The Season Starts Off with a Bang, Though Not the Kind I’d Like

 

Who knew Thor from the party would turn out to be one of Brent’s teammates?

When I return to my bedroom I take out the file the team provided on Benjamin Perry. Just as I remembered, and like in Brent’s folder, there are no pictures.

What do they think, that everyone on the planet loves hockey and knows these guys?

Well, you’re starting to do both.

“Good point.”

I want nothing more than to call my sister and share with her all the events of late. First off, I’d tell her about Benjamin Perry. She’d die if she knew Thor—ah, I mean Benny—is my client’s friend. But then again, maybe it’s for the best that Lainey not be involved. Though Benny is supposedly clean and sober, his manwhoring ways are well-documented in the file. I seriously doubt that behavior was addressed in rehab. He’s probably still a player.

Crap, I feel bad thinking about him like that. He’s actually a really nice, likable guy. That’s also going to make it hard to keep in mind that I need to watch Brent around him. One of the things the team wants reined in is Brent’s womanizing. Not a problem thus far, but hanging with Benny could lead to that kind of bad behavior starting back up.

I’m thankful I haven’t seen that side of Brent. I would’ve simply been annoyed early on, but with my burgeoning feelings for him now in play, I’d be livid if he started whoring around. I’d also be insanely jealous. Eye-gouging might occur, and maybe even some hair-pulling. Not that I’d have any right, as I have no claim on the guy. But damn it all to hell! I do have feelings for him, strong feelings.

That’s why what happened in my room can never happen again. No matter how much I want it to. My job isn’t to seduce the guy, though how much fun would that be? My job is to keep him on track. And that means keeping my own damn self under control when it comes to the lust department.

That becomes supremely difficult when a couple weeks later I attend the home opener, a game kicking off the new season.

Sweet baby Jesus!

Who knew Brent Oliver would be so breathtakingly beautiful on the ice? Not only is he a pretty skater, all fluid-like and graceful, but he’s fast as hell and his skills are off the charts.

I ask you, what’s more appealing than a man who’s good at what he does?

Nothing, I say.

Hell, I should’ve gotten into hockey sooner. I’m into it now thanks in large part to Benny. He’s still diligently continuing with my hockey lessons, and there’s been a lot more of them since that night in Brent’s living room.

Benjamin Perry’s commitment to teach me all I need to know about hockey, so I’ll be ready for the regular season, is paying off. When I say it’s with a whole new appreciation that I watch Brent play, I’m not kidding.

And he is nothing short of mesmerizing.

In the stands, I watch the home opener with rapt attention. When Brent makes a spot-on drop pass to Nolan, resulting in a goal within the first five minutes of play, I go nuts. The crowd goes crazy right along with me. It’s like we’re all in this together.

“I love hockey!” I yell out as I’m caught up in the moment.

In the second period, just as an opponent is blatantly hooking him, Brent scores a beautiful goal of his own, making the score 2-0. I’m excited he scored, but I’m mad at the refs for not calling an obvious penalty. What if that player’s stick had hit Brent in the face?

Perish the thought!

Rising to my feet, I scream, “Hey, Ref, are you blind? That was a hooking infraction.”

The official doesn’t hear me. No one does. People are too busy celebrating that we scored. They’re all chanting, “OPS, OPS,” in recognition of Brent’s line.

I cheer too when I give up on having the penalty get called. Some even more enthusiastic fans than me are pounding on the Plexiglas, celebrating the goal. We’re all in the front row, so when Brent looks over I give him a thumbs-up that makes him smile.

God, his smile. I am so putting Brent 51 to use tonight. I may have vowed not to get physical with the real man, but that doesn’t mean I can’t think about him in that way. I do all the time anyway, and it makes my moments spent with his namesake that much more fun.

The next couple of games are just as amazing as the first. I attend both and cheer like the lunatic fan I’m fast becoming. When we finish up with our home stint I’m called in for a progress meeting with Coach Townsend and Mr. Dolby.

Everyone is pleased I’m keeping Brent sober, away from women, and fully focused on hockey.

“Whatever you’re doing,” Mr. Dolby says to me with a rare smile, “keep it up.”

“My being in Brent’s life is definitely making a difference,” I candidly agree. “He’s been a wonderful client, so far. And I’m happy to report we’ve really clicked.”

