Chapter 7 Joey
Six months ago, I would have died before letting a hockey player kiss me in a coat check room.
Six months ago, I didn't curse.
Six months ago, I was professional.
"We're going to be late," I gasp as Nox's hands slide under my designer gown. The blue silk, his team color, rustles against the wall of the Vezina ceremony coat check.
"Don't care." His mouth finds that spot behind my ear that makes me forget words altogether. "Have I mentioned how perfect you look?"
"Several times." A curse slips out as his fingers trace higher. "The dress cost more than my first car."
"Worth it." His teeth graze my neck. "But it would look better on my floor."
A knock saves my very expensive dress. For now.
"Five minutes, Mr. Murphy!"
I straighten myself while Nox adjusts his bow tie, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Six months of this, and he still smirks every time he makes me swear.
"You're impossible," I tell him, fixing my lipstick.
"You love it." He catches my reflection in the mirror, eyes dark. "Almost as much as I love watching you try to stay professional."
He's right. God help me, he's right.
The main hall is packed with NHL royalty. I do my job, working the room, keeping Nox on schedule. But every time I glance his way, he's already watching me.
"Stop that," I mouth during a photo op.
He winks, then whispers something to Anderson that makes his teammate laugh and look my way.
I narrow my eyes. He's up to something.
My phone buzzes with social media notifications. Our Winter Classic kiss is still trending months later, though management's stopped sending angry emails about proper conduct.
Mostly because we've given them much worse to worry about since then.
The "training session" video last week wasn't entirely our fault. We thought the cameras were off. Though Nox's caption, "Proper stick handling demonstration,” probably didn't help.
"And now, the Vezina Trophy for the NHL's best goaltender..."
I hold my breath. Under the table, my hand finds Nox's thigh.
He covers my hand with his, squeezing once. Win or lose, we'll celebrate later. Thoroughly.
"Lennox Murphy!"
The room erupts. Before he stands, Nox kisses me hard enough to smear what's left of my lipstick.
"For luck," he whispers against my mouth.
"You already won," I remind him.
His smile turns wicked. "Night's not over yet, Winters."
I watch him take the stage, remembering our first meeting. The naked ice hockey photo that started everything. The way he invaded my office, my space, my carefully organized life.
The way he made me want to be a little less professional.
"I'd like to thank my team," he starts, reading from the prompter.
Then he looks at me.
Oh no.
I know that look. It's the same look he had before the Winter Classic stunt. Before every wonderfully terrible decision that's made my job simultaneously harder and better.
"But mostly," he continues, going off-script, "I want to thank the woman who taught me that being bad isn't always good."
The crowd chuckles. I shake my head, but I'm smiling.
"Joey Winters took one look at my social media and called me a PR nightmare. She was right."
More laughter. He's working the room like he owns it.
"Then she proceeded to become my biggest PR nightmare."
"Damn right," I whisper, earning a grin.
"She moved in with me and reorganized my whole fucking life.”
"Language!" someone calls.
"Sorry." He winks at me. "She's also taught me some new vocabulary, but that's off the record."
The crowd roars. I'm blushing, remembering exactly what vocabulary lessons he's referencing.
"Joey," he says into the microphone, "come up here."
"No." But I'm already standing.
The crowd starts chanting like they did at the Classic: "GO! GO! GO!"
I shake my head, but Nox just grins.
"She's shy," he tells the audience. "Which is ironic, considering what happened in the coat check twenty minutes ago."
"NOX!"
But I'm walking toward the stage anyway. My legs are shaking in my heels, the ones he picked out, claiming they made my legs look "criminal."
He hands the trophy to Anderson and drops to one knee.
The room goes silent.
Oh.
Oh.
"Six months ago, I knew you were the one for me."
Tears blur my vision. So much for waterproof mascara.
"Then you became my favorite nightmare. The best kind of trouble. The only person who makes me want to be better, while loving me at my worst."
I'm crying now, mascara be damned.
"You taught me that sometimes the best content isn't for social media." He takes my hand. "Some things are just for us."
He takes a breath. “Will you be by my side forever. As my friend, lover, wife and mother to our, someday, many, many children.” He grinned.
A thousand cameras flash. Management is probably having collective heart failure.
I should say something professional. Something proper. Something about timing and careers and appropriate venues.
Instead, I grab his bow tie and pull him up to my level.
"Yes." And then I kissed him.
His kiss tastes like forever and that six months of teaching me that sometimes the best things in life are completely unprofessional.
Later, much later, I’m wearing nothing but his dress shirt and the ring when he snaps a new photo.
"Nox!" I grab his phone. "You can't post that!"
"Already did."
The notification pops up:
Breaking in the hardware ??
With a very strategic trophy placement.
"You're impossible," I tell him.
He pulls me closer, hands sliding under his shirt. "You love me."
"Unfortunately."
"Say it properly." His mouth finds my neck. "The way I taught you."
I grab his hair, tugging until he groans.
"Fuck, I love you."
His smile is pure sin. "That's my girl."
Six months ago, I would have died before letting a hockey player ruin my reputation.
Now?
Now I help him compose the captions.
Elf me.