3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
I’ve done all the requisite greetings and thank you’s and oh, it was an honor. I have no intention of staying for the game. I don’t do sports, especially hockey. I mean, not really especially hockey. I don’t do sports. I did the anthem because I’m in town for a concert in this very arena and it was an opportunity to reach a new audience.
New audience . The words my manager reminds me of daily…hell, hourly. Randall doesn’t seem to think worldwide tours to sold-out arenas and stadiums are enough. Everything is numbers to him. I guess that’s why the balance in my bank account contains more numbers than I can count, or ever spend. But I’m exhausted. Mentally, physically drained. Empty. Emotionally bankrupt.
I can’t see any of the audience in these stadiums and arenas, so blinded by all the lights and spectacle of the show I put on. I mostly forget they are there. I try to connect. Try to remember to mention the right city and state. I want to connect. But somewhere along the way this became about me and not the music. I don’t know how that happened. Worse, I have no idea how to backtrack from it. Taking a break, well, Randall won’t hear of it. I need to stay relevant. Classical music concerts being performed as rock shows are having a moment. I need to stay at the forefront.
Dare I say one reason classical music is having that moment is because of me?
So here I am in a box at a hockey game talking to owners, executives and an assortment of other people whose names I won’t remember as soon as I walk out of this room. About a sport I know absolutely nothing about.
Nor do I care to learn.
Fortunately, my manager wants out of here as badly as I do, maybe more so. He steers me to the door, and we exit onto the concourse.
My mind is already on getting rest, getting ready, going through my playlist for the concert tomorrow. I recently changed things up. I made some changes to force myself to be present and not just go through the concert on autopilot. In many ways, that made performing the anthems here tonight refreshing. It’s not something I do every day.
I’m still trying to remember all the set list and new music I’ve chosen. I have a new pianist, and I’m not convinced he has a good handle on our plan.
My manager is mumbling something to me when a flash of blond hair catches my eye. I halt my progress and Randall continues on. I’m in the box where the gorgeous pony-tailed blond I saw downstairs is standing, before Randall even realizes I’m no longer by his side.
I walk in and the tall blond turns to me.
He’s gorgeous. He doesn’t look like a typical executive.
Certainly not like anyone I met just moments ago. He looks like he should be down on the ice. He cocks a brow at me and offers me a small smirk. I let my eyes drift across his broad chest and down the long lines of his suit. He is not at all perturbed by my little eye fuck. I sweep my eyes across the room, because the lanky gorgeous blond is not really the one I came in here to see. He wasn’t alone when I first laid eyes on him downstairs.
Unable to find the one I want the glimpse of, I return my gaze to him.
“What is your job here?”
He says nothing for a moment. His eyes lock on mine. I do this to people. I do this to men. I render them speechless, and I won’t lie…it’s fun.
“Huh? Oh, my title is President of Player Development.”
I furrow my brow. Sounds like a bullshit made-up title if I ever heard one.
“Meaning?”
“It means I do a wide variety of things to make that man look good.” He gestures towards another tall drink of water with dark hair sprinkled with silver.
“Well, you are doing a fantastic job.”
The blond laughs. “He is very much spoken for.” As he says it, I see another man slide his hand across his waist, then trail it lightly across his ass as he whispers something into his ear and turns to leave. That was unexpected. He is gay.
“Are you? Spoken for?” I direct my attention back to my tall blond.
He seems to ponder the question for a moment, then smiles at me.
“Yes, very much so.”
I sigh and let my eyes wander up and down that body again.
“That’s a damn shame.” I say it in Spanish first and then again in English.
“Hope he knows how lucky he is,” I add.
I turn, perusing the room one more time. Where did the man with the thick brown hair and firm jaw go? My feet falter slightly when my eyes reach the doorway. He’s staring at me. That man I walked in here hoping to see, and he seems pissed about something. The look in his eyes, he almost seems pissed at me. What the hell could I have done to him?
Just as quickly, his features shift, and he smiles. He was downstairs earlier, standing with the good-looking blond. Another man who belongs down on that ice. He is devastatingly gorgeous, and he knows it. And he is totally off limits. Straight. I knew from looking at him before. Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view though.
“The anthems,” he says, moving closer. “That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard. And believe me, I’ve heard both anthems a lot.”
I nod. Randall shoves his phone into my face, oblivious to the man who has just spoken to me. I scowl at him and shove his arm away.
“Gracias,” I say. “I appreciate that.”
His eyes light up. My accent is usually a surprise. Even watered down from a lifetime in the states, I can still bring the accent to forefront when I speak Spanish. Hell, everything about me is a surprise to most. That’s the beauty of it. That’s the fun. It’s also exhausting and hard to turn off.
He reaches his hand out. “I’m TJ.”
I look at his outstretched hand like it might burn me if I take hold of it. But I do. And it does. “Hi, TJ.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand immediately. Instead, he uses it to pull closer to me and… sniff .
That takes me aback and I release my grip on his strong hand and step out of sniffing range.
He chuckles.
“You smell good.” He steps back into my space. “You smell like me.”
My brows knit together. And despite myself, I accept the unofficial invitation to sniff him. He’s right. I do smell like him…the cologne part, anyway. The rest of it. Well, that’s all TJ. All thick brown hair and chiseled jaw and sex appeal and straight .
“You don’t look like you belong up here. Shouldn’t you be down there on the ice?”
He nods and smacks the lower half of one of his massive thighs. Even his tailormade suit can’t conceal the muscles.
“Knee injury.”
I nod. Do I say something to that? What do I say? Get well soon? That’s what I would say to a friend. TJ is not a friend. TJ is someone I just met and will never see again. It doesn’t matter that he is part of—okay, the main reason I stopped in here. He doesn’t need to know that. I step past him, getting yet another whiff of the earthy, woodsy-scented cologne we share. I like the way it smells. Of course I do. I bought it for myself. I like the way it smells on him a lot. What I don’t like? The way my body reacts to him. I can’t stand that it reacts at all. I step completely out of the doorway.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
But I do. And he catches me, and he grins. And oh shit, that grin. Another flutter in my stomach. Twitch in my groin.
Dammit.
I don’t do straight men…not again. I’m not anyone’s experiment. Been there, done that.
I definitely don’t do straight, sexy as fuck athletes who are total players. He knows how hot he is. He knew I would look back. Look away, Nandy, look away.
“Well, I hope you’re healed up soon.”
He nods, the grin still in place, turning to a knowing cocky ass smirk.