Chapter 22
Cassie
“So, what does the hockey star’s dick look like?”
I nearly spit out my iced coffee. “Britt. What the hell. What is that supposed to mean?”
We’re getting brunch at a cafe down the road from our apartment. It’s the kind of place Britt always seems to know about through her restaurant grapevine: cheap, friendly, makes the greatest (i.e. most sugary) breakfasts on the planet.
She spears a strawberry and a slice of pancake on her fork. “You know. Was it big, and if it was big, did he know how to use it, and if he knew how to use it, how many times exactly was it put to use—” She pauses to shove the pancake in her mouth. “All the standard questions.”
“No, I mean—why would I know what his dick looks like?”
She stares at me. “You just told me you kissed him at the New Year’s party. Are you telling me with all that sexual tension you didn’t hit it afterward?”
I slice a little too aggressively into my waffle, as if it mortally offended me. “No. It was an incredible kiss, but it was just a one-off thing. He felt bad that I’d never done the whole midnight New Year’s Eve kiss before.”
After the midnight kiss—the hottest, most intense kiss of my whole life—we had said goodnight, and both left the party separately.
Like a gentleman, he’d offered to drive me home, but I was too flustered to be in an enclosed space with him, so I just called an Uber instead.
Sure, I felt more like dragging him into the nearest free bedroom, but I’d already stepped too far over the line.
“Cassie, dude. He is hot. You are hot. Those are the facts. And now you’re spending all this time together, so I just figured he’d probably want to…” Britt pauses. “You know, butter your waffle.”
“Gross, Britt.” I make a face, pushing the rest of my waffle to the side of my plate.
“He flirts with me, but I don’t think Cole even likes me that much.
Except when he’s being all nice. Which is actually a lot of the time.
” I sigh, pointing my fork at her. “The point is, no sleeping with the assignment.”
“I notice you haven’t claimed that you don’t want to sleep with the assignment. The assignment you’re secretly a former fangirl of.”
“I’ve thought about it,” I admit. “There’s some kind of energy there. But he’s all tough and cynical and so not into people like me. And I really need to prove to my boss that I can do this right.” My voice falters. “To prove I belong.”
Britt sips her coffee, studying my expression.
“You know you’re too hard on yourself, right?
” Her voice softens. “The stuff with your dad… that shit doesn’t define you.
You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone.
Even if your dad found out about you and had a problem with you working in hockey, I bet your boss would still promote you. You’re an undeniable badass.”
I smile, my heart suddenly aching. “Thanks, Britt. I’m lucky to have a friend like you.”
I just wish, in the deepest and most vulnerable part of my heart, I could believe her words.
Cole places his sleek black credit card in my hand. “Don’t complain,” he orders. “Just take it.”
I hand it right back. “Cole. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Cassie. You just said you don’t have anything to wear to the gala.”
After practice, we were walking out of the arena, talking about the upcoming sponsor gala that Cole has to go to—and by extension, I have to go to as well.
The dress code is formal, which means expensive.
Sure, I have plenty of office outfits, but nothing really fancy.
Cole had basically marched me into the nearest store, despite my protests.
One dress immediately caught my eye. Soft blue, velvety, gorgeous.
I could never afford it on my junior agent salary.
“It’s my fault you have to come to this stupid gala in the first place,” Cole says. “I’ll really feel like an asshole if you have to spend your own money on a fancy dress.”
“I’m sure I can dig around in my closet, or borrow something from Britt,” I insist.
He frowns but follows me when I stride out of the store.
I really want to be annoyed the next day when the dress is delivered to my apartment. I want to have something to say about professional boundaries and how I’m my mother’s daughter and don’t need anyone’s money but my own.
But in reality, I’m moved by the gesture in a way that surprises me.
I carefully pry open the box, lifting the dress out of its dusty pink tissue paper wrapping and smoothing it out on the bed. It’s so luxurious. Just the pretty shimmering shade of bright blue I adore.
It’s not just the money—although god it was a lot of money, all of which is basically pennies to an NHL star—but the fact that Cole didn’t want me feeling self-conscious at the gala. That’s what’s making me feel all warm about it too.
CASSIE
Thank you, Cole
I’m in love!!!
I think for a moment, before awkwardly adding:
With the dress
Haha
And then I feel stupid, until a message pops up on my screen a few seconds later.
