Crawling around on her hands and knees in her office was never a good way to start the day. If anyone walked in, they would see her ass up in the air, and her shoes kicked off next to her desk. Definitely not office appropriate. Penny’s hair slipped from her clip as she crawled toward her credenza, the uncooperative curls at it again.

She bit back her frustrated laughter, and blew a wayward blonde strand out of her eyes.

“Where is that damn clicker?”

She’d already dug through the files on her normally immaculate desk. Nothing. Her lack of organization caused her cheek to tick. She had a presentation in an hour for a new and extremely important client, and instead of going over her notes one last time, she was on the floor looking for her damn PowerPoint remote.

She peeked under the cabinet.

Lots of dust—gross. And the clicker.

She felt a twinge as she shifted on her right knee. Six months ago, she’d wiped out at her drunken bachelorette party. The bachelorette party that never should’ve happened. But after surprising her fiancé at his office, the morning of the party, and getting her own surprise when she’d walked in on his boss gyrating in Michael’s lap–the woman’s moans reminiscent of an episode of Wild Kingdom on Animal Planet–Penny had needed to numb the pain with martinis. A lot of martinis. And shots. She couldn’t forget the shots.

Damn cheating bastard.

That night, she hadn’t confessed to her friends that she’d called the wedding off. She couldn’t dwell on a cancelled wedding, a cancelled future, when she was tossing back shots and dancing until her knee gave out.

She’d learned many valuable lessons that evening.

Never wear a veil in a bar.

Never take three shots in a row, just “because you went to college.”

And “dropping it like it’s hot,” isn’t that hot when you end up sprawled out on the dance floor in pain.

She’d put a serious dent in her pride that night. At least from what she could recall.

She shook off her memories. It was over, and she had to stop thinking about the plans they’d made. Plans she’d counted on.

Her ex-fiancé was a forgotten memory. Not totally forgotten. But she was working on that.

Her honeymoon—well, that was another story.

Stop it.

She was completely distracted, but she was nervous about today, and her brain was flitting off in random directions. Hence, the messy desk and disappearing clicker. She stuck her hand under the credenza, grasped the offending clicker, and sat back on her heels.

The less time on her knees the better. She always feared it would dislocate on her again. And she did not have time for that right now.

She stood up and sank down into her chair, grabbing the Alexander file. She was prepared, but one more run-through would make her feel better.

She crossed clicker off her list and scanned her notes. Robert, her boss, was looking to promote someone to Accounting Manager, and she’d been with the company for five years. The position should’ve been hers last year, and she hoped she hadn’t been overlooked because she’d been in wedding mode. Another way Michael had screwed her while he was screwing someone else.

She was determined to land this account and that promotion. She’d done a detailed review of everything she could find on Mr. Alexander and his company, since she would be handling his personal and business accounts. She read through everything one last time, making notes in the presentation so she didn’t forget anything.

Today had to be perfect.

***

“To Penny, may she finally get the promotion she deserves,” Amanda said as she toasted with her lemon drop martini later that night at Byrne’s grand opening.

Lexi lifted her glass. “Yes, to Penny. It’s about time.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Today was just an initial meeting. I’m hoping the guy signs on, but even with that account, I might not get promoted,” Penny said to both of her friends. Today couldn’t have gone better. Well, that was a lie. Mr. Alexander could’ve signed the contract instead of informing her that he was meeting with two other firms and she’d hear back in a week or two.

“We should celebrate with a cookie bomb, too,” Lexi said, and Penny chuckled.

“You and that freaking dessert,” Amanda said.

“Adam promised to keep it on the menu,” Lexi said, glancing toward the bar where her boyfriend, Grant, sat talking to his best friend and the bar owner, Adam Byrne.

“I don’t have the promotion yet, you guys. I don’t even technically have the client yet.”

Lexi took a sip of wine. “But you will. Mr. Knight can’t keep holding you back or he’ll eventually lose you.”

“Damn straight,” Amanda stated, with a fist pump. “You could always go out on your own.”

“Too many risks in that,” Penny said. Not that she hadn’t thought about it. She’d weighed the pros and cons multiple times—every time someone else was promoted.

