Chapter Eight
Leo
If not for the fact that this ordeal is for a good cause, I’d be home enjoying a porch beer right about now.
Instead, I’m stuck at a table with too many people whose opinions matter too much.
Not to mention the distraction that is Sadie. My mind went utterly blank when I saw her across the room. She’s a shimmery blue in a sea of blacks and reds.
But more to the point, I can’t read her mood. It makes me tense, because usually I read her just fine—or so I like to think. Probably because she’s usually some version of happy and focused.
She twirls the edges of her hair with her fingertips as Matthew McConaughey 2.0 finishes telling Jax about a twenty-ounce slab of venison he put away for lunch.
I didn’t even know Sadie had this much hair. She’s never worn it down around us before. Turns out her tresses are wavy and glossy when they’re not being strangled by a ponytail.
Nor could I have anticipated how she’d look in a dress. The slit up her thigh teases me from beneath the table every time I accidentally look down. It’s no secret that she’s got great legs, but this is more skin than I’m used to seeing.
Smooth, silky, untouchable skin.
“How’s the start of the season going for you, McLaren? Different from what you’re used to over there in the City of Angels?”
As if I can ever be honest with any of these people about anything. “Good.”
“A man of few words. I respect it.” Andy’s attention slides to Sadie. “Coach, have you given any more thought to the final roster or line pairings after our discussion?”
Oh good, shop talk. That’s my cue. I push away from the table, more than happy for the excuse to leave. “Let me get out of your hair. Enjoy your game.”
“Nonsense!” Andy, ruddy-faced and cheerful, pats the felt. “We’re about to play a hand.”
The dealer takes this as his signal to get started.
“But if you’re talking about the team—”
“All the more reason for you to stay. Your opinions are valued.”
And just like that, I’m trapped.
Andy peeks at his two cards. His one-eyed squint as he processes them leads me to believe he’s drunk.
I check mine. Pocket nines. Pretty damn good. At least I’ve got a fighting hand.
No reaction whatsoever passes across Sadie’s face as she peeks at hers. Her eyes, typically expressive, give nothing.
Great poker face. Interesting. Maybe she’s not as much of an open book as I thought.
“How are you feeling about tomorrow, Coach?” Andy asks.
Sadie peeks at me from the corner of her eye, her lips lifting. “The guys have been working hard. I’m feeling confident.”
“Really? Even after those last two practices?” Eric lets out a long breath. “This is the most uneasy I’ve ever been going into a season opener.”
Sadie’s face falls. And yeah, our practices weren’t great, but is it useful to point that out the night before our first game? It’ll only get in our heads.
Not mine, because fuck that bloated, red-faced idiot. But Sadie looks like she’s internalizing it. Some cynical part of me wonders if that’s what he wants.
“But hey, you’re feeling confident. Don’t let my experience taint yours. I’ve been doing this for a long time, is all.” Eric points at her. “Not sure how experienced you are with poker, but it’s okay to bow out if the cards aren’t there.”
Yeah, my suspicions were right. He’s a sabotaging prick.
Sadie lays her cards face down on the table. She drums her nails over the top. “Guess we’ll see.”
Eric cuts Andy a look before his heavy-lidded gaze roams back to Sadie. “I remember the first time I played with the big dogs. Don’t worry, kiddo, we’ll go easy on you.”
“Oh, it’s—”
“Andy,” Eric says, cutting off her attempt to respond, “what do you hear in the owners’ circle about that new franchise they’re thinking of opening in Idaho—”
With Eric’s attention fully on someone else, I speak so only Sadie can hear me. “Is it your first time playing?”
She meets my eye, her expression guarded. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
“So the answer is no, then.”
“Also,” Andy, the big blind for this hand, tosses in the opening bet, “I’ve been thinking about who should be on the starting lineup.”
The change in Sadie’s expression clearly conveys that she does not want this guy thinking anything of the sort. Nor do I, for that matter.
“Leo,” he continues, “what are your thoughts on the Von Calder kid?” Before I can think of an answer, let alone articulate it, he adds, “I like him. Did you know his brother is a big deal back in Australia? Famous Down Undah!”
Jax gives Andy the side-eye. “He’s from New Zealand. Why do you think they call him Kiwi Cal?”
“Oh, that’s right. Is that still considered Down Under?” Andy takes a quick swig of his drink. “Doesn’t matter. Now his brother, he’s a rugby superstar. Built like a brick shithouse. Real impressive guy, always going viral.” Andy points at me. “I’d like to see you and Von Calder share the line.”
