CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EMERSON
I huff and shift back into the seat with force. It earns me an amused glance from Abernathy, who is sitting next to me. I ignore him and glance out the window as we fly thousands of feet in the air, adjusting my Air Pods when they shift from the movement. I’m not even listening to music right now; I just have them in to deter people from speaking to me. Namely Abernathy.
Sam is right; Abernathy is hitting on me, though it’s hard for me to admit that Sam is right about anything. But it was apparent when Abernathy chatted me up as soon as I arrived in the lobby. He sat by me on the bus ride to the private airport and again on the airplane even though I gave him little to no encouragement. But it was really crystal clear when he invited me to hang out with him tonight when we arrive in California. Just the two of us. Never mind that I can still see the indent from the wedding ring he removed from his finger sometime after boarding the plane to leave Chicago a couple of days ago. His skin is pale where it usually lies.
I try not to be judgmental, but I despise cheaters. If you don’t want to be in a relationship, get out of it. Life is short, so do what you want. But Abernathy strikes me as the type of guy who likes his cake and wants to eat it too. It’s obvious he dallies on the road. I wonder if he returns home to an adoring wife or if they have a tumultuous relationship. Does he even have kids? I don’t know that much about him. But what I do know, I don’t like very much at this point.
I glance across the aisle to where Sam is sitting. His head is leaned back, and his eyes are closed. He has Air Pods in his ears as well, but I could hear music coming from them when he passed by me earlier. The hockey center looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
An image flashes inside my mind of him turning the corner into the bathroom this morning, dropping the towel, and giving me an unobstructed view of that perfect backside …
I shake my head until his naked form disappears. It didn’t seem to make an impact when I showed him the pictures online, not like the impression his stacked muscles left on my brain at least. I guess they weren’t too scandalous, just a few half-dressed women draped across his lap, hands exploring his body and lips somewhere on his face and neck. In the big scope of things, it wouldn’t really matter. But he’s trying to clean up his reputation, not reinforce his past behavior. At least his PR people are. And I’m being paid to help. Sam doesn’t realize that by bucking the system and rebelling against the team’s wishes, he’s not only hurting himself, but he’s also hurting me.
Or maybe that’s exactly why he’s doing it.
The hockey star has not hidden the fact that he wants me gone. The resentment radiates from him like heat off a hot pavement. This might be his way of ensuring that my exit happens sooner rather than later. I’m afraid that management’s plan to clean up his image is backfiring. All it’s doing is pushing him in the opposite direction. Sam has never struck me as the type of guy who can be controlled, so the more they try to rein him in, the more he pulls away.
Maybe I need to change tactics. Make him feel like I’m an ally and not the enemy. That I’m on his side. But how?
Or maybe I’d be better off admitting that I’ve been outmaneuvered and let someone else babysit the hockey stud. I could always find another job.
Defeat is seeping into my psyche, and I feel it pulling me under. By the time the wheels of the plane touch down a little later, I am no closer to a solution.
I manage to evade Abernathy and snag a seat on the bus ride to the hotel with one of the trainers, Addison. There aren’t many women traveling with this group, but she’s one of them. She’s young and sweet and in desperate need of female companionship, like me.
I ask about her life, and her answers manage to distract me from my own thoughts temporarily. She’s originally from Boston, and this is her first job out of college as a trainer. Her dad is Coach Tremble, one of the assistants, who also happens to be friends with the GM of the Hawks, which helped her secure the job. She whispers that last part like she’s embarrassed about it. I reassure her that it doesn’t matter how she got the job; it only counts what she does with it now.
We arrive at the hotel in San José after a half hour of traversing traffic. The guys are supposed to get settled and then have a skate around this afternoon. They don’t play again until tomorrow night, so today should be low-key. It should be, but I’m learning that Sam rarely does what is expected of him, so I’m trying to mentally prepare for anything.
I take advantage of an afternoon alone to explore the city. I quickly find a lot of upscale shops in the area, which isn’t surprising since we’re in the heart of Silicon Valley with all its tech success and money. I browse a little, but in the end, I don’t want to spend my hard-earned money on high-priced clothes even though I can afford more now. Old habits die hard, I guess. Eventually, I reach the San José Museum of Art, where I lose myself for a few hours.
A text message from Addison lures me back to the hotel. I meet her in the lobby, but she leads me right back outside onto the street.
“I spoke to the concierge,” she explains. “There’s a restaurant at the end of the block that’s supposed to have amazing pizza. I’m starving.”
“Pizza sounds perfect.”
“I think some of the guys are already there,” she admits, glancing over at me as we walk, “including Sam.”
“Great.” I smirk, drawing a chuckle from her. Though it’s probably best that I keep an eye on Sam tonight. That’s why I’m here in the first place. “How was practice?”
“Good. The guys are a little beat up from Seattle, but they’re used to powering through. San José is down this year, so hopefully, they have an easier game tomorrow.”
