Chapter 1 #3
Dean had absolutely zero memory of that woman. Not her name, her face, or her laugh. Yet even without that information, he’d bet the better part of his bank account that he’d taken the woman home and scored big for a second time that night.
Something in his face must have given him away.
“You don’t remember the woman at all, do you?”
Dean offered a sheepish grin instead of a reply.
“Guess that’s one of the perks of the job, though, right? Getting laid so regularly that all the faces blend together.”
Dean had just taken a swig of his beer. Hearing Vivian talk about getting laid caught him off guard enough that he choked on it.
She laughed, even as she rose and started hitting him on the back.
“Are you okay?” she asked, with a low giggle that wasn’t the slightest bit high-pitched or manic.
Vivian’s laughter, like her voice, was warm, rich, and soothing.
Suddenly, he found himself wanting to hear her sing, suspecting she had a beautiful alto.
Vivian resumed her seat, sipping more of her wine while trying to hide her smile behind the glass.
Dean decided turnabout was fair play. “Getting laid is definitely one of the perks of being a hockey god.”
Vivian covered her mouth after the first initial—loud—burst of laughter. “A hockey god? Wow. You don’t have a problem with ego at all, do you?”
Dean wiggled his eyebrows, enjoying this conversation more than any he’d had in a long time.
That was when it occurred to him. He didn’t remember a single thing about the woman he’d taken home that night all those years earlier—but he recalled every word he and Vivian had spoken to each other.
Despite what she clearly believed, he’d been very interested in hearing about her first semester of college and her major.
Unbeknownst to her, however, Victor had shot him one hell of a dirty look when the conversation carried on longer than her brother clearly thought appropriate. So Dean had taken the warning and turned his attention elsewhere.
Not that he would have made a move on Vivian, for the very reasons he’d previously considered.
She had been too young and innocent for him at the time.
Hell, she probably still was…but that wasn’t helping him keep his thoughts PG tonight.
Because Vivian was—and always had been—an incredibly beautiful woman.
She had the same features as her brother—black hair and dark eyes, with long, curly lashes, high cheekbones, and golden skin that remained tanned year-round, so she always had a healthy glow about her.
“Guess that night must have been a bit of a letdown,” Dean mused.
Vivian lifted one shoulder casually. “It would have been more fun if I’d been drinking age,” she mused. “And if I could have shaken my six-foot-two shadow of a brother.”
“I’m assuming he’s always had overdeveloped protective instincts.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she said, without a hint of complaint in her voice. Whenever she spoke of her brother, it was always with a fondness in her eyes that even a blind man couldn’t miss.
“Sorry I was such shitty company that night.”
“Oh no. Don’t apologize for that. I had a good time, and you were nicer than I expected.”
“You weren’t expecting that?” Dean wasn’t as surprised by her admission as he wished.
Back then, he’d been one of the veterans on the Stingrays—a cocky showboat who loved attention, winning, and the extracurricular perks—women—that came with professional hockey.
It was one of the reasons he’d been worried as shit about Tank dating his daughter.
Dean knew exactly what kind of man Tank was because he’d been the same…
an arrogant, grade A jackass. Of course, he’d been blind to that fact.
So sure he’d had his whole future mapped out.
She gave him an amused look and a casual shrug.
“You know you can say it, Viv. I had a reputation,” he added.
“You were…” She searched for a diplomatic word.
“I was an ass,” he finished for her.
Vivian shook her head. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“You were thinking it,” he grumbled.
She laughed without denying it.
“I was thirty-two and thought I had the world by the balls, thought I knew everything,” he admitted.
“You didn’t?”
He grunted. “I knew absolutely nothing.”
Their entrees arrived, temporarily interrupting the conversation. For several minutes, neither of them spoke, too hungry to do anything except eat.
Dean cut into his steak, took a bite, and let out a groan.
Vivian mimicked the sound after shoveling in a large bite of her pasta. “I may actually cry,” she said.
“That good?”
She closed her eyes briefly, sighing with obvious bliss. “So good.”
Her expression, paired with her breathy response, sent Dean’s thoughts past the R-rated range and straight into X-rated category. Which was not good. Regardless of the fact Vivian was all grown up, Victor still protected her like he was a dragon and she was the gold he was hoarding.
