Page 12

CHAPTER 11

DECK

DATING IS NOT A SOLUTION.

In the end, I had said goodnight to Lizzy in the parking lot, though I had an odd sensation I was being followed all the way home, and thought I might have seen her car out the window as I swept through the front room, readying for bed, but that would be insane. All I could figure was that my interest in her was starting to creep into areas it shouldn’t.

For example, there was no earthly reason why I should've been out drinking the night before a game. But something about Lizzy brought out my worst instincts. Or, at least instincts I hadn't felt in a while.

I couldn’t figure that particular woman out.

She was hot—no questions there.

She was capable—of what I wasn’t quite sure. If I was honest, she seemed more built for athletics than for public relations. I wondered about her past—how had she gotten into this role in the first place? She’d explained, but it hadn’t really answered the questions I still felt lingering around her.

But the bottom line was that she was also a pretty sizable distraction from hockey. And that was something I didn’t need. That said, if I could help her make the team a household name, that would work to my advantage. If the world knew me as the most fascinating left winger in FHL hockey, then my position would be cemented here for the foreseeable future. And I needed to make it harder for Dad to come up with a reason to bring me home.

We’d won our game against the LA Cruisers, which was obviously a good thing. The roar of the crowd rang in my ears for hours after the final horn. It was one of those games where everything clicked. The pass from Stevens was pure perfection, slicing through the defense. I barely had time to think, just react—and the puck left my stick with a snap, finding the top corner behind their goalie. That goal tied it up, but the real highlight was the assist I set up for Remington in overtime. I fought off two defensemen in the corner, spun, and sent a blind backhand pass right to his tape. Watching him bury it, then the bench erupt, made everything else feel inconsequential. That was why I was here. For the game.

The next week at the rink, I did my best to keep my focus on the ice. Despite my offer to help her, I kind of avoided Lizzy. But it seemed like everyone else on the team was seeing plenty of her. And with every player that interacted with Lizzy and then returned to the team’s locker room with reports, it became harder to ignore the irritating feeling growing in my gut.

I hadn’t quite identified what that feeling was yet, but I knew it had to do with Lizzy, and I knew it had to do with me wanting to spend more time with her.

“She’s so fucking hot, man,” Van Porter reported, returning after practice one day to tell anyone who would listen about the interview he’d just done with Lizzy. “She’s got this kind of quiet, demure thing happening. Like she wants someone to tell her what to do, you know?” He wiggled his eyebrows at this, and some of the other guys laughed salaciously.

I was squaring up on the guy before I even made a plan to do so. “She’s here to work, Porter. Leave her alone.” I was practically chest to chest with my younger teammate, and a few of the other guys stepped close in preparation to break us apart if needed.

“Whoa,” Porter said, raising his hands and grinning. “Did you already get in there? Wouldn’t want to step on your toes.”

I leaned in closer, until he could probably feel my breath on his weasel face. “No one is ‘getting in there,’” I assured him. “She’s a professional. Don’t touch her.”

“Deck, man,” Houstein was behind me now, a hand on my arm. “Everything’s cool.”

I forced a deep breath in and out and then stepped back, relaxing. “Yeah, okay.”

Porter shook his head and exchanged a ‘what the fuck’ look with Corny, to his left.

I dressed quickly and left the locker room, forgoing my lengthy shower tonight. I wasn’t in the mood.

Lizzy was still in the office she’d taken as her own when I walked by.

“Hey,” I said, pausing in the doorway.

She looked up, a tight smile pulling her lips thin. She wore another of those tight sheath dresses that accentuated every muscle she had. She had plenty. What Porter didn't know, clearly, was that she could probably kick his ass. He hadn't seen her in that parking lot fight, but now that I thought more about it, it might've been her holding off two dudes to keep them from hurting me. And not the other way around. And that… Would be weird.

“Declan,” she said, seeing me lingering in the doorway.

I’d ignored a message this morning that she was hoping to talk to me again, telling myself it made more sense to focus on hockey, and kind of worried about my own less-than-professional interest in her. I told myself I should forget that I’d offered to help her with her documentary. Because honestly? If I spent too much time with Lizzy, I might act on my feelings. And the last thing I needed was to piss off Coach. But if the guys were getting into her space, maybe she really did need me.

“Sorry I haven’t been around to help. It was a busy week.”

She nodded.

“I should have more time now though,” I said. Nothing in my schedule had changed at all. But something else had. I could acknowledge that what I’d felt was jealousy when Porter had talked about her that way. “So fill me in. How are things going?”

She waved toward a chair to one side of the room. “Things are about where they were before. The guys don’t really want to open up to me, you know? They want to talk about hockey.”

“Go figure,” I laughed. “Yeah, we’re a single-minded bunch, I guess.”

She raised an eyebrow and let out a slow breath. “Well, I may not be the most experienced at this, but I suspect a movie with a bunch of guys talking about how they wrap their sticks and their favorite way to check another player against the boards probably isn’t going to be super compelling.”

“Nope.”

“I need a way to get inside,” she said. “Make them trust me, I guess.”

I nodded. “I have an idea,” I told her. It was a terrible idea if you were me… But I knew it would probably help Lizzy. And I couldn't exactly pretend that I didn't have my own motivations. The problem was that my own motivations would possibly get me in trouble.

“Let’s hear it. I’m drowning here.” She sank into the chair across from me and crossed her legs, and for a minute I was completely distracted by the bulge of her calf muscle as she jiggled her toes, making her high heel flick back and forth.

I took a deep breath, partially to keep my brain from actually thinking about what was about to come out of my mouth. “Date me,” I suggested.

Her eyebrows rose nearly into her hairline. “What??”