6. Cara
six
Cara
Late April
T he private charter terminal at Brisbane Airport was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It was opulent. Floor-to-ceiling windows enhanced the airy, open feel of the place. The early morning sunrise streamed in, glittering off the white marble adorning the soaring three-storey walls. The floors were the same white-and-grey stone, interspersed with plushly carpeted areas on which dark leather recliners sat in different groupings. Tables surrounded by bucket chairs were gathered in other spaces, too, and a handful of people were scattered here and there, some working, others sipping coffee.
Paintings of Queensland’s most beautiful places—the crystalline aquamarine sea and the white sandy beaches of the Coral Coast, lush green millennia-old rainforests, the towering buildings along the glitter strip, the Storey Bridge spanning the expanse of the serpentine Brisbane River in the city, and the rich red dirt and endless horizon of the outback—hung on the walls.
It was luxurious and quiet, and I didn’t miss the hustle and bustle of the thousands of passengers who were always in the main terminals. I was waiting for the Seals to disembark their flight. I’d greet them with a fancy sign so that I could direct them through their baggage collection, customs, and onto the team bus.
My nerves were playing havoc with me, and my hands were shaking as I waited. The bar in the centre of the concourse tempted me to perch there and down a Cocksucking Cowboy. Zali had introduced me them to me one night, and we’d gotten horribly tipsy, giggling like schoolgirls until we’d fallen asleep in front of the TV while watching a movie. I’d revealed far more about myself to her than I’d ever done before. But I loved having someone to talk to. She was the best friend I’d had in a long time.
Zali treated me like I was someone important to her. Our differences—her confidence and control and my bumbling along—had brought us together. We’d clicked, and I think we both gave each other what we needed.
And her dad…. I fanned myself. He was so very handsome and sweet. Gentlemanly, too, but I hadn’t missed the way he’d pulled back his hips when we’d been dancing. He’d gotten hard, and I’d almost melted. I’ve wondered ever since—obsessed, actually—about what it would be like to be with someone so… huge. He was long and thick and, oh my goodness, that thing was a weapon. Was there advanced level training you needed to take something like that?
I shivered. We’d been texting endlessly, silly things like jokes, but he was very sweet too. He always said good morning and asked me how my day was in the afternoons. He’d had fluffy socks delivered to my house when I complained that my feet were cold, and he’d had a box of cupcakes sent over when I told him I wanted dessert but had nothing sweet in my kitchen. He hadn’t pushed it further, never asking to meet up, but we had progressed to telephone calls. His voice was warm and deep, and I loved talking to him. It was easier, too—I didn’t get as nervous when we weren’t face to face, but I still got the giggles when he told me stories of his rebellious younger days. I hadn’t believed him until he’d admitted to sneaking into a Hoodoo Gurus concert at a nightclub well before he was eighteen and borrowing his nextdoor neighbour’s work uniform—without permission—so that he and a friend could watch Wally Lewis play in a sold-out Broncos game while they pretended to clean the stadium. He was building our friendship brick by brick, and I appreciated it.
The knowledge that I’d see him again very soon ramped up my excitement and nerves to never-before-seen levels. But that only served to skyrocket the guilt too. He’d been friendly, doing nice things for me so that I would feel comfortable going away with him for two weeks, and there I was, lusting after my bestie’s father. I mean, what sort of lousy friend did that?
At least I hadn’t been drinking the night I met him, nor had I been drinking much since. If I’d been as tipsy as I had been during my night in with Zali, I might have climbed Monroe like a tree and ruined my friendship with his daughter. I still wanted to do that sober, but I had a touch more restraint.
Maybe drinking now wasn’t the best idea either.
Sighing, I looked at the coffee shop next to the bar in the charter terminal. I’d arrived an hour ago and had already finished my second tea of the day. It was soothing and delicious, but I’d already peed too many times to count, and I was so jumpy that if I risked any more caffeine, I might just vibrate out of myself. It wasn’t just nerves at meeting the team, though.