Oh, if they only knew to what extent those words ring true.

“Well, if that’s the case,” the coach chimes in, “maybe we should think about extending your contract beyond December.”

“Uh…”

I’m torn, so I do my best to hide my emotion. They can’t know my real thoughts. Extending the contract guarantees I’ll spend more time with Brent—and that would be great—but the no-fraternization clause would remain in full effect. If I’m done with Brent in December, as originally planned, then he and I would be free to explore our feelings. And I’d definitely like to do that.

Lucky for me, Mr. Dolby, a much more cautious man by nature, balks at the idea of a contract extension.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he says, “Let’s see how things go the next month or two. We’ve seen this pattern with Brent for the past three seasons. He starts out strong, but it never seems to last.” He eyes me pointedly. “Remember to keep on him about staying focused. The last thing he needs is a distraction.”

Like me?

Clearing my throat, I say, “Yes, sir.”

“Are you still having daily meetings with him?” Mr. Dolby asks.

Hmm, this is where it’s going to get tricky.

“Um,” I begin, “well, he’s been really busy lately with the start of the season. But we try to make time to talk.”

Not true.

It’s a small fib to protect us both. The truth is Brent and I speak one-on-one only if other people are around. That means our private meetings have dwindled to none. I just can’t trust myself around him, and I think he feels the same way.

“Going forward, I’d like for you to spend as much time as you can with your client, Ms. Shelburne.” Mr. Dolby stands, signaling an end to the meeting. “You seem to be exceptionally good for him.”

Yeah, that’s the problem.

We know there could be something “exceptionally good” between us, but not in the way the team wants. And that’s why we can’t be alone together. Not being allowed to give this thing a try makes us want it all the more. There are days I crave Brent Oliver. I long for him to touch me. And I sure as hell want him to kiss me again.

But no, none of that can happen.

That’s why when we’re in his house, we’re never alone. Not only does Brent invite Benny and Nolan over all the time, along with a bunch of other players I’m getting to know, but a day after our encounter in my bedroom he hired two live-in employees. There’s now a housekeeper and a cook on the premises, though their accommodations are located on the first floor.

Nevertheless, we take steps to avoid running into each other in the upstairs hallway that separates our bedrooms. I always stick my head outside my door before leaving my room to make sure the coast is clear. I suspect Brent does the same since there’ve been no slipups on either of our parts.

A day after the meeting with Mr. Dolby and the coach, it’s time to hit the road for upcoming games in Detroit and Chicago. I pack my bags and head to the airport by myself. When I arrive, I notice Brent’s already there. We share a nod and a smile, and then busy ourselves with talking with other people.

All the guys look so damn good in their finely tailored suits, but Brent especially does. When we all start boarding the team plane, I make sure he’s in front of me so I can check out the view.

Wow, what an ass!

I suddenly wish we were flying off to some exotic locale, sans the team.

How romantic would that be?

Stop it, Aubrey!

I sit far away from Brent on the plane and continue to avoid him in the hotel we’re staying in. I hole up in my room, waiting for the game against Detroit.

That game turns out to be another great one. Brent racks up four points, two goals and two assists, and the OPS line is firing on all cylinders. In addition, and giving my libido a mighty boost, Brent gets into a fight late in the third period.

Shit, seeing him all riled up gets me all riled.

I squirm in my seat as I watch him throw a mean right hook that knocks the other player off his skates. When the player gets up, they go at it again and have to be broken up by the linesmen. Since it’s so late in the game, Brent gets kicked out for fighting. I’m fine with that. It gives me a perfect opportunity to watch him as he skates off the ice, all sweaty and fired up. I allow myself an indulgent moment to imagine what it’d be like to meet up with this angry version of Brent in the locker room. He’d have all that aggression to work out.

“Oh my,” I squeak out, making the people around me look at me strangely.

Time to go.

But not to the locker room.

I beeline instead to the bus that will be taking us all to the airport, after all the players are showered and locker room interviews are concluded.

On the plane to Chicago, I sit next to Benny. He’s seated by the window and out like a light. When Brent boards, he chooses the seat across the aisle from me.

“Hey, Aubrey,” he says as he gets comfortable.

