Chapter 4
DUSTIN
As I held the elevator open for Shane and Natalie to step through, my eyes lingered on the sexy brunette in the red dress as she sashayed away from us.
A feeling of bemusement passed over me as I released my grip on the door and walked toward the bar.
Even with her heels, The Doctor couldn’t be a hair over five-foot-four, but our encounter had opened up floodgates of energy for me.
I still wasn’t sure whether or not she was lying about the whole doctor thing, but I knew one thing for sure: I was a lion who’d just caught a whiff of a gazelle. The Doctor—I realized she didn’t even give me her name—was amusing, and she had this sexy aura that pulled me in. I needed more of her.
A familiar voice interrupted my train of thought when I arrived at the giant, U-shaped bar.
“Bustin’ Dustin. My man.”
I smiled as I shook Jake Napleton’s hand.
After a round of drinks, we spotted a few fellow Chicago athletes, basketball players Chandler Spiros and Carter Flynn.
I could tell Natalie—and even Shane, since he was a rookie—were a little shy now that they’d met us.
“I don’t understand,” Shane said. “Do you guys all hang out together?”
Chandler shrugged. “We’re related. Brothers actually. Can’t you tell?”
Shane stared them all down. “I mean you’re all really tall. But I don’t see a really obvious resemblance.”
They all busted out laughing. Carter winked. “We’re messing with you, man.” He paused and raised an overly dramatic eyebrow. “Or are we?”
The bartender served up my second old fashioned, and I looked across the bar island and saw my red dress hottie sitting, chatting away with a friend.
The friend was good-looking, too, but The Doctor was stunning.
Was that cleavage natural? It didn’t look like she was wearing a bra. Whatever she was doing over there was drawing me in like a magnet. I still couldn’t believe it. No one that pretty chose the medical profession, did they?
I explained what I was wondering to Jake, and he laughed.
“You do know we’re at the Cancer Sucks Conference, and there are more doctors per square foot here right now than in a hospital, right?”
“You know what, you’re right. I’m going to go see if it’s actually true.” Drink in hand, I strode around to the other side of the bar.
She didn’t flinch as she saw me coming.
“Hi,” I said, holding my drink on my hip. My heart beat hard, and I realized at that moment, I had no idea what I was about to say to this woman. I was used to my reputation doing most of the work for me when it came to flirting. But that wasn’t going to be enough tonight.
“We got off on the wrong foot,” I said. “Let’s try that again.”
She shook her head, sized me up, and fussed with the back of her hair.
“What happened between you two?” The friend asked.
So she hadn’t immediately told her friend about me. Interesting.
“Doctor Phoebe Reynolds,” the friend said, sticking out a hand.
“Dustin LeBlanc,” I said as I shook it.
She giggled. “Um, I know who you are. I saw your fight on TV the other day.”
I waved a hand in the air. “It’s all computerized graphic images at this point. CGI is amazing, though.”
“Really?” she asked.
“No, sorry. Bad sci-fi joke. And I didn’t catch your name, Red.”
The girl in the red dress hesitated before she finally spoke. “Doctor Vidal.”
The way she said ‘Vidal’ chilled me to the core. Some ineffable vibration in the air told me this wasn’t an ordinary second encounter. I was overcome with this strong sense of déjà vu, but I shook it off.
“Like I said, we got off on the wrong foot.”
“Thanks for the additional introduction,” Doctor Vidal said bluntly. “You seem nice and all, but I’m intending on enjoying the night with my friend. Have a good one.”
I clenched my jaw and glanced at the other one, who had a blue dress on. She offered me a shrug but licked her lips.
“You do seem like you’re right about enjoying the night, but you’re wrong about the other thing.”
“What thing?”
“Me being nice. I’m not.” Spinning around, I headed off.
I couldn’t shake Red’s scent. Where did I know her from?
The night pressed on. Shane and Natalie headed up to their room—I’m assuming they made it past the elevator this time. Jake, Chandler, Carter and I headed to the poker tables. Carter won—that poker shark seemed to know what was in everyone’s hands—and I folded around three A.M.
I parted ways with the guys and was about to head back to my room when my phone lit up. It was a call with my agent’s number on it.
My stomach flipped. He never called this late unless it was big news.
I picked up quickly. “Talk to me, Harrison,” I said.
He didn’t even make small talk. “Glad you picked up. I’ve got something big. You sitting down?”
I looked around. “No, but I’m pretty sure they pump pure oxygen into this casino so I’ll be fine.”
“That’s right, you’re in Vegas for the fundraiser. Well, I’ve got news for you.”