Dean supposed that made sense. After all, Victor and Vivian lost their parents when they were both just young adults. Following their passing, Victor’s home became Vivian’s, as well, and following such a tragic loss, they had grown closer than most siblings.
Only after they’d taken the edge off their hunger did the conversation resume.
“So, how do you like coaching?” she asked. “Ready for year two?”
Dean didn’t even have to think about the answer. “I love it.”
“Really?”
“When I was a player, I never imagined myself becoming a coach. Figured those guys were gluttons for punishment, taking shit from all fronts—management, the players, the fans, the media.”
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown?”
He tapped the tip of his nose. “Yup. And while I do have to deal with all that crap, there’s so much more to love about the job.
” He told her about stepping behind the bench and watching young players develop, about how satisfying it was to help someone finally understand something they’d been struggling with, whether it be their shooting, passing, or defense.
“It’s a lot different than playing because you stop measuring success by your own stats.”
“Instead, you start measuring everyone else’s and figuring out how to make that work for the team as a whole,” she added, making it clear she got what he was saying.
“Exactly.”
She smiled. “You sound really happy.”
Dean considered that for a moment, aware he didn’t usually take time to think about his feelings. But now that she pointed it out, he knew that she was right.
“I am. I miss playing sometimes, but I sure as hell don’t miss wondering if every single body check is going to be my last.” Dean had suffered a couple nasty injuries prior to the one that wound up being a career-ender.
“And while I was an assistant coach for years in Vancouver, there’s something very satisfying about being the man in charge, the one making the big calls. ”
“I would find that more stressful than satisfying.”
He nodded once, because she made a good point. “Mostly I think I miss being one of the guys, hanging out in the locker room, trash-talking, joking around.”
“Vic still considers you one of the guys.”
He chuckled. “He and I have a longer history and a few more years under our belts than all those wet-behind-the-ears rookies coming up through the league. There are days when my relationship with him feels more like Band of Brothers, rather than coach/player.”
“Makes sense. I suspect Vic is starting to worry about how many more years he has in him. Or at least, he used to. Now that he’s with Belle, I’m not sure he’d mind retiring like Preston did.
I went to Africa for a few months, leaving behind my stoic bachelor brother, and came back to find a man who is flat-out determined that he and Belle will be married before Christmas.
And if he has his way, she’ll be pregnant five minutes after saying the vows. ”
Dean chuckled. “I was here, watching it happen in person, and even I felt a little bit of whiplash. So I’m sure you were shocked when you got home.”
“Don’t get me wrong. It was a good shock. I genuinely believe Belle was made for my brother.”
Dean agreed with that assessment.
The waiter stopped by to fill up their water glasses. “Would you like another round?”
Dean looked at Vivian, letting her make the call. “I will if you will,” he said.
“Yes, please. This wine is smoothing away a day’s worth of rough edges. Keep it coming,” she said to the waiter.
Dean lifted a finger, indicating he’d take another beer as well, before slicing off a big chunk of the steak and putting it on her plate.
Vivian followed suit, sliding more than half of her pasta onto his.
It was a simple act, but damn if the domesticity, the intimacy of it, didn’t make Dean feel warm inside in a way he’d never experienced.
They continued eating for a few moments, both trying the new addition to their plates.
“I suppose your perspective of the sport has changed since returning to Baltimore and becoming the head honcho,” Vivian said, returning them to the topic of him and his job.
“It has. And not just professionally, but personally as well.” He hesitated before continuing. “A lot of things changed last season.”
Vivian rested her chin on her hand. “The McKenna revelation?”
Dean chuckled at her dramatic wording. “Yeah. That bombshell.”
Vivian gave him her full attention without making the conversation feel like an interrogation. “I can’t believe no one knew.”
Dean wiped his mouth, slightly embarrassed at how quickly he’d inhaled that fairly large cut of meat. “Kenny asked if we could keep it on the down-low.”
Vivian grinned. “I love that you call her Kenny. It’s a cute nickname.”
“Like Pip,” he said, acknowledging that her daughter also had an adorable nickname.
“Like Pip,” Vivian agreed.
“Kenny was bound and determined to prove herself at work and worried people would assume she’d gotten the job through nepotism.”