4. Vaughn
VAUGHN
Sliding the door of the balcony closed behind me, I wish I wasn’t leaving the Gulf water views of this penthouse downtown. Especially since my eyes land on the woman who causes pure aggravation, tapping her finger against the screen of my phone.
“What the hell?” I snipe as I approach her with speed. I had my phone on the charger while I went outside to say hi to a few guys since this is my neighbor’s place, and a soft drink before sunset sounded somewhat relaxing.
The bleach-blonde woman instantly pouts her plump lips that are in no way natural.
Amber has been the headache that never goes away.
Borderline crazy if I’m being honest, maybe even stalkerish.
She is also friends with my neighbor’s girlfriend, which makes her sometimes inescapable.
I wouldn’t have come had I known she would be here.
“Baby, I was just checking that your battery was full so I could bring you your cell, of course.” She purses her lips then perks out her tits that I have zero interest in.
I snap my phone out of her hand with fake white-tipped nails. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” She plays innocent, but I can sense a lie.
One mistake from six months ago, a drunken mistake, not even a full-on performance. More like in a haze of tequila, apparently, I kissed her, and here I am with her claws never letting go.
I examine my phone. “How did you unlock my phone? Do you know my password? Did someone call me?” I ask, because the call log is open, although I don’t see anything new. She seems like someone who would erase the evidence.
“Of course not, silly.” She touches my arm and flutters her lashes with an overdone giggle that I’m not buying. I’m pretty sure she is a replica of the doll that my teammate’s daughter plays with.
“Then why is my screen open?” I grit out.
She squeezes my arm right before I rip away from her touch. “Oh, that. Wrong number, a cold call of someone trying to sell you hurricane shutters for next season.” She’s avoiding the total breach of privacy.
Shaking my head, I’m not going with this. “Really?” I cast my doubt. “My number is unlisted.” My eyes narrow in on her for an answer. “Besides, my phone doesn’t show any new calls. Did you delete it?”
“Did I?” She begins to twirl hair around her finger, playing innocent.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, beyond frustrated. “I don’t know what clue to give you that I’m not interested, nor ever will I ever be interested.”
She steps closer to reach for my hands, but I step back. “Come on, baby, we can go for drinks, relax. I’ll give you a massage, maybe a little bit more.” She bounces her shoulders in pride, as if she just gave me the best offer.
In another world it would be enticing… if it was from another woman. Isla, to be exact.
“I swear to God, I’m losing a brain cell right now.” I was speaking to myself, but her puffed-out cheeks indicates she heard me and is no longer happy.
Luckily, a hand lands on my shoulder; it’s my buddy Scott.
“Didn’t realize my girlfriend invited crazy, sorry about that,” he mutters to me.
Then he throws on an overdone smile. “Hey, Amber, how about you go find my girlfriend in the kitchen and stay there. This guy is probably on a plane tomorrow for his next game and just needs… well, not you.”
Amber seems pissed off and sharply pivots to storm off to the kitchen, flicking her hair in the process. I turn to Scott and sigh an exhausted breath.
He winces at me. “Sorry, I didn’t realize she was stopping by. I wish Nicole would warn me about these things, or even better, ditch Amber altogether. But you know Nicole, has to be kind to everyone, and Amber was in her sorority.”
I laugh without humor. “She’s batshit crazy.”
Scott grins to himself. “That and I think you still have your mind on someone… anonymous hurricane girl.”
My mouth stretches slightly at the memory of Isla. I haven’t told anyone about who she is exactly, just briefly mentioned my fling during a hurricane.
“You know I’m focusing on the season.” Partly a lie, since I think of Isla every single time I need a release with my hand.
“Doesn’t mean she can’t occupy your thoughts. Have you texted her?”
I slide my phone, now fully charged, albeit touched by Satan, into my jeans pocket.
“Nah, we had a blast but agreed to keep it at that,” I reiterate what I’ve mentioned before.
Scott drinks from his beer before he tips it at me. “Should I head into the kitchen to get you a drink so you can stand clear of psycho?”
I wave a hand. “Not feeling it, and besides, I think Amber killed the mood for any casual hangouts. I’m going to head back home. Could use the extra sleep,” I explain.
