Chapter 14
Shea
We ended the season on a good note, grabbing the 'W' in an overtime thriller. We left the ice in good spirits, and after our showers, we left the dressing room in our suits and ties.
“See you boys at the gala,” I said.
I drove home and left the Bentley idling in the driveway. It was time to pick up my date. I stepped into a quiet house—the kids were at their mom's for the weekend.
Come to think of it, it was the first time Brynn and I were truly 'home alone' together.
“Brynn?” I called. “You ready?”
She answered not with words, but with the sound of her heels clicking and clacking on the hardwood hallway. I turned on my heels and, with a smile, waited to watch her entrance.
The second I laid my eyes on her, I felt my guts twist and turn.
Brynn strutted towards me, wearing a ruby red décolleté dress made of a fabric that flounced and swayed with her body, playfully exaggerating her elegant walk.
“Brynn,” I whispered under my breath.
I'd never seen her in anything but her 'work' clothes—I'd certainly never seen her look like this. Her small but firm breasts bounced with her step. The feminine swell of her stomach showed through the slinky fabric of her dress, begging for my eyes. A knot thickened in my throat as my eyes wandered down her long, toned legs.
She's stunning. More than I even realized.
She stopped in front of me. I couldn't help but stare into her glittering eyes. “Brynn. Wow. You look gorgeous.”
“Oh, stop,” she demurred, with a Sphinx's smile on her lips that was both lovely and haunting at the same time.
“Ready?” I asked her.
She nodded, and I took her hand.
I walked her out to the Bentley, the engine quietly purring as it waited for us in the driveway. I went to the passenger side and opened the door for her.
“Oh Shea,” she laughed softly as she climbed in. “You didn't have to do that.”
“No, but I want to,” I said as I gently shut the door.
I walked around the back of the car with a huge smile on my face. I was thinking about the time I'd tried to give Brynn a ride home in this car after our interview, and how she'd turned me down. Never in a million years did I think we'd be doing something like this together.
I climbed in on the driver side and stole a glimpse of Brynn's profile. She looked like a princess in that dress, with her hair up and a sparkling sapphire pendant hanging from her golden necklace.
I was sure I'd never seen a more beautiful girl in my life. But I had to shake my head and remind myself of something.
She's only going as your friend. Don't forget that fact and make this weird.
“Thanks again for agreeing to go to this thing,” I said as I put the car in gear and drove off. “I know it's probably not the way you want to spend your Friday night.”
She smiled politely. “Oh, stop. I'm sure it'll be fun.”
“Just a word of warning, though. My teammates are immature idiots. I say that lovingly. Just don't take anything they say seriously.”
She chuckled quietly. “Noted.”
The ride was quiet. The atmosphere was not tense, but not quite comfortable, either. We came to a red light and the silence was deafening.
I looked at her. “Hey, is everything okay?”
She gave me a pained smile. “Yes. Everything's fine.”
My eyes focused on the road ahead.
I know she's not telling me the truth …
***
I handed the Bentley's keys to the valet, and Brynn and I walked up the red carpet and into the convention center. Members of the media stood outside the convention center, snapping pictures of us as we walked up the carpet.
“I thought this was a private event for your team?” Brynn whispered to me as the bright white camera flashes exploded around us.
“It is private,” I answered. “But the whole organization is invited to these. Everyone who works for the Brawlers' parent company, not just the athletes. Members of the media show up, too.”
“I see.”
We stepped into the cozy, cocoon-like atmosphere of the convention center. A hundred different lively conversations were softened by the static sound of rushing water, thanks to an enormous bowl fountain in the middle of the venue. Columns and arches supported a second-level mezzanine, where one could get a better view of the domed and ornately-detailed ceiling. The polished marble floors sparkled, reflecting the warm lights.
Wide-eyed, Brynn took in all the sights and sounds. “Oh wow. It's so beautiful here.”
“It's supposed to resemble a fifteenth-century Italian courtyard,” I said.
She giggled. “How specific. I had no idea you were a cultured man.”
“Don't get your hopes up; I'm no historian. I've just read the inscription on the plaque every year I've come to this thing.” I saw some familiar faces milling around by the fountain. “Hey, you ready to meet the jerks I have to spend all my time with?”
“Sure.”
I offered Brynn my arm. She took it and I escorted her to the fountain. “Guys, I want you to meet Brynn.”
“That's Lance and his wife, Paige.”
Brynn shook their hands.
“That's Radar and his wife, Ella. Ella is Lance's younger sister.”
Brynn shook their hands, too.
“That's Ilya and his girlfriend, tennis star Natalya Anasenko.”
“How do you do,” Natalya said in her husky Russian accent.
“An athlete couple! How neat!” Brynn repeated as she shook Natalya and Ilya's hands.
“In Russia, Natalya bigger star than me!” Ilya exclaimed. “Believe it or not!”
Our teammates laughed and slapped at Ilya's back. “You're a nobody in Russia, comrade!”
The intros continued. “That's Stoner, that's Brooksy, and somewhere around here are their ladies . . .”
Well, you get the idea. Brynn had approximately twenty-five hockey player names to remember, and then the names of their significant others—and that was just the hockey-side of things. But if she felt overwhelmed or out of place here, she didn't show it. She moved so gracefully and elegantly.
Thankfully, none of my teammates said anything weird right off the bat. But I didn't like the way the guys had a habit of looking at Brynn and then looking at me. It felt so obvious—like they were trying to see if there really was something between us.
“So Brynn,” Lance began at last. “I hear you're quite the miracle worker with kids. Boomer's been talking about you a lot.”
Brynn looked at me. “Boomer …?”
“Yeah, that's my newest nickname,” I muttered.
“I figured that, but why Boomer?”
Radar, with his arm draped around Ella's shoulder, laughed. “Someone called him Boomer because he's retiring at the end of the year and it stuck.”
Brynn's head tilted at me with confusion. “But Shea's not a Boomer. He's a Gen X'er. Right, Shea?”
“Yeah, that's right. That's what I keep telling them, but they won't listen,” I said.
The boys laughed.
“Yeah, she sounds like Boomer's girl, alright,” Brooksy said.
I glared at Brooksy, shooting daggers at him with my eyes. Don't even.
Everyone else had glasses in hand—bottles of beer, glasses of wine, flutes of champagne, tumblers of liquor. I hated the idea of leaving her alone with these guys for any length of time … but it'd be rude not to offer Brynn something to drink.
“Can I get you a drink, Brynn?” I asked reluctantly. “Beer, wine, champagne? Something harder?”
“A glass of red wine would be wonderful.”
“You got it.” I turned to the boys and threatened them with a face that said it all: whatever you're thinking about doing, don't.