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“Too bad, superstar. Because I’m here and we have to work together.” She throws her cloth napkin on top of her empty plate and stands. “If you want me gone, acting out like you did last night is not the way to do it. If they get pissed and fire me, they’ll just replace me with someone else. And I’m sure the next person won’t have my charm and wit.” She flutters her eyelids mockingly and removes the key card for her room from her back pocket as she moves toward the door. “Prove to management and the PR firm that you can make better decisions. Lie low for a while. That’s how you get your freedom back. Then, you can piss the rest of your life off for all that I care.”
She opens the door, and it slams shut behind her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EMERSON
I huff and shift back into the seat with force. It earns me an amused glance from Abernathy, who is sitting next to me. I ignore him and glance out the window as we fly thousands of feet in the air, adjusting my Air Pods when they shift from the movement. I’m not even listening to music right now; I just have them in to deter people from speaking to me. Namely Abernathy.
Sam is right; Abernathy is hitting on me, though it’s hard for me to admit that Sam is right about anything. But it was apparent when Abernathy chatted me up as soon as I arrived in the lobby. He sat by me on the bus ride to the private airport and again on the airplane even though I gave him little to no encouragement. But it was really crystal clear when he invited me to hang out with him tonight when we arrive in California. Just the two of us. Never mind that I can still see the indent from the wedding ring he removed from his finger sometime after boarding the plane to leave Chicago a couple of days ago. His skin is pale where it usually lies.
I try not to be judgmental, but I despise cheaters. If you don’t want to be in a relationship, get out of it. Life is short, so do what you want. But Abernathy strikes me as the type of guy who likes his cake and wants to eat it too. It’s obvious he dallies on the road. I wonder if he returns home to an adoring wife or if they have a tumultuous relationship. Does he even have kids? I don’t know that much about him. But what I do know, I don’t like very much at this point.
I glance across the aisle to where Sam is sitting. His head is leaned back, and his eyes are closed. He has Air Pods in his ears as well, but I could hear music coming from them when he passed by me earlier. The hockey center looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
An image flashes inside my mind of him turning the corner into the bathroom this morning, dropping the towel, and giving me an unobstructed view of that perfect backside …
I shake my head until his naked form disappears. It didn’t seem to make an impact when I showed him the pictures online, not like the impression his stacked muscles left on my brain at least. I guess they weren’t too scandalous, just a few half-dressed women draped across his lap, hands exploring his body and lips somewhere on his face and neck. In the big scope of things, it wouldn’t really matter. But he’s trying to clean up his reputation, not reinforce his past behavior. At least his PR people are. And I’m being paid to help. Sam doesn’t realize that by bucking the system and rebelling against the team’s wishes, he’s not only hurting himself, but he’s also hurting me.
Or maybe that’s exactly why he’s doing it.
The hockey star has not hidden the fact that he wants me gone. The resentment radiates from him like heat off a hot pavement. This might be his way of ensuring that my exit happens sooner rather than later. I’m afraid that management’s plan to clean up his image is backfiring. All it’s doing is pushing him in the opposite direction. Sam has never struck me as the type of guy who can be controlled, so the more they try to rein him in, the more he pulls away.
Maybe I need to change tactics. Make him feel like I’m an ally and not the enemy. That I’m on his side. But how?
Or maybe I’d be better off admitting that I’ve been outmaneuvered and let someone else babysit the hockey stud. I could always find another job.
Defeat is seeping into my psyche, and I feel it pulling me under. By the time the wheels of the plane touch down a little later, I am no closer to a solution.
I manage to evade Abernathy and snag a seat on the bus ride to the hotel with one of the trainers, Addison. There aren’t many women traveling with this group, but she’s one of them. She’s young and sweet and in desperate need of female companionship, like me.
I ask about her life, and her answers manage to distract me from my own thoughts temporarily. She’s originally from Boston, and this is her first job out of college as a trainer. Her dad is Coach Tremble, one of the assistants, who also happens to be friends with the GM of the Hawks, which helped her secure the job. She whispers that last part like she’s embarrassed about it. I reassure her that it doesn’t matter how she got the job; it only counts what she does with it now.
We arrive at the hotel in San José after a half hour of traversing traffic. The guys are supposed to get settled and then have a skate around this afternoon. They don’t play again until tomorrow night, so today should be low-key. It should be, but I’m learning that Sam rarely does what is expected of him, so I’m trying to mentally prepare for anything.
I take advantage of an afternoon alone to explore the city. I quickly find a lot of upscale shops in the area, which isn’t surprising since we’re in the heart of Silicon Valley with all its tech success and money. I browse a little, but in the end, I don’t want to spend my hard-earned money on high-priced clothes even though I can afford more now. Old habits die hard, I guess. Eventually, I reach the San José Museum of Art, where I lose myself for a few hours.
A text message from Addison lures me back to the hotel. I meet her in the lobby, but she leads me right back outside onto the street.
“I spoke to the concierge,” she explains. “There’s a restaurant at the end of the block that’s supposed to have amazing pizza. I’m starving.”
“Pizza sounds perfect.”
“I think some of the guys are already there,” she admits, glancing over at me as we walk, “including Sam.”
“Great.” I smirk, drawing a chuckle from her. Though it’s probably best that I keep an eye on Sam tonight. That’s why I’m here in the first place. “How was practice?”
“Good. The guys are a little beat up from Seattle, but they’re used to powering through. San José is down this year, so hopefully, they have an easier game tomorrow.”
I follow Addison into the restaurant, glancing around the space as we wait for the hostess to reappear. The place is packed, including the long mahogany bar that spans the entire right side of the room. I spot Sam quickly. He’s sitting on a barstool with Cruz, Tempe, and Coop, the starting goalie. He has a beer in his hand, and I wonder if that’s his first. I’m not looking forward to a repeat of last night’s antics.
When the hostess returns, we learn that a table won’t be available for another hour, so we end up at the bar on the opposite end from the guys, claiming the only two seats left.
Addison orders a cosmopolitan while I stick with soda. We select a pizza, knowing it’ll be a minute before we get our pie.
“Here’s to girl power,” Addison says, lifting her glass to tap my own. “I’ve had enough testosterone to last a lifetime.”
I laugh and take a sip of my drink. “You went into the wrong profession if you don’t want to be around male athletes all the time.”
