Chapter Eight King and Ingrid
Failure.
Failure at life. Hockey. Now, dating.
We got through the meal—the food was amazing—and then she drove me home. She’s still coming tomorrow night. I’ll still have to see her every time I go for therapy.
Speaking of things that are supposed to help my knee... I swallow my nightly dose of painkillers, lie on my couch, and ignore the mess around me. Time to do my prescribed exercises.
I close my eyes, clench my thigh muscles—and all I can picture is her, clenching around me.
This is stupid. You’ll get over her. You don’t really need a War Maiden. What would you do with one, anyway? You wouldn’t be able to satisfy her. Wouldn’t be enough for her.
You’re enough for your fans, and that’s it.
I fall asleep thinking about the fact that I might not even have any fans soon.
Iwake up to a pounding on my door and a pounding in my head. I didn’t drink, but those painkillers must be something special. I swing my legs over the couch and immediately let out a howl of pain.
Knee and leg no longer speaking, remember that, idiot.
I grab my crutches and haul myself to the bathroom, wondering if I imagined the pounding on my door.
I’m splashing water on my face and throwing yesterday’s shirt into the hamper when it resumes.
“I’m coming!” I bellow.
Who could this be? I blink at the clock on the wall. It’s almost noon! No wonder I feel like my head is made of cotton wool, and my bladder is about to burst.
Probably Coach.
Please not my parents. They’ll have me on a flight to Inverness before I can pack my skates.
Which are useless right now, anyway...
Maybe it’s Ingrid!
No.
“Coming!” I bellow again.
It’s probably one of the team’s lawyers or medics.
I swing open the door, shirtless, in sweatpants that I’ve slept in, barefoot, and on crutches.
And immediately stare into the eyes of Blonde and Busty, one of the King’s Kuties die-hards.
“Hi!” she says breathlessly, bouncing in a white and plaid sweatshirt and tight leggings.
“Hi?”
“I’m Shari!”
“Hi, Shari, I’m King.”
“I know, silly,” she giggles and bites her lip, looking up at me in a way that’s all too familiar.
Have Shari and I spent the night together? I’m almost 100% certain we never have. I’m careful not to get too friendly with locals—especially ones who might find out my secret and make things uncomfortable.
“I came to check on you,” she purrs, stepping into my space.
“I feel so bad. A lot of us threw roses that night, even me.” She pouts, and her hand reaches for my arm.
“The thought that I could be responsible for your injury is eating away at me. I came to make sure you had someone to nurse you back to health.”
I swallow hard. Two days ago, this might have been my horny teenage fantasy come true. Heck, last week’s fantasy come true.
Shari squeezes past me, brushing her breasts against my chest and batting her lashes. “I never realized how tall you were. Let’s get you off your feet, huh? And how about a sponge bath? Or a massage?”
My brain is tempted for a blessedly short period of time before the image of Ingrid slamming a tablet into my chest and telling me to get some manners blazes across my inner eye. “Where did you get my address?”
Shari giggles. “Oh, my dad used to work with your dad, before they moved away. I called him, and he said he’d been over for a Christmas party a long time ago. I took a risk and knocked on a few doors before I found you.”
“Oh. Well. Nice to meet you, Shari. I’m fine, thanks. Not fine-fine, but no sponge bath is required.”
“Okay. How about a distraction?”
Yep. It’s straight out of a porno movie, a badly written one. Shari shimmies and shakes, and I have to hop and hobble out of the way of her all-too-prominent curves.
They’re not mine. Not for me.
Ingrid is for me, even if she doesn’t know it. Even if I’ve blown it, my heart won’t give up so fast. “I have cable and five streaming services. I’m good, thanks.” I’m trying to be polite. Be the good guy, not the cocky guy. At least, that’s what I’m trying to do.
Shari pulls off her sweatshirt to reveal a tiny tank top, so small that the tops of her bra cups show over it. “Can your streaming services give you a 3D experience? More like 3 Double-D?”
