Page 43 of He Has Pluck

“Can’t hurt. You have some time. Don’t go past fifteen minutes,” she says and helps me up from the floor. She’s a big strong woman and damn good at her job. Beats the hell out of the parttime junior trainer we had at the farm team in Portsmouth.

* * *

During the scrimmage, I score on Finnegan twice, and the media wants to talk to me when we come off the ice. Juliette films my interviews. Carlos is working a second camera today and focused on other teammates and even manages to corner the coach. I’m surprised, but not surprised. He’s good, and Juliette wouldn’t have invited him to work with her if he wasn’t.

After I finish up my last interview with one of the local sportscasters, I’m heading to the locker room when I see Dan Ruminski heading toward the area around the locker room. He spots me, and I meet him.

“Looks like you’re fitting in well, rookie,” Ruminski says to me as he shakes my hand and claps me on the back. “I’ve been watching the games and the clips Juliette has been sending me. So far, there’s not much of a struggle.”

“Sorry. Not sorry,” I say, and he laughs.

“Don’t worry. We’ve spread out the filming so we won’t miss any angle. I didn’t realize O’Rourke just had a baby.” He looks over at the veteran superstar where Juliette is filming him as he talks to the camera while being prompted by Carlos. “He’s more than happy to talk all about that struggle.” Ruminski smiles and looks back to me. “All you need to do is win the cup, and we have a Cinderella story.” He claps my back.

“I’ll do what I can.”

“You getting along with Juliette?” His out of the blue question catches me off guard. Maybe it’s my conscience bubbling to the surface and overflowing with guilt.

“Sure. Why not?” I say it rhetorically because I don’t really want to know his answer.

“No reason. She can be…opinionated.” He slides another look in her direction, and so do I. They’re wrapping up the segment with O’Rourke. “But she’s a treasure. I’ve known her all her life. Don’t tell her I said so, but I think of her as family. Her dad was a true hero and one of my best friends. One of the best people I ever knew.”

“Don’t tell me. You promised him you’d look after his daughter,” I say because it’s written in the expression on his face.

“I’m that transparent?”

I nod. “Don’t worry. I get the impression she can take care of herself.”

“I’m sure you do. But the thing is, she’s vulnerable. And I wouldn’t want to see her hurt. By anyone.”

I meet his eyes, managing to keep my game face in place even if my heart pounds and my shoulders tense up like I’m bracing to take a punch or maybe throw one. Nodding, I move on and escape to the locker room.

The rest of the day is a repeat of yesterday, and I drive back to Chelsea alone, wondering what she’s going to tell Ruminski and whether she’s going to show up tonight.

I wish I could turn her away when she does, but I won’t. I can’t. Somewhere along the way, I lost all sense of reason and common sense when it comes to Juliette Sullivan. And even though I know for certain that spending another sleepless night of sex with her will affect my hockey, I can’t do a fucking thing about it.

Chapter Thirteen

JASON

Tonight, she surprises me. She brings amenities, photos, some framed, a soft blanket, flowers in a vase, and she brings her camera, which, I have to admit, mildly alarms me.

“What are you taking pictures of here?” I move to her and wrap my arms around her as I ask, and the closer I get to her pulsing sensual energy, the less I care about her answer.

“What do you think? Or rather, who?”

“Don’t you think it’s dangerous to take pictures of…our private life?” I whisper into her ear and feel her shuddering response. Then she pushes me away and backwards onto my bed. It’s not the same long fall as before since I bought a bed frame.

As I land on the forever messy covers, I’m aware of two things. I have no shirt on, and my dick is tenting my shorts.

She raises her camera, but this isn’t the video model, it’s an old-fashioned still camera with one of those protruding lenses that looks heavy and intimidating, and I can’t help my laugh of resignation. This is her thing. She films people, but not just for a living. For her, it’s an artform. The way she expresses herself. So I pose.

“That’s it, baby,” she prompts. And when I see her lick her lips, my cock hardens and I barely stop myself from taking it in hand for a good hard stroke. That’s not the kind of photo I need taken right now.

“Why don’t you jump in the photo, set a timer or something?”

I’m surprised when she positions the camera on the dresser across from the bed where the television should be, and comes to me, lifting her sweater off as she does. She’s wearing no bra, and that’s all I need to make me groan and reach for her, pulling her down next to me while she laughs.

“You’re too easy. Anyone ever tell you that?” she asks.