Chapter 3
Solo travel tip:
Plans won’t always go as expected, so have a back-up. And keep some emergency cash hidden away.
Roll it up in a tampon holder or lipstick tube. Hopefully a thief won’t find it there.
~ Adventurous Amanda, October 2011
“There they are,” Penny said when Amanda broke through the crowd, yummy pale ale in her hand, grumpy giant at her back. Although he’d been flirty. It was a start.
Amanda had resisted the urge to look behind her to see if he’d still followed her. The heat at her back, the soft woodsy smell that was pure Ben, surrounded her. God, she wanted to lean back and sink into him. He’d probably freak and bolt again, but she couldn’t stop touching him. And each harmless gesture sent sparks through her body.
She tried to be playful, to get a read on him, but as always, he left her baffled. One minute he was flirting and the next standoffish. And then that kiss. Yep. Baffled.
“Just grabbing a drink with Cheese,” she said, biting back her smirk at the faint growl behind her. Jesus, that growl was hot, and sent the sparks flying off again. She was well aware that he hated her nickname for him, but she couldn’t resist taunting the bear.
“Glad you didn’t bail, Cheesy,” Ethan said, toasting his beer in Ben’s direction.
“Yes, yes. We win together, we lose together, we drown our sorrows together,” Ben muttered.
“Exactly,” Ethan said, then turned to face Amanda. “Loved the article today, by the way.”
Ben wasn’t touching her, but she felt him stiffen behind her. The air changed, if that was possible. “What article?” he bit out.
“Amanda’s a writer. Works at SF Life. She wrote an article about the team.”
“You’re a reporter?” The words sounded like a curse from his lips, and she spun around.
“First of all, thanks for reading it, Ethan,” she said with a quick glance over her shoulder to Ethan. Hopefully it hadn’t been too fluffy for someone who actually played the game. Then she turned her gaze back on Ben. “And what is your deal?” She didn’t miss the color creeping up his neck as a few of the other guys leaned in. Served him right.
“I didn’t realize we had the media just walking around and taking notes when we weren’t aware. I didn’t come here tonight to have to worry seeing what I said amongst friends ending up in the press.”
“Whoa, man. Calm down,” Ethan said, as Amanda continued to glare at Ben. He had a lot of fucking nerve.
“What, exactly, is the big deal? I write for a lifestyle magazine. We don’t cover sports typically.”
“So why are you writing about us? And what are you writing about us?” His face hardened.
“I’m writing a series of articles for visitors. What to do and see in town that’s outside the normal tourist traps. I thought seeing the local sports team play was a good idea. Something different. I didn’t realize I needed a signed permission slip from you,” she bit out.
“Okay. Okay. Ben isn’t a fan of the media,” Ethan said, trying to settle them, but she wasn’t interested in playing along.
“You don’t say. And why is that? Someone do a number on you? You don’t like to talk about yourself. Isn’t that part of your job as a professional athlete? Talking to reporters?” The steam was rising, threatening to choke her, and her fingers itched in anger.
“No one did a number on me. I just like to know what’s going on with my team and to make sure we aren’t giving out free press to friends who aren’t upfront about who they are.”
Holy shit. Was he serious?
“I’m not a regular reporter. I’m an editorial assistant who sometimes gets to write a few pieces for the magazine. It’s a newbie’s view of the game. There were no interviews. I didn’t quote anyone. It was my perspective as a fan. I don’t know what your deal is, but direct your distaste for the media somewhere else.”
“So we should just assume that you won’t write about us? And why pick hockey? Because you had an in with Penny? Reporters are always looking for an in.”
“And now we’ve moved on to general sweeping assumptions. You know what they say about assuming,” she said. She hadn’t known this asshole side existed. Sure, he was short with the media, but Ethan always joined in and took over. Had Ben always been a media nightmare for the team? What the hell had happened to him?
“You shouldn’t call the talent an ass. They won’t do you any favors.”
“For fuck’s sake. I’m not asking for any favors, and you’re being an ass. Don’t worry, Cheese. I won’t be revealing any of your deep, dark secrets.” How dare he accuse her of exploiting them for favors.
