Chapter Three
Cara
No news is good news…unless you're a reporter obsessing over the hockey player who has gone radio silent. It's weird. For a full week, I don't hear a single peep out of Phoenix. When I stop by the arena for interviews two days before their game, I don't even run into him.
Unfortunately, I do run into Corey.
As soon as I finish grilling Harrison, I turn around to find him lingering at the end of the long, dimly lit hall, as if he's been waiting for me. I briefly consider going the opposite direction, but quickly decide I'm not going to run from anyone. Screw that.
I pull up my big girl panties and stride down the hall, my gaze focused on the scuffed paint instead of on him.
"Hey, beautiful," he says, grinning at me.
"It's Cara, not beautiful."
"Right."
I keep walking. He falls into step beside me, his loud steps drowning out the sound of my heels on the concrete.
"Can I help you with something?"
"Just thought I'd see what you were up to," he murmurs. "You here because of the rumors?"
"Rumors?" My brows furrow. "What rumors?"
"Guess not then," he chuckles, his dimples flashing. "You excited about covering your first game?"
"What rumors?"
"Just some bullshit." He waves his hand like he's waving them off. "You know how people make a big deal about nothing."
"Uh-huh," I say, eyeing him sideways. He's being weird. I don't know him well enough to have a great grasp of his normal behavior, but evasive and dodgy doesn't really seem to fit what I do know about him. What rumors is he talking about? And why doesn't he want to tell me anything about them?
"So…the game," he says in a patently obvious attempt to change the subject. "You excited?"
"Aren't I supposed to be the one asking the questions?"
He grins, flashing those dimples again. "Shit. I guess so. Fire away."
I pretend to look at the time on my phone. "Lucky for you, I don't have time. I have an appointment," I lie, stopping at a juncture in the hall that leads toward the locker rooms. "If you'll excuse me…"
Before I can dart down the hallway, he reaches out, placing his hand on my arm. "Let me walk you."
"No, thanks," I say, shaking him off. "And don't touch me."
"Aw, come on. I don't bite."
I narrow my eyes at him, not buying the puppy dog look. The man is photographed with another woman every week. He absolutely bites, and I've never been less interested in being bitten than I am right now. My vagina is literally shriveling at the thought. "Liar."
He just laughs in response. "Fine, but only if you want."
"I don't want," I say firmly. "We've covered this already."
"People change."
"Not that much," I say. "I'm not dating you. Stop trying."
"But this little thing we have going is so much fun, Cara."
I just roll my eyes at him before turning to walk down the hall. Hell would literally freeze over first. But I don't think he wants to hear that. Just like Phoenix doesn't want to hear no.
Corey is easier to figure out than Phoenix, though.
Corey will sleep with anything that moves.
It's his MO. I'm not so sure about Phoenix.
As far as I've been able to tell, he isn't like that.
He's never photographed with anyone, never linked to anyone.
He lives and breathes the game. So…why is he so dead set on dating me?
It makes no sense. Perhaps that's why he feels like a bigger threat than Corey.
Men like Corey are easy to deal with. Eventually, they lose interest. Their egos can only take hearing no so many times before they either turn psycho or cut their losses.
Since Corey doesn't strike me as the psycho type, I'm guessing he's the cut his losses type.
He'll get bored and move on to someone else soon enough. But Phoenix? I don't know.
Maybe he's already gotten bored and moved on. Is that why he's been radio silent all week? For some reason, I doubt it. It feels more like the calm before the storm, as if he's springing a trap. The man doesn't give up. He doesn't quit or go quietly into that good night. He's up to something.
I'm ready to crawl out of my skin, waiting to see what that something is.
He has me obsessing without doing a single thing. Hell, maybe that's part of his plan. He'll wear me down through anticipation and expectation, so when he does finally reappear, I'm so relieved, I cave.
Except, I'm made of sterner stuff than that. I'm not dating him. It doesn't matter how many times I've dreamed of him this week. It's not happening.
I actually like my job, and there's no freaking way I'll be able to continue doing it if I'm nursing a broken heart after Phoenix shatters it into pieces. That's not going to happen.
"It's going to be bad when they find out what he did," a man murmurs from further down the hall. "Coach is furious."