COLE
007 always has to be dressed to kill.
On the night of the gala, I’ve just finished getting ready when Britt pokes her head around my bedroom door.
“Damn, girl. Call the fire brigade. You look hot.”
I stare back at myself in the mirror. Most days, I feel cute, in an office-appropriate sort of way, dressed in a pencil skirt and blouse. And of course, whatever brightly colored heels I can get away with.
But now, smoothing down the shimmering ocean-blue material that clings to my hips, I feel genuinely beautiful.
“Cole is going to freak out when he sees you,” Britt promises. “Consider your waffle buttered.”
But when I walk into the glitzy gala ballroom and spot Cole, I’m the one freaking out underneath my carefully maintained smile.
I swallow, taking in his look for tonight.
He’s dressed in a navy-blue suit, and it’s really working for him.
It fits perfectly over the broad span of his muscular shoulders.
My eyes skim lower over his thighs—oh my god, do goalies have the best thighs—and I hope his tailor accounted for all that muscle.
For once in his life, he’s clean-shaven. Usually I’m more than slightly obsessed with his stubble, but this look shows off the firm line of his jaw in a way that makes me bite down on my lower lip just to keep my cool.
Keep it professional.
“Hey, sunshine.” His eyes sink downward, and a blaze of heat rises on my skin. He’s just looking at my dress—I remind myself of this, try really hard to remind myself.
“Thank you again for the dress,” I say. “It was really generous of you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It wasn’t all that selfless.” His mouth tugs upward, his eyes traveling over my body. “I hate big corporate parties. Maybe I wanted to have something beautiful to look at to help get me through.”
We’ve absolutely not talked about the kiss we shared. But the tone of Cole’s voice is dangerously close to sounding like the kiss wasn’t as platonic and pitying as I thought.
“You’re talking about Pittsburgh’s left winger, right?” I quip. “I saw him when I walked in. All those missing teeth, yum.”
He gives a low laugh. “Exactly my type.”
“So,” I say, forcefully pivoting the conversation back to professional matters. “Here’s the game plan for the night. Show your face, mingle with whoever is tolerable, get in a few pictures. Sound good?”
“Sure. Let me get us some drinks.”
I allow myself to watch Cole walk away as he goes to the bar. I’m only human, after all. Waiting at a table, I scan the room, cataloguing who’s here, who to talk to, who to avoid.
My scan abruptly ends when I realize I’ve accidentally made eye contact with a man a few tables over. I take a second to place his face: Sam Anderson. Decent right defense for New York. By his expression, he has a big ego to match.
I don’t have time to look away before he’s sidling up to me. “These things are a drag, huh?” he says, offering his hand.
I introduce myself with a polite smile. “You’re having quite the season over in New York.”
“Glad you noticed.” His grin is wolfish. “I must be memorable.”
“Well, agents have to know the league inside and out.” Agent Speak for: don’t flatter yourself.
He flashes his white-toothed smile (some good teeth for a hockey player). He’s practically oozing charm, and all of that charm is directed straight at me like a laser beam of sexy charisma. And I have to admit he’s cute.
But I’m here as part of my job. There’s no way I’m flirting back with some cute hockey star.
And anyway, the more I stare back at Sam, the more it feels like all the very handsome, very charming parts of his face are just… wrong.
I’m sure they’d be right for some other girl, but I know what I like. Dark hair, strong brows, deep green eyes. A frown that, when it lifts, is gorgeous as hell.
As if I’ve summoned him in my head, I catch sight of Cole walking back through the crowd. He glances between Sam and me, and I catch his jaw tightening.
Sam’s eyebrows lift. “You’re here with Cole Taylor?”
“Yes, she is,” Cole answers for me.
“Well, your girlfriend is very charming.”
A flutter of nerves dances in my stomach at being mistaken for Cole’s girlfriend, but I mentally bat it away.
“I’m here with Cole at the gala,” I correct, “but we’re not together like that.”
I can feel Cole tense next to me, fingers tightening around his glass.
“So does that mean you’re single?” Sam says. “Guess it’s my lucky night after all. Can I give you my number?”
