The evening passes slowly. But at least I don’t have to avoid Heidi all night, in that killer dress and those fuck-me heels. I have no idea what her father said to her, but she lit out of here no more than two minutes after he arrived, and I haven’t seen her since.
Not that I ought to be looking.
Eventually the commissioner makes his way over to our cluster of players. “Good evening, boys,” he says, shaking O’Doul’s, Bayer’s, and then Silas’s hand. “I expect more great things from the team this year.”
“So do we,” O’Doul says easily.
The commissioner is well-respected, even though he’s only held the job for a couple of years so far. He had a hell of a career in Nashville before retiring to become their defensive coach and then general manager. He’s known to be a shrewd negotiator who always gets what he wants.
When he turns to me, I offer my hand, and I’m not entirely surprised when he attempts to crack all of my bones at once.
“Easy,” I say smoothly. “I’m going to need that hand to score.”
“My daughter is off limits,” he says immediately.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my teammates’ stunned faces. They didn’t expect him to go right for the jugular. “Not a problem, sir. That photograph does not tell an accurate story.”
Speaking of photographs, I can hear the telltale click of someone’s camera shutter right now. Some asshole is taking a picture of the commissioner trying to intimidate me.
I hate my life tonight. It’s a fact. But I smile anyway, damn it.
So does he. “Glad to hear it,” he says, and somehow his smile makes him look like he still wants to snap my neck. “She shouldn’t be out drinking with the players.”
“We have no reason to shun her, though,” O’Doul says, jumping in to rescue me. “We’re a friendly bunch. And even if she had a little too much to drink last night, these two made sure she stayed safe.” He puts a hand on both my and Silas’s shoulders.
“I can see that she’s fine,” the commissioner says with a chuckle. “And she has nothing but good things to say about you gentlemen.” He actually rolls his eyes. “But she’s an impressionable young thing who’s got her head on a little backwards right now. So any reminders you can give her that adult life is not one extended party would be appreciated. Now you boys take care, and I’ll see you on the golf course tomorrow, bright and early.”
Having said his piece, he moves on to shake more hands.
“That could have gone worse,” Silas says.
“You still have your balls,” O’Doul says, and then he laughs.
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” I track the commissioner across the room. “Sucks to be Heidi, though.”
“Because she’s forbidden to get into your pants?” Silas asks. “Any girl would be inconsolable. I hear there’s a waiting list.”
“Yeah, poor girl. I meant, though, that she has him for a dad. No wonder she decided to try tequila.”
“At least he cares,” Silas points out. “Not everybody has that.”
“Truth,” O’Doul agrees, just as Tommy the publicist steps into our circle.
“Evening, boys. Who’s ready to golf tomorrow? I’ve got O’Doul in a foursome with Silas.”
“You know I’m a hack, right?” O’Doul asks. “I don’t actually keep score for myself. It’s too embarrassing.”
“I taught him to score each hole with a smiley face or a frowny face,” Bayer adds. “It’s better for morale than to write a double-digit number on the sheet.”
“Double digits, eh?” Tommy chuckles. “Oh, man.”
“Who are you putting me with?” I ask Tommy.
He looks surprised. “I don’t have you down to play.”
“Seriously?” My hackles are up again already. “You don’t think the Latino can golf?”
“We need Castro,” Bayer says immediately. “Put him out front. He’s the only one on the team with a handicap.”
Tommy blinks. “The reason I don’t have you down for golf is that your clubs were not on the bus. So I assumed you don’t golf.”
“Oh, shit,” I say, feeling like an ass. “They’re in my hotel room. I didn’t ride the bus.”
Tommy pulls a sheet out of his pocket. “I’ll redo the foursomes.”
“Feel free to cut me from the roster,” O’Doul volunteers.
“I’ll take it under advisement.” Tommy strides away.
“Anyone want anything from the bar?” O’Doul asks.
“Not from this bar,” I say, peering into the dregs of my beer. I’m not fit for company tonight.
“Suit yourself,” O’Doul says before he heads for the bartender.
“Time check,” I say to Silas.
He glances at his designer watch. “It’s nine, big man. You’re almost off the clock.”
I drain the beer I’ve been nursing. “I think I’m done here. I took photos with dozens of people. I signed autographs and made small talk. Want to hit the hotel bar instead?” I can’t wait to take off this fucking bowtie that’s choking me. I love my team, but this is just one of those nights when professional hockey looks more like a dog-and-pony show than a sport.
“Maybe,” Silas says. “Leo wanted to go out for pizza, though.”
“You go without me.” I’m just not in the mood for people. “I’ll see you back at the hotel.”
I set my beer glass down on a table and glance around the room. Coach Worthington isn’t watching me and neither is the PR team. All great hockey players know how to find an opening, and I’ve just found mine.
Ten seconds later I’ve ducked from the patio into the lobby, and I’m making a break for the front doors. That buzzy, preseason energy is back, and it needs someplace to go.
Training camp has been great so far. It feels good to be back on the ice. But now I have to spend this ridiculous weekend in the Hamptons. It’s not a vacation. We’re here to impress fans on that undersized rink and at tomorrow’s charity golf tournament.
There’s no shortage of rich Long Islanders who will pay two grand each to get stuck in the sand trap with us. The course is supposed to be a real doozy. I hope I can write off the hundred dollars’ worth of balls I’m going to lose.
It’s a waste of time. I feel twitchy to skate and eager to prove myself.
I walk outside, fishing in my pocket for my wallet. I pull out a couple of singles. “Can I get my car?” I ask a waiting bellman. “It’s a…”
“Tesla Model X in Pearl White Multi-coat!” says a female voice. “This one is all mine, boys. Hand over that key.”
I blink, but Heidi Jo Pepper is still here. She’s curbside in that sleek dress that’s cupping her irresistible tits and fuck me-heels that glitter. As if my night weren’t long enough already.
And now she’s squabbling with the bellman, apparently over who gets to fetch my car.
“You said the next one was mine!” she says, holding her hand out for the key. “You promised not three minutes ago!”
“Miss Heidi…” the man says. “It depends on the vehicle.”
“Roger!” she gasps. “You’re kidding me! Don’t tell me you’re one of those. A man who thinks there’s something wrong with the way women drive!”
The little dude looks completely tongue-tied. And I’m betting he’s totally one of those.
“Hand it over,” she snaps. “Have you heard the term ‘hostile work environment’?”
This girl. Holy shit. It’s a struggle not to laugh.
Looking completely cowed, the guy hands over my key fob. “I parked it over by—”
“Oh, I saw where you parked it,” she snaps. “When you sent me to go get that 1994 Celica.” She tosses her hair. Then she turns to me. “Just a moment, sir.”
And then I’m watching her walk away into the darkness of the parking lot, her hips swaying defiantly in that sleek pink dress that I want so badly to unzip and peel her out of…
That’s when it hits me. She’s going to drive my baby. And suddenly I’m the same kind of asshole who’s worried about her skills behind the wheel.
So I take off after her. “Hey—Hot Pepper. Wait up!”
She doesn’t.
“Yo! You don’t have to get the car for me. I’ll get it.”
She lifts a hand and shows me her…pinky finger.
“What does that mean?” I ask as I finally catch up to her.
“It means I want to give you the finger but I’m too polite.”