There was now some kind of media storm surrounding Alec Huxley. I’d turned the radio off the moment they’d said the word controversy, and I’d so far managed to resist looking online. I didn’t want to know. If I kept my head buried in the sand, I wouldn’t have to deal with it on top of the most important fourteen days of my career so far—even if it was a job I despised with the heat of a thousand suns—as well as nerves at meeting the entire team and seeing Monroe again. The team’s PR person, Keeley Fisher, his agent, and if it affected us, Dad’s PR team, would look after it.
It didn’t matter anyway. I didn’t care what scoop TMZ had; I didn’t do gossip. Well, okay, I did. I normally loved it, but not this time, not when the man himself—all six foot three inches of gorgeous, tattooed perfection—was going to be standing in front of me in a matter of minutes. He deserved better than that.
I just wanted to concentrate on what I was here to do—look after the team’s needs.
But even if I’d wanted to peek at the sites, I wouldn’t have had time. I’d spent hours packing, repacking, and repacking again to even look anything up. Not knowing was probably a blessing anyway—if my number-one crush in the league was a jerk who kicked puppies for fun, I didn’t want to know about it. I was happy living in denial.
I watched as a sleek jet emblazoned with the Seals logo and splashed with purple, black, and silver landed. It taxied to the terminal before linking up with the jet bridge. The jitters in my hands had spread to my whole body. I was vibrating with anticipation, butterflies taking flight and performing loop-de-loops in my belly.
When the doors to the jetway were opened, my stomach flip-flopped, and I pressed down on it, hoping I didn’t puke everywhere. I couldn’t believe that this was really happening. This was it. I was actually going to meet NHL players for real. Not only that, but I was going to see Jacques, my old friend, and meet Alec Huxley.
At least I hoped he was on board.
What if he’d been pulled because of the scandal?
What if the team had washed their hands of him and pulled him from the roster? Was he even still part of the team? My heart hammered in my chest, my stomach vaulting through a round of somersaults that would have made an Olympic gymnast proud.
My breaths came out faster and my hands shook harder. I squeezed the sign until I heard it crack.
Jiminy Cricket . I needed to get myself under control.
If Alec had been pulled, he was probably grateful for the break. The season had been a long and gruelling one. He would be having a well-deserved vacation, probably lying on the sand somewhere, soaking up the sun. After their wickedly cold winter, he was likely defrosting somewhere in the Caribbean. Or Mexico somewhere. Hawaii, maybe.
He wouldn’t be disappointed that he didn’t get to meet me, that was for sure.
I exhaled slowly and let the stress drain away. I wanted to meet Hux more than anyone else on the team, but I had to be both realistic and a professional.
But, oh my goodness, the reality was setting in. I was actually going to be spending time with the team. My feet bounced as I stood on my tiptoes, practically dancing in my chucks. My flowy dress billowed out every time I moved.
I wanted to squeal, jump up and down, and go hide all at the same time.
After an eternity, the staff started filing through the doors—a few older people and a bunch of young ones too. They were dressed in what appeared to be the team uniform—black chinos, white polo shirts, and purple suit jackets.
“Hi-llo,” I stuttered. Loudly. I definitely had their attention. Heat crept up my throat to my cheeks as all heads in the terminal turned to me. I took a step closer and waved, the movement awkward, since I was still holding the sign in my hand.
Where was a sudden sinkhole when you needed one? I ignored the sniggers from the suits who’d stopped to watch the spectacle and channelled Zali as much as I could. She would just lift her chin and stare them down until they cowered away. I didn’t have quite the jewels for that, but I could fake it like a champion.
“You must be Ms Delaware,” a woman—one of the first off the plane—said. She held out her hand, and I nodded and shook it. “I’m Trisha, the team’s medic. Pleased to meet you.” She was no-nonsense, and I liked that.
“Y-yes, hi. I’m Cara Delaware.” I hiccupped as I sucked in a breath. Heat rose in my cheeks, and I gave her a pained smile. Why did I have to embarrass myself all the time? Why couldn’t I be normal and put together just once?
But I didn’t have time to be mortified. Fake it until you make it. I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders, trying to project Professor Reid’s professionalism.
