4. Jocelyn
4
JOCELYN
“He needs you? For what? A piece of that fine, fat ass?” My cousin Melissa draws out the s’s so they sound like z’s and waggles her eyebrows at me over the plate of sushi we’re sharing.
“Don’t be gross. I think the man’s an incurable flirt. He doesn’t seem to be able to stop himself. So, I’m going to need you to come with me.”
“Why? Don’t trust yourself around him, do you?”
I wince, biting down on my lip as she bursts out laughing.
“I knew it! He’s got game on and off the ice, doesn’t he? I watched that clip. I know the man has moves. You’ve always been a sucker for a man with good moves. Bet you’d like him to use them on you--”
“Stop,” I groan, covering my face with both hands. “It’s bad enough that I have to be around him for the next week. I’m going to need you to film for me so I can help him with the choreography.”
Melissa glances at me in surprise, her hand freezing in mid-air with her chopsticks clamped around a dragon roll. “You’re going to dance again?”
“I’m not dancing again, per se. I’m just going to coach him on how to help the kids get some steps down. There’s only so much we can accomplish in an hour. Most of it will be simple.”
“Uh huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Melissa stuffs her mouth and chews thoughtfully, then blurts out, “It’s just that you haven’t danced in front of a camera since all that crap went down with Luke. But you’re willing to do it for this guy?”
“Not for this guy , but for this job . There’s a difference.”
She purses her lips and doesn’t make any further comments while my face flames.
Then, I clasp my hands together and school my face into my best pleading, puppy dog look. “Please, Mel. I’ll love you forever. You’ll be my bestest cousin ever. Will you do it?”
She snorts. “I’m already your favorite cousin, but fine. Yes, I’ll do it.”
I hiss out a celebratory breath and raise my fist in victory as she raises her voice.
“But only because I’m between projects right now and ‘cause it should be entertaining watching you try to shut this guy down.”
I smile. Having my cousin with me as backup should provide me with a buffer so I don’t do something as stupid like get swept up in all of Maddox’s charm.
Nothing can prepare me for the absolute grace with which Maddox can move his body. It’s disgusting really. Truly unfair.
He flies past me, hollering at his teammate for the puck, and I watch as he carries it into the offensive zone with long, easy strides. Without looking over his shoulder, he drops the puck to another man clad in a white jersey while practically dancing around the defending player wearing green. He gets open, taps the ice impatiently a couple times before the puck is back on his stick. In the blink of an eye, it’s lifted in the air and soaring toward the goal.
“I take it back,” Mel says, crossing her arms against the chill of the rink. “My money’s on Maddox. You’ve got no chance.”
“Why do you say that?”
The coach blows the whistle when a shot glances off the goalie’s blocker pad and into the netting above the goal.
Melissa blinks at me, then rotates one finger around my whole face. “This whole eye-fucking thing that’s going on between you two? Kind of hard to miss.”
“We’re not— Ugh.” I tear my gaze away from Maddox’s and groan, realizing that I haven’t been able to take my eyes off him for the last hour while he skated up and down the ice, running what feels like endless drills. Then I turn to look at her, lifting my hands to my forehead to shield my eyes from the guys skating around the ice.
I’m trying to remember why I thought it was a good idea to meet him here at the rink, when the puck smacks loudly against the glass and I jump.
Laughter drifts up from the ice as I look over to see Maddox chewing on his mouthguard and shoving the shoulder of one of his teammates. His eyes don’t leave mine as he collects a puck and idly pushes it around with his stick.
As a blush works its way up my neck, my gaze drifts from his smiling, dimpled face, over the wide expanse of his padded shoulders, and down to the grip he’s got on that stick of his. Before my mind can skate into dirtier territory, my cousin snorts loudly.
“Good God, cuz. That’s ice on there. You trying to melt it, or what?”
“Hmm?”
She waves a hand and deserts me, mumbling something about hunting down a snack and some hot chocolate. I spend the rest of practice reminding myself that this is a job. Maddox loves the attention and the limelight, and therefore, is someone definitely… Not. For. Me.
