Chapter Seven
TOMMY
“What the fuck is that smell?” I bolt up in bed and rip back the duvet.
“Jack?!” I yell, searching for the light switch in a pitch-black room. “I told you a week ago to take a shower.”
When I finally find the light, my captain is nowhere to be seen, and his bed is still made with not a wrinkle in the sheets.
Did he not come back last night?
The smell hits me again and I gag and stalk toward the source. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s any kind of filth. I keep my place pristine, and I expect the same when I travel and stay in hotels.
Apparently, the same cannot be said for other guests.
When I take a final step toward our hotel room door, ready to ream someone out for leaving their half-eaten food in the hallway, my foot squashes down into something cold and slippery.
“What the fuck?!” I retch when I flick on the main light to find … a fucking shrimp stuck to my foot with congealed ketchup.
Jenna fucking Miller.
My fingers tremble with fury as I peel the half-eaten seafood from my foot, the ketchup squelched between my toes.
Beside the plate I just stood on, there’s a handwritten note. Despite never seeing Jenna’s writing before, I know it’s hers. Only she’s capable of a sick, immature prank like this.
Tommy,
You wanted to play.
Best get a good meal down before we do.
—Hellion
I fist the note, considering the best way to respond. It’s the middle of the night, and I’ve no idea which room she’s staying in. Hell, I’ve no idea how she snuck leftover food into my room, unannounced.
Still, regardless of my rage and the sticky sauce coating the base of my foot, I can’t help but feel a smidgen of delight at the way she signed off the letter.
Hellion.
She heard what I called her and obviously embraced it. Never has there ever been a more appropriate nickname for someone.
“Mr. Schneider, how can I be of assistance?” The front-desk clerk covering the night shift stands to attention as I waltz into the lobby, having pulled on a pair of sweats I wore early in the day although not bothering to grab a shirt.
For a brief moment, my mind wanders back to the time when I showed up unannounced at my dad’s apartment building. Back then, I was fully dressed and polite, yet I was looked at like I was a nobody—a far cry from the reception I’m receiving today.
That only enrages me further as I stalk toward the front desk.
“I need to know which room Jenna Miller is staying in,” I bite out, not really caring about maintaining a friendly exterior.
Whether or not the Blades use this hotel again next time we play Boston really isn’t at the top of my current agenda.
Finding Jenna is.
The young blond clerk shakes his head, eyes wide and a little frantic. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t disclose that in—”
I lean forward on the desk, holding the guy—who can’t be any older than me—hostage with my glare.
“Do I look like I’m about to accept an I can’t from you?
” I circle my face for effect. “Moreover, I’m a famous hockey player who is worried about a friend.
Do you really want that on your conscience tomorrow morning when I splash your lack of compliance all over the internet? ”
His eyes grow even wider as they dart around the lobby, and mine fall to his name badge.
“Listen … Chad. You have a simple choice—Jenna Miller’s room number or your job. You decide which one you’d rather give up.”
His wide eyes fall to the keyboard, and he types in a couple of words, twisting the screen around to face me. Perhaps he feels less accountable by not reading the number aloud.
Either way, I have it. Room 612.
I tap him lightly on the shoulder, and he visibly deflates. “Good man. You and your paycheck live to fight another day.”
Two minutes later, I’m on the sixth floor—two floors above my own—stalking the hallway until I pull up outside Jenna’s room.
My knuckles hover over the door, and I swallow thickly. I know I’m overstepping by doing this. The feud between us is entering into dangerous water that could get us both reprimanded by our teams.
I knock anyway and step to the side so she can’t view me through the peephole and refuse to open the door.
Nothing, not even a sound echoes from inside the room, and I begin to question if Chad values his job as much as I thought he did.
I knock again, louder this time.
“Who is it?” a sleepy Jenna asks on a yawn.
I smile and move aside again, summoning my best fake voice. “My name is Chad. I’m working reception tonight, and I have a message that I didn’t think could wait until tomorrow.”
Her voice gets louder as she moves toward the door. “A message from who? And why didn’t you just call me?”
I ignore her reasonable question. “From your brother, Holt. He was injured in a rugby incident and—”
The door swings open before I can finish my sentence, and I’m inside before she gets a chance to scream or react. I slam the door behind me, and the room is flooded in soft lighting from her bedside lamp.
She’s alone. Good.
“Tommy!” she yells.
I step forward and pin her against the bedroom wall, one palm over her mouth, the other flat above her head.
“Don’t even think about yelling, Hellion,” I grit out, my heart pounding clean through my chest. “You entered my room without consent earlier to deliver room service, and I’m merely returning the favor.”
Her pretty eyes are wide with shock immediately before she narrows them and bites the inside of my palm. Hard.
I pull my hand away, certain she’s drawn blood.
“Fucking Jesus,” I announce, surprised to see she didn’t break the skin. “I’ve got a hockey game in the morning. You nearly fucked the entire thing with that move.”
The blood racing to my palm diverts to my dick when I take her in, seeing she’s dressed in silky black sleep shorts and a tiny black bralette.
“You’re a sick man—you know that?” She crosses her arms over her chest, her full breasts squeezing together as she taps a manicured foot against the plush carpet.
“Forcing entry into a woman’s hotel room and then proceeding to ogle her.
I thought you’d already had your fill with the surf ’n’ turf I hand-delivered to your room earlier. ”
A growl emanates from my chest, and I press her against the wall again. “Why are you such a silly little girl?” I desperately want to wrap my hand around her throat just to see how well her neck would fit into the space between my thumb and forefinger.
