A Kiss For The Road
Max
By my estimates I have twenty minutes before I have to be on the team bus that'll take us to the airport. Every second counts. It’s only fair that I let Everly know why I showed up in the media room tonight.
The equipment room seems as good a place to inform her as any.
“Come with me,” I tell her, as I step into the room full of sticks, pads, and skates.
“You have to leave any second,” she says, concern in her brow as she stands in the doorway.
“But not yet. Now come inside.”
“So bossy,” she says, as I reach for her hand. She places it in mine and I tug her inside.
I close the door. I can’t wait a second longer to know. “Did you wear the underwear?”
She jerks her gaze behind her, as if she can check for eavesdroppers, stragglers, anyone in the hallway beyond.
But I’m not stupid, and I wouldn’t hurt her by talking this way in front of her co-workers or mine.
The hallway’s empty now, plus the door is shut.
“I’m paid a lot of money for these eyes.
I already checked to see if anyone was around before I pulled you in here,” I try to reassure her, then return to the pressing matter—the one I can’t get out of my head. “Did you wear them?”
She lifts her chin, a little saucy as she asks, “What do you think?”
She’s still not answering me, and it’s driving me wild. I try one more tactic—assuming. “You wore them.”
She moves to the wall, leaning against it, right next to a long row of cubbies holding gear.
Dropping her purse to the floor, she bobs a shoulder, giving me a you’ll never know smile.
“I guess you’ll just have to wonder the whole time you’re out of town,” she says coquettishly, and I deserve all her taunts.
But as much as I could chase the high score on our banter leaderboard all night, I legit need to talk to her. I let go of the games we play, asking seriously, “Do you have a sec? It’s important.”
Her expression shifts instantly, her sass vanishing. She straightens. “Sure.”
She’s been trying so hard for so long. I need to make some effort too, so I meet her gaze with a serious one of my own. I drag a hand through my hair, taking a breath. “Listen, I know I kind of surprised you back in the media room.”
“It wasn’t a bad surprise,” she says, then winces. “But I’m really sorry that everyone started going after you so quickly. I tried to stop them the second they did.”
I hold up a hand, exonerating her from the barrage of questions I tuned out. “They barely even registered. I had a one-track mind in there.”
She smiles. “I noticed. That was incredibly impressive, how you shut them all down.”
“All that time not talking makes me kind of immune to their questions. I said what I wanted to say tonight. And I noticed you recording it. You’re going to put it on my The Real Max Lambert, right?”
“I’d like to. We do have to keep feeding that beast.”
“Then toss it into the maw.”
“Thank you.” With genuine excitement in her eyes, she adds, “I love the clip of you saying you’ve got a great group of teammates.
You have their back and they have yours.
I know it might seem too practiced and too much of a PR answer, but that’s okay.
That’s exactly what I’ve been wanting. Just something from you to put you out there, for fans to start seeing you.
And I definitely need content for that.”
“I’m glad it’ll work,” I say, pleased I could make her life easier for once.
Her gaze is etched with curiosity as she asks, “What made you do that tonight? Talk to them?”
I do want to tell her the real reason. She deserves to know. But I’m still a little hung up on something. A lot hung up. And the cocky jerk in me has the wheel right now. “So, are you going to tell me? Did you say yes to the underwear?”
She rolls her pretty eyes. “You’re still asking me that?”
I fucking love that she never lets me off easily. “I’m not going to stop asking. Tell me, Everly.”
“I thought last night was a one-and-done thing,” she says, but she inches closer to me.
“I’m not doing anything. Just asking,” I insist.
“Right. Sure.” She arches a playful brow.
“I just want to know,” I say, leaning in so we’re inches apart, letting her catch a hint of my cologne.
The moment it hits her is clear. It’s in the quiet gasp she tries to hide but fails to. A tiny murmur seems to escape those lush lips. Still, she tries to up the ante in our game, saying, “Guess.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. But because we are, I need to be careful. I dart away from her and close the distance to the door a few feet away, locking it then returning to her. My eyes roam up and down her body. “You have them on, don’t you?”
She tilts her head, her blonde ponytail swishing against her shoulder. “Since you did something big for me, I’ll answer you—yes. I do.”
A rumble works its way up my chest and past my lips. “And I just wanted to thank you for wearing them then,” I say.