“Spit it out, brother.”
“This is totally between you and me. I have a connection deep inside the Los Angeles organization who owes me a favor. That’s where you’re about to be traded.”
In spite of the night’s drinks, I suddenly felt incredibly sober.
“Harrison, I gotta ask. Are. You. Sure?”
“I can’t get into the details of how I know. But yes. Unless you pull a rabbit out of your you-know-what.”
I felt dizzy. “Los-fucking-Angeles? Fuck. They’re the worst team in the league. Hockey in Los Angeles is like American Football in Japan. Nobody gives a shit about it. This is—”
“A message from upper management that they’re in charge.
Coach Slanch and I have been trying to tell you, Old Man Bells is on the warpath lately.
I think he feels himself starting to go, and not only has the media been painting you as hockey’s biggest puckboy or whatever lately, but there was a viral article by some famous sports Vlogger yesterday explaining how you were responsible for the current greatness of the Tigers—in spite of Bells.
So Bells is on a tirade for his legacy. And part of that involves showing you the door, evidently. ”
“It’s not final, though?”
“It’s not. But it’s going to be snap-snap done by Sunday morning so they can hit the presses with the story on Monday.
Unless you, I don’t know, find the cure for cancer at that conference or something.
I recently had a meeting with Bells, and do you know what he spent the entire night doing?
He showed me your tweets from the dates you’ve been on.
And the pictures. And he said, ‘This would have never been acceptable in the nineteen fifties, running around like this.’ The guy is an anachronistic nut job, yes, but he’s the one with the power and there’s nothing we can do. ”
“You talked to Coach Slanch?”
“I did. We tried to tag team call Bells. He’s ignoring us. That’s when I got the call from my contact. Sorry, Dustin. It’s been a good run in Chicago.”
“It ain’t over until it’s over.”
“No,” he said. “But it’s close.”
“Thanks for the call, Harrison,” I said and hung up. I hadn’t felt this awful in years.
There was cruel irony in the fact that I was the most loyal player on this team.
I gritted out some pretty grim years in Chicago.
There was a literal LeBlanc Taco promotion where if I scored a goal, all of the fans who purchased tickets would get a free taco.
We were desperate to fill the stands back then, and I played my heart out, every game, while we sometimes barely won fifteen games per season because we didn’t have the depth.
And now that we had filled in the rest of the roster with some talent, ownership thought I was chopped liver because I liked to enjoy myself off the ice?
It wasn’t right.
Letting out a heavy sigh, my eyes fell to a table in front of me at one of the late-night bars in the casino. My pulse sped when I saw The Doctor in the red dress.
I was shocked to see what she was doing. She was patting the back of an old man who was sitting on the ground, who perhaps had fainted or was under the weather. The man looked faint, and she stayed with him until medical personnel from the casino arrived.
Something flipped in my heart when I saw her coming to the aid of a random person like that. She really was a doctor down to her core. I watched as she headed to a table in the dining area, where she ordered a drink and sat staring into her drink like it had all the answers to life.
She seemed even more depressed than me, which I thought was impossible. I headed her way, then paused when I arrived at her table.
“Hello, Doctor,” I said.
She looked up at me and smiled faintly. “So you believe I’m a doctor now?”
“Sorry, I’m an asshole. I forgot I was here for the CSC. Of course there would be doctors here. I’m a dumbass sometimes.”
She shrugged, and a little smile tugged at her lips. “Takes one to know one.”
I smiled faintly. “Good one. I don’t know if it works if I call myself a dumbass, though. I might still be a little drunk, but I think you just called yourself a dumbass.”
She laughed, a soft, genuine giggle, and flashed her big brown eyes my way. “I know. I just wanted to get you back with that.”
In that instant, I knew I wanted her. And not like a normal want. My heart started to thump, and I swallowed. A flash of déjá vu hit me again, and my mind fogged up for a moment.
I cleared my throat and refocused. Clearly, her red dress was doing things to me. “Mind if I join you?”
She hesitated, then touched the locket that fell just below her clavicle. “Sure,” she finally said. “If you promise to be good.”
“We’ll see about that.” I sat down next to her and called for the server.
“I’ll have an Old Fashioned, and another one of whatever she’s having.”
When the server was gone, I turned back to Doctor Vidal. “I agree with your position earlier,” I said. “I think you’re not supposed to like me.”
She tilted her head a little, and I was getting surprisingly flirty vibes all of the sudden, considering how big of an asshole I was earlier. “Why’s that?” she asked.