His lips tightened. “What do you know about my secrets?” The question was soft, but she didn’t miss the weight behind it.
Yes, something was definitely up with him. And now she wanted to know every secret he had.
“While I would love to delve into the crazy superstitions that I’ve heard you all have, it was more of an overview. Fluff, really. I’m not after your secrets,” she said, unsure of why she felt the need to reassure him.
What was his issue with reporters? Not that she classified herself as a reporter, but something was definitely going on with him. Sure, the press could crowd a person, maybe get in his face because of his elite athlete status, but that was not who she was, or the type of journalist she ever wanted to be. She was perfectly content with writing about travel and food.
“Have you always been a reporter?” Ben asked.
She pulled back and stared at him. He would not let this go, and it made her want to research the hell out of him. Or throw a drink in his face. She could go either way right now.
“Cheese,” she drew out, ignoring his bristle. “I’m not a reporter. I have no desire to do an in-depth review of anyone on the team. Anything you say to me, will not end up online, I promise. The sports article is done, and I probably won’t be writing about hockey—or its players—again, so chill out.”
“Fine. I’m just trying to protect my team,” he sputtered, and she refused to soften at his words, at the sincerity in his voice. She was annoyed with him. To even suggest…
“Don’t assume that I’m infiltrating your ranks for an exposé or anything. That is not what I write or what I ever plan on writing. Ever.”
“Let’s get another drink,” one of his teammates said, slapping his hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“No. I’ve had my one. I’m going to head out,” he said, setting his empty glass on the high top table. The clank rang through her ears, and no one else moved.
“Come on. We’ve explained the article. Everything’s good. We just got here,” Ethan said. “What happened to drowning our sorrows together as a team?”
“I’ll see everyone at practice tomorrow,” he said, and without another look at her, aside from a cold nod, he left the bar.
She stared at the door, still swinging shut. “What the hell just happened?”
Ethan shook his head. “I have no idea. He’s prickly with the media, as you’ve gathered.”
“That’s prickly? I’d hate to see when he really despises something.”
Ethan barked out a laugh—an awkward laugh. “Yeah. We’re working on that. I’m not sure what happened, but something did and he doesn’t like to talk about it, so I haven’t pried.”
“Good thing I’m not a reporter, or I’d pry the hell out of that.”
He eyed her. “Yeah, good thing.”
“Ethan. I wouldn’t. You know that, right?”
“Yes. And he’ll figure that out in time.”
She scoffed. “Anyway. Now that that’s over, I think I’ll get another drink.”
A few of the guys clamored to buy her next round. She requested another pale ale and thanked Baz for the round. She liked him. He was charming, even without the teeth. And she pushed Ben from her mind. Far from her mind. At least that’s what she told herself as she sipped her new beer.
“When do I get to read this article?” Baz asked. “And I’m hurt. You didn’t mention any of us?”
She grinned. “It’s available on the magazine’s website. But you don’t need to read it. My hockey knowledge is minimal.” She hadn’t wanted to mention it or make a big deal out of it in front of the guys.
The article had been good. The perfect mix of information and anecdotes. And with the uptick in online traffic on the site today, Betsy had been pleased. That was all that mattered. The dragon had almost cracked a smile. Amanda had briefly toyed with the idea of asking the woman if it had hurt, but she’d resisted.
“Well, I think it’s a very interesting take on the game. Most sports articles are filled with numbers, percentages, and stats,” Penny said, the worry still on her face after the confrontation with Ben. Amanda definitely hadn’t heard the last on that topic from her friend.
Ethan chuckled, pulling his girlfriend close, and brushed a kiss across her curls. “You get this dreamy expression when you say stats. Should I be jealous?”
“I assumed you knew all about her weird number love by now,” Amanda chimed in, the tension around the table fading with every second that passed since Ben had left.
But Amanda was still wound tight. He’d thrown her for a loop tonight and then bolted before the dust could settle. All he did was drum up more questions. And while part of her wanted to shrug them, and him, off, she was too curious about the different sides of the captain.