My spine stiffens. “Out.”
Her face changes, losing the seductive smile. “What?”
“Out! Get out of my house. I have friends and family to look after me, thank you.” Be gracious to the fans, be gracious to the fans, be gracious to the—
“Is this how you treat your fans? You throw them out?”
“I love my fans. More than you know. But I don’t love them like this. And you don’t love me, either.”
“I do!”
“I’m glad you love my hockey playing. I meant me as a person.”
“You’re gorgeous. And so tall. Can we get a selfie? Will you keep your shirt off?”
My skin crawls with disgust, but if it makes her go, then sure. I’d have to go find another shirt, and I want her out as soon as possible. “Sure. One photo. And again, thank you, but no thank you.”
Shari fumbles with her phone and then holds it up, beaming and licking her lips as she poses.
“Sure you don’t want me to stay? You know I’m always in your cheering section, King. How about you give me something to cheer about?” She reaches for my chest, and I grab her wrist and shove it away.
“Stop trying to touch me. I have someone I’m interested in, and it’s not you.”
“She’s not built like this, though, right?”
“No. She’s built considerably better. And it doesn’t matter what she looks like, you’re not her. And I only want her!” I hop backwards and slam my door. “Go before I call the cops! If a guy did that to some lady, he’d be in jail! You get a warning this time!”
“Kev. I’m not going to go tonight.” I’ve been trying to work up the courage to say it all day, but now, as we’re closing up the office, I finally blurt it out.
Kev doesn’t seem to be listening. Instead, he’s holding out his phone, mouth open. “Ohhhh. Oh, my God. We’re viral.”
“We’re what?”
“Viral. You’ve gone viral.”
“I don’t post anything except pictures of landmarks and whatever I crochet!” I hiss, backing up.
“Marina just sent it to me. Everyone in town is watching this video. Some girl tried to livestream earlier. She tagged it, ‘Kissing King Silverbow, Hockey Heartthrob.”
I feel like I just drank a bottle of vinegar. Sourness shoots through me and burns my throat.
Well. Guess I was smart. Shouldn’t have been taken in by that charm and pretense of vulnerability.
“How do I enter into this?” I ask, pulling my keys out of my pocket.
“She tried to delete it, but not before someone at the PR NYU campus, one of her followers, I guess, reposted it. They added some commentary and tagged Pine Ridge in the comments. Now it’s all over town. All over the state.” Kev shows me his phone.
“This is the wrong one. This isn’t King. It says ‘Hunky hockey star’s declaration of undying love backfires on ice bunny.’”
“Just watch.”
Unable to look away, I watch some jumbled mixture of scenery before staring into the face and cleavage of some incredibly cute blonde with a fake tan.
The hockey bimbo licks her lips and makes eye contact with the phone, but it’s up higher now. A shirtless, scowling King is in the background.
“Sure you don’t want me to stay? You know I’m always in your cheering section, King. How about you give me something to cheer about?”
That little stalker! She makes a grab at King, but he’s fast, even on crutches. He catches her hand before it can connect with his bare skin, pushing her away.
His voice is firm and annoyed. “Stop trying to touch me. I have someone I’m interested in, and it’s not you.”
I gasp, and Kev chuckles. “I think that’s you.”
“Shut up,” I mutter.
Blonde Ice Bunny is still pouting and posing for the camera. “She’s not built like this, though, right?” The camera dips towards her chest.
“No. She’s built considerably better. And it doesn’t matter what she looks like, you’re not her. And I only want her!”
A guy with a shaggy beard, round wire-rimmed glasses, and a Lumberjack’s hat suddenly appears in the corner of the screen.
“Can you guys believe this? This is only two days after King Silverbow had a serious fall and got put on the DL. This woman seems to have shown up uninvited, looking to score, and I’m not talking about getting it in the net!
Whether she’s a fan or not, this crosses a line and invades a player’s private life.
If you’re a real Lumberjacks fan like I am, you’ll only be wishing King Silverbow and his mystery lady all the best and a speedy recovery.