I follow Addison into the restaurant, glancing around the space as we wait for the hostess to reappear. The place is packed, including the long mahogany bar that spans the entire right side of the room. I spot Sam quickly. He’s sitting on a barstool with Cruz, Tempe, and Coop, the starting goalie. He has a beer in his hand, and I wonder if that’s his first. I’m not looking forward to a repeat of last night’s antics.
When the hostess returns, we learn that a table won’t be available for another hour, so we end up at the bar on the opposite end from the guys, claiming the only two seats left.
Addison orders a cosmopolitan while I stick with soda. We select a pizza, knowing it’ll be a minute before we get our pie.
“Here’s to girl power,” Addison says, lifting her glass to tap my own. “I’ve had enough testosterone to last a lifetime.”
I laugh and take a sip of my drink. “You went into the wrong profession if you don’t want to be around male athletes all the time.”
“I’m learning that,” she says with a wry grin. She glances down the bar at the guys. “It’s not that I mind all the hot male company; it’s just nice to have a female around.” She bumps her shoulder into mine and drinks more of her cocktail. “At least they’re easy on the eyes.”
My stare lingers on Sam. He’s dressed casually tonight in jeans and a T-shirt. But it does nothing to hide his broad shoulders and cut arms. He’s laughing at something Cruz said. An attractive bartender stops by and leans in front of Sam. She tilts her head coyly and presses forward, her cleavage spilling from her low-cut top, her attention focused solely on the blonde-haired hockey center.
“He attracts women like flies to honey,” Addison murmurs while still watching them.
“Yep.” I nod. “He always has.”
“Did you know him before?”
“We went to the same college.”
Widened eyes find me as she swivels her neck in my direction. “You knew Sam in college?”
“Not really. I knew of him.”
“What was he like?” she asks.
I nod in their direction. “Just like that.”
The bartender is laughing flirtatiously, her wide smile centered on Sam as if he’s the best thing in the place. Even though there are three other attractive athletes sitting with him, the hockey forward is the star attraction.
“He is hot,” Addison murmurs.
Something protective stirs low in my belly, and I frown when I feel it. I shouldn’t care that Addison is attracted to Sam. Most women are. And he is hot. The more I’m around him, the more I witness the magnetism he holds. It’s likely how he managed to snag a catch like Oakley years ago, and it’s why he has the full attention of the bartender right now.
I watch as he smirks at her. Sam’s always been a flirt, and that won’t change just because I’m here and his image needs an overhaul. He is who he is.
“How do you manage to be around him all the time and not become obsessed with him?”
I snort. “Just get to know him better. You’ll see why for yourself. He’s arrogant and self-centered. Selfish. A womanizer.” I need to keep repeating all his bad qualities to myself when I notice his good looks a little too much.
“If only that were enough to keep me away,” Addison sighs. “I’m a magnet for bad boys. I love them.” She drains her drink and orders another when another bartender passes by.
“You can have him,” I say, ignoring the weird feeling that is still in my stomach.
Addison sips her fresh drink when it’s placed in front of her. “Whew,” she gasps. “I need to slow down. I haven’t eaten since this morning, and this alcohol is going straight to my head.”
I laugh when she toasts me again, some of her drink spilling over the side of the glass. She’s quickly becoming tipsy. I sip my soda.
“You know,” a deep voice says from beside me, “it’s bad luck to toast with water.”
I turn to see a man wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled along his forearms, sitting on the stool beside me. He’s an attractive executive type.
“It isn’t water,” I inform him. “It’s Sprite.”
“That’s just as bad.” He smirks. I can smell the liquor on his breath. “Let me buy you a drink.” He signals to the bartender.
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m good.”
He ignores me, glancing at Addison’s cocktail before ordering a cosmopolitan. He slides it in front of me when it’s delivered. I push it in front of Addison, but she’s talking to the woman beside her so she doesn’t notice at first.
“Well, that’s not very nice,” the guy says, leaning closer. I press further into Addison. “A guy buys you a drink, you should take it.”
“Thanks, but I’m not drinking tonight.”
He’s pushy and somewhat arrogant, and I don’t like the way he doesn’t respect my personal space.
“Our pizza is here!” Addison squeals, redirecting my attention.
We rearrange things to make room for the food and plates. I’m thankful for the distraction. I turn away from the stranger and angle toward Addison as we talk and eat. She scoots her stool down a few inches when I confess that the guy next to me is making me uncomfortable. But he continues to press his shoulder into my back occasionally as he chats and drinks with his friends.
The restaurant is crowded, and the bar area is buzzing by the time we finish eating. Every stool is taken, and people are standing two and three deep behind our seats.
“I need to use the little girls’ room,” I say, leaning closer to Addison so she can hear me.
She nods while placing the remaining pizza slices into a to-go container.
