9. Deacon
I’m waiting to be escorted into Max Kingston’s office later that morning when Brynlee walks out of it and directly into my chest. My hands grip her shoulders momentarily before dropping, and she mumbles, “Excuse me,” then hurries by without looking back.
Shit.I guess she just gave her official letter of resignation. She’d mentioned she was planning on doing that this morning.
I’m in crisis mode, running on no sleep. And as if that wasn’t enough, my little hit-and-run, who just scurried away, has taken up all the extra space in my brain. I’m definitely regretting not trying to catch a few minutes of shut-eye after Isla left and hoping my reflexes are sharp enough to go toe-to-toe with the powerhouses in this room.
Max sits opposite me behind a massive desk. His reputation precedes him in every circle he’s known. This man has helped take the sport of hockey to a new level and put this team in the rarefied air of the greats before them. His sister stands next to him, just as formidable, having run the Philadelphia Kings at an equally high level. With her arms crossed over her chest, she’s looking at me like she’s less than impressed. And that’s without knowing all the ways I defiled her daughter last night.
I fight the smile pulling at my lips as I remember the look on Brynlee’s face the first time she came and start mentally counting the hours until I can make her do it again.
These siblings run one of the most profitable companies to ever own one sports franchise, let alone two. And even though we’ve already done the interview, negotiated terms, and offered and accepted the position, I’m still half expecting them to tell me this is all one big joke. That they’ve judged me and found me lacking in some way and are rescinding their offer. Because hiring someone my age for this job is nearly unheard of.
The fact their family has been staying at my parents’ inn each summer since I was playing pond hockey in peewees make it all the more difficult to believe.
“Thanks for coming in, Deacon.” Max motions to the chair across from him. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you,” I respond as I sit, my eyes pulling to his massive windows that open to the rink below. Pristine ice gleams with the red, white, and blue Revolution logo proudly taking up residence at center ice.
“We’ve got Hunter conferenced in.” Scarlet motions toward the phone.
“Yes, you do, and at an ungodly hour too, might I add,” my agent answers, always unhappy with meetings that take place before noon.
“Listen, Hunter, this should be fast and painless,” Max tells him as Scarlet scowls at her brother.
“Don’t kiss his ass. You make enough money off our players, combined, to send your grandkids’ grandkids to private boarding schools on our dime, Hunter.” Her smile is calculated and cool as she picks up papers from Max’s desk. “A nine a.m. meeting won’t kill you.”
Max and I are each handed a copy of the contract we’ve already agreed to. “Were there any questions or concerns with the contract?” she asks, looking over Max’s shoulder.
“No. Everything looks good on our end,” Hunter answers as I skim over the highlights again. It’s all there. The salary. The bonuses. The expectations from both parties.
“Us too,” Max agrees and signs his copy before handing it to Scarlet to do the same. Once she’s done, I sign as well and try to act like I’m not a kid whose dream just came true. I hand the contract back to Max, who exchanges it for a manilla envelope.
“A copy of the press release that’s going out later this week is in there, as well as the keys to the house and your contact for the relocation.”
“Thank you for the opportunity,” I tell them both as my mind races. “I have some loose ends I need to tie up in Boston over the next month. But I’m looking forward to working with you. On a personal note, my daughter is going to be coming to live with me full-time. I was wondering if there is anyone on staff who could possibly help me get her transferred into... Well, I guess I need to decide on a school first before I get her transferred.”
Max pulls a card from his desk drawer. “My wife, Daphne, sits on the board of Kroydon Hills Prep. They’re a K–12 school.” He looks at his sister and smiles. “All our kids have gone through there. Scarlet and I went there back in the day too. It’s a great school. If you want to give Daphne a call, I’m sure she’d be happy to help.”
I stand and shake his hand. “Thanks, Max. I appreciate it.”
“Listen, Deacon. I’ve been the new guy, and I’ve been the young guy, but that never stopped me from being the right guy. There’s going to be a lot of talk about your age. Ignore it. We believe in you and what you’re going to bring to the Revolution. You’re our first pick. Our top pick. We had a go-to list if you weren’t interested, but I wanted you. Ignore the chatter and keep a low profile. It’ll blow over. It always does. In the meantime, Scarlet and I have to run across town for a King Corp. meeting. My assistant will show you to your office and introduce you to your office staff. I’m looking forward to a great season, Coach.”
Coach . . .
Fuck, I love the sound of that.
My office may be next to Max’s, but my heart is in the bowels of the arena. Always has been. Coaching became my dream when playing was taken away from me too early, but like most things in life, it happened, I adjusted, and eventually, I realized that this is the life I wanted.
