured. “Because you always seemed funny and down-to-earth during interviews. Because you so obviously loved the game! Because you always seemed so nice. But that’s ridiculous, right?” Skeptically, she looked up at him. “You’re not nice, you’re merely a good actor, aren’t you?”

The question landed like a punch to his stomach.

His gaze slid over her face. Over her perky chin, her pink cheeks, her questioning brown eyes…to her slightly parted lips.

“I can be nice,” he whispered hoarsely.

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Really?”

He nodded—and kissed her.