Chapter 10
. . .
Drew
Something is wrong with Will.
He’s subdued, grumpy, and he generally looks unhappy.
As he moves about the kitchen, finishing off the lobster dish he’s been prepping since he got home from the gym, his shoulders are slumped, even if he’s trying to hide whatever is weighing them down.
“I think the fans would appreciate some insight into your pregame routine, if you’d be willing to make a video, talking them through it at some point?” I suggest from where I’ve been sitting at his kitchen island for the past half hour, head buried in my laptop.
With his back to me, I can’t be sure what Will thinks about the idea, although I know he isn’t camera shy.
He stirs the large pot on his burner, which smells freaking insane. Will comes from a family who can really cook, and therefore, I assumed that he’d had every meal handed to him throughout his life. I was wrong. There’s no doubting his passion for—and ability with—food.
I mean, who makes a lobster tail for an evening work meeting?
“So, I’d be guiding them through what time I wake up and how I prepare my body?
From the light exercise I do to what I eat before a game?
” He tips his head over his shoulder and smiles at me, but again, it falls a little flat from the usual grin I’m used to.
“I guess I could, although I’d have to set up a tripod, and it would take a lot of editing. ”
I schedule the post on the content calendar for a month from now. The regular season will be well underway by then.
“I can help shoot the video. We have access to camera equipment, and then I’ll edit it and show you the final take before we post it to your social media.”
Will’s halfway to his refrigerator when he pauses and turns toward me. “Is there anything you can’t do, Drew?”
Another compliment, another flush of my cheeks.
I clear my throat and open the Notes app on my laptop, checking off another item on the list of things we need to cover while Will begins to plate up the food.
“There’s plenty I’m useless at,” I tell him, pointing at the expert way he arranges the lobster, scalloped potatoes, and salad. “As you know, contrary to my dad’s talents, I’m terrible at ice hockey and skating. And I cannot cook to save my life.”
I’m also terrible at keeping my eyes to myself when faced with bulging biceps as Will carries my plate over to the island and sets it down in front of me.
But I’ll blame that on the unnecessarily tight black T-shirt he’s wearing.
Meanwhile, I feel overdressed, having decided to play it safe with a fitted black pencil skirt and a white button-down blouse. I wish I’d just opted for jeans and a sweatshirt, like most normal people would’ve done.
On a cheeky grin, which is way more typical of Will, he rests a palm on my laptop lid and slowly closes it until I retract my fingers so they don’t get trapped.
“It’s time to stop working now, Drew.”
There’s something about the gravelly tone to his voice that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I get why women find him so attractive. Even if I’d never ever confess that to anyone.
Picking up my laptop, he sets it on the vacant stool next to me, and I pull the food toward me, mouth watering at how delicious it smells and how hungry I am.
When Will slides onto the stool directly opposite where I am, he has his dinner in one hand and a bottle of white wine in the other.
Like he did in the restaurant that day, I set a hand over my empty glass. “I have an early meeting tomorrow, and I don’t need a headache.”
His shoulders drop as he sets the full bottle down and picks up still water instead, filling my glass and then his own.
“What do you think of the lobster?” Will asks after I’ve taken a couple of bites.
I point my fork toward my plate, trying to find the right words to describe the burst of flavors. It’s seasoned perfectly.
“Did your dad teach you to cook like this?”
Will takes a bite of lobster tail and nods once. “Yeah. He taught June and me, but I’m the better cook.”
I roll my eyes, and he chuckles.
“Sibling rivalries are intensified when you’re twins.”
For a second, I think about my relationship with Marley. Now nineteen, she lives in Vancouver, where she moved to be with her boyfriend, Greg, who is a couple of years older than her. She’s always been fiercely independent, and she’s working and studying to become a qualified social worker.
“The only things Marley and I fought over were clothes, shoes, and makeup.”
When I set my eyes back on Will, his plate is almost clean.
“And why are all hockey players the same?” I tip my chin at what’s left of his dinner. “I swear to God, I have no idea how you guys don’t give yourselves indigestion with the way you eat so fast.”
Folding his arms across his chest, Will sits back in his stool and watches me eat. His actions should freak me out, but weirdly, they don’t.
“And I have yet to meet a girl who can finish inside ten minutes.”
The second he stops speaking, Will’s eyes grow wide, and I have to slam a palm over my mouth to prevent him from seeing what’s currently in there.
“I mean … finish eating inside ten minutes, not …” Will gives up on his explanation, only digging himself deeper as we both laugh so hard that I have to grab a napkin from the center of the island and spit my mouthful into it.
“Holy shit!” he declares. “If a girl was struggling to come after five minutes of my tongue, I’d be fucking devastated.”
I drop my fork to the plate with a clatter.
“What?” he asks, no doubt picking up on the devastation written right across my face.
I scoff. “Does the word boundaries mean anything to you at all?”
I don’t miss the tinge of pink as it creeps across his cheekbones.
“TMI, William. Way too much information.”
He clicks his tongue and shifts his plate out of the way, gazing at me intently.
It’s obvious that he’s doubling down, and I’m so tempted to remind him that this is, in fact, a professional meeting and not a social one.
Still, I can’t help my curiosity to find out what he’ll say next.
“That actually kind of surprises me, Drew.”
I balk. “Why?”
He shrugs. “The other day, when you were talking about frat parties and waking up in random beds, it sounded like you were speaking from experience.”
If I wasn’t red before, then I definitely am now.
How is it that every work meeting with this guy descends into chaos?
Oh yeah, because it’s Will.
Picking up my fork, I take a bite of potato and buy myself a few seconds of thinking time. I figured my overshare the other day had gone unnoticed, but clearly, Will was listening to more than I thought.
