Chapter 3 Joey
Never trust a bad boy with a good heart. That should be a warning label, right up there with "don't feed them after midnight" and "keep away from open flame."
"And that's how you do a butterfly save," Nox demonstrates, dropping to his knees on the ice. Twenty kids in hockey gear watch him with absolute adoration. "The trick is to make yourself as big as possible."
"Like a wall!" one little girl shouts.
"Exactly." His grin is different here. Genuine, lacking that signature smirk. "Want to try shooting on me?"
The kids scramble to line up. I adjust my woolen hat, trying not to notice how his practice jersey rides up when he moves, revealing a strip of tattooed skin above his pants.
The hockey clinic was my idea for good PR, great community engagement and its helping the kids who might be having a tough Christmas. I didn't count on it being foreplay.
"Ms. Winters!" A tiny boy tugs my sleeve. "Can you film me scoring on Mr. Murphy?"
"That's assuming you can score on me, buddy," Nox calls out, winking at me over the kid's head.
"Elf you," I mutter, but pull out my phone to record.
Nox's eyes darken at my words. "Language, Winters. There are children present."
The boy lines up his shot. Nox makes a show of preparing to block it, but I catch the subtle shift in his stance. He's going to let the kid score.
The puck slides in, and the boy erupts in cheers. Nox dramatically flops onto the ice.
"He got me!" He clutches his chest. "I've been defeated by the mighty, what's your name, champion?"
"Tommy!"
"The mighty Tommy! Someone alert the NHL, we've got our next superstar."
I bite my lip, fighting a smile. The video's going to blow up on social. Boston's bad boy goalie playing dead on the ice while a six-year-old does a victory lap.
"Having fun?" Nox asks as I help him up. His gloved hand lingers in mine.
"This is actually good content."
"Just good?" He tugs me closer, pretending to steady himself. "I'm wounded, Winters. I'm giving an Oscar-worthy performance here."
"Tony-worthy, at best." But I don't pull away.
"You've got fluff in your hair." He brushes it off, his touch lingering at my neck.
My cheeks heat. "Professional distance, remember?"
"Hard to keep my distance when you're looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're reconsidering all your rules." His thumb traces my pulse point. "Starting with the one about fraternization."
I step back, nearly tripping. He steadies me again, this time with a hand on my waist.
"Careful," he murmurs. "Ice is slippery."
"So are you."
That gets a real laugh. "Come on, Joey. Admit it. I'm growing on you."
Before I can answer, Tommy skates back over. "Mr. Murphy! Can you show us how to do a glove save?"
"Duty calls." Nox squeezes my hip before letting go. "Watch this one, Winters. It's sure to make your highlight reel."
An hour later, I'm in the equipment room, downloading footage from my phone. The kids have gone home, but their energy lingers. My cheeks hurt from smiling.
"Found any good shots?"
I jump. Nox leans in the doorway, fresh from the shower. His hair is damp, curling at his neck. He's wearing a tight black henley that should be illegal in at least forty states.
"A few." I focus on my phone. "The victory lap video already has ten thousand likes."
"Only ten? I'm losing my touch." He moves behind me, looking over my shoulder. "What else you got?"
His chest brushes my back. Water drips from his hair onto my neck. I suppress a shiver.
"Just editing some clips for the team's Instagram."
"Show me."
I pull up the glove save video. His arms cage me in as he watches, hands braced on the table beside mine.
"Nice shot," he murmurs. "But you missed the best part."
"Which was?"
"Your face when I winked at the camera." His lips brush my ear. "You blushed."
"Professional distance," I remind him. And myself.
"We're off the clock." One hand slides over mine on the phone. "No cameras. No kids. No rules."
I turn to tell him off, but he's closer than I expected. Our noses brush.
"Nox."
"Say it again." His other hand cups my face. "Say my name again, Joey."
"We can't."
"We can." His thumb traces my bottom lip. "We're going to."
My phone clatters to the table. I should push him away. Should remind him about HR policies and public images and professional boundaries.
Instead, I grab his henley.
He groans, pressing closer. "Finally."
"This isn't—" I start, but his mouth is a breath from mine.
"Tell me to stop," he whispers.
I should. I really should.
"Elf you," I breathe instead.
He laughs against my lips. "Soon."
The door bangs open. We jump apart.
"Murph!" One of his teammates, Anderson, sticks his head in. "Coach wants you."
Nox doesn't move. "I'm busy."
"Now, man. Storm warning meeting."
That gets my attention. "Storm?"
"Blizzard coming in tonight." Anderson grins. "Don't worry, social media goddess. I'm sure Nox will give you a private weather report later."
"Out," Nox growls.
Anderson leaves, laughing. The moment's broken, but electricity still crackles between us.
"We should." I gesture vaguely.
"Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair. "To be continued?"
"This was a mistake."
"No." He catches my wrist as I reach for my phone. "This was inevitable."
"I can't be another notch on your bedpost, Nox."
His eyes flash. "Is that what you think this is?"
"Isn't it?"
He backs me against the table. "You've seen my social media, Winters. The videos, the photos, all of it. But you haven't seen me delete numbers after one night. You haven't seen me take someone to dinner. You haven't seen me let someone in."
"And I have?"
"You're the first person who's made me want to try." He kisses my forehead, surprisingly gentle. "Think about that during the storm."
He leaves me there, clutching my phone and trying to remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
My screen lights up with a notification. Nox has posted a new video – him and Tommy celebrating the goal. The caption reads:
Teaching the next generation. Thanks @JWinters for making me play nice.
The comments flood in:
Dad vibes ??
The social media manager caught the softest side of Nox
Is no one going to talk about how he looks at her in the background?
I watch the clip again. He does look at me, when Tommy scores. Like I'm something precious. Something real.
"Elf," I whisper, but this time it's because no other word feels strong enough.
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number:
Stay safe in the storm, Winters. And maybe think about what else we could do in an equipment room. I've got ideas. Lots of them.
I should block him. Again.
Instead, I save his number.
Outside, snow begins to fall.