Cole glares. “Anderson, don’t you fucking dare—”
I can sense Cole’s about to go down a path that only leads to trouble. Quickly, lightly, I lay my hand on Cole’s wrist, and he freezes. Like he’s been hit by a zap of electricity.
I brush Sam’s comment off with a polite laugh. “Unless you’re giving me your number because you need a new agency, then I can’t take it.”
Sam shrugs. “Well. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He grins, then pushes away from the table, disappearing into the crowd.
Cole furrows his eyebrows. “You didn’t have to say that on my account.”
“Say what?”
“To that prick—to Anderson. I know this is part of your job. But you could have taken his number.”
I blink at him, confused. “Why would I want to take his number?”
“Because he was hitting on you—his tongue was basically hanging out—and you seemed interested.”
I cross my arms against my chest. “How exactly did I seem interested?”
“You were smiling at him when I walked over.”
“I smile, Cole. I smile a lot. Except you might notice that I’m not smiling right now, because you’re being weird.”
Now I feel foolish. Cole is basically telling me I should’ve gone for it with another man.
I’d tricked myself into half believing that Cole might be fighting this like I’m fighting it. I know nothing can happen between us, but I at least felt better imagining it wasn’t entirely in my head.
The live band in the corner kicks into life, interrupting us. It plays a lush, jazzy rhythm of pattering drums and shimmering bass.
“Forget it. Let’s just—” Cole glances over at the band. “Do you want to dance?”
“You dance?” I ask, incredulous.
He shrugs. “No, not really. But—for you.”
Warmth spreads across my face. “I would love to dance with you, Cole Taylor.”
He leads me to the dance floor. His hand feels huge around mine as we start to slowly sway. I tilt my head to look up at him.
“You’re a bad dancer,” I tease.
A smile slides onto his face. “I save my best moves for the ice. And Landon’s parties. Out on the patio, specifically.”
His eyes drop to my mouth. My tongue wets my lips. It’s the first time either of us has referenced the kiss.
Are we drunk? We must be drunk. Even though Cole is sober and I’ve only had one cocktail. Okay, so—we’re not drunk. It just kind of feels like it every time I get close to him. The energy between us is hot and magnetic and tempting.
All I can think about is dragging him closer and kissing him again.
Somehow, I hold back until the song ends, and we gradually break apart. Cole goes to fetch us some water, and I try to calm my thumping heart.
Except then I raise my eyes to find Cole at the bar. He’s talking to a tall, older man. They’re both smiling, deep in conversation.
My mind catches up with my eyes.
My gaze slides over the other man’s face—graying hair, lines around his sharp blue eyes…
Those bright blue eyes that look so much like mine—
I feel dread rush into my body like a flood. Everything turns into slow motion.
My father is here.
My absent hockey star father, who walked out on me and my mom when I was just a baby.
The world tilts. I feared this day would come, dreaded it, prayed it never would… I chose to chase a career in hockey despite it. To follow my dream, even if it meant one day running into the father who abandoned me.
Cole finishes his conversation, walks up to where I’m frozen, and hands me a glass.
“How do you know John Novak?” I ask, and my voice sounds weird and distant in my ears. “I saw—I saw you talking to him over there.”
“He was sort of a mentor to me,” Cole says casually, sipping his water, “back when I first joined the league.”
The ice under my skin thickens. “Your mentor? He was out of the league before you started. He played in New York. How did you even meet?”
He shoots me a confused look. “It was a long time ago. We met at a league event when I was a rookie, and he said I could call him whenever I needed advice on being in the league. He pushed me to play harder. I haven’t seen him for a few years, though, so we were catching up.”
I can’t deal with another second of this.
“I’m just going to—I just need some air.”
I burst through the exit into the cold winter night air. My back hits the wall, and I gulp down breaths.
“Hey, agent. You okay?”
I glance up. Sam Anderson is staring at me, a cigarette dangling from his fingers.
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
He strolls over. “What’s wrong? If it was that asshole Cole, I’m not surprised.”
“No.” I shake my head, unable to say anything else. Sam slides an arm around my shoulders, and I freeze.
“Relax,” he grins.
He probably thinks it’s chivalrous, but I shiver in discomfort. Some guys don’t realize a woman displaying emotions isn’t an open invitation to get physically close.
“I have to go.” I quickly shrug him off.
And then I leave the party and don’t look back.