Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Lauren
It is a truth universally acknowledged that when a woman needs to rid herself of a husband, he keeps popping up.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Just when you thought you had it all figured out, something—not the universe Alexei placed such faith in—but something more annoying, came along to kick you in the teeth. Dream job? Check. Normal boyfriend? Check. Life on track? Check and check.
And now this dramarama.
I loved this camp. I tried to do it every year but missed it last summer because I’d twisted my ankle on a run and didn’t want to risk it.
While the off season for most pro sports wasn’t entirely quiet in the agenting world, it was a little more relaxed.
(I represented no baseball players, which was fine because I couldn’t will myself to pretend to enjoy the national pastime.)
I didn’t do good with relaxed. I had a lot of energy that needed to be expended, and I liked the idea that I got to hang with kids who loved hockey, some of whom needed the game for their mental health.
I was one of those kids once. This endeavor was perfect for me, or it would have been if he wasn’t here.
Thankfully we were short a couple of instructors so, with resources stretched thin, there was no need to talk to him.
Still, I couldn’t help sneaking a glance as he showed a group—my nephew Foster was part of it—how to shift body weight to achieve maximum efficiency.
His skating had always been top-notch, strength and grace in every glide.
No one was more beautiful on the ice, and I resolved to admire him with an objectivity I found difficult to master. But master it I would.
I turned to the group I’d been assigned.
Three boys, three girls, ages eleven to twelve.
My age when I first joined camp the summer Sadie came to look after me.
Back then, I had been grieving: my mom had died earlier that year from ovarian cancer, my father was in prison, and Sadie wanted to take me to live with her in LA, a plan I was resolved to poison.
Hockey was the one thing I could focus on.
The shelter in the storm that was my life.
That summer I met Jason, who became one of my closest friends, and my life achieved a modicum of security.
I started showering regularly for a start.
“Okay, guys. As Hatch said, I’m Lauren Yates, and I played pro hockey with the Athenas.”
“But not anymore.” A boy, of course.
“Nope. Now, I’m an agent, which, to be honest, means I have even more power over up-and-coming hockey players, along with a mind like a steel trap.
I never forget a face, a high stick, or a snide comment.
I can make or break careers, as well as show you how to up your game and acquire superior edge control. ”
The mouthy little shit blushed. Best to slap that attitude down before we started.
“Okay, let’s begin in pairs. I’d like to see how you move along the outer lane.”
Fifteen minutes later, we took a break and I skated over to the bench to hydrate. It wasn’t long before I had company. My body became a live wire whenever he was near.
“You looked good out there.”
I know. Torn between enjoying the compliment and resenting the pick-me energy I seemed to exude in waves around this guy, I made my expression as vacant as possible.
“Oh, were you waiting for me to reciprocate?”
He smirked. “I don’t need your adulation. I get it from the fans.”
I laughed against my better judgment. “Yes, you are beloved, Nazarov. But maybe not by everyone.”
His fingers went to that bruise, a gentle wipe to shake off a bad memory, perhaps?
Before I could question it again, he gestured toward my water bottle. “May I?”
“Sure.”
I couldn’t help watching his strong, tanned throat as it bulged with each swallow. That took me back.
He passed the bottle back to me. “Your nephew is a great little skater.”
“He is. Though not so little. He’s shot up five inches in the last year. His bones must be creaking.”
“Talent runs in the family.”
“We’re not blood related, but the nurture was definitely there. Gunnar was the best hockey mentor I could have had.”
He paused a moment. Those silences were much more comfortable than they had any right to be. “What does Gunnar think of Fad?”
“It’s Thad, you dolt, and his opinion is of no consequence.” A lie, because Gunnar’s opinion was about the only man’s I cared for apart from Jason’s. “Jason knows, by the way.”
“You told him?”
“Yeah, he deke’d the hell out of me and tricked me into confessing. I thought you’d already blabbed.”
“You asked for my silence, so I have kept it.”
“But you’re still determined to make things hard for me.”
He passed over that observation. “What about your boyfriend? Is he in the circle of trust?”
“Don’t you worry about my boyfriend.” How did he know I hadn’t shared? I should have lied and said Thad was absolutely fine with it because he trusted me.
But I didn’t. I wasn’t sure how Thad would react. I wasn’t sure how I wanted him to react.
I needed to leave Alexei’s orbit, especially as Conor was skating over. That kid was far too observant, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for me to paint a neutral front around other people—or my husband.
After camp, I sat in the Athenas locker room and did a quick scan of the sports news.
My former client, Danny Wilson, had signed with my old boss, Kit Mallinson.
There was also an article about Felix Shay being close to making a deal with Morris & Co, a big outfit in New York.
It was rare for signing rumors to make the trades, especially with draft prospects, so I wondered if Daddy Shay had leaked that one to score some leverage.
I’d left a message for Felix, telling him to call me if he wanted to talk, but I’d received no response.
Neither had I heard a peep from Arkady Volkov.
Signing new talent was the hardest part of my job.
Once I had them in place, I knew exactly how to handle their careers, but getting them to initially trust you was the biggest hurdle.
Trust was big in my business. In my life.
I didn’t want to come off a nag, so I tried to limit my cold calling to once a week.
