Chapter 4:
Co-Workers
Honor
“Hi, this is Todd. I'm not here right now. Leave a message after the beep, and maybe I'll get back to you.”
. . . Beep!
“Todd! You were supposed to pick me up tonight! Answer your phone!”
With a stamp of my foot, I hung up. I'd been freezing my ass off outside the arena's staff exit for over an hour, trying to reach Todd.
Staff exit. Those words echoed in my mind. I was 'staff' now. Huh! Let that thought sink in for a minute.
But between Madison's weird warning about not hooking up with the players, and Todd leaving me stranded outside the arena late at night, I wasn't in much of a mood to celebrate my new job.
It also didn't help that Todd left me stranded on a night when the clouds above opened up and spat bullets of ice cold rain. The rain fell fast and hard, and each pellet pierced at the skin like a bee-sting. I wasn't dressed to deal with this. When I'd left for the audition, the weather was much warmer—and all I'd worn was a thin hoodie over my sports bra and dance shorts. I'd really regretted that fashion choice now.
Note to self: the weather in Denver can change in a hurry.
I stayed close to the arena, out of the sleet, fumbling with a city transit map and trying to figure out if there was, at the very least, a closer bus station—so I wouldn't have to walk quite so far in the freezing rain.
That's when I heard someone push through the arena doors behind me. Leather soles clicked on the concrete. The easy gait of a confident man strolled past me. An electric energy followed him—like the same storm clouds that had rolled overhead and blanketed the sky—and made the tiny tingly hairs on my neck stand straight up.
The sound of those shoes stopped just a few feet ahead of me. His magnetic presence lingered as he stopped, turned, and leered at me. But I didn't dare look up from my transit map. Call it rude, but Madison's warning had scared me witless. God knows—if that was a player, and he talked to me? And someone saw us talking? I could lose my job before I even started day one.
I pretended to study my map, hoping that mystery man would sense my panicked vibes—don't talk to me, don't talk to me!—and move along.
But, of course, he wouldn't. He took two steps closer to me instead.
“You lost?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth and right to the point.
I glanced up from my map—and what I saw made my heart pause in an instant. I'll say this: the handsome young man standing before me possessed the imposing height (6'2? 6'3?) and broad-shouldered build required of a professional athlete. Wearing a stylish trench coat over his well-tailored and obviously expensive midnight blue suit, he dressed like a young millionaire, too.
Gulp. This guy has 'hockey player' written all over him.
“No, not lost,” I answered shakily, and my paranoid eyes swept our surroundings for witnesses. “Thanks though.”
He ran a titan-sized hand through his unruly locks, and swept back his sandy-brown curls.
My eyes narrowed at him: the strong jawline, the square chin, the cheekbones—was he starting to look familiar? Was he the captain? Without all his hockey gear on, and without that giant 'C' stitched on the front of his jersey, I couldn't be sure.
But he shrugged. “Okay.” And then he turned and walked off.
I breathed a sigh of relief when he continued on—the sound of his footsteps growing more distant as he disappeared into the parking garage. Whew.
Another call to Todd went unanswered. More fumbling with my stupid map, which had been soaked by the rain, and was beginning to tear and fall apart.
Minutes later, bright white headlights rounded the corner of the parking garage. The car was heading towards me. The snarling, exotic-sounding engine powered down into a low, relaxed hum as the driver slowed alongside me—and came to a smooth stop.
Oh boy. Here we go again.
Inside, through darkly-tinted windows, all I could see was the orange ember of a cigarette. He smoked? Maybe he wasn't an athlete after all.
The passenger window slid half-way down. I bent my knees to take a peek in, even though I already knew it was him. Yup—it was him, alright, and now his dark and manly features were lit by the blue glow of the car's instrument panel.
“You sure you're not lost?” he asked.
“I promise I'm not lost. I'm—” I stammered. “I'm waiting for my ride to pick me up. I think.”
He chuckled. “You think?”
“Well—he was supposed to answer his phone—but …”
He tilted his head at me. “Weren't you one of the ice girl try-outs?”
I paused before admitting, “Yeah.”
“Did you get the job?”
“… Yeah.”
“Cool. Congrats.” He held up a parking permit that read, in big letters, STAFF. “Guess we're co-workers, then. It's a good organization to work for. You want a ride home?”
I folded my arms and pulled my hoodie tighter over my chest. “I—I shouldn't.”
His eyes swept down my bare legs for a brief second. “You're not dressed for this weather. You're going to freeze out here, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” I mumbled shamefully.
“So get in, and I'll drive you home.” He paused. “Or, don't. But only if you're sure your boyfriend hasn't blown you off.”
He took a slow drag from his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke out his window with a smugness that just oozed 'over-confident dick-head.'
My nostrils flared. I hated that he was right—but who was I really mad at? This jerk, for basically implying that Todd didn't care enough to come pick me up? Or Todd, who might very well not care enough to rescue me from this storm?
He leaned across the console, reached for the door handle, and popped the passenger door open as if he just expected me to climb in.
I peeked in, still unsure. His car straddled the line between sporty and luxurious, with aggressively-styled, caramel-colored leather seats. Seductive and hypnotic beats bumped softly from his speakers, luring me in.
I sighed and took one last survey of the area. No one else was around. No one had to know! And I had the excuse of ignorance, here—sort of. I quickly climbed in and shut my door.
“Thanks,” I said—and I made the mistake of locking eyes with my new co-worker, even as the cabin lights began to dim.
Those eyes of his took me by surprise. Bright and beautiful, with long, beating lashes. But there was a darkness, a brooding pain lingering behind his eyes. It wasn't a darkness that scared you away. Worse, it was one that sucked you in before it ruined you—like the coast that recedes into the sea before a devastating tsunami.
Oh. Wow. My throat clenched. I couldn't look away. I was thankful when the cabin lights finally went dark a second later.
“Don't mention it,” he answered.
I had to get the suspense over with.
“Hey, you're not an athlete, are you?” I asked.
“No,” he answered with a smile. “I'm an ice technician that drives a Maserati.”
“Oh,” I answered, relieved … but strangely disappointed.
It's better this way, though.
And I had to remind myself: he's an over-confident dick-head because he's good-looking.
Don't fall for it.