Chapter 6
SIX
AARON
Juliette Kennedy wants to be bad.
I can see it on her sweet, innocent face.
“Should the date be our little secret?”
“Yes.”
For now.
“Good.” Guilt flashes across her expression when I hold a finger to my lips. “Shh.”
I shouldn’t have fucking asked her on a date, and that’s the truth. She is the one person in this ballroom I should not be thinking about, let alone inviting for dinner. Everyone knows the Golden Rule: Don’t date staff, coaches, reporters.
Not casually.
Not secretly.
Not at all.
But Storm was standing five feet away, outrageously flirting with her, and Kennedy’s ugly face lives rent-free in my head, and I am the kind of man who does what he wants.
Besides.
She could have said no.
She knows the rules, too.
I know for a goddamn fact that every spring, corporate does sensitivity, compliance, and harassment training—she would have already been told to steer clear.
But she didn’t.
Which tells me one thing: Juliette Kennedy likes me.
Which is dangerous…
For her.
Liking me isn’t safe. It isn’t smart. It isn’t deserved, because unlike Garrett Storm, I won’t fall in love with her. I won’t bring her to meet my parents. I won’t introduce her to my sister. Which means, Storm isn’t the villain in this story.
I am.
Because he is actually interested in her.
Because if he took her out, he wouldn’t be faking it.
In fact, I can feel Storm’s presence without looking in his direction, his excited oohing and ahhing as Whitney continues her tour at the far end of the ballroom prickling beneath my skin.
“What about him?” she asks suddenly.
“Who?”
She tilts her head. “Garrett.”
My jaw tightens before I can stop it. “What about him?”
“He’s been…” She trails off, searching for the right word, fighting a coy smile. “Friendly.”
That’s one way to put it.
“You interested in Storm?” I ask.
Juliette bites her lower lip. “It’s against the rules to date a player, didn’t you know?”
It’s like she’s read my mind.
“It’s not stopping you from going out with me,” I point out.
“It’s going to be our secret, remember?” she reminds me. “Garrett doesn’t strike me as the type that keeps things quiet.”
No.
He is positively giddy. “He would broadcast the news on the Jumbotron.”
Juliette laughs. “You sound disgusted by that idea.” She pauses. “Do you not like him?”
My shoulders move up and down. “What’s not to like? He’s a good dude.”
Which is true.
Storm—from what I know of him—is a well-liked, charismatic, nice dude. Always the first guy with his hand in the air, first guy on the ice, eager to take his place as a starter.
He has sisters he talks about incessantly.
A dog named Stanley.
An apartment he rents from an asshole named Dave—one of our forwards—which he shares with several other rookies, and his room is full of books. I know this because the nerd tried recruiting me into starting a book club with him.
Fucking dipshit. As if I have the free time to be in his damn book club.
“Juliette!” Storm shouts from clear across the room, his enthusiasm all but rattling the chandeliers. “They have miniature crab cakes on the menu. Miniature!”
He is an overgrown child, who would probably make someone like Juliette a great boyfriend. That’s the thing about guys like him; they make you feel comfortable and included. He’s young and na?ve and probably hasn’t been fucked over by anyone on the team yet.
Oh well.
Too fucking bad.
She giggles at him, shoulders shaking a bit at his enthusiasm. “Is he always like that?”
I shrug. “Pretty much.”
She smiles toward him again, then back at me. “It’s kind of refreshing.”
Refreshing.
I’m the opposite of that.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “He’s good at being excited about everything.”
Juliette studies me. “You don’t sound impressed. Please don’t tell me you’re—dare I say—jealous of his enthusiasm?”
Jealous is a stretch.
I’d be lying if I said there weren’t times I wished I wasn’t so fucking serious all the time, and that I was the type of guy who could let his guard down. But that’s not me and probably never will be. Cheating girlfriends don’t help my case.
On cue, across the room, Storm whoops again, waving what I can only presume is a crab cake like he’s a caveman who just discovered fire.
“He’s harmless,” she says fondly, gazing at him again.
“Didn’t say he wasn’t.”
Garrett Storm is not my competition. In fact, the only thing I’m competing with here is the no fraternization policy she’s going to be required to sign, and possibly her own code of ethics.
“He’s sweet.”
Yeah, he is. If you’re a chick. “He and I are nothing alike.”
Juliette crosses her arms. “I noticed. He’s nice—and sometimes, nice is easy.”
“Is that what you’re looking for?” If it is, she should steer clear of me.
Across the ballroom, Storm calls her name again, waving her over with that bright, infectious grin.
She doesn’t move. “Not necessarily.”
“Juliette!” Storm buzzes like a goddamn mosquito, impossible to ignore with all the yammering.
I nod in his direction. “Well.”
She tilts her head. “Well?”
“That’s your cue.”
She studies me. “Are you dismissing me?”
“I would never.”
Then Juliette takes a small step away from me. “That’s my cue.”
My head nods.
I watch her go but don’t follow; I will not chase a woman.
Ever.
I did that once and look where it’s gotten me. Humiliated. Caught off guard. Embarrassed. Sucker punched. Standing with my dick in my hand on the side of a ballroom, trying to make Juliette Kennedy fall for me.
When she comes back to me from Storm—and she will—it won’t be because I begged.
This time, if someone gets hurt…
It won’t be me.