It takes him forever to emerge from the practice rink into the main lobby. Long enough that I’m irritated and almost panicking that we’re going to be late for the elementary school appointment I’ve got slated in for today.
But when he emerges, backwards Frostwolves hat jammed on, wet hair curling out from underneath it and a Sharpie in hand, my heart hammers in my chest. The sight of him smiling indulgently at the trio of kids wearing his name and number on their backs is enough to melt away my aggravation and leave me with a weird ache in my gut.
Something like longing.
Because right now? With Maddox standing in athletic pants, a Frostwolves Hockey hoodie, and an oversized equipment bag slung over his shoulder while kids jump around him, talking at excitable speed, my silly brain is casting Maddox in the role of future hockey dad.
I’m blaming it on that damn dimple. On the way that big, broad smile of his spreads across his face. On how his thundercloud gray eyes crinkle in the corners when his full, booming laugh echoes off the walls at something one of the kids says.
Curse the man. He’s too damn sexy for his own good.
And apparently, he’s nice and maybe even good with kids.
The alarm bells ring loud and clear in my head, but I’m helpless to stop my stomach flipping over in my belly as I watch him drop to a knee to sign the jerseys on each of the kids’ backs while their star-struck parents beam at him and snap photos.
“Why don’t you all get in for a picture?” I say, striding up and beckoning for one of the mothers to hand over her phone.
“Oh, would you? That’d be amazing!” She hands it over and ushers the group to lean in all around Maddox. “We’ve all played hooky today to come watch warm-ups. It’s my son’s birthday, you see, and he’s a huge Frostwolves fan.”
I snap a few for good measure before handing the phone back, realizing that him spending time with his fans is an excellent way to entrench him as part of the community. It paints him in a role model light, makes him less of a legend and more of a local hero they feel connected to and whom they root for week after week.
Exactly what I’m hoping to accomplish with my pre-approved strategic plan.
But as I watch Maddox hand over his hockey stick to a wide-eyed boy and offer a fist bump to the smallest fan, I realize I hadn’t expected Maddox to be so authentic. So genuine. And maybe, just maybe, real.
Like, what you see is what you get.
But after what happened, I always wonder if someone who enjoys public adoration is being their true self or trying to manipulate things to further their own agenda.
“If you post any of them on social media,” I say to the mother who’s thumbing through the photos with hearts in her eyes, “be sure to tag him in it so he can like it.”
They head for the exit just as Melissa walks up with two steaming cups in hand.
“What’d I miss?” She sips from one and presses the spare into my hand.
“Nothing.” I say, taking a long swig of hot chocolate. Then, I introduce Maddox to her and explain that Melissa’s here to help.
Maddox grins politely at her, then turns back to me with a smile that’s several degrees warmer than the unsheathed paper cup I’m close to crushing in my hands.
“It was nice seeing you in the stands, sweets. I liked having your eyes on me. Did I look good?”
I choke and feel his words shimmy through me, all the way down to my toes.
“You can skate,” I mutter. “Almost as well as you can dance.”
He laughs. “Next time, let’s get you on ice so I can see judge how well you move on a slippery surface.”
Behind him, Melissa’s eyes widen and her eyebrows lift as she moves her hand to cup over her smile. But not before I see her mouth the words oh damn .
I turn on my heel and make a beeline for the door, calling over my shoulder, “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late for the kids of Rocky Mountain Elementary.”
Once we’re nearly to my car, Melissa snaps her fingers and points at me, turning to jog off in the opposite direction. “You know what? I left something at home. You guys go ahead, and I’ll meet you there.”
“What? But—” She’s already waving me off, so I have no choice but to zip my lips and pile into my trusty Toyota Corolla while Maddox crams his enormous six-foot-plus frame into the passenger seat.
So much for Melissa acting as a buffer between me and Mr. Temptation personified. Resistance may be futile, but I’m still going to cling to my rules and pray I can hold out against Maddox’s charms for a whole week.