He gives me a comforting nod. “Okay, have a good game up in Memphis.”
“Thanks.” I scratch my cheek. “Kind of full-on during December, on the road most of the time.”
“Good. It just means you can focus, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll see ya.”
After heading out and back to my place, I ensure my security system is on to prevent any unwelcome guests. I would move states just to live in peace.
Heading straight to my sofa, I flop onto the cushions and turn on the television which instantly has hockey highlights on the sports channel.
Scott is right, I should be able to focus.
But I can’t, I really can’t.
I need to play harder to prove that I still have skill. Everyone is predicting this will be my last season—hell, even in my head I’m predicting it too. I just don’t say it out loud, as that makes it too real.
I’ve thought about what’s ahead. Back at Connor’s wedding, his uncle mentioned a possibility for a spot somewhere within the Spinners organization.
I’m sure a lot of teams will be vying for my attention to be involved next season in a non-athletic sense.
However, Declan runs a tight ship, a team that has a large group of fans and that gives back to the community.
Their social media presence draws a lot of eyes to the Spinners…
Social media is marketing, marketing is… Isla.
My eyes dart up to the screen that shows the hockey league’s schedule for the coming two weeks.
I scoff a half-smile to myself when I read what I am already well aware of. We have a game against the Spinners coming up on the schedule, the last game before Christmas. It’s at their home arena.
Which means that the probability of seeing Isla is disproportionately high.
Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I debate unlocking it to type a message. It isn’t a good idea to check in with Isla, it will probably make my focus on the game diminish. She could be a distraction. I’m confident that we agreed on the right plan of action; nothing.
But I’m bound to see her, even a glimpse of her.
Surely, she’ll either be working or sitting behind the boards to watch her brother.
I’ll try to give her a nod or something when I’m skating by—wait, no, if her brother saw that, he would go mental.
I promised Isla I wouldn’t rile him for the sake of goals.
Maybe I should send a text. I mean, we will be in the same zip code again. It’s just stating the obvious. Connor and I text, and even though we have to play against one another, off the ice we’re friends. Which is why he sent me a “looking forward to seeing you in Lake Spark” text.
Isla and I can be friends. That we can do.
Growling, I toss my phone to the side. My life is one of confusion right now, no point in dragging another factor into that.
Skating onto the ice at the Spinners arena after a last-minute team huddle, I find myself facing off with Briggs.
“Vaughn,” he says my name rather curtly.
“Briggs. Hope you woke up on the right side of the bed to keep your head in the game.” I bend down to get in position.
He mirrors the move. “Oh, I did, with a beautiful woman right beside me. So, I’m fully ready to swipe that Florida vitamin D right off your pretty-boy face.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to retort with something about Isla. But I can’t, I have too much respect for her. It would be so easy, though.
“Only makes us stronger,” I dryly reply.
The referee drops the puck, and it’s on.
For the next few minutes, it’s a constant back and forth on the ice with Briggs.
Then it happens.
I push Briggs into the boards, and a few seconds later, Connor is behind me.
I have to keep friendship aside for the moment, and I aim low to pin Connor against the boards, gripping his shirt in the process.
Helmets fall off as one arm elbows into Briggs, and Connor begins to scuffle with me.
It’s always a moment of high adrenaline when these incidents happen.
Your body just reacts the way it needs to, even if it’s a bit more aggressive than you would ever be. Which is why I give it my all.
Briggs ends up on the ice and his stick out of reach. Connor, now pissed, aims a little too high with his stick, landing on me. The ref blows the whistle, and Connor is sent to the penalty box for two minutes, which gives us a power play.
“Asshole,” Briggs seethes as he skates off from me.
“Yet here I am, still on the ice to ensure you’re in misery,” I call out.
Finally getting a chance to breathe and shake off that outburst, I notice movement in the corner of my eye, then fully examine the scene before me.
Isla’s walking down the stairs to go sit with Hadley who is right behind the boards.
The rink cam showed Hadley a few times on the screen.
It’s marketing gold. Isla has no idea I’m staring at her.
But she’s here, which means she’s watching the game, wearing her brother’s jersey number… can’t fault her for that.
As much as I want to attract her attention, I have a game to win.
Maybe after the game, I’ll be able to subtly say hi.