“We aren’t making the post season if you play like you did last night. A different team better show the hell up tomorrow afternoon,” Bugsy barked out at the end of the team meeting. He’d handed them their asses over the last hour, and they’d deserved every remark that came from the coaching staff.
Ben grimaced. Six-one was unacceptable. They’d played sloppy last night, and their one goal had been a fluke.
They’d spent the morning on the ice, running penalty kill drills and two-on-one scenarios. The breakaways last night couldn’t happen with the regularity that they had. Ben still wasn’t sure what had happened last night and that pissed him off even more. He was the captain. He should always be on, always aware of what was going on with his team. And making a concerted effort to push the guys to be the best they could.
Last night he’d failed on all counts. His concentration was off, and he was not happy about it. His concentration was never off. One of the perks of focusing on hockey his entire life was that he was never off.
“We can’t make a deep run with the shitty team that played last night,” Bugsy’s statement pulled Ben from his thoughts. Their coach was right, and it irked Ben that Bugsy had to state the obvious to the team this far into the season.
The guys nodded in agreement, a few shouted yes and no shit, but it was one thing to say it and another to actually follow through.
“Now get out of here,” Bugsy shouted. “And rest up, because tomorrow’s game is early and we can’t play like shit again.”
The guys skated off the ice, Ben, tapping each helmet as they passed. He was always the first one on the ice and the last one off. Had been that way since he first started playing. Harty took his sweet time making his way to the bench.
They’d been teammates since the start of the season. And linemates almost from the beginning. Ben had heard the rumors of Harty’s bad behavior, of why he’d been traded, but Ben hadn’t seen that version of Harty. All he saw was a great teammate, a guy who wanted to help out on and off the ice.
“What’s up?” he asked, when Harty reached the bench door.
“I should ask you the same.”
Ben stared at him quizzically, but he knew exactly what Harty was getting at, and he didn’t want to talk about it. About her.
“Yeah, last night’s loss sucked,” Ben muttered. “But tomorrow is a new game, and we’re going to win it.”
“That’s the plan, but that’s not what I’m talking about. What’s up with you running out of the bar last night?”
Shit. He wasn’t getting out of this easily.
“I didn’t run out of the bar. Little dramatic, aren’t you, Harty?” he stated, keeping his expression neutral. He ignored his linemate’s smirk.
“Look, I know you aren’t a fan of reporters. They can be annoying as hell, and you don’t have to tell me that one of them did something to you, but Amanda isn’t like that. Read her articles, man. She’s not trying to write an exposé about the team.”
“If you say so,” he muttered. “Can we just forget about last night?”
“I’d love to. But, if you want to talk about it, I’m a decent listener.”
Ben brushed him off. He had no desire to talk about it. He’d been an ass to Amanda last night, but he’d been blind-sided. “Thanks. You guys stay out late?” he asked, trying to shift the conversation, and wishing Harty would just get off the damn ice so he could shower and go home.
“No, we all headed home pretty early.”
“I would hope so. I can’t imagine dealing with today’s practice hungover.” Much safer topic. Not that he drank much during the season. One drink after a game, and he rarely had a drink on nights before a game day. Alcohol made him sluggish and that would not get them to the playoffs.
“As long as that’s it,” Harty said, his hedging not subtle. Confiding in a new friend was not something Ben was on board with. Not that he had anything to confide, but he wanted this line of questioning over.
“What are you girls gossiping about?” Baz stuck his head out at the end of the bench.
“Nothing,” Ben grumbled. The last thing he needed was Baz invading the inquisition. The man gossiped more than the bunnies. “Just trying to get Harty to move it so I can wash the stench off me.” But he couldn’t bring himself to head down the tunnel until Harty exited the ice. He was essentially trapped. He bristled at his quirks, but remained where he stood, resting against the boards.
“Yeah, nothing’s going on, Baz. Just chatting with the captain about last night,” Harty said, his gaze finally neutral, the inquisition over.
“Man, last night fucking sucked,” Baz said, shaking his head. “And it was a team effort in suckage. And what was your deal with Amanda last night? She’s great.”
