Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
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Iwince as the trainer closes the cut near my eyebrow with a butterfly bandage.
He only applied a topical antibacterial cream, noting to numb the area, mumbling something about stitches.
Then my eyes catch a flurry of movement and dart to the door as Bianca Brooks comes flying in like she’s sliding into the boards, skidding to a stop almost on top of me before she rights herself, tugging at her too-tight suit jacket.
“Here to look after your star property?” I say as I breathe in the scent of vanilla cream like she just came from an ice cream parlor.
Maybe I’m being unfairly cynical about her motives because she does look a little pale, possibly with worry.
But in my defense, lately I’ve felt like a piece of property owned by my team, the sponsors, and most of all, my agent.
For example, she’s the one who set up last week’s appearance on the cover of a sports magazine, which should be great, right?
Except they featured me as the rising stud of the NHL.
That’s right, rising stud, not rising star, not rising rookie, not rising scorer—no, I’m known as the fucking rising stud.
Brooks aims her standard displeased librarian look at me. Then she asks the trainer, “Is he going to be okay?”
“The doctor will answer that. He should be here any second, ma’am.”
Ooh, she did not like being called ma’am. I suppress a laugh at her cringe. She avoids looking at me. Maybe she’s queasy about blood. I wouldn’t want to be watching my bloody face get poked at.
“That should do it,” Lou says as he plasters the last butterfly bandage in place.
I swing my legs over the table and make a move to jump down. “I’m ready to play.” I nod at Sabien. “Let’s go.”
Of all the people to stop me, Brooks is the one to put her hands out and push back, not Lou, not Sabien, and not the assistant trainer gawking from the corner of the room.
“You can’t go back into the game,” she says.
“She’s right. You need stitches as soon as the Doc gets here,” Lou says, wearing something between a grimace and a grin.
Ignoring him, I turn to Brooks. I’m aware of her hand against my chest and raise mine to pull it away. Not that her touching me is nasty—more like the opposite. I’m enough of a degenerate bastard to find her concern a total turn-on, even though she’s not my type at all.
Maybe the attraction is that she’s an older woman, though admittedly not by much, and ever since that stint with my older sister’s friend, in spite of the fact that it ended badly, I still have a thing for older women.
I like to play cat and mouse and other games with no strings.
The hard-learned self-preservation lesson taught me to make sure I’m the one to walk away first.
Too bad Brooks is not someone I can play games with, not cat and mouse or any other kind. Jett, her boss, made damn sure I got that message. Not that I needed to be told. I remove my hand from hers carefully.
Lou’s eyes go wide as he stares at me, and I almost ask him what the hell is wrong when I realize he’s staring at my hand.
Shit. One quick glance and I see the band-aid covering the ring is shredded, and the gleaming gold band shows through, exposing it plainly for what it is—a wedding band.
When Brooks turns white, I realize she’s seen it too, and she turns to Lou with her mouth open and no words coming out to answer the question in his expression as he looks back and forth between us.
While I’m trying to figure out what to say, he starts pointing his finger between us, making his assumption clear.
“You two are—”
“You don’t understand,” Brooks says.
“Let me explain,” I say at the same time, though I have no idea what my explanation is going to be, at least not in ten words or less.
“No, let me explain,” Bianca steps in front of me, almost protectively, like she’s blocking bullets for me instead of deflecting rumors.
But before she can manage to say something—she looks as unsure as I am about what to say that isn’t going to make me look stupid, debauched, or, in general, like a dick—Sabien steps in front of her.
He takes Lou by the shoulder and pulls him aside while he tells him the most outrageous lie I ever heard.
I would laugh if he wasn’t telling the attentive trainer that the reason I’m wearing a wedding band is because I just got married—to Brooks.
“It’s a big secret though,” he says while my mouth hangs open and empty of words.
“So do us a favor and keep it quiet,” he continues.
“I’d really appreciate it.” He looks over his shoulder at me while I stare at him dumbfounded—I finally understand what that term means—and he adds, “I’m his best man, and I made a promise that we’d keep it between us for a while. Until they can talk to their families.”
“Wait a—” Bianca erupts from her stupor, and I don’t know what she’s going to say except that it’ll probably contradict Sabien’s lie, so I clamp one arm around her middle and the other around her mouth to stop her.
Why I need to stop her, I’m not sure, but I still don’t know what else we can say to Lou that he might actually believe.
Before she bites my hand—because I know she’s just the type of spitfire to do exactly that—I spin her around and go to plan B to stop her from talking before she makes things worse.
I pull her close and clamp my mouth over hers in a crushing kiss—and pray she’s not going to bite my tongue off.
While I’m enjoying the lip lock, finding it far too satisfying, I’m only dimly aware of Sabien and Lou chortling.
The effectiveness of my kiss in keeping Brooks quiet amazes me.
Not to mention how amazing her kissing me back is in curing whatever was hurting me a second ago. Was it my head?
