Page 18 of Sweet as Puck
“Hi-llo,” I stuttered. Loudly. I definitely had their attention. Heat crept up my throat to my cheeks as all heads in the terminalturned to me. I took a step closer and waved, the movement awkward, since I was still holding the sign in my hand.
Where was a sudden sinkhole when you needed one? I ignored the sniggers from the suits who’d stopped to watch the spectacle and channelled Zali as much as I could. She would just lift her chin and stare them down until they cowered away. I didn’t have quite the jewels for that, but I could fake it like a champion.
“You must be Ms Delaware,” a woman—one of the first off the plane—said. She held out her hand, and I nodded and shook it. “I’m Trisha, the team’s medic. Pleased to meet you.” She was no-nonsense, and I liked that.
“Y-yes, hi. I’m Cara Delaware.” I hiccupped as I sucked in a breath. Heat rose in my cheeks, and I gave her a pained smile. Why did I have to embarrass myself all the time? Why couldn’t I be normal and put together just once?
But I didn’t have time to be mortified.Fake it until you make it.I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders, trying to project Professor Reid’s professionalism.
“The bus has arrived and is outside, ready for you. Your luggage will be loaded onto the bus by the driver, but you do need to collect it so we can get you through customs. Once everyone has disembarked, I’ll show you the way.” There, I did it without any mistakes. I smiled more genuinely this time, relieved to have gotten at least one introduction done without mucking it up.
“Excellent.”
We waited while the coach, a steel-haired man who towered over everyone, joined the support crew travelling with the team. He was a legend in the NHL, having won almost every trophy achievable. It had been a coup that the youngest club in the league had managed to sign him. The two assistant coaches who trailed him were college hockey greats—each had won FrozenFour championships, and one had run an elite training camp until he was hand-picked by the Seals.
Finally, the players came out. They were in their tailored suits and ties, most in dark grey or navy blue, while others wore standard black. Then there were the standouts. Sam Austin wore an emerald-green suit, white shirt, and matching white sneakers. Another—I think it was Kuznetsov—was in black from head to toe with a red vest underneath.
I bit my tongue, barely stopping the squeal from escaping. I shifted my weight from side to side, the sign bobbing in front of me. I crossed my legs, squeezing my thighs together so I didn’t wet myself with excitement.
Oh.
My.
Goodness.
They were right there. Power and athleticism radiated off them. They wore their confidence like a second skin, and I wanted to soak it up, glean some of it for myself.
I didn’t have to have experience with men to imagine what would be under those fitted suit jackets and pants that hugged their thick thighs. Powerful arms, washboard abs, a hockey butt you could bounce a coin off, and legs that could easily crush a watermelon. I whimpered, wishing that I’d thought to bring my vibrating wand with me. It was going to be a looong two weeks of visual torture.
The twenty-man roster ran the full gamut from gorgeous models to Vikings and mountain men who looked like they hadn’t seen a razor in their lives. I picked out their goalie instantly. He was even taller than the coach, towering over the other men on the team. His thick beard and shaved head made him look more like an MC romance hero than a professional sports star. Then there was Jacques Gauthier, who looked like he’d walked straight off an underwear modelling shoot.
He held his arms out wide, and I stepped into them as he hugged me tight. My old family friend was a welcome sight. “Cara, so good to see you.”
“You, too, Jackie. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“So am I.” He grinned and rubbed my hair with his knuckles, noogying me.
I batted his hand away and laughed.
“Dinner sometime, yes?” he asked.
“I’d love to.”
I heard Jacques’s name get called, and he excused himself to join one of the other players. I watched him walk away, but the lone person walking out of the jetway caught my attention. He had his head down, his hair—long on top and short on the back and sides—was loose around his face. But there was no mistaking who was in the dove-grey suit. My breath hitched, and I swallowed hard. Alec Huxley was fine with a capital F.
But I needed to pull myself together. I was here for the team, not to drool over him.
***
I counted heads while standing alongside Keeley, making sure we had the correct number of Seals on board. When we’d finished, she headed to the middle of the bus and sat down next to Trisha. It was a full house with only a few spare seats.
I swallowed and eyed off the empty ones, trying to find one next to one of the smaller guys. But even the smaller hockey players, the ones built for speed, were huge.
The only seat I could see myself fitting into was in the front row.
Right next to Alec Huxley.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to sit next to him—I totally did—but I was too freaked out. Knowing me, I’d probably do something silly.