"Of course he is," someone else, a woman, replies. "I mean…he's lucky he isn't in prison already. Can you just imagine what'll happen if word gets out?"
Eavesdropping is bad, I know this. But…I'm a reporter, and this smells like gossip. So I do what any good reporter would do. I duck into an alcove and eavesdrop like my life depends on it.
"I hope it doesn't get out," the man says. "We can't afford to lose him right now."
"What are they going to do?"
"No idea," his companion says. "But he was in Coach's office early this morning. Louie said he heard Mitch yelling from the PT suite."
What the fuck? Who was in his office? And why was he yelling? And who is lucky they aren't in prison right now? I'm suddenly dying to know, not just because I'm a reporter, but because I'm desperately nosy. Who fucked up?
"Just imagine what his dad will say," the man says.
"Right? It's a shame, really. To just throw it all away after he's put in so much work to…"
I strain to hear more, but all I catch are footsteps heading away from me. Dammit. I briefly consider trying to follow them in the hopes that I catch a name or more info, but quickly decide I do not have the skillset for that.
God made me nosy. He didn't make me stealthy.
But Corey's question about rumors suddenly makes a lot more sense. And I now have a lot more questions.
I pull my phone from my pocket and type out a quick text to my boss, letting him know that a story came up, and I'll be back later than anticipated. I have players to grill and rumors to chase. There's no time for the office today.
By the following morning, I've reached exactly two conclusions. One: hockey players love to gossip. And two: Someone is definitely in trouble.
Unless I'm way off base, that someone is Phoenix.
From what I've been able to piece together from his somewhat-helpful teammates, he's in serious trouble for something highly illegal.
They were more than willing to fill me in on that much, but no one is talking about what he did in anything more than vague terms. Every time I try to dig for specifics, they shut down.
I only managed to confirm it was him by process of elimination and a stealthy game of "tell me something about each of the first line skaters".
I'm a genius for that one, I might add. Everyone was happy to share some ridiculous story about everyone else.
But when it came time to talk about Phoenix, they all clammed up.
I got no less than four "he's a great guy" responses, two "he's one of the best," and one "I don't know him" that would make Mariah proud.
Not even Corey was willing to talk. I'm impressed by that one, honestly.
And a little annoyed that I have to go directly to the source of the trouble. I am not emotionally prepared to speak to Phoenix right now. I also have no choice. Like I said, his teammates were only somewhat helpful. And I need details.
So I sit myself on the bleachers to watch the last few minutes of practice, my eyes on him.
He seems tense, but there's no denying that he's a damn good skater.
He handles the puck like he was born to do it, whipping across the ice as if it's easy.
I almost envy the way he moves. I've never been that graceful or moved that beautifully. He makes it look easy.
He glances up at me once, our eyes locking.
Even from a distance, I see the heat blazing in his gaze, and my stomach clenches.
Visions from my dreams spill out behind my eyelids, a dozen different erotic images all playing out at once—him above me, moving like a song.
Him below me, his head thrown back, whispering praise.
Him on his knees, ruining me. He's all over me, unraveling me from the inside out every damn night.
Does he know it? The look on his face says maybe he does.
I'm the first to look away, unable to hold his gaze when he's naked in another dream-memory, fucking me so deep it feels real.
"Get it together," I whisper to myself, expelling a heavy breath. "You aren't sleeping with him." I keep hoping if I say it enough, it'll register in the deepest recesses of my brain, and I'll stop dreaming about him. So far, no dice.
My only hope at this point is that whatever he did is bad enough to render him completely unattractive. Somehow, I have a feeling that isn't going to happen, though. It's an infuriating problem to have, believe me.
I wait until practice is over to make my way toward the back. After fifteen minutes or so, players begin filing out of the locker room. A few greet me as they pass. At this point, they've gotten used to me lurking around. I'm haunting the arena, using my job as an excuse.
"Twice in one day, huh?" Corey says, drawing to a stop in front of me as soon as he steps out of the locker room, his bag over his shoulder. His lips curve, his dimples popping out. "Damn, beautiful. I'm getting real lucky here."
"I'm not here to see you," I say, rolling my eyes at him. He never stops, does he? It's like his factory setting is shameless flirt, and there's no turning it off.
"What cruelty is this?" He places a hand over his heart, staggering back a theatrical step like I just wounded him. "My heart can't take it."
