CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EMERSON
I’d like to say that I trusted Sam not to get into trouble when I heard him leaving his room, but I scoured social media for hours that night that bled into the next day, looking for fires to put out. There was nothing. He was either a good boy or better at hiding his tracks this time.
The team wins easily in San José. And next, it’s off to Los Angeles. The flight is short, but the drive to the hotel is long with the gridlocked traffic. I manage to avoid sitting next to Abernathy on the trip, though I think he’s lost interest in me already. I get the impression he likes easy prey. But I stick close to Addison anyway.
When we finally make it to the hotel, Addison and I grab lunch at a sandwich shop within walking distance. I invite her to hang out for the afternoon, but she’s expected at the arena for practice. So, I take advantage of another few hours of freedom, changing into the only bikini and cover-up I brought before carrying my sketch pad up to the rooftop deck and pool. LA is having a rare fall day in the upper eighties—perfect pool weather. It’s such a change from the cold and wet conditions in Seattle and chilly Northern California. I drop into a lounger, stretching a towel along the back first, and enjoy the sunshine on my face and body as it warms me. It doesn’t take long for me to pull off my cover-up.
A waiter approaches me, and I order a fruity cocktail. The first sip of the icy coconut drink makes me feel like I’m on vacation, and I can feel myself relaxing on the cushions. It feels good to let go of some of the tension I’ve accumulated from the time I agreed to this companion job. And the view is spectacular from behind my shades. I can see the Hollywood Hills in the distance, and if it isn’t blocked by the smog, I’m betting the sunset is beautiful from here. These are the spoils of travel that Mads spoke about. I’m glad to finally enjoy them.
I spend the afternoon dozing, cooling off in the water, and tanning on the lounger. I have two cocktails and am on my third when Sam, Cruz, and Coop come walking into the space. All three are wearing low-slung board shorts and T-shirts, but the clothes do nothing to hide their sculpted physiques. Heads are turning as they walk. Sam spots me immediately, and I’m surprised when he walks closer to claim the lounger next to mine. It’s a far cry from the beginning of the trip when he would automatically select the seat furthest from mine.
“Hey,” he says, throwing his towel down on the chair like we’re old friends.
I’m lying on my stomach, so I prop up on my elbows to glance over at him. I was expecting him to ice me out again, pretending like he doesn’t know me. I didn’t get the memo that our cold war was over. I’ll take advantage of a rare moment of affability on his part, but my guard is still up.
“Hey.” I can’t completely hide the suspicion in my voice. “How was practice?”
“Good,” he says, ignoring my cautious tone.
He tugs his T-shirt overhead, and my eyes automatically drop to his chest before lowering to his abs under the cover of my sunglasses. I suck in a breath.
Sam is sculpted to perfection. He’s nothing but muscular, golden skin. Whatever I imagined he looked like beneath that shirt, the reality is a million times better. There isn’t a soft, untoned part of his body as far as I can tell. His legs are cut from stone. I’ve noticed that about all the hockey players. I guess it’s from all the time on the ice, stopping and starting and pushing their big bodies across the frozen surface. Whatever it is, he looks mouthwatering.
Cruz and Cooper say hi to me as they drop their things on the loungers next to Sam’s, remove their shirts and sliders, and immediately dive into the deep end.
Sam pauses to stretch his arms overhead, and his abdomen ripples with the movement. Heat flushes my skin. He slips out of his Nike slides. I rest my head on my arms and continue to watch him. He glances over.
“Your shoulders are getting red. How long have you been out here?”
“All afternoon,” I confirm, wondering why he’s acting like we’re suddenly friends, but strangely enjoying the attention.
His eyes dart down to my sketch pad and back up to me. “You been drawing?”
“No,” I drawl lazily. “I’ve been enjoying the sun too much to do anything but lie here.”
I reach into my bag and grab the sunscreen, sitting up to rub some on one shoulder and then the other. I’m struggling to reach my upper back.