With Cal, or the rugby-playing brother whose social media Andy clearly covets?
Unfortunately, Callum thinks he’s God’s gift to defense.
And while he’s a force when he’s on his game, he’s still pretty new to the NHL and inconsistent, not always reading when to push or when to stay home.
It’s a maturity thing. Reading the game wrong is the kiss of death.
And when he does get it wrong, it throws him for precious seconds we can’t afford to waste.
Sadie had me paired with Henri all of training camp. He’s not perfect, but at least he doesn’t try to act like a fourth forward when I need him to hang back and hold the line.
Andy arcs his tan hand through the air. “The Young Gun and the Seasoned Pro. That’s a good headline. Sadie, make it happen.”
Sadie and Jax exchange a look that suggests this isn’t the first time the owner has thrown out a random command, and I get the sense that this Matthew McConaughey expects an all right all right all right in return.
“We’ll take that into consideration,” Jax says, calling the bet. “But keep in mind there are a lot of factors that go into a lineup. They’re both aggressive and tend to jump into the rush—Leo, you know this about yourself I’m sure—which can leave a hole—”
“Sure, sure.” Andy sounds bored of the technicalities already. The dealer burns a card and places the next one face up in the center of the table.
Andy glimpses his cards again and—with a satisfied smile that gives him away—bets higher on the next turn.
The dealer burns another card and lays a second one face up on the table.
My pocket nines turn into three of a kind. Hell yeah.
I feel Sadie watching me. Warmth moves through me in a lazy wave. “Stop trying to read me, Rivers.”
“But how can I when it bothers you every time, McLaren?”
My brows rise. She always calls me Leo, even at practice. I try not to look at her, but curiosity gets the better of me.
She cocks her head just slightly. There’s a challenge in her gaze, a concentration that suggests she’s trying to read my irises up close and personal. “You’ve got a good hand.”
I’ve been competitive for too long to let her win something, even a simple stare-off. It’s no different than my old coach challenging me to a puck drill.
I don’t so much as blink.
It’s rare to see her face like this. It’s usually half hidden by a voice recorder or her phone, since she tends to leave herself notes while her analytical gaze sweeps the ice. Or she’s laughing, or smiling, her cheekbones high and full, her face almost heart-shaped.
Tonight she’s not in action, but she’s certainly not relaxed. Some liminal space between, where she’s still very much switched on. Her eyes—the same blue as her dress—are rimmed with silver and black shadow. Like smoke surrounding a cold, clear lake.
A face like hers is why people toil away for hours on oil paintings.
You’d want to capture it, and you’d want to get it right.
My free hand curls into a tingly fist under the table as I study the shape of her lips.
Damn it all, her mouth is a temptation. Even if it’s always running and never stops telling me what to do.
I wonder how she’d handle receiving a little of that in return.
She blinks away first. Yes.
My brief moment of triumph is washed away when I realize I’m still staring seconds after she’s given up. She is too fucking pretty.
And so utterly off-limits I’m afraid I’ll be punished for so much as thinking it.
“You’re up, McLaren.”
Tension creeps into my shoulders as I turn my attention back to the table—where it will stay. No way will Biggs need to call my name twice.
We play through the rest of the deal, not a single person folding. People are braver when it’s for charity, I guess.
I wind up with four nines.
Eric reveals his hand first, a gloating edge to his tone. “Flush. Beat that.”
“Damn.” Andy tosses his pair of fives face up on the table. “You got me.”
Jax grunts, flashing us his two pairs, which loses to Eric’s flush.
Eric, gleefully in the lead, looks to Sadie.
She neatly lays her cards on the table. “Full house.”
“Damn.” Jax leans back in his chair and lays a hand on his stomach as he laughs. “I knew you were a hustler.”
The playful glint in Eric’s eyes disappears as he takes a sip of beer, watching her over the rim of his bottle. “She’s no hustler. It’s beginner’s luck. Guarantee it doesn’t happen twice.”
Sadie lets out a nervous laugh. “I guess.”
Eric’s gaze lingers on her too long, shrewd and calculating even when he’s obviously drunk. “It’s a one-off. Anyone can get lucky once.” He lifts his chin, sneering. “Let’s see if she can do it again.”
If anyone is clueless about cards, it’s this guy. She hasn’t won yet, because I haven’t shown my hand.
“Actually, I think I’m going to mingle.” Sadie gathers her drink and her purse and rises from her chair.
“Please hold.” The dealer, who has been largely silent, gestures at my cards.