“I’m sure you have the checklists to confirm it, but you could take a chance. It could work,” Amanda said.

“Or it could be a disaster. I’m sure I’ll get promoted eventually,” Penny muttered, ignoring her friend’s checklist dig. Making lists was important. How else could she make sure she examined every option and didn’t miss anything?

“Well, I still say you’re going to get it. I think this calls for a round of shots,” Amanda said, her gray eyes twinkling.

Penny knew that look. It’d gotten her into way too much trouble over the years, especially six months ago. Well, not the look exactly, more like the line of shots that followed.

“Definitely no shots for me tonight. It’s a work night,” Penny said.

“Fine. I’ll go grab another round of drinks.” Amanda slipped off her stool and practically floated to the bar, her hips swaying as she walked.

So unfair. Perfect hair, petite body. If Amanda wasn’t one of Penny’s best friends, she’d be tempted to trip her. But Amanda was also graceful, so she’d probably stand back up as if nothing happened.

Penny, on the other hand, had the grace of a newborn gazelle. No, not a gazelle. They were typically agile. She was like the gazelle for the first few seconds after birth. All arms and legs. No coordination. Not that a gazelle actually had arms…

“I’m glad the meeting went well. I know that Robert has been hinting around that he’s ready to promote, and you’re the obvious choice. We all know he doesn’t want the hassle of looking for someone outside of the company.” Lexi was the office manager and took care of all HR at Knight and Welling, so she would know.

“I really hope that I get it. I’ve been feeling stuck, like he was never planning to move me up.” She fiddled with the stem of her glass. It was so damn frustrating.

“You deserve this, and Robert should recognize that. How many accounts have you brought in this year?” Lexi asked.

“At least four large accounts, and a handful of individual accounts. He even mentioned positive changes coming soon when I spoke with him after my meeting today. And this would be our biggest client.” But she hated getting her hopes up, only to have them crushed.

“The job should be yours,” Lexi said.

“I hope so.”

“I have a good feeling about this.”

Amanda came back with more martinis in hand. “What did I miss?”

“Just talking about work stuff.”

“Boring. How about we talk about the hot guys in this bar? I think the pickings are even better than usual. Adam mentioned hockey players. Lexi, you’re here all the time. Point them out,” Amanda said.

Lexi laughed. “I’m going with that group of guys over there. The asses are a dead giveaway.”

“Are you scoping out other guys?” Grant asked, coming up and wrapping his arms around Lexi’s waist, and kissing her.

“Definitely not. Your skater’s butt is more than enough for me,” she said. Grant played in a rec league with Adam.

“Glad to hear it. And yes, Amanda, Adam played in the AHL with a few of the Strikers, so some of the guys are here tonight,” Grant said, and Penny looked toward the bar. It was a hot looking group.

“Hey, Harty. Over here,” one of the guys called out.

Penny took a sip of her drink and scanned the bar, her gaze stopping at the door, where Harty stood, and her heart dropped to the floor.

No. It wasn’t possible.

He wasn’t looking at her, his face was turned to the side, but she caught the hint of the crooked smile she knew so well.

Memories flooded her, and she was back in Tuscany. Back to her sham of a honeymoon. She’d needed to get away from everyone after Michael’s betrayal and the trip to Italy had already been booked and paid for. She still couldn’t believe she had gotten on that plane and gone to Italy on her own.

But it had been worth it. She had met him.

They had crossed paths during a tour of a vineyard near Montalcino. He’d sat beside her at the long farmhouse table for lunch, and as the wine flowed, so had their conversation. He’d been so easy to talk to. His laugh had captured her, intrigued her. He laughed without a care in the world, and at that moment, she’d coveted his unbridled happiness.

And a couple nights later, after too many bottles of wine, one thing had led to another, and…and she had just needed to forget her life at home, her called-off wedding. Liquid courage, they called it, and boy had it delivered. For every moment of the next week in Tuscany, he had been there, making her smile. Making her forget. She could still taste the wine-drenched kisses.

It had been a fling. A fantastic fling, but a fling nonetheless. They hadn’t even exchanged last names.

“Penny?” he asked, his shock most likely mirroring hers. Of course, hers was more of a panicked shock.