“No wonder you’re burned,” Sam scoffs. “You’re doing a terrible job of applying that.” He snatches the lotion from me and squirts some into his hands. “Lie down,” he orders me.
I drop to my stomach.
At the first touch of his warm palms, my skin pebbles. I squirm to try and cover the reaction my body has to each stroke on my skin. I don’t know if it’s because a man is touching me or if it’s because it’s Sam. But I don’t remember Eliott’s touch ever feeling like this.
Eliott, my boyfriend.
Sam doesn’t stop at my upper back. He rubs along each shoulder in lazy, massaging circles, taking his sweet time. I’ve never been more aware of hands on my skin before. He trails a path down my spine to the top of my bikini bottoms. Along the way, he hits the back strap of my bikini top, his fingers sliding beneath it. It’s a sensual, intimate touch, and it makes me tense. But if Sam feels my response, he ignores it, covering every inch of my back meticulously with a fresh layer of sunblock.
“Sam!” Cruz yells.
Cruz’s voice snaps me out of the haze I’m in from the feel of Sam’s strong hands.
“What?” Sam asks his teammate. He tosses the lotion back into my bag.
“Get your ass in here,” Cruz demands with a smirk.
“Coming,” he answers.
The crowd has doubled in size as the day drifts closer to happy hour, and it’s become more of a party atmosphere around the pool. Cruz and Cooper have amassed an audience of beautiful women in the short time Sam has been helping me. They’re grouped in the shallow end of the pool, hanging out on the steps that disappear beneath the water’s edge, looking like an advertisement filled with beautiful, airbrushed model types and athletes.
I flip over and adjust my lounger until the back is in a seated position. I intentionally don’t glance at Sam, uneasy with the odd burning in my lower gut at the thought of him joining the group in the pool. It’s like the feeling I had at the restaurant in San José. I’m unsteady and uncertain why I suddenly care. Sam’s always been a womanizer. My presence here doesn’t change that. Getting upset about it is silly. Just because he’s my responsibility doesn’t give me ownership over the hockey player. I’m here to do a job and nothing more. But I can still feel his touch on my skin.
“Do you need your front done too?”
My eyes whip to him. He’s tossing his shades on top of his towel, but his gaze is focused on my chest and slowly dropping down my stomach. His eyebrows are arched.
His brazen perusal of my body should remind me of the type of man he is. I should be offended. But instead, I suddenly understand how all those other girls must’ve felt in the past. How his eyes on me feel addictive and cause my skin to tingle. How even the simplest word from his mouth stirs the greatest anticipation. How I want more of him without fully understanding why. For the first time ever, I’m experiencing the full appeal of Sam’s attention. I’ve never felt more like a flighty groupie than I do at this moment.
My self-consciousness rises, but not because I feel objectified by Sam’s attention.
Because I like it.
Too much.
I shake my head, silently scolding myself for falling into the trap and becoming just like every other woman on the planet, ensnared by a fleeting glance and sexy smile. I’d be smart to remember that habit-forming charm he exudes isn’t reserved for only me. He spreads it around like a contagious STI.
Regardless, my cheeks heat from his attention, and I glance away again, hoping the sun exposure from today covers the blush. I’m also thankful that the sunglasses still hide my eyes. They feel like a protective shield at this point. I’m just relieved Sam isn’t adept at reading minds.
“I think I can manage the front on my own.”
I feel him smirk, but I don’t look.
“If you change your mind …”
He moves across my vision as he walks to the edge of the pool and dives in, looking every bit of the athlete that he is. I take a long pull from the straw and try to settle the restlessness that has suddenly appeared.
“You need a refill?” the waiter asks, materializing at my side. Malachi. The same guy who’s been helping me all day.
“I probably shouldn’t,” I admit, already feeling the effects of the first three even though I’ve taken my time drinking them.
“But that’s exactly when you should,” he counters.
I glance up at him, shielding my eyes from the sun despite wearing shades. Malachi is handsome. Not Sam and his hockey teammates kind of hot, but good-looking all the same. And he’s been very friendly all afternoon, but I’m sure he’s like that with all the customers.