Speaking of, time for a check-in with Riley Thorne, my white whale.
I got her voice mail again. “Hey, Riley, this is Lauren Yates. I left a message for you last week, but I’ve no doubt you’re enjoying your summer before you gear up for your final year at Michigan.
Go Wolverines!” I shook my head. Sometimes I was such a dork.
“Anyway, Mia said that you might be passing through Chicago in a few weeks, and if that’s the case, I’d love to get an in-person chat on the books.
I think we might have a lot in common. Take care. ”
I hung up, feeling anxious. Was I coming across as desperate? Probably. But I had to keep soldiering on.
A text came through from Rebels GM, Ryder Calloway, saying he was looking forward to a “productive discussion” about Francois Gaultier’s contract, which was currently up for renewal. Thank God he was part of the Rebels Cup-winning team. At least I had some leverage there.
I looked up to find the women’s locker room was empty, and my stomach was rumbling, so it was time for lunch. On my way to the players’ lounge, I passed the men’s locker room. The door was ajar and someone was talking.
Alexei. I recognized those Russian grunts anywhere—and he sounded agitated.
“You said it would last all night. How can I trust that if he awakes too early?”
He muttered something in Russian, then, “Should I be locking him in? That would not be safe, would it?”
I shouldn’t listen but part of me craved insight into his mind. I had never understood him. He kept so much hidden from me, requiring me to scratch beneath the surface for anything that would clue me in.
The next sound was a gruff exclamation of anger, then a clatter—something had hit the floor.
I pushed the door open. “Are you o—?”
The words died in my throat. He was naked. Okay, not entirely naked. There was a towel, doing its level best to stay on those trim hips. Not yet losing the battle but flirting with surrender.
His gaze clashed with mine. “Why are you here?”
Spotting the phone on the floor, I answered his question with one of my own. “Who pissed you off?”
“It does not matter. You have made it clear you are not my friend.”
Had I? At dinner, I had enjoyed talking to him—more than I should have. I had pushed back against that, but a sense of fondness lingered, maybe even a vibe of “let’s be adults and work this out.” Very mature, I thought.
“So shit’s gone down between us, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you.”
He expelled a ragged breath. “It does not matter. Perhaps it is better we are not friends. It is too complicated.”
Didn’t I know it. “A lot can change in fifteen years, Alexei. People grow, they no longer think with their hormones—”
“Speak for yourself.” There it was, that cheeky hint of amusement.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to disparage your hormones. Why are you still here?”
“I was doing drills with Hannah.” At my blank look, he said, “She is the red-headed spitfire who thinks she is better than everyone else.”
“Oh, I remember that feeling.” I had seen Hannah this morning as she skated rings around her peers. “That was nice of you to give her extra time.”
“Has Arkady called?”
“Not yet. If I don’t hear from him in a couple of days, I’ll call him.”
“You will hear. I will make sure of it.”
My gaze drifted to his damaged phone, sitting on the floor at the end of the bench. I squatted to pick it up, which gave me the perfect view of thick, muscled thighs and taut abs. This position was a little too provocative, so I quickly stood. It made me slightly dizzy.
“What’s going on, Alexei?”
“I shouldn’t have signed up for this. I have other commitments.”
“Worried you’re missing out on your gym time?”
He frowned. “Yes. It is important, especially as I spent so much of the last year on IR. I need to hit the new season in top shape.”
From where I was standing, Alexei’s “shape” was not a problem, especially the distinctive bulge at groin level. Something felt off about his protest, though.
“Who were you talking to?”
He took the warped phone from me—the screen was cracked but it looked to be still working—and stared at it. Still nothing. That bruise, close to his eyes, looked to be a couple of days old.
I’d like to say my fingers went to his cheek against my will, but that would have been a lie. He was hurting, and not just because of this recent injury.
“What happened here?”
He closed his eyes, leaned into my palm, and I let him because giving him this small comfort was a balm to me. The devil knew why, because everything was going well for me, right? The list was a constant in my head … boyfriend, business, boo yah.
This mess with Alexei had the potential to bring it all crashing down. Yet I couldn’t stay away. Which made what happened next completely my fault.
Moving like a panther, he curled a hand on my hip and kissed me.
Oh. Warm, pressing, urgent. That’s what I felt in that first hot second. The shock of it took me to a forbidden place where the past fused with the present. My husband was kissing me, his erection was pressed against my stomach, and …
But he wasn’t my husband. It was just a piece of paper, and I had Thad.
I pushed him away, yet my hand lingered on his chest …
I snatched it back.
“Don’t.”
He looked furious, as if I was in the wrong here. And maybe I was.
“I can’t do this with you. You know I can’t.”
“The attraction is still there, Silver Eyes.”
I growled. “The attraction is still there between me and cupcakes, but it doesn’t mean I should be eating them all day long.” I was still close to him, the sheer vitality of him making me want and my mouth water …
This wasn’t me. I didn’t hurt people like my father did, and I wouldn’t do that to Thad.
I stepped back.
But he wasn’t finished with me. “Has he proposed yet?”
So he knew. Good. “Not yet, but when he does, I’ll be saying yes, husband or not.”
And then I left, with the feel of his lips imprinted on mine.