King, if you see this, get well soon. We love you, man. ”
I hand the phone back. “That’s very sweet of him.”
“I think he’s sweet on you.”
“I meant the guy in the hat.”
“Oh, him. What about King? Why aren’t you coming to dinner? Yes, I heard you. I just have selective response time.”
“He’s not my type.”
“Ah.”
Kevin is a good guy. Respectful. He doesn’t push.
So why do I keep talking? “He’s ten years younger than me. I’m in my thirties. I like my life the way it is. The only person I’d even consider letting in is someone serious, not some twenty-something hockey boy-toy.”
“Right.” He nods, and we walk through the door to the office. Kev locks it behind us.
“I told you about the lady at the restaurant. Now I can ‘see’ things the way they actually are. King is...”
“Green and ugly?”
“He’s gorgeous! Color doesn’t change that!” I snap, way more intense than I want to be.
Kev runs a forefinger down his own strong jaw and poses for a minute. “Tell me something I don’t know. Is it the tusks?”
“No. Nothing to do with looks. Everything to do with him being young and arrogant, and me being perfectly content without someone to bring the drama to my life. He might be a minor league All-Star, but he’s major league drama.”
“I never told you about how Marina’s demon overlord daddy came and tried to drag her back into the underworld to force her to be his handmaid, and how one of her sisters turned up at a picnic and ripped a guy’s throat out, did I?”
My startled spluttering, choking sounds are answer enough. “The fuck?” I let the profanity fly in my shock.
“Oh, yeah. Marina doesn’t like to talk about him.
And I’m pretty sure he’s gone-gone, but that’s a long story.
The point is, she’s older than me, by several hundred years, actually, she’s got a past, and drama enough to fill several books—no, hell, several bookstores.
But she’s worth it. So worth it.” His smile says it all.
True love.
Magical love.
Happiness.
No, I’m not envious. I have peace and contentment. I don’t need love. Love is usually disruptive, and if my parents have taught me anything, it’s that it's not reliable.
Kev continues, “A lot of times the ‘monsters’ around here just want to lead a nice, quiet life.” He gives me a look as we separate at our cars, conveniently parked beside each other in the staff row of the lot. “Sometimes they just need the right person to start it with.”
“Yeah, well, he can keep looking. He might have told the internet he’s interested in someone, but you’re just assuming it’s me. I bet a guy like that has a dozen girls waiting in line. I don’t need a player, hockey or otherwise.”
“Fine. Don’t date him. But you could still come to dinner.
Marina is so excited about the wild boar.
She says Ian Fenclan is a master at rustic cooking, and it’s probably been smoked slowly in his smokehouse, or done to the perfect blend of crispiness and juiciness over a spit. And you said you’d be there.”
“Are you trying to tempt the chubby girl with food?” Because honestly, that would work in some cases...
“No, I’m trying to tempt Ingrid Antol, goddess of the foodies and world traveler, with a local rustic delicacy.” He kisses his fingertips and looks skyward, as if enraptured at the thought of this meal.
“Fine. I’ll come.”
I drive home, muttering to myself. “I could be at home. On my couch with my dogs. Eating take-out from the Jade Forest, watching reruns of Only Murders, and crocheting the dog sweater I’m working on...”
You sound like a little old lady.
Ahem. A contented lady, correction.
Peace and contentment are better than love, you know that. Relationships are messy. You spent a decade in the middle of other people’s messes.
So why do I keep hearing King’s voice in my head, replaying the words he said yesterday on a loop?
“You ever meet someone, and you like them instinctively? And you know from the start that you’ll never stop?”
And maybe I keep thinking about the way he shoved off that ice bunny’s hand and said he had someone else he was interested in.
I’m definitely not thinking about the fact that he filled the doorway of his house and how all of his muscles were rippling as he had to rely on upper body support, being on crutches and all.
Nope. Not thinking about him or getting a long-forgotten heat in my middle. Not at all.