Walking the corridors is familiar.
Some things are the same in every rink.
The smell of the ice. The chill in the air. The noises coming from below.
Home.
The thought brings my tired eyes some peace. Meanwhile, I search for a certain redheaded physical therapist with a sweet smile and wicked mouth while I familiarize myself with my new life. Because that’s what coaching hockey is. A life. Not a job. Figuring out how to balance that with full-time fatherhood won’t be easy, but I’m basically the luckiest motherfucker who ever walked these halls, so you won’t catch me complaining.
A door opens down the hall, and two women laugh before a tiny wisp of a woman steps out into the hallway. She looks at me cautiously before passing by. I stop at the open door and watch silently as Brynlee cleans up after the woman who just left. The one I’m assuming is her roommate, Grace.
And damn. She’s fucking stunning without any effort at all. Her soft, red hair is pulled back in a ponytail, showing only diamond studs that sparkle in each ear. Black pants mold to the curves of her legs, and a red Revolution tee barely hints at the strength and beauty she’s hiding beneath it. She looks professional and yet, sexy as hell.
When she turns to find me watching, she sucks in a breath and lifts her hand to her heart. “Jesus, Deacon. You scared the shit out of me.” Once she catches her breath, her eyes narrow and sharpen. “What are you doing down here?”
“I just signed my contract. I thought I’d give myself a tour.” I step into the room and close the door behind me, then with a flick of my wrist, lock it for good measure.
Her emerald eyes sparkle as I prowl to her like a predator stalking his prey.
“Kinda ballsy coming down here, don’t you think?” She takes two steps back until she bumps up against a therapy table and is forced to hold her ground.
Defiant eyes look up at me as I take her face in my hands, unable to resist the all-encompassing need to touch her. “What’s your point, red?”
Brynlee’s hands fist my shirt, and breathlessly, she lifts up on her toes.
“I forget,” she utters before our lips crash together.
Each of us fighting for control.
Her hands run under my polo and up my sides, flattening against my chest.
“Fuck, Brynn...” I lick into her mouth. “Did you give your notice?” I ask as I drag my tongue down her neck, desperate for more of this woman.
“Yes.” She inhales when I scrape my teeth over her thrumming pulse, meeting my desperation with her own. “That’s why I was in Max’s office this morning. I’m done thirty days from yesterday. Why?”
Her nails score my skin, and I slide my hands to cup her ass in my palms before I boost her onto the table. “Because if you’ve already quit, this isn’t sexual harassment, right?”
She yanks my head back by my hair and laughs in my face. “The only way this turns into sexual harassment is if you don’t make me come right now, Coach.”
I push my hand inside her pants and plunge two fingers into her tight fucking pussy and swallow her moan. “Like this?” I ask against her lips, adding a third finger and loving the way her body shakes.
“Yes...” she keens, trembling under my touch before I circle her clit, and get off on the way she cries out again. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
I take my orders and double down, wringing her orgasm from her body in minutes, then devour every sound that slips past her pouty lips until she’s breathless beneath me. Her sex-drunk eyes widen as I pull my fingers from her pants and suck them clean. “Fucking perfect, red.”
She blinks up at me slowly before she giggles the sexiest laugh I’ve ever heard.
“I swear to God, it’s like there’s a magnetic pull. Like I have no choice when it comes to you.” She drags a lazy finger over my lips, wiping them clean.
“Good,” I tell her, relieved to know this isn’t a one-way thing, desperate to fuck her but positive that’s not a good idea. Not here. Not now. “Come with me to Boston.”
“What?” she stiffens. “Boston?”
“I’ve got a few things I have to take care of before I can give the Revolution everything I’ve got. I’m going to be up there for a few weeks. Come with me. No one there knows you. They’ll leave us alone...”
“Deacon,” she chews on her bottom lip and shifts. “I wish I could, but I just gave my notice. I can’t take the next few weeks off. My colleagues have summer vacations planned. I’m the only one here to cover for them. I can’t do that. Not to Max. Not to the team.”
I run my thumb along her jaw, disappointed. “You sure, Brynn?”
She turns her face and kisses my palm, sending a bolt of lust so damn hot and sharp through me that I swear this woman could bring me to my knees. “I wish I could. I really... really do. But I can’t. Not now.”
She looks up at me through long inky lashes. “When are you leaving?”
“When I’m done here.” I cup her face in my hands and press my lips to her forehead. “Can I call you later?”
She lifts her face and ghosts her lips over mine. “I’ll talk to you later, Coach.”
The words don’t feel like enough, but I don’t have any other choice.