“Ethan? What are you doing here?” Her voice came out on a crack. How the hell was he here?

“I should ask the same of you,” he said, his voice tight.

“I live here. You know that. But why aren’t you in New York?” Penny asked, her hand clutching her martini glass so tightly that she feared she’d snap it.

“Penny, what is going on?” Lexi asked, shifting closer to her. Penny’s gaze darted between her friends and Ethan, concern and question in their eyes.

“Umm. I should go. Big day tomorrow,” Penny said, setting down the fragile martini glass and clutching her bag. She had to get the hell out of there.

“Penny. Wait, is this Italian Ethan?” Lexi whispered, her eyes wide.

Oh God, here it comes. She couldn’t face their questions now—or ever. The woman obsessed with making lists and checking them twice—or three—or thirty times, had thrown pros and cons to the wind and had a week-long fling with a stranger in a foreign country. It so wasn’t her. Hell, she still couldn’t explain it to herself, let alone anyone else.

Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to come back and bite her in the ass. She lived here. He told her he lived in New York. He was currently on the wrong coast for that to be true, so what else had he lied about? Panic was firing on all cylinders now.

“Penny,” Amanda said, dragging her name out in clear question.

“I should go. Sorry. Lexi, I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” Penny said, giving Ethan one last look before rushing out of the bar, the questions yelled at her fading to silence as the door shut behind her. She shivered in the crisp night air, her coat forgotten as her fight or flight instinct kicked in. Tonight, she’d gone for flight.

What the hell had just happened? She walked briskly down the street, praying for either a sinkhole to open up and swallow her whole or a cab to stop. Frankly, it was a toss-up as to which one she’d prefer.

“Harty, get your head out of your ass,” Nels Seibert, assistant coach for the Strikers, called out the next morning during practice when Ethan missed an easy shot.

Shit. He had to get it together. He skated back to the bench, sliding in next to their captain, Ben “Cheesy” Chester.

“What’s up with you, man?” Cheesy asked.

“Nothing. Rough night,” Ethan said, still in shock from seeing Penny fifteen hours ago. Not that he was counting. He’d known running into her was a possibility, but in a city of over eight hundred thousand, what were the odds that he’d run into her at the reopening of Adam’s bar? It should’ve been slim—extremely slim. Practically non-existent.

Yet there she’d stood, steps from him, her green eyes bright, her cheeks pale in panic, and her hair. Fuck, her hair. He’d wrapped the curly length in his hand, the early Tuscan sunlight turning it to spun gold as he’d brought them both to shattering orgasm that first morning together. Shit. He couldn’t think about that now. Hell, it’d played on loop last night as he’d tried to drink the image away. He’d woken up with a headache and a tented sheet this morning as a result.

He didn’t have time to think about that now, which of course meant that he could only think about that. About her. It’d been six months since she’d slipped out of her hotel room in the early morning hours, just a note saying thanks for a good time, that room service was on its way up with breakfast, and to not forget checkout at eleven. Shock hadn’t even begun to explain his feelings in that moment.

And now she’d turned up unexpectedly, screwing with his head. And he still didn’t know her last name. He’d had no idea when he’d been in Italy, when he’d told her he lived in New York, that his days on the East Coast were numbered. The trade had been a complete shock. He was still getting over it. They were both living in the same city and apparently had mutual friends. The world was not that small.

His plans last night had been to have a few drinks with the guys and head home, resting up for tonight’s game against his old team, but he’d had no desire to go back into the bar after he’d seen her. Her friends had whispered Italian Ethan, and he’d bet money that the guys would razz him about breaking hearts when he’d just returned to the city, so he’d headed to his new townhouse, and played bartender on his own.

He didn’t have time for this. Seibs was right. He needed to get his head on straight and focus. It was the first time he was playing his old team in his new house, and he had to be on fire.

“Tonight’s a big game. You going to be ready?” Cheesy asked.

Ethan heard the you better not fuck up. It was silent, but it was there. His reputation had preceded him. Not that he’d expected anything else, but he was damn tired of his game not doing enough of the talking. Yeah, he was a party boy—had perfected it over the years—but he played to win—always.