I give him a little wave. “Hey, Brent. Great game, by the way.”

“Thanks,” he replies, smiling.

I notice he has a split lip, a tiny reminder of the fight. “Does it hurt?” I quietly ask.

He shakes his head, chuckling as he does. “No, it doesn’t hurt at all. Thanks for asking, though.”

“Yeah, sure.” His eyes meet mine and we share a bittersweet smile. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” I whisper.

We can’t tear our gazes away from one another. “That’s sweet of you to worry,” he says.

I stare into those whiskey-shaded orbs longer than I should. He makes no move to turn away, either.

I hate that I can’t be alone with you, I try to convey.

All I want is to be alone with you, I think he says back.

What are we going to do?

Our silent communication is unfortunately interrupted when Nolan makes his way to the seat behind Brent’s. “You two seriously need to get a room,” he mutters.

“Fuck off,” Brent snaps.

“Shut up, Solvenson,” I add.

Nolan laughs at us as he sits down.

Our sniping wakes up Benny. “Hey, what’d I miss?” he asks, yawning.

“Just more eye-fucking,” Nolan mutters.

Benny turns to me. “What’s he talking about?”

“Nothing,” I say.

When he raises his brows, waiting for elaboration, I shake my head, a plea for him to drop it. Benny, nice guy that he is, does drop it, just as I catch Brent twisting in his seat to shoot Nolan a warning glare.

“Nolan’s such a dick,” I mumble under my breath to Brent.

“Don’t let him get under your skin,” he quietly replies as he turns back around to face the front of the plane.

I don’t think the team as a whole realizes what’s going on between Brent and me. They seem rather oblivious, in fact. Looking around, I notice most of the guys are playing cards with each other or computer games on their phones. Some are simply sleeping. Nolan and Benny know what’s happening, though. They’re too good of friends with Brent to not see what’s up.

Benny has been cool about our predicament, supportive even. I think he secretly wants us to end up together. He’s such a rough and tumble guy, but he’s a true romantic at heart. He really might be great with Lainey. But that’s another relationship that can never happen. I talk to my sister all the time, but still have to be careful to keep all work-related stuff secret.

I sigh and glance back at Nolan. He rolls his eyes at me, so I turn back around.

The whole reason we can’t get along is because of Brent. Nolan views the whole situation with his cool, logical mind. He believes what Brent and I are fighting is simply a lust thing. He thinks if we have sex once and get it out of our systems, we’ll be fine.

He is so wrong. What Brent and I are fighting is much more than that.

Benny, noticing the sad expression on my face, nudges my shoulder. “Hey, are you all right?”

“Yeah,” I say on a sigh. “I’m fine.”

Sensing I need a distraction, he says, “Did you watch the whole game?”

“Of course,” I reply, livening up. “I was seated in the front row, like always.”

He nods approvingly. “Good. Then you saw all the plays down on your end, right?”

“Sure did,” I confirm.

Benny proceeds to whip out a dry-erase board that’s marked with the configuration on the ice. I notice it’s the same kind of board Coach T uses when he’s drawing up plays behind the bench.

Brent, glancing over at us, says to Benny, “Hey, where’d you get that?”

In a hushed tone, Benny says, “Don’t say anything, but I kind of ‘borrowed’ it from Coach. He must have a hundred, so I figured he could spare one.”

Brent laughs. “Don’t worry, man. My lips are sealed.”

And still looking like they’d benefit greatly from a healing Aubrey kiss, I note.

Cut it out! You’re making things worse.

Thankfully, Benny pulls out a marker and that garners my attention. “Okay, Aubrey,” he says, pointing the thing at me. “It’s time to listen up.”

“Okay.” I laugh. “But why do we need the board?”

“You, my little life coach friend, are ready for phase two of your lessons.”

“Which involves what?”

“Drawing up plays on this board to show you how our awesome OPS line really works.”

I smile. “Sounds good to me.”

“So,” Benny continues, “did you happen to see my replay-worthy goal tonight?”

I nod. “Yep, I sure did. It was nice.”

“It was more than nice,” he scoffs. “But let me explain to you why. Did you pick up on how Brent and Nolan set me up for that goal?”

He cocks a brow my way as he marks a LW, a RW, and a C on one side of the ice, indicating his, Nolan’s, and Brent’s left wing, right wing, and center positions at the time of the goal.