“Brendon, the bartender, makes this killer rum punch …”
I grin and nod at him. “Okay, you sold me. Can I get some fries too?”
If I’m going to have another drink, I need some food to soak up all the alcohol before I’m the one stumbling back to the hotel room. Somehow, I don’t think Sam would take care of me the way I did him back in Seattle.
“Sure thing.” He winks before walking away.
I lean back in my chair and empty the rest of my drink while trying and failing to ignore the giggles and shouts coming from the shallow end of the pool. Sam has joined his teammates. One of the women, the bleached blonde busting out of the red string bikini, is whispering in his ear and touching his chest. The same chest I was admiring chairside just a few moments ago. She’s gorgeous, resembling Pamela Anderson from her Baywatch days, in that manufactured way. Let’s just say, there’s nothing natural about her body or face.
I pull my attention away from them and rise, trying to ignore the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. I feel like I’m on display as I dip my toe in the other end of the pool. I drop down to a sitting position and slide in. The water feels cool and refreshing against my sunbaked skin. My head ducks beneath the surface as I glide toward the other side. I push off the wall again when I reach it and float leisurely on my back, focusing on how blue the cloudless sky looks.
“Emerson,” Malachi shouts near my chair. He lifts my drink when our eyes meet.
I swim over and use my arms to pull myself out of the water before walking to where he’s waiting by my lounger.
“Try it,” he says, a tray resting against his body as he waits.
He drops down to sit on the chair next to mine as I lift the glass. Condensation leaks down the side, forming two droplets that fall onto my hand, mixing with the pool water that’s running in rivulets down my body to the concrete below.
I take a sip of the punch, noticing I don’t even taste the alcohol anymore. Maybe it’s the sweetness that’s covering it, or maybe my senses have been dulled by the first three beverages.
“It’s good,” I confirm. “Really good.”
“Told you.” He grins, revealing two dimples I didn’t notice earlier. “I wouldn’t steer you wrong. But it’s deceptively strong, so beware.” He glances away and then back again, studying my face as I snatch a salty fry. “Are you in town for business or pleasure?”
“A little of both,” I say evasively.
I’m usually an open book, but I signed a nondisclosure agreement when I agreed to work with Sam. I’m finding that saying as little as possible is the best way to avoid a slipup and honor that contract.
“Have you ever been to LA before?”
I shake my head. “First time.” I eat another fry.
“If you have any free time, I could show you around …” he offers.
A shadow falls across my body.
“You’re on my towel,” Sam says gruffly with a hard stare directed at the waiter.
Malachi stands, chuckling good-naturedly. “Sorry, man.”
Sam says nothing as he spreads his towel out and collapses onto the lounger, claiming his space. His tan skin glistens with water from the pool.
“Well,” Malachi says to me, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, “offer stands, Emerson.”
“Thanks.” I smile at him and watch as he walks off.
“What offer is that?” Sam prods.
I take a sip of punch and eat another French fry, dipping it in ketchup before it disappears into my mouth. “He said he’d show me around LA.”
Sam gives me a look before dropping his sunglasses over his eyes.
“What?” I ask defensively. “He was being nice.”
“Like Abernathy? Like the guy at the restaurant?” Sam runs a hand through his wet locks. They look darker when wet, less blond and more of a light caramel shade.
I roll my eyes. “No, you were right about them.”
“I know,” he replies arrogantly, glancing away. “For someone who has a boyfriend, you seem to get hit on a lot.”
“Not really,” I counter.
I’ve never considered myself particularly attractive to the opposite sex. In a room full of beautiful women, I’m not the girl every guy notices. But at the same time, it’s not like relationships deter all men. Some view a significant other as motivation. A challenge.
“You should stop giving off single vibes.”
“And how do I give off single vibes ?” I ask, my brow furrowing. “Because it sounds like you’re accusing me of something. Again .”
“Well, for one, stop flirting with every male in sight. And stop prancing around in that tiny bikini.”