“The bus has arrived and is outside, ready for you. Your luggage will be loaded onto the bus by the driver, but you do need to collect it so we can get you through customs. Once everyone has disembarked, I’ll show you the way.” There, I did it without any mistakes. I smiled more genuinely this time, relieved to have gotten at least one introduction done without mucking it up.
“Excellent.”
We waited while the coach, a steel-haired man who towered over everyone, joined the support crew travelling with the team. He was a legend in the NHL, having won almost every trophy achievable. It had been a coup that the youngest club in the league had managed to sign him. The two assistant coaches who trailed him were college hockey greats—each had won Frozen Four championships, and one had run an elite training camp until he was hand-picked by the Seals.
Finally, the players came out. They were in their tailored suits and ties, most in dark grey or navy blue, while others wore standard black. Then there were the standouts. Sam Austin wore an emerald-green suit, white shirt, and matching white sneakers. Another—I think it was Kuznetsov—was in black from head to toe with a red vest underneath.
I bit my tongue, barely stopping the squeal from escaping. I shifted my weight from side to side, the sign bobbing in front of me. I crossed my legs, squeezing my thighs together so I didn’t wet myself with excitement.
Oh.
My.
Goodness.
They were right there. Power and athleticism radiated off them. They wore their confidence like a second skin, and I wanted to soak it up, glean some of it for myself.
I didn’t have to have experience with men to imagine what would be under those fitted suit jackets and pants that hugged their thick thighs. Powerful arms, washboard abs, a hockey butt you could bounce a coin off, and legs that could easily crush a watermelon. I whimpered, wishing that I’d thought to bring my vibrating wand with me. It was going to be a looong two weeks of visual torture.
The twenty-man roster ran the full gamut from gorgeous models to Vikings and mountain men who looked like they hadn’t seen a razor in their lives. I picked out their goalie instantly. He was even taller than the coach, towering over the other men on the team. His thick beard and shaved head made him look more like an MC romance hero than a professional sports star. Then there was Jacques Gauthier, who looked like he’d walked straight off an underwear modelling shoot.
He held his arms out wide, and I stepped into them as he hugged me tight. My old family friend was a welcome sight. “Cara, so good to see you.”
“You, too, Jackie. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“So am I.” He grinned and rubbed my hair with his knuckles, noogying me.
I batted his hand away and laughed.
“Dinner sometime, yes?” he asked.
“I’d love to.”
I heard Jacques’s name get called, and he excused himself to join one of the other players. I watched him walk away, but the lone person walking out of the jetway caught my attention. He had his head down, his hair—long on top and short on the back and sides—was loose around his face. But there was no mistaking who was in the dove-grey suit. My breath hitched, and I swallowed hard. Alec Huxley was fine with a capital F.
But I needed to pull myself together. I was here for the team, not to drool over him.
***
I counted heads while standing alongside Keeley, making sure we had the correct number of Seals on board. When we’d finished, she headed to the middle of the bus and sat down next to Trisha. It was a full house with only a few spare seats.
I swallowed and eyed off the empty ones, trying to find one next to one of the smaller guys. But even the smaller hockey players, the ones built for speed, were huge.
The only seat I could see myself fitting into was in the front row.
Right next to Alec Huxley.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to sit next to him—I totally did—but I was too freaked out. Knowing me, I’d probably do something silly.
I shuffled in and immediately realized the problem. Neither of us were small people, and the seats were built for Barbie dolls. The fit was snug at best. I wasn’t quite sitting on his lap, but our thighs were pressed together from hip to knee, and I was tucked in tight to his side. I barely held back my shiver of desire, and my whole body flushed hot.
The poor guy had no room to move at all with me pressed against him. I cursed the tiny seats—and the width of my ass—but at the same time drank it all in. This might be my one and only chance to speak with him.
I fanned myself, hoping I didn’t smell. Had I put deodorant on that morning? I couldn’t remember. A sweat broke out on my brow as I tried frantically to remember whether I had.
I was drawing a blank.
My mind was a haze of static.
Hux cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, and I immediately stopped fanning myself. I was probably blowing BO his way. Ew.
