Chapter 17 #2
“Nope. She died.” He had a grave face before bursting into laughter. “No, she’s fine. She’s been in remission for years. She’s actually one hell of a tennis player. She could be the next Wimbledon champion.”
“You’re a shithead. You don’t jest about people dying, for God’s sake. Or about fake relationships either.” The edge in my voice softened. He wasn’t the only player in our fake arrangement.
He at least had the decency to act ashamed he’d sprung the news on me the way he had.
His smile faded and for once, he appeared as if he was taking things seriously.
“Look, I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.
I just saw you on the ice and when you caught my jersey, I don’t know, the moment felt right.
I just…” He laughed and scratched his head.
“Don’t flatter yourself or try and use that on me. It was an angle you thought would work and you took it without consulting with me.”
“Much like you did with my coach by telling him we would be living together without consulting me as to my thoughts ahead of time.”
Okay, so the man had a point. I exhaled and bit down on my inner cheek. This time, I tasted blood. Great. The night was just getting better and better.
“We’ll figure something out.”
“Word is already out we’re engaged, which means just about everyone on the planet will be getting in our personal space. We won’t be able to go anywhere without having our pictures taken. When they learn we’re living together, they’ll be peeking in the windows to catch us doing the hanky-panky.”
I almost jerked forward. “They will not do that.”
“Oh, yes, they will, honey bunchkins,” he tossed out. “You don’t know much about being a celebrity. Do you? For all the hype, it’s a pain in the ass.”
“Then why the hell do you do it?”
“The love of the game. Why else?”
There was such a different sound to his voice that I couldn’t come up with my usual quips.
However, I already knew the man well enough to realize he had an angle for everything.
What I had learned about puck bunnies was that they were voracious in their appetites and a man-whore like Saint Masters who had stars in his eyes didn’t mind being presented with every opportunity to grope their cleavage in public.
He was perhaps the biggest public relations nightmare my father’s company had ever been forced to deal with.
Now he was my problem and since the rules continued to change, I was stymied as to the best way to tame the savage beast. Maybe I’d try being straightforward with him since very little else seemed to work.
“Well, you are good at playing hockey. Even if I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“Hey, I’ll teach you if you’d like. We can even go out on the ice sometime. I mean, if you trust me enough, I won’t toss you under the Zamboni machine.”
“The what?”
“It’s an ice resurfacing machine.”
“Oh.” I don’t know how it happened, but I was now only a couple of inches from the man. Close enough every breath he took created a wave of heat. There was nothing worse than being attracted to a man I wanted to hate.
He pulled away from where he was leaning against the wall, now crowding the limited air space between us. “I’ll be happy to teach you anything you’d like to know. If you’re still interested.”
Being around him was entirely too oppressive. It was also creating the kind of desire that only existed in books. His charm wasn’t lost on me nor was his ability to turn it on and off at his whim. I wasn’t interested in being another conquest in his obviously long list of them.
“You do know the Wild Dogs are being called a bunch of party boys and players. Don’t you?”
The way he shrugged meant he knew but didn’t care. “I’ve heard and read it all before. They don’t know what they’re talking about or who we are as people.”
“They don’t care. Visuals are tough to fight, Saint. While it was apparent Rocco confronted you both times, they still have huge fans who’ll weave the stories differently. Perception is everything.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I need to clean up my act. Rocco is a jerk, Lily. I know that. We have bad blood, but I just didn’t like what he said about you. Okay? I’ll stay away from him.”
While the man had charisma, he remained determined to bust my balls while destroying his reputation. All the haggling with the larger-than-life man was exhausting. But I could tell by the look in his eyes he was angry with Rocco entirely because of whatever had been said.
“I hope you’re right. I need to get home, Saint.” I backed away, snatching my purse from the edge of the sink. I suddenly realized I was still wearing the garish jersey. His jersey. I dropped the purse again, yanking it off so fast I almost dragged my shirt off as well.