I glance down at my swimsuit and glare back at him. “I don’t flirt, and I definitely don’t prance. And what’s wrong with my bathing suit?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he says noncommittally. He lies back until his head is tilted toward the early evening sun. I can see his eyelids close behind his shades. “It’s just revealing, is all.”
I laugh mirthlessly. “ My suit is revealing. Have you seen the rest of the women running around here?” I glance back at Cruz and Cooper, who are still entertaining the girls from before. “Like the swimsuit models with their breasts hanging out that you were ogling earlier. They barely look legal.”
“Careful, Doe.” He smirks. “You’re starting to sound a little jealous.”
I snort. “Jealous. Please .” I draw the word out purposefully to make a point of how ridiculous he’s being. “And stop calling me Doe. What are you doing over here anyway? Don’t you have some groupies to entertain for the night?”
“You’re supposed to be keeping me away from those groupies.” He shifts until his arms are resting behind his head. “And I came over here to save you.”
My eyebrows lift. “To save me from Malachi?”
“Malachi,” he scoffs beneath his breath. “Yeah, I came to save you from Malachi . Or maybe, I came to save you from yourself.”
“I don’t need saving,” I say, stealing his line from before.
He says nothing as I continue to snack on my fries, but I can feel his eyes trailing my skin again. The silence extends until a few minutes later, his breathing is deep and even, as he apparently falls asleep.
I glare over at his still, perfect form. Well, you’re not stimulating to talk to either.
But even while sleeping, he looks flawless, like he’s posing on the lounge chair. I force myself to look away.
After a few minutes of people-watching, I pull out my sketch pad and start drawing the skyline, but give up when I feel uninspired by the scenery. I glance over at Sam again and study him through an artist’s eye. I probably look like a creep, but I can’t seem to avert my gaze. When he’s quiet like this, I can forget about his arrogant, abrasive personality and focus on his outward beauty. I don’t usually sketch people, but something about the lines of his torso and the shape of his face draws me in. I take my pencil out and start working.
The guests become rowdier as the light begins to fade and the drinks flow more freely, but I’m lost in my work. Eventually, the crowd thins until there are only a few people left. The desert sunset is as striking as I imagined it would be. I pull on my cover-up when the air turns cooler. Sam awakens.
He stretches, pushing the sunglasses to the top of his head before running a hand down his sleepy face. He blinks his eyes a few times and takes a moment to adjust, eventually focusing on me. I close my sketch pad and set it aside.
“How long was I asleep?” he asks, his voice gravelly.
“Over an hour,” I answer.
He glances to his right. “Did Coop and Cruz leave?”
I nod. “About thirty minutes ago.” I pause, debating on whether to add the rest of their message. “They said to call them if you want to go out later tonight.”
He studies my face for a few beats. “You didn’t want to tell me that, did you?”
“Nope.”
“So, why did you?”
“Because you’re a grown man, capable of making your own decisions,” I say.
He looks surprised. “Since when?”
“Since I decided that it was a mistake to try and keep you on a leash. It took me a few days, but I finally figured out that you’re not a man who can be controlled.”
“Is that right?” he says, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the lounger until he’s facing me. He lifts my watered-down drink and takes a sip. His grimace is immediate, and it makes me laugh. “That’s awful.”
“I thought it was good.”
“You would,” he accuses, but he softens it with a grin. “So, if I can’t be controlled, what’s the game plan?” he asks.
“There is no game plan,” I admit. I’m sitting cross-legged, and I pull my feet further beneath me when Sam’s attention drops to my toes. “Don’t look at my feet,” I groan. “I didn’t have time to paint my nails before I left.” And I didn’t have the money to spend on a pedicure, I don’t add.
“What happens if I go crazy on the town tonight with my teammates?”
I shrug. “I guess I’ll track your phone and come get you eventually, try to minimize the damage somehow.”
Sam stares for so long that it becomes uncomfortable. Finally, he looks away. “Where’s your buddy Malachi? I’m starving. Let’s order some food.”