“Hi,” I whispered, my voice as high and squeaky as a mouse’s. “I’m Cara. I’m travelling with your team, and I’m here for whatever you need. You name it, you’ve got it.”
Alec raised a brow, and I choked out a strangled laugh. I didn’t mean the innuendo, but I couldn’t even think straight sitting next to the sexiest man on the roster with his spicy scent and all that warmth and rippling muscle pressed against me.
“You must be starving,” I continued, hoping that he’d let my slip go. “I’ve only had one slice of vege toast this morning and two cuppas. My stomach was churning too much to eat more. Did they feed you on the plane? I mean, of course they did. You’re all professional athletes—they wouldn’t let you starve. But are you hungry? We have a private ballroom set up at each of the hotels you’re staying at so that you can chill there with the team. All the hotels will make sure there’s always food available there, too, but you can also order room service or go out for breakfast. I….”
Oh my goodness, stop talking!
My words petered out on a whisper/squeak, and I looked wide-eyed at Alec. He was staring at me, his brows hiked up high and his lips pressed together. He probably thought I was nuts. Silence. I needed to give him silence.
He hadn’t moved a muscle except to blink since my word-vomit had erupted. Goodness gracious, I’d just been rambling to the Alec Huxley. I’d followed his professional career from the moment he’d been recruited to the Seals. Then I’d gone back and downloaded as many of his college games as I could find. Now I was sitting next to him, and he probably couldn’t wait to get away from me.
“Anyway, I hope—”
“How far away is the hotel?” His words were short, clipped, and devoid of emotion, but his voice was pure sex—all smoky and deep. He was counting down the minutes until he was free of me, while I was rambling, full of nerves at being near him. Well done, Cara. It was the beginning of day one, and I’d already made one player want to run away from me.
My breath wobbled as I inhaled sharply. There was a sting behind my eyes and in my nose. I blinked fast, trying to clear it. I really didn’t want to cry, but I’d messed up royally. Instead of looking after the team, I’d made him uncomfortable and impatient. Goodness, why was I such a mess? Why couldn’t I be cool and calm? Collected?
It was no use. A tear rolled down my cheek, and I dashed it away quickly, trying to hide what I was doing. But my nose was instantly blocked, and I sniffed too. My breath went all unsteady again.
Alec groaned, and I begged the universe to put me out of my misery. Surely it wasn’t too much to ask for a freak lightning bolt to turn me into a puff of smoke. Or maybe an asteroid to obliterate me.
“About twenty minutes away,” I whispered.
“Good.” He turned away from me then, resting his hand on his chin and looking out the window.
The second hand on the clock at the front of the bus was ticking away at the speed of a glacier. I was sure the battery was going flat, except it was keeping time with my phone.
I opened my manuscript and typed, my fingers flying over the tiny keyboard on my phone as I poured the angst and humiliation onto the page. My characters were far more suave and sophisticated than I was. They knew what to say and when. There was none of the awkwardness that I suffered through every day. But this scene was in a later part of the book—the obligatory breakup at the 80 percent mark—but I didn’t want to follow that formula quite so strictly. I wanted them to work through their differences, the trials bringing them closer together.
The bus pulled into the hotel exactly twenty minutes later. It was the newest luxe development on the riverfront in a prime position close to the city’s shopping precinct. All the best restaurants, the parklands, museum, theatres, were nearby, too, and it was only a few steps away from the ferry terminal.
I glanced across at Alec, and he had his lips pressed together. A frown line marred his forehead, and his jaw was tense. He was not happy to be here. The bus had barely come to a stop before he was climbing out from beside me, practically shoving me out of the way in his haste to get off the bus as quickly as he could.
I bit back a choked sob and plastered on a wobbly smile. I stood up and turned to face the other passengers. “Welcome to Brisbane. Please head inside with your hand luggage. Your room keys will be handed out at the reception desk. I already arranged check-in, so there’s nothing you need to do apart from collect your keys.”
Jacques smiled warmly at me from the row behind and said, “It’s good to be back. Feels like forever.”
“Ten years, isn’t it? How are your parents?”
