Page 66 of Lucky Puck

“Don’t worry, Axbell,” Coach Logan says, “I wasn’t going to let anyone drink more than a sip of champagne before heading into our game strategy session. I’d end up with a bunch of guys snoring.”

Someone shouts, “That’s what we do anyway.”

After the laughs die down, Coach Logan gets serious, quieting the crowd with a raised hand. He turns to me. “We all want to wish you a very happy and long marriage, Brody.” He lifts his glass, and the entire room agrees with shouts of here, here and Saluda.

Of course, it doesn’t take long for us to drain our glasses. I barely taste a thing, but the gesture and congratulations and slaps on the back are genuine, and it’s not lost on me that these guys are my guys, more than teammates. I feel the warmth, stolen or not, and my gut churns at my betrayal of the camaraderie.

Sabien sticks to my side, and for a change, I don’t want to punch him because I know he’s in it with me and doing his best to support me.

“I heard you’re playing tonight.” He grins and slaps my back.

I raise the empty plastic flute. “Here’s to a hat trick on the way to a big win.”

“We’ll need that hat trick if we want to beat the Wild. They’re on a roll.”

What he doesn’t say, doesn’t need to say, is that they’re all healthy and playing at full strength, and we have two almost healthy guys limping out there: Jason Hall and me.

Chapter Twenty-Six

BIANCA

After an awkward good-bye this morning—a kiss-less good-bye which shouldn’t be so disappointing—Brody gave me a key to his place, and I drove down to the Jett Agency office in Boston. He’s in town today and texted me that he’ll be stopping in for a private meeting any minute.

Without a knock, my door swings open, and he walks into my office.

“Welcome back from Vegas. Let’s talk in my office.” He walks back out and tells Linda, the admin, to take messages if he gets any calls. “I’m forwarding all my calls to this office for the morning.”

I follow him into his barely used corner office. “You always take your calls,” I state the obvious as he closes the door behind me.

“This is important. I wanted to check in with you in person to see how you are. My wife suggested that pretending to be a newlywed, married to a famous playboy hockey player, may be stressful for you and that I shouldn’t take you for granted.” He takes a breath, and I’m surprised he’s checking in, but not surprised that it was his wife’s idea.

“Seriously, Brooks, Mindy doesn’t know you like I do, and I told her you can handle anything, that you’re rock solid, but I promised, and since she’s not above calling you to check up on me, I figured I’d go along with her suggestion.” He stops and waits, but I ponder what to say. Thank you? I’m fine? Or maybe Yes, of course I’m stressed to the max, but last night’s sexathon with multiple big Os like I’ve never had before did a lot to take the edge off, thank you very much. I might be smiling because he raises a brow at me.

“You’re okay, right? Just tell me everything’s fine, and we’ll move on to business.”

“I am fine. Tell Mindy I said thank you for asking.”

“I will. Don’t be a wiseass. Let’s talk about the Cavalaro contract and iron out the details.”

He takes a seat at the conference table and we both open laptops. I put on my glasses and feel… normal, in my element.

Predictably, it doesn’t take long before we’re interrupted by multiple phone calls that he must take. I knew the moratorium wouldn’t last because Jett believes in full service and our clients all appreciate it.

My face heats up as I think about last night—would that be considered part of my service? I question for a second whether I slept with Brody for business or—Don’t be ridiculous, Brooks.

Last night had nothing to do with business and everything to do with the chemistry between us. I wanted him. And he wanted me. That much is clear. How much and for how long are questions that pop into my head again, and since I don’t like the logical answers, I push them back down.

Jett sits at his desk, laughing and talking while I review a proposal from a local car dealership for Brody’s sponsorship. I make a note to call Martino at Cavalaro to confirm he’s not going to consider them a competitor.

Jett hangs up the desk phone and comes back to the conference table where I’m still sitting.

“I’m going to lunch with the Boston Brawlers management in a few. I’d invite you along, but I think you should get back to Portsmouth.” He lifts his wrist to examine his watch. “You’ll need to get home early to get ready for tonight’s game.” He grins.

“I’m not playing in the game, Jett.”

“No, but you’re playing the wife of the star player and you’ll be photographed, no doubt, so you need to look your best.” He looks me over and I hold steady in a monumental effort not to shrink into my seat. I’m wearing the same Goodwill pin-striped suit for the third time in five days. Shit.

“Use the company credit card to buy yourself some new clothes—not from Goodwill.”