“Yes.” I point to the C. “Brent shot the puck over to”—I tap on the RW—“Nolan.”

“Yeah, he did. And then Nolan shot it back to Brent.” Benny draws a line from RW to C. “But if you recall, Brent had no clear lane to the net. There were too many defenders in the way.”

I nod once. “So that’s why he passed the puck over to you.”

“A rather sweet-ass pass it was too,” I hear Brent murmur from across the aisle.

“Dude, let’s not take all the credit.” Benny leans forward to narrow his eyes over at him, but it’s all in good fun. “That puck was on edge when you sent it my way. I’m the one who settled it down and got it in the net.” Leaning back, he smugly adds, “And that, my friend, was clearly my fine skills on display.”

“Pfft, I scored five minutes later, anyway,” Brent counters.

“About the only scoring you’ve been doing lately,” Nolan chimes in.

Brent, ignoring him, reaches down to his bag for his earbuds. That’s when I notice he’s kind of blushing. How cute!

“I think I’ve heard enough,” he mumbles as he sets up his phone to play music and pops the buds in his ears.

The bantering never stops with these guys, and half the time I tune it out. But hell, I’m more than thrilled that I didn’t miss that one. Brent “not scoring” lately confirms what I’ve been hoping was true all along—he’s not sleeping with anyone. I didn’t think he was, but I’m not there to monitor him constantly like I could do before the season started.

I want to get up and dance in the aisles to celebrate. But that would be unwise. Nolan would surely notice and have a smartass remark. As it is, I hear him grumbling now about losing his strip club bud, meaning Brent.

I twist around and, in my iciest tone, snap, “You know what your problem is, Solvenson?”

“Oh, pray tell, great life coach,”—he crosses his arms and tries to unnerve me with that damn cool blue gaze—“what’s my problem?”

Standing my ground, I say as evenly as I can, “For someone who’s supposed to be so freaking smart, you’re dumb as a stump when it comes to women.”

“Ooh, burn,” Benny interjects.

That’s right. I can banter with the best of them. I’m quickly becoming one of the guys, though hopefully not to the one I care about the most.

I sneak a peek over at Brent and see he’s trying not to smile. He definitely heard me, which means he’s either not listening to music or the volume’s turned real low.

Nolan, of course, is quick to fire back. “Well, Aubrey, for someone who’s supposed to be such an insightful life coach, you sure are blind when it comes to your own affairs.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I reply.

He nods to Brent. “You think you have a handle on a certain…shall we say, situation. But from where I stand it’s becoming clearer and clearer that it’s doomed to blow up in your face. And you know what? I don’t care anymore. It’s your life to fuck up, Miss Life Coach.”

I stare back at him, mouth hanging open. He sure is in a rotten mood today.

“Dude,” Benny murmurs, “that wasn’t cool.”

Benny is calm in his response, but Brent sure isn’t. Jumping up from his seat, he glowers down at Nolan. “You need to tone it down right the fuck now, Solvenson,” he says in this real low, kind of scary voice.

Damn, Brent’s ready to throw down with his friend over me.

Though a formidable force himself, Nolan appears concerned. “Chill out, Oliver,” he says, albeit a little shakily. “Aubrey and I are just giving each other a hard time, like always. Isn’t that right, Aubs?”

He nods to me, and I say, “Yeah, sure, giving each other a hard time…” I smile weakly at the few players seated near us who have taken notice of our little scuffle. “…it’s what we always do. You all know me and Nolan like to fight, fight, fight.”

The players shrug and go back to what they were doing. Once no one is looking anymore, except for Nolan and Benny, I reach out and touch Brent’s forearm. His muscles are corded and taut, until I give him a light squeeze. He then softens.

Blowing out a breath, he says to Nolan, “Hey, sorry, man. I guess I’m still wired from the fight.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it,” Nolan replies dryly.

We all pretend it’s the truth, but we know it’s not. Brent standing up for me is as good as him declaring me his. Like a girlfriend, someone he cares about. I’m not to be fucked with is the message.

Too bad we’re both fucked by a contract that forbids me from being more than a life coach to him. A life coach who can’t even see the wall right in front of her, the one she’s about to crash headfirst into.