Temptation on Ice (Manhattan Mavericks #4)

Chapter 1

COLLETTE

Working for a hockey team with your brothers sounds glamorous.

It’s not. It’s a nightmare and a full-time operation in which two grown professional hockey players with matching god complexes have decided that the best use of their professional energy is to make sure their younger sister never gets laid ever again.

I love them. Truly. But if Pierre makes a “This is my sister, do not look at her” speech, I’m going to kill him.

The St. Pierre siblings arrived at the Manhattan Mavericks with drama baked into the deal.

Pierre, as the runaway groom, yes, actual, literal, left-a-woman-at-the-altar runaway groom.

Don’t feel sorry for her, it was well deserved.

Kitty was a bitch. Then there’s Felix, as the guy whose girlfriend was sleeping with his best friend and teammate right under his nose.

And then there’s me, the obviously awesome sister of those two morons, who is the Mavericks’ new Social Media Coordinator.

Except everyone knows I got the job because Pierre wrote it into his contract.

For the record, I’m excellent at my job.

Not that it matters because everyone’s going to assume nepotism anyway.

What I refuse to accept is Pierre doing ‘the thing’. He did it at the South Dakota Devils, and I told myself this time would be different. I had a plan, walk in confidently, make a great first impression, and let my work speak for itself, not my brothers. I was wrong.

The locker room smells like sweat and ambition and a brand of body wash that probably costs more than my rent. Half the team are dressed ready for practice while the others are in various states of getting ready.

Coach Anderson has just wrapped up his welcome speech, where he warned them to cooperate with the social media team. I told him that included the Coach, too, which made the guys laugh but the Coach scowl.

That’s when I see Pierre stand up. No. No, no, no. Pierre, I swear to God … I try to give him the St. Pierre stare, but he is oblivious to my internal daggers. I turn my attention to Felix. He can’t even look at me. Oh shit. They’re doing it.

“This,” Pierre says, gesturing at me like he’s unveiling something at an auction, “is our sister. Collette.”

Thirty-odd professional hockey players look at me.

“Pierre,” I hiss, but he ignores me. I wave, hoping I’m projecting that everything is fine while internally hoping the ground will swallow my brothers whole.

“If any of you touch our sister,” Pierre continues, calm as anything, “you die.”

Silence.

Total, beautiful, catastrophic silence.

The guy on the floor slowly stops stretching. Someone to my left finds the ceiling very interesting. The protein shake guy takes a long, considered sip.

“We’re serious,” Pierre adds.

“Dead serious,” Felix confirms helpfully.

And then, because the universe has it out for me, the captain steps forward. Emmett Black. Built like a brick wall with bulging biceps, he crosses his arms, looking serious. “You heard them,” he says to the room. “We don’t touch sisters.”

Murmurs of agreement fill the locker room.

I want to leave my body, float somewhere above this, and watch it happen to someone else, because then the words that come out of my mouth without thinking won’t stun everyone.

“Please disregard what they’re saying. Touch away.” I hear the words land and no one laughs, it’s just awkward silence. What did you just say? Touch away? My face goes red from the neck up. That sounded a hell of a lot different in my head than it did leaving my mouth.

“What the fuck, Lettie?” Pierre says in French as he turns and glares at me.

“I panicked,” I respond in French.

“They are not allowed to touch you,” Felix adds, also in French. “You’re not allowed to touch her,” he explains to the room in English.

I turn my back to the locker room and glare at my brothers. “You are ruining my first day with your stupid overprotective nonsense, and I was trying to be funny and lighten the mood, so they are not terrified of me when I create content with them.”

Pierre drags a hand down his face. “It wasn’t funny.”

“I’m aware.” I turn back to thirty-odd hockey players watching this unfold like it’s pay-per-view.

“Anyway.” I pull my shoulders back. You’ve got this.

“I’m Collette St. Pierre. I’ve joined the social media team.

I’ll be harassing you with a tiny mic and making you answer ridiculous questions for the fans. ”

A couple of the guys groan, and I’ll take that over the oppressive silence.

Coach Anderson claps his hands, cutting the tension. “Practice in five. Move.”

The room breaks apart instantly. Helmets, gloves, sticks. Music cranks from a speaker in the corner. The chaos swallows everything, and I stand in the middle of it, heart rate slowly returning to something compatible with life.

Pierre gives me a thumbs-up on his way out. I flip him off. Felix laughs as they disappear toward the ice, and I’m left with the social media team and the particular silence of having survived something.

My coworker Zara nudges my arm. “Well, that was an entrance.”

“I would like to issue a formal public apology for everything that just occurred.”

“I’ve never seen hockey players so scared,” Marlowe adds.

I let out a heavy sigh. “This isn’t the first time my dumbass brothers have done something like that.”

“They mean well, and I say that because they aren’t my brothers,” Billie says with a chuckle.

“Come on, let’s head back to the office and work out how we can torture your brothers through content.” Zara laughs.

The tunnel is cold as I wait for the players with a laminated cue card in one hand and a mini mic in the other. You’ve got this. Just grab the guys as they come off the ice and ask them what they did for the summer. Easy. Fans love it.

Emmett Black, the captain, is the first one off. He looks at the mic, then at Marlowe holding the whiteboard with the question on it: ‘What did you do during the summer?”

“Went to Europe to visit my cousin,” he answers without slowing down.

“Where did you go, Cap?” I call out, making him still. He walks back.

“London, Monaco, and some other places.”