“Nothing. I don’t like not knowing when someone is press. Just leave it,” he muttered. Most of the guys were aware of his distaste and they usually let it ride, but snapping at Amanda, who’d become friendly with his teammates through Penny, had brought his issue to the forefront. Which was the last thing he wanted.
“Don’t give her such a hard time. Did you read the article? She didn’t even mention me. Not once,” Baz said, his hand pressed to his chest.
“The horror,” Ben deadpanned.
“Anyway. Don’t be a dick to her,” Baz said, the humor gone as his eyes narrowed. What the hell?
“I’m working on it. Just like I’d like to be working on that shower.”
“Yeah, seriously. You guys smell worse than Timmy’s gear bag last month.”
“You have no one to blame but yourself for that,” Harty said, and Ben barked out a laugh. It came out harsh, but he wasn’t known for his laughter, so the guys shrugged it off without question. He was relieved for the subject change.
Baz had tried hazing the rookie last month. It was tradition, and he never got them at the beginning of the season. You knew it was coming, but the anticipation made the sadistic ass smirk with glee, so he waited until you were comfortable.
Connor “Timmy” Horton had been with the team for months. His guard was down. Or so the guys had thought. Somehow Timmy’s gear bag that Baz had filled with every unwashed jock he could find had wound up in Baz’s stall, not Timmy’s.
Timmy’s pure joy at one-upping the guy had been short-lived when Baz had face-washed Timmy with an especially used strap. The words oh god, it’s in my mouth still made the guys chuckle. Baz had cemented himself back in his prankster role, but seeing the guy knocked down a peg, however briefly, had been worth it. Maybe not to Timmy.
Baz grinned. “Ah, you win some, you lose some. Luckily, I typically win.”
Harty finally stepped off the ice, and Ben followed behind him, tapping his stick against the bench door three times before heading down the tunnel. At least the questions weren’t on him anymore.
Dammit. He needed to work on not being obvious. He’d hoped no one had paid attention to his abrupt departure. He didn’t want to think about last night. Or finding out that the woman he wanted to kiss more than anything was part of the media. He hated the media. They weaseled in, exposing any secret they could get their hands on, embellishing to suit their needs and further their careers.
He’d rather think about Amanda and how he still wanted to kiss the hell out of her, especially when she’d turned on him last night. Calling him out. It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. Her eyes blazing, that flush creeping up into her cheeks. He hadn’t been in the right headspace to deal with her, so he’d bolted. Not that he was ever in the right headspace where she was concerned.
He’d gone home and reviewed everything he’d ever told her in his head. Not that it’s been much. He was guarded. Everyone commented on Captain Stony. Another nickname he could do without.
There was always some reporter in the room after the game, shoving a camera or mic in his face, trying to squeeze more information out of him. Get to know him. They didn’t want to know him. They wanted to exploit him for page views and copies sold.
Hell. He sounded arrogant. He was well-aware that the world didn’t revolve around him, that most people didn’t know who he was. But he could thank Tara for making him think the worst of anyone who carried a media badge.
After he’d finished stewing, he’d gone on to read every article Amanda had written. And every post on her Adventurous Amanda travel blog. He’d been amazed at some of the places she’d visited. And jealous. He rarely left the country. And when he did, it was for away games in Canada or a quick vacation in between off-season practice sessions.
After a quick Google search, he’d discovered that she’d been nothing but honest with him. Her articles and posts were about travel and food. Mundane topics. No hard-hitting news pieces.
He’d let out a sigh of relief at that. And then he’d felt like a total douche for his reaction last night. She hadn’t deserved his scorn. But he didn’t know her that well. Aside from the brief moment of having his tongue down her throat last month.
That kiss ever-present in his mind. Shit. He needed to work on banishing it.
And her articles were good. Her writing was solid and engaging. With every travel article he’d read, he could feel the sun on his skin, the taste of the local delicacies, and the thrill of each adventure she’d taken. Not that he planned to bungee jump off some random bridge in Costa Rica any time soon. His fear of heights and his common sense would’ve kept him far away from the rails.