“Contrary to popular belief,” I confirm on a swallow, “I am capable of having fun when I feel like it.”
Will’s lips tip into a devilish grin. “Drew Callaghan … were you a player in college?”
I chew around a piece of lobster tail, memories of my senior year still very clear. “There were a couple of guys. One was a football player, who I hope will never require a publicist.”
Will picks up his water glass. This is the most invested I’ve seen him all night, but he also looks lighter and back to his normal self, and I’ll take that bright smile any day.
“You can’t drop bombs on me like that and then not tell me who they were.”
I shake my head and set my fork back down on the plate. “He’s playing pro now, and I think he just got engaged, so I probably shouldn’t say.”
Will drums his fingers on the countertop impatiently. “But we have a two-way NDA in place, no?”
I nod. “We do. Although it doesn’t extend to personal matters.”
He huffs out a breath. “Jamie Rose.”
I shake my head. “No, and he’s really not my type. He also didn’t go to my college.”
Will looks off to the side, brows pinched together in thought.
Christ. He really is desperate to know who I got into it with.
“Marshall Booth.”
If I had food in my mouth, then I’d spit it out. “No! We went to the same college, but he was a playboy.”
I pull a face and immediately regret it when I see the lines crease into Will’s forehead. He must think that I’m judging him.
I hold up a hand, part in surrender and part in apology. “Listen, I’m not saying that being a playboy is a bad thing or anything. I—”
“I get it.” Will blows out a defeated breath, a flat tone returning to his voice. “Guys who sleep around are a fucking nightmare, and I could never imagine that you would be into that.”
Dark brown eyes pin me in place. “This season, I need to make a few changes in my life, starting with the way I conduct myself off the ice.”
I shake my head. “You don’t need to change, Will, and no one is asking you to either. I’m simply here to make sure the public only sees what they’re entitled to and that you’re not doing yourself a disservice online.”
His expression softens a fraction before silence falls between us.
“It was Paul Tierney,” I say after a few seconds. “We had a thing for a few months, and it was fun.” I pause and have no idea why the next words leave my mouth. “Although I didn’t appreciate being his dirty little secret for a time.”
Nothing. No response from Will.
I drop my head down and push away the plate, picking up my laptop and opening it.
“Drew.”
I clear my throat. “We need to talk about the Rogues charity gala in three weeks. I assume you have cleared your schedule for that.”
“Drew.”
I swallow and finally look at a stern-faced Will.
“Yep?” My voice is higher than usual, and my attempt to pass off what I just revealed about Paul totally fails.
Will leans forward on his elbows, more out of concern rather than mischief. “What do you mean, dirty little secret?”
It’s pointless, expecting Will to drop the subject. Like I said before, he gets his stubbornness from his mom.
“Did he treat you badly?” His voice is sharper now, demonstrating a side to this man I haven’t really seen before. I imagine he’d be like this if someone hurt June, but never me.
“He didn’t hurt me per se. But I definitely thought he was more serious about me than he actually was.”
I clear my throat and push down any remnants of the upset and humiliation I felt when he was pictured with his ex—who he’s now engaged to—on social media.
Paul hadn’t had the balls to tell me that he was back with his previous girlfriend, and while I don’t think he ever cheated on her with me, I do know that’s why he always stayed over at my place and we never really went on dates where people could see us.
“Have you ever felt used by someone, and in the end, you’re madder at yourself for allowing them to treat you like that or for not seeing it sooner?”
Will considers my question for a second. “Not in a romantic sense. But I can relate to that feeling in other ways.”
I tip my head to one side, intrigued. “How so?”
Flattening his palms on the counter, he drags them toward him as he sits back.
“It’s kind of how I feel right now as the hot new rookie for the Rogues—I’m here to serve a purpose and to get them a few more wins.
I don’t have any allegiance to the team or the fans.
They weren’t my boyhood team or one that carries prestige.
I got screwed in the draft, and my whole career feels transactional.
” He waves a hand in front of him, motioning to my laptop.
“Like how many sponsorship deals I can secure for them. It’s all about money with this team and …
” He pushes a hand through his hair, and I can sense his frustration.
“And while people might think that I’m all about image, I just want to play hockey.
No pressure. No corporate bullshit. Just me, the ice, and three twenty-minute periods. ”
“I didn’t realize you were so unhappy,” I say in a small voice.
Will rolls his lips together, and now the reasoning behind his earlier mood is clear.
“What about your teammates?” I ask. “I mean, I know you love the coach.”
He deadpans at me. “Silas is decent enough. Tristan Vaughn is a fucking prick though.”
“Why?”
“Where should I start?” he bites out. “He’s a cocky prick who thinks a lot of himself.”
I quirk a brow, and Will immediately points at me. “And you can save it, Drew. I don’t need your smart-ass pointing out the obvious.”
Amused, I lift a shoulder and reset my focus back on the laptop.
“For what it’s worth, Paul Tierney wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit him between the eyes.”
I scrunch up my nose, forcing myself to accept the compliment. “Thanks, but it doesn’t matter. I’m over him now anyway.”
“Is there … anyone else?”
Our eyes reconnect for a split second after Will’s question.
I scoff. “I spent my twenty-first birthday working and my Saturday evening getting stood up by this really irritating client I look after. Does my life scream sociable and loved up to you?”
Will stands from his stool and rounds the island, reaching into the center of the counter for my plate. His cologne fills my senses.
“No, Baby, it does not. So, how about you run through the rest of your list while I pour you a glass of wine? And then you can nail the strawberry cheesecake I made especially for you. I’d say that you deserve it.”