Malachi must be gone because we don’t see him again. But we do get the attention of every female server in the space. Well, Sam gets their attention. But he surprises me again when he doesn’t indulge in it, like I’ve seen him do so many times before.
We eat burgers and drink milkshakes poolside, watching the sunset painting dynamic pink and orange shades across the sky until the sun fades altogether and the outdoor lights engage. The evening should feel pedestrian, but it’s incredibly relaxed and fun and strange, all at once, just Sam and me hanging out. I get an unexpected glimpse at the man beneath the image.
We talk about our days back in college—or what we remember of them. We laugh together. I’m practically in tears when he rehashes the pranks the team used to play on each other. Like the time Charlie McMann, the huge goalie for Sinclair’s team, was the last one in the showers, and a few of the guys stole all the towels and took Charlie’s clothes. He used his goalie mask and a cardboard sign he found to cover his unmentionables while he rummaged around the arena for something to wear. But not before running into the entire coaching staff and the cheerleading squad in the hallways.
Sam even opens up a little about his time in Anaheim, and I sense the trepidation in his words as he talks about the upcoming game at the end of the week. I realize that he’s nervous about playing there for the first time since the scandal.
“What time is it?” Sam asks me.
I lift my phone to look at the clock and see missed texts and calls from Eliott. I darken the screen again. “Ten.”
“Let’s head on up,” Sam suggests.
I’m not sure where the time has gone, but it’s flown by while I was completely unaware of its passing. Without another word, we both rise and gather our things to leave the pool area. We walk into the hotel together, my entire body freezing when the air-conditioning hits my skin.
“You cold?” Sam asks attentively as we move into the elevator.
“A little,” I admit.
“I’d give you my sweatshirt if I had it.”
I’m silent as the lift rises to our floor. Sam waits to let me leave the space before him. This human side that he keeps showing me today has me off-balance. I’m more accustomed to the arrogant athlete he always portrayed in the past. And I’m not sure how to feel about it. Is this his way of manipulating me into doing what he wants? But I already told him I was going to back off.
We both stop in front of my door.
“Thanks for keeping me company tonight,” I say.
His eyes shift across my face. “You’re a little red,” he says, pressing a thumb against my skin.
I can feel the heat radiating from my body, and I blush, making the redness worse, before looking away. My phone pings with a new text inside my bag.
“Well, try not to go too crazy if you go out tonight. I don’t need any more panicked calls from Mads in the middle of the night.”
He chuckles. “I’m tempted to do it just to drive Mads insane.”
I smirk because I’m aware of the love-hate relationship between those two.
I use my key card to open my room. “Good night,” I say.
The door closes, and I stand with my back against it, clutching my bag to my chest and taking a few deep breaths.
My head is spinning with confusion. Six nights ago, Sam and I were barely speaking. Four nights ago, I was fetching the drunk hockey player from a club. Two nights ago, he was saving me from a drunken asshole. And tonight, we seem like old friends. Sam has layers I never envisioned, and I feel like I’m peeling them back one at a time. He’s keeping me on my toes.
I can hear Sam’s door open and close through the wall that’s between us.
I take a shower and check in with Eliott. I call Eve, too, since I haven’t talked to her in a while. But she’s out somewhere, so we don’t talk long. I haven’t told her much about my job and not just because of the NDA I signed.
Later that night, when the lights in my room are out, and the hum of the air conditioner in the corner provides the only background noise, I check my app to see where Sam is.
I’m surprised when I track him to the room next door. He either stashed his phone in there so I wouldn’t know that he went out or he stayed in tonight, like he’d said he would. And the next morning, when I check, there’s nothing scandalous or new about him online.
He shocks me again mid-morning when the hotel spa calls, saying I have a prepaid appointment for a massage, manicure, and pedicure, courtesy of the hockey star. It’s an unexpected gift, a kindness that I didn’t see coming. And I start to wonder if I was wrong about Sam.
That maybe, just maybe, there’s more to him than meets the eye.