She’d do anything I asked if I held her like that. Completely at my mercy, just how I’d like her.
“Get away from me, Tommy,” Jenna spits.
“Not until I have answers,” I reply, forming a fist against the wall above her head. “How did you gain access to my room? Was my captain in on your pathetic prank?”
She scoffs. “Jack’s too busy with Kendra to care about humiliating you.”
She drops her eyes to the floor, and I track her line of vision, more humiliation rippling through me when I notice the smear of ketchup across the bridge of my foot.
“Oh. My. God.” She howls with laughter. “You did, didn’t you?” A hand covers her mouth. “You stepped in my dinner!” Jenna shakes her head, struggling to believe her plan actually worked out. “This couldn’t have gone any better.”
“You owe me an explanation,” I demand again.
With one strong arm, typical of an athlete capable of distributing a soccer ball halfway up a pitch, she pushes me back and gets into my face.
“And you owe me a new pair of Lululemon leggings! They don’t come cheap, and I don’t earn an exorbitant hockey-player salary.”
I smirk and pull my cell from my pocket.
Unlocking the phone, I spin it around to face her. “Go ahead. Order some.”
Initially, she hesitates, but then seems to clear her doubts, snatching the phone from my hand.
“One pair of train high-rise in the same color you ruined.” She taps the screen once, and I peer over the top, watching her add them to the cart.
She then scrolls to a different color and adds those too.
“Another pair for the dinner you wasted, which I then had to replace.”
I chuckle and cross my arms, certain where this shopping trip is headed.
She backs out of that page and finds another—more expensive—collection of leggings.
“Another pair to make up for being an asshole.” She clicks the cart and then keeps scrolling.
“No, wait. One pair couldn’t possibly make up for your attitude.
” She clicks on a pair of dark green cropped leggings that will hug her fine ass perfectly.
“I’ve always wanted these, so they’re going in the basket too. ”
She adds a black and then a cream version of the same style before she looks up at me, eyes narrowed to slits.
“Finished?” I ask.
“Not even close.” She twists the phone back around, the total coming to just over seven hundred dollars. “My next spree will have to wait because I’m tired and I want you out of my room so I can sleep.”
I hit Purchase on the cart and use Apple Pay.
“You do realize they will be delivered to my place, so you’ll have to come and collect them.”
She shrugs. “Ask your posh doorman to leave the package at reception, and I’ll pick it up when I’m available.”
I raise a brow. “Or you could just give me your address and cell number, and I’ll have the package redirected to your place. Traveling across town to my apartment would be a waste of money for an athlete earning semi-pro wages.”
Her face turns beet red as she grinds out, “I’m a full-time professional.”
I wince. “Ope. My bad. With the YouTube video earlier and then your comment about earning a low salary, I figured you must struggle to get by.” I flip my phone around to her again. “Do you need anything else while I’m here and feeling charitable? Groceries, new cleats … Tampax?”
Letting her temper get the better of her, Jenna smacks the phone from my hand, and it flies across the room, hitting the wall with a crack.
I don’t flinch or even look away from her. “Did you just break my new iPhone?”
She cocks her head to the side, a devilish attitude rolling off her in waves. “Perhaps. A little like you almost broke my brother’s jaw.”
I roll my eyes. “Are we still arguing over that? It was a light tap and warranted. He stuck his nose in where it wasn’t needed.”
“He was defending me, and he’d do it again if he were here right now.” Her voice shakes a fraction—a show of similar vulnerability I saw that night in Lloyd’s when I told her that she was past her best.
“You’re tight with your brother?” I ask. It’s a genuine question without any malice.
“Why do you care?” she snaps.
I shrug, shoving both hands into my pockets. “Because you seem like you miss him and the hit I landed still bothers you over nine months later.”
“Yes, I’m tight with my brother,” she replies, her voice still hard as stone.
“What about your parents?” I ask with no idea why. The question tumbles from me before I can register what I’m saying.
Jenna’s defenses are back up, and she steps away from me, snatching her own phone from the nightstand and unlocking the screen.
“I don’t divulge details about my family to assholes.
The most I’ll give you is my address and number so you can have the leggings mailed to me directly.
Beyond that, I never want to speak to you again. ”
Without responding, I head to my phone and pick it up.
“You can input the details yourself if you can make out the screen.” I hand my cell to her, and for a brief moment, her eyes soften, guilt flashing through them as she takes in the large crack straight down the center.
She begins entering her contact details. “After delivery, I want this to be deleted.”
“Why?” I ask, watching her type out a cell number.
She finishes up her zip code and passes my mangled phone back. “Because I don’t trust you and I don’t like you. Not one bit.”
“But you’d still let me buy you leggings? That seems a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”
When she presses her finger into the center of my bare chest, her eyes drop to the scissors and thread inked over my heart.
“In case you weren’t listening earlier, you owe me at least two pairs due to the dinner you slid into my lap.
The other pairs are to make up for you generally being an asshole. ”
“So, we’re even?” I ask.
Jenna twists her lips to the side. “I’m willing to drop our feud if you can promise to leave me alone and delete my deets.”
Unable to stop myself, I lean over her again. Our lips are almost touching, but not nearly close enough. “Deal,” I whisper. “I don’t keep women’s contact details on my phone. They contact me.”
She looks doubtful. “Aside from your mommy’s?”
I can smell her vanilla perfume, reminding me of the time she turned down my offer to have fun.
Once bitten, twice shy.
“Maybe I do have my mom’s details saved; maybe I don’t,” I muse. “Not that it’s any of your business, Hellion. I don’t divulge details about my family to assholes.”