Sadie freezes like she’s been caught robbing a bank. A flush creeps over her cheeks. The do-gooder doesn’t like to break rules. “Right. I’m sorry.”
This Eric guy is really getting to her.
“Come on, Leo. Let’s see ’em,” Andy says, rubbing his hands together.
I place them face down on the table, mucking the hand.
“Damn. Thought you had her,” Eric gripes.
“Nope. Congrats, Rivers.” I shove back from my chair. “Well played.”
She pauses. “Wait. What did you have?”
I avoid her eyes. “Couldn’t compete.”
After blinking at me for three seconds, she turns to Jax. “Take my chips. Turns out I’m not really a fan of games.”
“Says the head coach,” Eric mutters into his drink with a self-satisfied smirk.
Her attention snaps to him, the tension rolling off her in droves. For a split second I think she’s about to say something. Fuck you would be a fun start.
But she turns and walks fast in the direction of the door.
My stomach twists uncomfortably. She’s clearly upset.
I shouldn’t follow her. That would be a dumb idea.
With a sigh, I’m hot on her heels. I follow her all the way out the door and down the long hall until we reach a door that takes us outside into the rapidly cooling night.
“Rivers—”
She whirls around, eyes wild. “I know you had a better hand than me.”
It’s not like she can prove that, even if it’s true. “Then why would I drop out, if that were the case?”
“I don’t know why you did it. But if you didn’t have a better hand, you would’ve shown your cards.”
I’ve always known this girl is smart. But I could do without being reminded of it every day in new and surprising ways.
My mind goes blank as I try to summon a reason.
She looks past me as if to make sure we’re really alone out here.
We are. The awareness of being alone with her feels like a blanket stripped off my arms when I’m cold. A heavy gust of wind blasts us. I step closer out of instinct. Her perfume punches me hard.
“Are you okay—”
“Eric is always like that.” She smooths the front of her dress primly. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t. I feel sorry for his wife.”
Her gaze snaps up.
“He’s fixated on seeing you fail,” I say. “You should be careful of him. He’ll throw you under the bus at the first opportunity.”
“A lot of people wanted my job.” The slow cadence of her words tells me she’s choosing them carefully.
“I bet.”
“I know how to handle him.”
“I have no doubt. You handle bigger dicks at work every day.”
She gapes at me.
“You know what I mean,” I add hastily, welcoming another gust of cold air as it cools my skin.
“So why did you throw the hand and then follow me when you should be soaking up face time with those guys, who basically determine your whole career?” She blinks too fast and hugs herself. “What do you want?”
I chuff a laugh. This less put-together side of her is amusing. “Clearly not the pleasure of your company.”
“You’re no treat yourself,” she deadpans.
“Couldn’t agree more.”
A flicker of a smile flirts with her lips, and her shoulders drop. The stranglehold the last twenty minutes seemed to have on her fades as she exhales. Coming outside was the right move.
For her.
Not for me. I’m not sure why I followed her. And I think she wonders, too, because she’s regarding me with a curiosity that prods at my chest. In my effort to avoid getting trapped by her sea-blue gaze, my attention wanders to more dangerous places.
The ends of her hair flirt with the top of her breasts. I follow a pink flush as it creeps up the delicate line of her neck. My pulse is a full-on firing squad in my ears as I trace the kissable line of her jaw—
“You’re staring,” she murmurs.
“Hard not to.”
Fuck.
I might as well have dropped a piano off a seven-story building with the way those words land between us.
They came out before my better judgment could catch up. I exhale slowly through my nose, racking my brain for a way to take it back. Something about a distracting smudge of dirt on her cheek or some bullshit lie to absolve her from what I’ve said.
But she doesn’t back away or slap me in the face. In fact, I think I broke her, because she goes completely still. The only hint that she heard me is the way her gaze latches on to mine.
“Hey!”
Coach Vivi’s voice startles me to turn around.
Sadie snaps out of her trance and takes a step backward.
“There you are.” She approaches with a drink in each hand. “I was about to hand-deliver this to your table, but the guys said you went on a walk.” She lifts a champagne flute. “Am I interrupting something?” She eyes her friend up and down. “Hockey talk, I mean.”
A rolling tide of discomfort rises in my throat and my mind goes blank. “You’re not interrupting. I came outside to catch an Uber.”
Sadie fiddles with her hair so it lies just right over her shoulder. “I was making sure it came.”
My lungs contract uncomfortably. There was no reason to lie.
But there was even less reason for her to go along with it.
And judging by the fleeting look she gives me, we both know it.