When I tossed it back at him, his face fell. “How come you hate me so much?”
“Why do you think I hate you?”
“When a hockey player gives his jersey away, it’s a big deal. I don’t do it very often. The jersey is special to me. You know? Maybe you wouldn’t know.” He crumpled it in his hand and suddenly, I was the one who felt like a complete jerk.
“I’m sorry, Saint. I didn’t know. I thought it was just…”
“Another grandstanding moment. Yeah, I get it. I’m a big, dumb jock who doesn’t understand the real world.”
“You’re not dumb. Not at all. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. It’s just been a difficult night.”
He nodded a few times. “Let me take you home. Unless you enjoyed being force-fed microphones, that is.” His grin returned, but the hint of pain in his eyes remained. I’d really hurt his feelings.
“How are you going to get us out of here? Won’t they just chase you down? You’re the big star, not me.”
Without asking, he took my hand and backed toward the door. “You’re going to need to trust me. Just this once. I won’t ask again. Come on.”
He led me through a labyrinth of corridors I assumed headed to the back of the arena.
“Good job tonight, Saint,” a man in a uniform called as we passed.
“Thanks, Charlie.” He didn’t stop to chitchat, taking long strides that were difficult to keep up with. He’d tossed his jersey over his shoulder and I had the urge to slip back into the stinky material. Maybe I was suddenly being a little possessive.
“Where are we going?”
“I keep my car around back near the loading dock. It helps in evading the reporters.”
“You have that much of a problem?”
Saint laughed just as we reached an exit door. “You have no idea. Just keep your head down and I’ll get you out of here.” Before he opened it, he stopped short. “You aren’t afraid of speed. Are you?”
“Speed? As in a fast car?”
“Yep.”
I thought about his question. “Not unless you’re a reckless idiot who craves danger and is intent on dying in the process.”
“Good. I’ll take that as you like the rush of adrenaline.
” He smashed his hand on the door, leading us outside.
I noticed a few vehicles parked in a more clandestine spot.
We were only a few yards away from the group when we both heard people shouting.
His laugh sent a strange thrill through me. “Come on. Let’s outrun them.”
I had no clue reporters would actually break into a mad dash to try to get to anyone they wanted to interview, but that’s what happened. Men and women seemed to be coming from every direction, bounding toward us like a mob.
My heart thrummed as my pulse kicked into a higher level. He ripped something from his pocket and the lights flashed on one of the cars.
He acted as if he was going to open the passenger door for me.
“Go!” I yelled and broke away from him, rushing toward the door, only once glancing over my shoulder. My God, they were getting closer. This was crazy.
I jumped inside, immediately slamming the door about the time Saint settled in. He took the time to toss me a look before starting the engine. “Put your seatbelt on, Lily. You just might need it.”
He didn’t need to tell me twice. We were almost instantly surrounded, reporters crowding on every side. I was suffocated, gripping the dashboard as the swarm continued.
The fact he revved the engine didn’t seem to have any effect on them. They didn’t bother stepping back. There were microphones everywhere, lights flashing and cameras rolling.
I shrank back in the seat, certain the crowd would find a way to break into the car.
“Just hold on,” he half shouted since the people were close to yelling outside the windows in their determination to get in.
“You’re not going to run them down. Are you?”
“Nah. Not unless they force me to.” He was laughing the entire time as he threw the gear into drive, letting his foot off the brake. When they didn’t budge, he shifted the gear into neutral, revving the engine for a second time.
They still didn’t act as if they were going anywhere.
“How can you stand this?”
“You learn how to handle them. They just want their fifteen minutes of fame. As long as they don’t scratch the car, I don’t care.” He pushed down on the accelerator just enough the car jerked forward a few inches.
A few people moved, but not enough to gain any traction.
“They aren’t going to move. What are we going to do?” I could feel a bit of hysteria increasing. Meanwhile, he was still having fun with this.