I rise and weave my way through the people until I reach the restroom. I use the facilities after a small wait and open the door leading back into the hallway. It’s empty when I exit, but the guy who was sitting next to me at the bar rounds the corner before I’ve left the space.
“Hey,” he slurs, leering at me. His smile is slow and creepy.
“Excuse me,” I say, trying to sidestep him.
He mirrors my movements, stepping in front and cutting me off. The stranger is either terrible at reading body language, or too inebriated to care.
I glare up at him, unimpressed by his aggressiveness. “Let me by.”
He ignores me while crowding me against the wall with his bigger body. I can hear the noise of ambient conversations from the restaurant, but we’re alone in this space. When he reaches up to brush my hair back, I bristle, realizing I’m trapped and isolated.
I push against his chest, but he traps my hands there with one of his, pushing me further into the wall.
“You’re really pretty.”
His breath is stale against my cheek when I turn my face away. I glance at the women’s room, willing someone to come out.
“Let me go,” I plead, starting to panic when he moves even closer.
I tense and hold my breath. His chest is wide and solid. He’s like a brick wall leaning into me. His erection presses against my lower stomach.
Suddenly, I can breathe again as his body is ripped from mine. I see dirty-blond hair tumbling across a forehead before I register that Sam’s here. He tosses the man against the wall with a thud as I step away. Sam glares at the guy menacingly and pins his neck with his forearm.
“Did you not hear her say to let her go?” Sam growls.
But the guy can’t answer because his air is cut off. He’s choking.
“Learn to read body language, asshole.”
“Sam,” I say, touching his side, but he’s lost in a fog of rage. “Sam,” I repeat, louder this time, while gripping a piece of his shirt.
His nostrils are flaring, and his eyes are narrowed to slits. “If you touch her again against her will … I’ll end you.” It’s a threat and a promise.
After another second, Sam lowers his arm and steps back, his muscles still flexing in anticipation of retaliation. But the man hunches over while coughing, lowering his hands to his knees as he gasps for air.
Sam turns to me and grasps my forearm as he pulls me forward. “Let’s go.”
I exhale deeply and walk in front of Sam, allowing him to be a physical barrier between the stranger and me. His hand is warm and comforting, and he’s surprisingly gentle.
“Thanks,” I say, looking up into his stormy gray eyes as we walk around the corner. The noise level rises. “The guy was just drunk.”
“Don’t do that,” Sam demands. He’s still on edge, his jaw grinding in between words. “Don’t make excuses for that asshole.”
And he’s right. There’s no justification for a man to put his hands on an unwilling woman, intoxicated or not. I shouldn’t minimize it.
I glance around, sighing when I don’t see Addison in her seat at the bar. After the altercation in the hallway, I just want to leave.
“Cruz and the guys are walking Addison back to the hotel,” Sam explains, noticing me searching the space. “I said I would grab you. Good thing I did.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to get groped in the restroom hallway.” I laugh, but I’m still shaking. That guy scared me, but I don’t want to admit it to Sam.
“You need to be more self-aware,” he growls gruffly.
My eyebrows lift. “Self-aware … I just went to the bathroom. So, this was my fault?”
“Did I say that?” he spits angrily.
“You might as well have.” I don’t back down. He might have helped me out tonight, but that doesn’t give him license to aim his temper at me. “How many women have you groped when you were drunk?”
He stops and glares at me in barely restrained anger. “Exactly zero. I don’t have to grope women, and I don’t think I’ve ever come across one who’s unwilling.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s right; I forgot who I was talking to for a moment. The king of the fuckboys.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he challenges me arrogantly.
“It should be,” I counter. “But to someone like you, it’s a compliment.”
“Someone like me …” he repeats, nodding once or twice. “Right.”
He turns and starts moving again. I follow. We walk in silence back to the hotel, but somehow, everything feels better with him here. Sam doesn’t speak again until we’re alone in the elevator.
“Are you okay?” he asks. His voice is steadier now, more controlled.
“I’m okay,” I sigh.
“I guess we’re even now.”
I narrow my eyes. “Even?”
“You saved me from the club last night. Now, I’ve saved you.”
I smirk, picturing him with all the scantily clad women hanging off him on the dark dance floor. “Saved your reputation maybe,” I scoff. “The rest of you didn’t look like you wanted to be rescued last night.”
He shakes his head with a chuckle and looks away, but doesn’t deny it.
We stop in front of my room.
I open the door and turn toward the hockey stud. “Seriously, Sam, thank you.”
He nods.
The door shuts behind me, and I settle into my room. But exactly twenty minutes later, I hear the room beside mine open and close. Footsteps walk by. I automatically assume that it’s Sam going out for the night, so I don’t sleep much, tossing and turning and worrying instead. I’m too busy waiting for a call from Madison, saying that Sam is out somewhere, ruining his reputation again, and that I need to go get him.
But the call never comes.