Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
brODY
Ilean in and brush my mouth over the shell of her ear. “We can handle it. If not, you’d have to handle me as my wife.”
She shudders and then steps away from me. “Don’t play games. Not now. We’re in hot trouble, and we need to keep our heads and figure a way out of this charade that won’t make us lose credibility.”
She looks at me, her eyes glittering with intensity and looking a little shaky, very un-Brooks-like.
“Hey, we got this. We’ll figure it out, and we’ll cash in on the situation in the meantime.”
“Easy for you to say. It won’t hurt your career to be caught in a fake marriage.
You’ll still be a hockey phenom at the end of the day, scoring goals left and right.
But for me, credibility is everything, and if people find out this is a sham, or worse, if they believe it was all some kind of publicity stunt, then I’ll lose the professional respect of everyone in the industry. ”
“You won’t lose mine.”
“Or mine,” Sabien chimes in.
She pulls away from me.
“The story won’t be easy to undo since everyone who saw the game or the news reports or social media posts from the game thinks we’re married.”
“Right. There’s that.”
She goes quiet, and I can see her supercomputer brain working. Her brow furrows, and she’s in some kind of impenetrable zone because she doesn’t even react when I put a hand on her thigh.
Or maybe she does, because she looks at me then with one of those smiles that makes me think of angels heralding from on high.
“Maybe it could work out to both our advantages.”
“What?” I don’t follow her change in attitude, but I watch the change in her expression going from angelic to devilish like a slow, smooth decline into decadence. “Hey, I don’t like that look on your face. It’s like you’re planning something devious. Something I’m not going to like.”
“As I see it, there’s one way to handle it.”
“What way is that?”
“We stay pretend married for the rest of the season.”
“How the hell? No way—”
“It’s for your own good, kid,” Sabien says.
“Who are you calling kid?”
“You’re not even old enough to drink.”
Bianca clears her throat. “We’re here. Get out of the car and stop bickering like a couple of brothers.”
We get out and she stands as tall as she can considering she’s short, and I don’t miss the vulnerability in her eyes in spite of her attempt at a take-charge attitude.
I wave my hand in a circle to tell her to go on.
We all walk in silence to the elevator, and Sabien gets off at his floor below ours.
“See you in a couple of hours for the flight home.”
When we get off the elevator, I wrap an arm around her. “Come to my room so we can work this out.”
We go in, and I sit on the couch and pat the seat beside me. She hesitates for a blink before she joins me.
“What’s the best way to handle this problem, my esteemed problem-solving agent?”
“Clearly, you need someone to look out for your best interests, someone you can trust to keep women from taking advantage of you.”
“You’re crazy. You really believe that?” I say the words even if I half agree with her. And crazy or not, that doesn’t stop my boner from dancing in celebration because she’s hot, and I must be an idiot because I like how she tries to take charge and thinks she can boss me around.
Those pouty lips shout take me—at least that’s what I hear. A hot fucking challenge I can’t resist. Maybe she’s right about my weakness for naughty women.
But maybe I’m right that she’s hiding a very naughty side under her unassuming business facade of thick glasses and outdated suits. So I test her, doing what comes naturally, teasing her, poking holes in her plan, and being a general nuisance.
“You realize Portsmouth, New Hampshire, is nothing like Las Vegas, right? How am I going to get into trouble there?”
“We’re a stone’s throw from Boston, and the team travels, don’t they? I’ll stay around and make sure you don’t lose any promotional opportunities. I’ll do my job more effectively, getting you more deals and making sure you don’t mess them up.”
“I didn’t mess up—”
“We almost didn’t make the shoot because of your—”
“Concussion. Because I got a concussion, not because of—”
“The showgirl. She drugged you for cripes sake. You got yourself hurt because you were hungover and exhausted and then missed half the All-Star game and almost missed the shoot. With the news and social media kerfuffle, I know Martino is in love with the Vegas wedding publicity, so it might be in your best economic interest as well as for your hockey career and your personal well-being to have someone—.”
“Before I hand over my ass, I want to know exactly how this would work.”
“Simple. I move in and watch out for you. Think of yourself as being back in college, and I’m your dorm mother.”
“Dorm mother?” I laugh, pretending I’ve never heard the term.
But I have because I know old people and listen to their stories.
My grandma went to college back in the day and told me all about life back then.
It was wilder than people these days think.
They just did a better job of keeping it all on the Q.T. —as grandma would say.
“Yes. A little old lady with an iron fist who keeps you locked down and focused on your job for the rest of the season. If you’re not on the ice or with your teammates or with me, then you’re sleeping—alone.”
“Shit.” I suppress my smile, but it’s hard—along with my dick—because she’s the furthest thing from a little old lady. Although I can picture her iron fist… wrapped around my—shit. Don’t go there.
“Of course it’s your choice.” She folds her arms in front of her ample chest, and if she’s trying to look tough, this isn’t the right pose because all it does is draw attention to her curvature, which happens to be more than enticing.
“No one’s going to believe we’re married for real. I’m only twenty years old—”
“They already believe it. Look, you let some strange woman slip a wedding band on your finger, and now we need to deal with the fall-out somehow.”
“That was…” I want to say not real, and yet it did happen because I can see the evidence—the wedding band on my ring finger. Fuck.
“That was a mistake. I get it.” Her voice gentles. “We can plan your redemption.”
I open my mouth and don’t know what to say.
It’s hard to argue with her for a fuck ton of reasons—pick one.
Because I lost my mind, my wallet, and could lose my biggest promotional contract—and did I mention my self-respect?
Because I would sure as hell be underwater as far as earning professional respect with my teammates if they found out the truth—not counting Sabien.
I nod.
She jumps up from the couch and practically runs from the room, saying something about packing to go home.