Burying my fist in her hair, I deepen the kiss, playing my part convincingly enough so that Sabien feels a need to put a stop to it. But not Brooks. She doesn’t try to resist or stop the kiss for even one flutter of her eyelashes. Shit.
“Hold off on the honeymoon, you Lucky Puck,” Sabe says, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“Congratulations,” Lou says. “I won’t say a word to anyone.” He crosses his heart like we’re in the playground making rash, soul-felt promises like ten-year-old kids.
Bianca regains her composure and throws me a strange glare full of questions and accusations, then she turns her attention to Sabien. He’s lucky he doesn’t turn to stone on the spot with the murderous look she aims at him like she’s throwing knives with her eyes.
He grins back. “I’m glad that’s all settled.”
“Right,” I say, unsure how settled it is because I’m feeling slightly nauseous. Though that could be from the bump on my head. Or it could be from the unexpected killer of a kiss, punching me in the gut like a one-timer from the red line hitting the back of the net. Not my usual reaction, but—
A gray-haired man dressed in casual clothes walks into the room through a back door, interrupting my headache. He’s carrying a black leather satchel and clears everyone out of the way.
“Here’s the doctor now,” Sabien says, overly happy to see the man who could pronounce me benched.
Before I can escape—because I feel like running in my skates out the door and back to the ice—Brooks closes in as if she’s reading my mind, and along with Sabien, they shove me back to the training table, lifting my legs back onto it.
“This is Dr. Patrick,” Lou says, nodding and backing away. He looks at me apologetically. “The butterfly bandages on your forehead are only temporary, kid,” he says. “Now that the doc is here, he’ll stitch you up and check for a concussion.”
Doc Patrick drops his satchel on the table next to me and opens it. “So you’re the so-called phenom, eh?” He shakes his head.
Then he smiles at Brooks. “He could be out of action for a week—hockey action, that is.” He winks.
Sabien covers his face to hide his grin. But Brooks doesn’t find the doc’s insinuation very funny at all.
I can feel her bristle as her cheeks pink up.
I glance at my fully exposed wedding band, and I’m not sure if the doctor saw the ring or if he’s leaping to the wrong conclusion about me and Brooks all on his own.
The band-aid slipped completely off the ring.
Thumbing it, I try to slide the band-aid back over it.
But the band-aid is frayed and useless from being inside my sweat-soaked glove.
So I slide my left hand out of sight as best I can without drawing attention to it.
Brooks doesn’t notice because she’s too busy staring down Doc Patrick, more affronted than I realized, or than she needs to be.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she says, not bothering to wait for an answer. “Brody won’t be getting any other kind of action because he’s sticking with me for the weekend.”
Sabien cough-laughs.
“Sorry, miss. None of my business.” Doc Patrick grins and pulls a few things from his bag.
The look on her face. Holy shit. I’ve seen fire-breathing dragons with less fury—okay, I mean in the movies. I can’t take my eyes off her, and somehow the steam from her heat makes its way inside my hockey pants. Since I’m wearing a cup, that kind of steam isn’t ideal. Technically.
But I don’t mind because the pounding in my head fades to the background while I wait for her to blow—I mean, for her to say something.
“I’m Bianca Brooks with the Jett Agency. Don’t even imply anything is going on between me and my client. Not even in jest. I’m a talent attorney, and I know reputation law inside and out.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The doc is only half paying attention to her as he eyes my cut, scowling.
Lou is watching and shaking his head. It’s hard to say if he believes Sabien’s story or Brooks’ story.
I notice a man in an expensive dark suit slide into the room during the show—I mean discussion. The suit makes him look like he’s in the job even without the NHL patch on his pocket.
He puts a hand on Doc Patrick’s shoulder, interrupting him as if he has a right. He nods at Brooks and then me like he’s there to set things straight. More likely, he wants to take control.
“Before you start, I’d like a word with you, Doctor Patrick,” he says.
“We want to make sure the cut is stitched up right so Brody doesn’t look like Frankenstein.
He’s the star of the All-Star team fan celebration event tonight, and there’ll be lots of press.
As a sought-after guest of honor, Brody is obligated to attend. ”
“That depends—” the doctor starts.
“He’ll be well taken care of,” the NHL guy says, trying too hard to sound officious.
“That’s right,” Brooks says. “I’ll go with him and make sure he’s okay.”
“And you are?” the suit asks her.
“I’m Mr. Holden’s attorney and agent from the Jett Agency, Bianca Brooks.” The guy looks her up and down in a way that makes my blood heat up, and not in a pleasant way. I’m about to tell him to keep his eyes on her face, but she keeps her cool.
Lifting her chin, her hands on her hips, she says, “Now that you’ve checked me out, how about if you tell me who the hell you are?”
Score one for the dragon lady.
“I’m Darren Stubichuk, the Director of NHL Promotions and in charge of All-Star weekend.” He smiles like an apologetic shark.
“Congratulations,” she says.
Score one for the lady. I almost grin, but my face hurts when I try.
Funny that I felt no pain when I was kissing her…