Chapter 12
June
I finished up at the arena and drove home in a daze. It felt like everything that had happened tonight was a dream.
A really, really good dream.
But the reality of the situation sank in when I got home and showered.
I’d had sex with a member of the Reapers.
Was that even allowed? I wasn’t sure. It’s not like I expected something like this to happen when I took the job.
A month ago, my biggest fear was that the players wouldn’t like me enough, not that they would like me this much!
Deep down, I knew this was probably a mistake. Workplace affairs were always a bad idea, whether you worked for Applebee’s or the Atlanta Reapers Hockey Team. It could jeopardize everything I had worked towards, and the rest of my career.
I was still too giddy to really regret it yet, though.
My body was still buzzing with excitement, so I sat in bed and did a little bit of internet research on my phone.
I found a gossip website that had the information I was looking for: Rhett Lawson was currently a bachelor.
He’d dated a member of the Atlanta Falcons cheerleader squad this summer, but apparently that fizzled out.
That was a relief to me. I wasn’t a homewrecker. I didn’t think Rhett was the kind of guy who would cheat on his girlfriend, but professional athletes had a reputation that was hard to shake.
I was still reading about his relationship history on the gossip site when a text message from the man himself filled my screen.
Rhett: Hey. I just wanted to say that was really fucking awesome.
Me: I’m glad you texted! I was just thinking about it too.
Rhett: I was kind of scared we would get caught… but that only made it hotter.
Me: RIGHT?
Me: Although if we get caught, it’s my ass that will get in trouble. You’ll be fine.
Rhett: Mmm. I’m thinking about your ass now.
Me: I’m serious. Am I even allowed to sleep with members of the team? I don’t know the rules for something like this.
Rhett: If you’re worried I’m going to brag to the rest of the team about banging the smoking-hot trainer, relax. I don’t kiss-and-tell.
Me: What about fuck-and-tell?
Rhett: Same thing.
Me: Kissing and fucking are very much NOT the same thing.
Rhett: Point is, I won’t tell anyone. I don’t know if it’s allowed or if you can get in trouble, but we can keep this our little secret.
Me: I really appreciate that. This is my dream job, and I don’t want anyone thinking I took it just to sleep with hot hockey players.
Rhett: That’s not why you took the job?
Me: Shut up.
Rhett: Yes ma’am :-)
Me: So… was this a one-time thing? Or do we want to do it again?
Rhett: I want to do it four more times. Minimum.
Rhett: But I understand if you’re worried about your job. I’ll respect whatever you think.
Me: I really appreciate that. I’ll think on it.
Rhett: I’m thinking on it right now. Specifically, the way your tongue felt in my mouth when I came.
Rhett: You’re a much better kisser than Andy.
Me: LOL
I set my alarm and put my phone away, then turned out the lights.
Our little secret. I liked the sound of that.
*
I was worried that things would be weird between me and Rhett, that there would be too much sexual tension between us to go unnoticed by the rest of the team, but everything felt strangely normal the next day at practice.
I worked with the injured players in the exercise room while the rest of the team did drills on the ice.
When they were done, I set up the ice baths and massaged the players who were sore.
Rhett gave me a private wink from the locker room but otherwise played it totally cool.
Nobody knew what we had done last night.
It was crazy how hot that made it.
Our little secret.
When it was my turn to work on Rhett’s shoulder, we chatted quietly about mundane things. The Atlanta weather, and the storms that were supposed to hit later tonight and tomorrow. The two interns that worked for me were busy massaging players on the other tables, so we didn’t have any privacy.
“Want to get a drink tonight?” Rhett eventually asked in a whisper. “I know a place that serves a mean IPA.”
“Oh yeah?” I whispered back.
He nodded. “My place. I’ve got a six-pack in the fridge, and an extremely comfortable mattress.”
I struggled to keep my expression blank. I glanced at the interns on the other side of the room, then replied, “I can’t. My parents drove into town for the weekend. It’s my dad’s birthday.”