“Oh, stop worrying. Trust me. They’ll move.” He repeated the action twice before it seemed the group finally got the message, parting the ways as if the Red Sea. He rolled through, even taking the time to wave before gunning the engine, the powerful roar going all the way to my core.
I twisted in my seat, watching in amusement as they started chasing us. Did they really think they’d be able to catch up with us?
“Do not tell me you go through this every night of a home game.”
“Almost,” he sputtered and neared the end of the parking lot. There was no stopping the man or his love of speed. He tore from the lot, making a sharp right. The tires squealed and instead of being terrified by his insane driving skills, I burst into laughter.
“How many speeding tickets have you gotten over the years?”
“Only one. The officer hated hockey. Just like you.”
“I didn’t say I hated hockey. I just don’t see the point in the game.”
He grumbled under his breath. “Of all the public relations experts, I’m provided with one who loathes the game of hockey.”
“Very funny.” He took another sharp turn and even with the seatbelt on, I was pitched in his direction.
With my hand being ending smack on top of the thick bulge between his legs. I didn’t realize at first until he grinned and threw me a heated look.
“Is there something you want, sweetheart?”
“Oh, my God. No. Not even a little bit.”
“Second wounding of the day. Are we going for three strikes?”
I folded my fingers. They were still tingling. From just touching him. “Maybe we can call a truce for the night. Okay? I’m exhausted and need to jump on how to handle this… fiasco.” I wasn’t lying, but he also didn’t deserve the full wrath of my bad mood.
“Okay, fine. We can do that. I’ll take you to your apartment.”
“What about my car?”
“Why don’t I pick you up in the morning and we’ll have breakfast?”
“Don’t you have practice or something?”
He grinned as he made a turn, flying down the highway. “Nah. We get a couple days off before the playoffs start. Maybe we can make some incredible memories. Together.”
“Maybe we can find a way to get your head out of the sand.” I cringed as soon as I tossed out the barb.
There went my caustic mouth again. His sigh and the way he had his hand clamped around the steering wheel were an indication of how much my words bothered him.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. But you did almost hit the reporter.
You can’t do that. A few are going to push every button because you’re hotheaded. ”
“I get it. I’ll work on my anger management issues.”
We sat quietly for a few minutes, the roar of the big block engine strangely providing a little bit of comfort. As he made the exit leading to my apartment, I honestly had no idea what to say to him or how to handle the latest development.
“Your place or mine?” he asked out of the blue.
“For what?”
“Living together?”
Ugh. He’d just reminded me that was part of the new deal. “I live in a one-bedroom apartment. You have a much bigger place.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means of course I want my own bedroom.”
He laughed. “Don’t you think reporters will be crawling all over my place? They’ll do whatever they can to get pictures of the two of us together.”
“Don’t you have security?” I turned to look at him and sighed.
The arrogant hockey player was handsome, way too handsome for his own good and he knew it.
In fact, the single adjective wasn’t appropriate.
He was godlike, not only in his mouth-watering masculinity, but also in the way he handled a hockey…
stick. Yeah, that was it. Yay me. Maybe at some point I’d learn the correct terminology.
As if that had ever been tops on my agenda.
Sadly, as my eyes drifted all by themselves to his thick bulge, my heart fluttered as it had done several times. Being forced to live with the man wasn’t going to do my pulse any good.
“I’m not that famous.” He pulled down my street and slowed almost immediately. “By the way. Do you think you could give me a massage when we get to our second place? I didn’t get my usual after the game massage since I was looking for where you ran off to. You kind of owe me.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Thought I’d ask,” he said, laughing as if he was the funniest man in the world. Maybe he could hit the comedy circuit when his hockey career was tanked. “Well, shit.” This time the words were hissed under his breath.
“What?” I craned my neck as I looked out the windshield. Seeing dozens of vehicles made the same pulse skip a beat. “An accident?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What do you think?”
He grinned and threw the gear into reverse. “I think little miss librarian is suddenly famous.”