She laughs. “That’s why you talked to the press? Me wearing the lingerie you sent me inspired you to talk to the media? I guess if I’d known all along it was that easy…”
“You wouldn’t have promised me a limo once upon a time?”
She shakes her head playfully. “Not now that I know your weakness.”
But I correct her. “Your eyes,” I say, looking into those deep brown pools. “Like I told you earlier. Your eyes are my weakness. Your eyes are my undoing.”
Her breath hitches, but she lifts a doubtful brow since she’s not won over easily. “Are my eyes your weakness or is it the royal blue panties?”
Jesus. She is my weakness. I can’t hide the truth anymore. “It’s not just the panties. Did I love it? Fuck yes. But that’s not why I talked tonight.”
“Why then?”
“Because of you. How hard you work,” I say, my tone one hundred percent serious.
This is why I waited for her tonight. “I needed you to know that. The real reason I pulled you into the equipment room is to tell you what hit me tonight right outside the tunnel. When you told me the press made bets on me. You—you, Everly—have to put up with that shit all the time from them. And you have to put up with me. All of a sudden, I understood what you’ve been dealing with from their side—not just mine.
But in the press box too. You’re tough and strong, and you have been putting up with so much.
It only seemed fair that I do this for you. ”
Her lips part in a slow, sweet smile. “Max,” she says softly, like she’s genuinely touched. “Thank you. That really means a lot to me.”
Ah, fuck. My heart lurches toward her. She cares so much. More than I expected. “You really want this to work, don’t you? This makeover?”
“I do,” she whispers, her voice cracking.
“Maybe this sounds silly, but I made a promise when Marie…died,” she says, taking a breath, steeling herself perhaps as she sets a hand on the edge of the shelf full of helmets next to her, “to try to live my best life. To work hard, to do good, to appreciate everything I have—my friends, my job, my…body.” Something about that last word seems to knock her off-kilter.
And it’s like she needs a moment. But she pushes on.
“To reach for the moon. To be an example. And I want to be excellent at everything I do.”
“You are,” I say, so damn impressed by her. “You’re powerful and strong.”
“You’re strong too. It took a lot of guts to talk to the press tonight.”
I wave a dismissive hand. “Nah. Just some drugs.”
“What? You’d better not be on drugs.”
I wiggle a brow. “I think I’ve been a little high all day long.” I pause, locking eyes with her. “On you.”
“Stop it,” she whispers, but it’s playful and seems to say go on.
Here in the equipment room, surrounded by helmets, sticks, pucks, pads, and all kinds of gear, I reach for her hair, stroking the ends of the ponytail. “I have not been able to stop thinking about what it was like to kiss you.”
“Max, you really shouldn’t do this. I really shouldn’t do this,” she says, but she reaches for my shirt collar, her nimble fingers playing with it.
“I know,” I admit. Neither one of us stops touching the other.
“Things are intense here at work. I found out today Elias is competing for the promotion now, and it’s tougher,” she says with a sigh.
A dose of protectiveness rockets through me. “The guy who looks like he’s twelve? The one who’s always asking us to sign hockey sticks to give away during the intermissions? It’s not just me that he asks—he asks all the guys all the time.”
She laughs lightly. “That’s him. He used to play in college too. Which he likes reminding me of.”
“Fuck him. He doesn’t deserve the job. You do.”
“It doesn’t even matter. He used to play. He’s got connections. His uncle’s the general counsel, and I don’t want to be the…” She doesn’t finish the thought but it’s clear what she means—she doesn’t want to be the woman who’s getting silky gifts from one of the players.
I think about her dilemma for a minute, but I don’t have any useful answers. There’s nothing I can do right now anyway. I’ve got my own problems. “I wish it weren’t like this either,” I say heavily.
I wish, too, I didn’t need her so much right now in my professional life.
But there’s a message on my phone from my agent telling me he’s proud of me for saying something to the media tonight.
There’s an image of the bagel of the day.
There’s a memory of the injury in my rookie season that could have been so much worse.
But there’s something else I need to say tonight to her too. Something important. I let go of her hair, and she drops her hand from my collar. “You’ve been trying to do your job for over a year, and I’ve been an asshole.”
She tilts her head, her smile kinder than I deserve, considering how I’ve railroaded her. “But that’s not who you are. You’re not a jerk. You’re kind of soft underneath.”
I growl. “Pro tip: do not ever call a man soft.”