“And you didn’t invite me?” Rhett scoffed. “Wow.”
“Trying to meet my parents after just one hookup? You move fast.”
“I’m tryin’ to make it two hook-ups. Besides, parents love me.”
“Maybe Sunday, after they leave,” I said.
That night, I went out to dinner with my parents. Dad was on a diet because of his bad cholesterol, but we were allowing him to order a filet for his birthday—as a special treat.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Mom asked while we waited for dessert.
“I’m surprised you waited the entire meal to ask me that.”
“I thought you would bring it up first,” Mom complained. “What’s his name? Did you meet online? Everyone meets online these days!”
“I’m not dating anyone! Why do you think I am?”
“You’ve been checking your phone all night. You used to do that when you dated that boy in high school. Bobby Heller.”
“Billy Feller,” I corrected. “And I promise I’m not dating anyone. The last date I went on was six months ago.”
“A girl like you should be dating!” my dad chimed in. “You’re in the prime of your life. You know Albert, our accountant at work? His daughter just turned forty. Still single. Can you believe that? She’s a surgeon!”
I smiled politely through the rest of dinner. I wanted to tell my mom that I’d slept with Rhett Lawson. I usually told her everything. But she also had a big mouth and would definitely blab about it to everyone in her church. Then the whole world would find out.
Right now, I was enjoying having a secret.
I texted Rhett on Sunday afternoon after my parents were gone, but he was stuck at a team charity event.
He discreetly asked me out after practice Monday, but I couldn’t because I had book club that night. And as tempting as it was to cancel, I was desperately trying to maintain my friendships outside of work.
We thought Tuesday would work, but then Rhett came down with a cold and was sent home early from practice. I texted him while the rest of the team was finishing up in the locker room.
Me: I’m mad at you for getting sick.
Rhett: Hey, it’s not my fault! It’s not like I was going around licking doorknobs.
Me: I know. I’m just frustrated our schedules haven’t aligned.
Rhett: Same. Maybe when I kick this cold?
Me: YES. Drink plenty of fluids. And get some sleep.
Rhett: I just drank an entire bottle of Nyquil. I’m about to time travel two days into the future.
Our playful banter made me smile, but I was still in a grumpy mood. Rhett was the first guy I’d slept with in months, and I was eager to do it again. Preferably in a bed, where we could take our time without the fear that we would get caught.
I stayed late after practice and caught up on paperwork.
Everything I did with the players had to be thoroughly documented.
It was easy to forget that these guys were multi-million-dollar investments, and the team wanted every single thing recorded in a spreadsheet—whether it was a fifteen-minute massage, or simply holding an icepack to someone’s knee.
It was my least favorite part of the job. But hey, you had to take the bad with the good.
I could hear someone lifting weights in the exercise room, and when I finished my paperwork I poked my head in there.
Elias Nystrom was in the power rack, squatting about three hundred pounds worth of plates.
The trainer in me kicked in, and I watched him for a few reps to make sure his form was good.
His powerful quadriceps muscles strained against his compression shorts as he squatted low, then lunged upward again with ease.
His grey tank top was dark with sweat; he’d been at this a while.
He suddenly glanced over, glaring at me as he re-racked the bar.
“What routine are you working on?” I asked.
Elias cracked his knuckles, still glaring at me. “Mind your own business,” he said in a thick Swedish accent.
“Your health is my business. And I have a professional curiosity about what my players are doing in the weight room.”
He growled at me, then walked over to the dumbbells.
Yeah. I didn’t feel like dealing with him tonight. If he wanted to continue hiding whatever ailment was bothering him, then so be it.
There were only a few cars in the parking lot by the time I left. I was daydreaming about the bag of popcorn I was going to make when I got home, and the episode of Great British Bake Off that was waiting for me on Netflix.
But when I tried to start my car, nothing happened. The engine made a funny noise.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered to myself. This was the cherry on top of a really annoying day.
Yet it was about to get a whole lot better.