Tonight would be no different, except he’d be stealing pucks from guys he’d played with for years instead of passing to them. He’d played for New York for six years until they’d traded him this summer with one year left on his contract. He’d known the reasons, but it didn’t stop him from being pissed about the trade. He’d expected to play the rest of his career in New York, but it was true that no matter your skill level, you were never safe from a trade.

New York had one of the best teams in the league, so he needed to get his shit in gear. He’d gone to the Playoffs for the last five years with them, and they’d made it to the final round a few years ago. The Strikers—they were a different story. Sure, he was playing on the top line now, when he’d been second—sometimes third—line in New York, but the Strikers had a consistency issue with the Playoffs, missing it for a few years, and being bumped first round last year.

While Stanley was still elusive, Ethan was used to winning and making a deep run in the postseason. Now he’d just be happy for the Strikers to get there. The team looked good this year, but it was still early.

It sucked being traded to a second-tier team, but those were the cards he’d been dealt, and he had to suck it up and help his team to victory, especially tonight. Less than two points wasn’t an option.

“I’m good, man,” he said, focusing back on the ice. They were working penalty kills. Hopefully, that special team wouldn’t spend too much time on the ice tonight. New York currently had the top power play spot, while the Strikers penalty kill was ranked in the middle of the league.

Practice wrapped up, and he headed to the locker room.

“Nervous about tonight? Afraid they’ll finally be able to bang you up because you’re the enemy now?” Max Bastian, top line defenseman chirped, his French accent still thick even though he’d been playing in the States for almost a decade.

“Funny, Baz. Real funny,” Ethan grumbled.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Baz said, beating his hands on his chest like an overgrown gorilla—which was a pretty accurate description. Baz had kept his bushy beard for years. It wouldn’t surprise Ethan if something was living in that ragged mess.

“Good to know,” Ethan said, shaking his head.

“And don’t forget to shoot at the right net. You know, since you’re on our team now,” Connor Horton said, his cheeks flushed as the guys ruffled the kid’s hair. Ah, to be a rookie. Still figuring out your place and your chirps.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Timmy,” Ethan said, before heading to the showers. His determination to prove he belonged here would get him through the game—the season. At some point, his skill and dedication to the game had to overshadow every stupid thing he’d done off the ice.

***

“Top line, huh. No one else available?” New York’s captain, and Ethan’s one time roommate, taunted as Ethan faced off against him at the start of the game.

“Really funny, man. Nice to see you, too,” The chirping had started as soon as the teams had hit the ice tonight during the warm-up, a mix of shoulder bumps and heckling were how hockey players showed their affection, and Ethan wouldn’t have it any other way. With international play and trades, you always ended up playing with someone you might’ve hated before. He could only hope that his new teammates felt the same. Bringing home a win tonight would definitely help on that end.

“It’s good to see you. I will apologize in advance for kicking your ass tonight,” the captain said.

Ethan gripped his stick, the ref held out the puck, and Ethan focused on the small rubberized disk. “We’ll see about that,” he said, as he dropped his stick to the ice and won the face-off, knocking it back to Cheesy, and then they were skating up the ice toward Ethan’s former goalie.

Being on the ice was always a rush, the cool air across his face, his legs pumping as he zeroed in on his goal. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his old captain trying to snag the puck from his new captain, and he tapped his stick on the ice, letting Cheesy know he was open.

The puck hit his tape and he deked around his former teammates, shooting the puck toward the goal. It clanged off the pipes, but the goalie didn’t grab it, so Ethan snagged the rebound and knocked it between the goalie’s legs.

The goal horn sounded and his new teammates crashed into him in a bruising hug. Not that he could feel it through all his pads.

“That’s right,” Sully called out, tapping Ethan’s helmet.

“Damn straight,” Baz cheered, his hug extra exuberant.

“Great shot,” Cheesy said, with a hug and a tap on the helmet.

Ethan didn’t fight his grin as he skated up next to his old captain and former roommate. “You were saying?”

His friend laughed. “Nice shot, man. But we’re still taking you down.”

“We’ll see about that,” he shot back.

And three hours later, when they’d beaten New York soundly, a painful five to two, Ethan was still grinning as his team cheered around him.