"Has anyone ever told you that you're doing too much?" I ask, eyeing him sideways. "Because, seriously, you're doing too much."
He just laughs in response, leaning up against the wall in front of me. "I can do more. Just say the words."
"No, thanks." I pause, eyeing him thoughtfully. "Actually…you can do me a favor."
"Name it."
"Tell me what went down with Phoenix."
"What about Phoenix?" he asks, playing dumb. To my surprise, it doesn't suit him. He may be an annoying flirt, but he isn't stupid.
"Are the rumors true?"
"What rumors?"
"Are you seriously going to act like you don't know what I'm talking about when you're the one who mentioned them to me in the first place?" I ask, propping a hand on my hip.
"I don't remember that," he lies.
"Uh-huh, I just bet you don't."
"I mean, there is a rumor that he's an unhinged psychopath," he says. "And there's a rumor that he kicks puppies. Oh, there's also a rumor that he's married with five kids. And there's one about him not tipping waitstaff. I think I even heard that he's a monk who took a vow of celibacy."
I snort with laughter. "You're just going to run through the whole roster of turn-offs, aren't you?"
"Is it working?" His green eyes glint with humor. "Is he a hideous troll yet?"
"Is who a hideous troll?"
I startle slightly at the sound of Phoenix's deep voice, craning my neck to see him standing in the doorway behind Corey.
His dark hair is plastered to his head, water droplets still dripping down the side of his face.
He's dressed in a tight Lonestars tee and sweats, looking somehow even bigger and better than he does in full gear. God, he's gorgeous.
"Um, hey," I mumble.
His gaze drifts down my body, his eyes softening incrementally before they whip back to Corey. He practically glowers at his teammate. "Didn't you have a date?"
"No," Corey says. "I have an appointment."
"Right," Phoenix says flatly. "You should get to that, then."
Corey chuckles. "Yeah, probably. See you later, beautiful."
"Bye, Corey," I mutter, my eyes still locked on Phoenix. How did he possibly get more gorgeous in the last week? And what did he do that's so bad not even Corey is willing to spill the beans? I'm dying to know.
Corey mutters something and then disappears. I have no idea what he says because all my attention is on Phoenix. His is on me, too, like he's trying to memorize me.
"You shouldn't give him the time of day," he finally says, taking a step toward me. "He isn't worthy of you, gorgeous."
"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not into him, isn't it?"
Phoenix's gaze drops to my mouth, and I swear he groans softly before he catches himself. "What are you still doing here?"
"Waiting for you."
He grins, stepping closer. "Missed me, didn't you?"
"No."
"Liar." He's in my space now, pressing me back against the wall.
And I know I'm supposed to be asking him about the rumors.
That's what I'm here for right now. Except the words won't form.
All I can do is stare up at him, remembering the way he pinned me to the wall in my dreams. "Say you missed me. "
"Back up," I whisper instead, proud of myself for managing to stand my ground.
"Nah." He lifts his hand, brushing his thumb across my bottom lip. "Think I'll stay right here, gorgeous." He dips his head, running his nose along the side of my throat. "Fuck. You smell so goddamn good, Cara."
"Phoenix."
"Tell me that you missed me," he breathes against my skin.
"I…I…." What am I supposed to be saying right now? Oh, right. "Back up."
His stubble scrapes my skin, and then I feel his tongue against my pulse point. My knees tremble, my whole body turning to Jell-O. My palm flattens against the wall.
"Fucking hell," he groans, his body tense against mine. "You taste as good as you smell."
"Phoenix."
He nips my skin, and then his lips are on mine. His kiss is soft, achingly sweet. And it's over far too soon, as if he's just taking a tiny taste. Before I even know he's there, he's gone.
I whimper then, my whole body clenching, desperate to feel him against me again, desperate for him to keep kissing me, just maddeningly, achingly desperate.
"Yeah, you missed me," he says, running a fingertip down the side of my cheek, a smile in his voice. "See you at the game tomorrow, gorgeous."
I pry my eyes open in time to see him striding down the hall away from me, looking like a man on top of the world.
He's ducking through the doors before I remember that I'm supposed to be asking him about the rumors.
"Shit," I whisper, my head drooping.
I'm in so much fucking trouble here.