“They’re good,” he replied. “Mom wants your mom to come and visit again, especially given the last month.”
“I know she wants to.”
I waited for the bus to clear and checked the overhead luggage compartments for anything leftover. There was a backpack placed directly above where Alec had been sitting. Standing on tiptoes, I reached up and tugged it out. It was heavy, but thankfully it didn’t smack me in the face as I pulled it down.
“Thank you,” I said to the driver as I hopped off the bus.
“Cara,” a man called, and every nerve ending went hyper-alert at the same time that I breathed a sigh of relief. Monroe was here.
“Hey,” I murmured, my voice sounding flat even to my own ears. I was juggling both my bag and Alec’s, and I was starting to get a headache. Now I also needed to find Alec to hand his bag over. I grimaced at the thought. He had run away from me, and I was going to have to chase him.
“What’s got you down, beautiful?” Monroe asked, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and bringing me in for a hug.
I clung to him, burying my face in the crook of his neck and breathing him in. He was dressed casually in jeans and a tee, but he looked fine, and he smelled even better. He eased the bags off my shoulders and asked, “Is this all yours, Cara?”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to let him go, but he slid his hands down my arms and squeezed my hands. “No, the black bag is Alec Huxley’s.”
“Why are you carrying it?” Monroe asked. His kissable lips turned down in a frown, and his gaze bounced around as if looking for him. I looked past Monroe at the people gathered under the portico. There were photographers and a film crew with a reporter recording a segment on the team’s arrival, no doubt.
“He left without it. I’ll give it to him.”
“Yeah, nah, I don’t think so. Who does this pretentious asshole think he is, leaving his luggage to you?” Monroe muttered.
“It’s literally my job to make the team comfortable. If that means carrying his bag, then that’s what I’ll do.” I shrugged.
Monroe huffed out a laugh that held no humour. “Over my dead body, beautiful. They’re big enough to carry their own damn bags.” He interlaced our fingers and tugged me gently away from the bus. “Come on, let’s get checked in, and then we’ll find this bloke.” He muttered something else under his breath that sounded a lot like “So I can give him a piece of my mind,” but I didn’t push. I didn’t want to make a scene and give Alec something else to be upset about.
Five minutes later Monroe took our room keys in hand, and I had left a message for Alec to let him know I had his bag.
When the lift arrived, Monroe swiped our keys, and the floors lit up. The carriage moved fast, and within moments, Monroe had a hand bracketed across the open doorway so the lift doors wouldn’t close, and he motioned for me to step out. He walked me to my door like a proper gentleman and unlocked it for me, but then he hovered there as if he was wanting to ask me something.
I leaned back against the wall and smiled up at him. I didn’t want him to leave either. He stepped closer, his body only a hair’s breadth away from mine. “Would you like to come out on a date with me? Tonight? Dinner perhaps?” he asked.
“Yes,” I breathed. But then the guilt hit. I couldn’t date Monroe. His daughter was my best friend. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I can’t. Zali,” I offered as a one-word explanation.
“Cara,” another man called from down the corridor. His voice sent ripples of desire through me, the deep smoky sound making my breath hitch. “You’ve got my bag.”
Monroe stepped away from me, facing Alec head-on as he held out the black backpack. Alec was half a head taller than Monroe, wider too, but Monroe wasn’t backing down. “It’s not her job to carry your shit, mate.”
Alec looked equal amounts horrified and pissed. “Relax, dude. I just forgot it.”
“Don’t let it happen ag—”
“Okay, then.” I rested a hand on Monroe’s forearm and squeezed, hoping that he understood my silent request for him to be quiet.
Monroe slid his hand over mine and squeezed. He focussed his attention back on me, ignoring Alec. “Let me speak with Zali. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by hiding things, but she also doesn’t need to know everything.”
I nodded. “No, I know that. I just don’t want to go behind her back.”
“I’ll protect your friendship with her, Cara. I promise.”
Heat flushed my cheeks, and I flicked my gaze to Alec, who was watching us with those piercing blue eyes. I couldn’t help the shy smile as I turned back to Monroe. “Okay, then.”
“See you at seven.”