“Enjoyed the sun?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Cool, thanks. See, that was easy.” I grin. He grunts and continues walking down the tunnel.

Connor Sullivan, defenseman, also known as Sully, is right behind him.

“Don’t take it personally, he’s always been that way.

” He laughs. “I spent it back home in Wisconsin at my lake house. Renovated my kitchen. Tiled it myself, too.” He seems proud of this.

I give him a thumbs-up because, honestly, good for him.

Bouch, also known as Marc Bouchard, center and French Canadian, lights up when he sees the camera. “Oh, this is for the fans. Bonjour les fans!” He blows a kiss directly into the lens. “I went back home to Montreal and hung out at my cottage, was one with nature.” He grins before walking off.

Nelly or Lars Nielsen, one of our stops, stares at the cue card for a long moment like it’s personally challenging him, then says, “Slept,” in his Swedish accent, and keeps moving. It’s such a goalie thing to do.

Artem Evanoff, or Evan as the boys call him, comes through, glances at the mic, glances at me, and says, “Stuff,” in his thick Russian accent and finishes it with a wink. Now I’m intrigued.

Then number twenty-two skates through the door.

Justin Crawford, who the guys affectionately call Fish because he is from Maine, which is known for lobsters or crawfish, hence the nickname Fish.

You never know where they get their nicknames from.

I noticed him in the locker room, he is by far the hottest guy on the team.

Those piercing blue eyes and dark hair are a striking combination.

Be professional. Do not ogle the player.

“Quick one for socials,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “What did you do this summer?”

He slows down, looks at the cue card, looks at me, then leans toward the mic and smirks into the camera. “Worked on my game.”

Is there an innuendo in there?

He then turns those piercing blue eyes onto me. “Did you like what you saw on the ice?”

His question catches me off-guard. “I wasn’t watching.”

This makes him chuckle cockily. “Sure, you weren’t. Everyone watches me.”

Seriously? “Sorry to disappoint, but not everyone.”

Those gorgeous baby blues sweep over my body, sending the hairs on my arms standing to attention, and heat crawl up my back. “Such a shame, guess I need to try harder to grab your attention.” He winks at me before strutting off.

What just happened? I stare at my cue card, confused.

“Looks like you’ve been Fished.” Zara chuckles, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. My brothers skate out together thirty seconds later. They read the cue card and look at each other. Pierre shakes his head and storms off. Rude. But then I realize and look at Felix, who bursts out laughing.

“Too soon?” I ask.

“Yeah, too soon for both of us,” he says, walking back along the tunnel, shaking his head but laughing.

“That’s hilarious, we kind of need to keep that.” Zara laughs.

“He will kill me.”

“Too soon?” Zara adds, and we all burst out laughing.

“It’s kind of funny, though.” Billie smirks.

“It’s also like the elephant in the room with everyone. It’s like you kind of just addressed it, and now everyone can move on,” Marlowe suggests.

That is true. “We’ll splice it in.”

“Also, be careful with Fish,” Zara adds.

I still.

“He was totally flirting with you,” Marlowe states.

“He was doing it for the camera. The guy is as cocky as they come.”

Billie raises a brow. “He is cocky, but he wasn’t doing it for the camera.

He’s a natural flirt. Is he hot? A thousand percent.

But is he trouble? One million percent. Last season, a puck bunny tried to blackmail him over compromising photos.

He told her to release them, he didn’t care.

He thought everyone should enjoy seeing his dick.

The boys iced her out for threatening one of their teammates. ”

Gross.

“The boy is hot but trouble.” Marlowe shrugs.

“I’m not interested. I don’t date hockey players, plus my brothers would kill him.”

“Good. Because he’s seen fresh meat and is going to try to charm your panties off you,” Zara states, looking at me.

“It won’t work, I’ve grown up around his type all my life. Has he done it to any of you?” I ask.

They all shake their heads. “Flirted, yes, but we all love our jobs and would never,” Marlowe answers for them.

“I’m into older men anyway, not players,” Zara tells me.

“Give me a man in uniform, and not a hockey one.” Billie grins.

“I like footballers more.” Marlowe winks at me, which makes me laugh.

“Does that mean you are all single?”

“It’s New York City, babe. There are no good men around,” Billie moans.

“I bet there were cute cowboys in South Dakota, though.” Zara grins.

“There were,” I chuckle, “but everyone knew everyone back there.”

“You’re a St. Pierre. Everyone is going to know you here as well,” Billie adds.

“I’m not famous.”

“Your brothers are the biggest things in hockey, so of course people know who you are,” Zara explains.

“Only people who follow hockey,” I argue.

“Must be hard though?” Marlowe asks.

“Having them as brothers?” They nod. “It can be. It’s hard to meet people and trust them because I’ve found that most people want to be friends because of my brothers, especially the puck bunnies.”

“That sucks,” Billie adds.

“And after this summer and all the crap that went down publicly, I’ve kept my circle small because I don’t know who might be a journalist or a fan.”

“Didn’t realize all that was happening. I’m sorry. Things will settle down soon,” Marlowe reassures me.

“You think?” I chuckle.

“Can’t get any worse,” Zara adds.

“We should all go out on Friday night to welcome Collette to the team properly. At least you know we don’t want to hang out with you because of your brothers,” Billie adds.

This is true.

“That would be awesome. I miss my girls back in South Dakota, and my sister lives in London. Oh, do you think I could bring some old friends I’ve reconnected with in New York? You girls will love them, they are a heap of fun.”

“Of course, it will be fun,” Marlowe says.

I can’t wait.