Alex (10 page)

She giggles into the phone and fuck, if that isn’t like the best sound ever. “Okay, go get some sleep,” she tells me, her voice floating over me like soft cotton. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

“Good night,” I tell her.

“Good night, Alex.”

When I disconnect, I quickly set the alarm to get up at 5
A.M.
and then flip off the lamp beside the bed, plunging the room into darkness.

It’s funny how my night had started so shitty, yet ended on such a positive note. How can a thirty-minute conversation with Sutton bring me out of my funk? And we talked about hockey of all things.

Hockey! That sport I fucking detest.

But for some reason, whenever I talk to her about it, it’s fun. It actually makes me happy to share my knowledge with her. I’d even go so far as to say that the conversation brought me fucking joy tonight.

Fucking joy.
I can’t believe I’d use that and hockey in the same sentiment.

I’m beginning to understand that perhaps I need to peel my blinders back a little bit. My dad molded me out of muscle, bone and raw talent but as he pushed me forward, he never let me look around at the world. He never let me form my own opinions. He never let me experience any joys. By the time I’d left home for good at the age of sixteen to join the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League, my dad’s influence had already damaged me greatly. My hatred for the sport had already been cemented, and I didn’t know any way to find happiness in hockey.

That is, until tonight, when I spent half an hour teaching Sutton about the game. Now, all of a sudden, I’m excited about her coming to watch me practice. I know she’ll have a gazillion questions afterward, and it will be my pleasure to show her all about my sport.

I don’t know what it is about Sutton that sets her apart. Maybe it’s the way she refused to judge me when I first met her in her office. Or maybe it’s the way she lives her life with such zest. It could possibly even be the fact that the girl is smokin’ hot and I’m seriously attracted to her.

Whatever the reasons, I like Sutton Price. I like her a lot and for probably a million other reasons. I probably like her most for the fact that she is getting me to reevaluate the way I look at things.

I close my eyes as a smile lingers on my face, and drift off to sleep.

Interestingly enough, I actually
needed
a ticket to get into the Cold Fury’s Sunday practice session and Alex had sent one over to the office for me. Not all of the practices are closed. When they practice at the actual Cold Fury arena, those are usually open to the public. But when they practice in this small, private facility, they let in people only by invitation, and so I needed a ticket. Had we not planned on working after, I would have asked for an extra ticket for Glenn, but I’m hoping I can get one for him another time.

Alex also sent me an email with directions to the practice rink. He added a note that said, “Pay attention to our drills. I’ll quiz you after.”

I had to smile at that because I had so much fun talking to him on the phone the other night, listening to his patient voice as he taught me all about the various penalties. He never got frustrated when I broke in with a question, and I swear, even the tone of his voice was the most carefree and light that I had heard since I met him. He told me once that he hated the game of hockey, but you couldn’t tell by our conversation that night.

Shelley called me this morning, and I had to listen to her gripe for ten minutes over the fact that her husband, Sean, won’t pick up his underwear off the floor. Sean is in his first year of medical school at the University of Pittsburgh, and Shelley is completing her master’s in speech pathology. They’re both super busy and I suggested to her that perhaps she should just let that slide, because in the grand scheme of things it’s probably not that big a deal.

Then we lapsed into an hour-long conversation about Alex. We both sat with our laptops opened and Googled him relentlessly. Shelley spent time ogling his pictures and I spent time reading tidbits to her from articles. It seems he did, indeed, have a reputation for being quite a prick not only to other players, but to Cold Fury fans as well. Apparently, the only reason it was forgivable was because he’s so damn good at what he does.

I couldn’t find any information about his personal life, though. There were no mentions of his parents or other family members. There were no celebrity pictures of him with hot women on his arm. Nothing. The only thing that was apparently newsworthy about Alex was the fact he is a phenomenal player.

Not completely weird, but it certainly painted him as something I already understood: He’s a loner.

Once I get inside the complex, I immediately notice that none of the players are on the ice yet. The ticket just got me in the door and there is no assigned seating. The building isn’t much more than a huge hockey rink with about ten rows of seating that slant upward from the glass that surrounds the ice. I walk over to an area filled with what I’m thinking are family members as it’s heavy on women and kids, all wearing regular street clothes. The next section over seems to be more for fans, as they are decked out in Cold Fury jerseys and other franchise clothing.

Taking an empty seat in the front row, I pull out my iPhone and idly thumb through my emails from work. I check in on Facebook and post a message that says,
Watching a Cold Fury practice session. Yay, me!

I check my text messages and see one from Brandon. We’ve had some friendly banter back and forth through texts and Facebook. I think he’s making a genuine effort to start out as friends with me, understanding I’m just not ready to look at anything more with him right now.

His texts are funny, sometimes sweet, but once in a while, he’ll say something that might feel a little pressurizing. Like right now.

Missing you today. Any chance of dinner again?

See…that steps outside the bounds of friendship and I wonder if I should say something to him—to nip this in the bud.

“You know you can’t take pictures while you’re in here,” a voice causes me to look up and forget all about texting Brandon back.

A beautiful woman stands there, looking down at me with haughty eyes. She has white-blond hair that comes down in a straight, silky curtain past her shoulders. She has on a pink fuzzy sweater that seems to be painted onto her and tight black jeans. Another woman who looks almost exactly like her stands just behind, peering at me.

“Oh, I’m not taking pictures. Just texting,” I tell her apologetically, although I’m not sure why. I don’t think she’s part of the arena police.

She doesn’t respond but pushes her way into the aisle that I’m in, and I hastily turn my legs to the side so she doesn’t trample my feet. She moves down about four seats past me, along with the other woman, and I’m promptly forgotten.

I stare at her a moment more, while she bends her head toward the other woman and they whisper to each other. They look so much alike, I’m pegging them as sisters.

Scraping-swishing noises cause my head to turn back toward the ice, and I see the players have arrived. They’re not wearing the jerseys they had on the other night, but rather some are wearing plain white jerseys and others are wearing yellow, and a few of the players have on red jerseys.

One player steps out onto the ice, and I recognize Alex immediately. Even with his helmet on, I recognize his build, his grace, his swagger. His eyes come straight to mine and hold me briefly before he takes off to skate a large loop around the arena. I watch him, admiring the long, smooth pull of his legs against the ice. When he turns the corner and heads toward the area where I’m sitting, his gaze slides over to me and I’m amazed I can recognize the blue of his eyes from so far away. As he skates closer, I can feel my heartbeat speed up, almost matching pace with his skating. As he draws even with me, he reaches his stick out and taps the glass right in front of my face. He then spins around on his skates, now gliding backward, shooting me a wink as he pulls farther away.

Yeah, I’m wearing a big ol’ goofy grin on my face right now. I so wish I could take a picture in here, because I would have killed a kitten to immortalize the look of happiness on his face as he went past. I’d then show it to him later, and say, “See…there’s still some love for the game inside of you.”

“How do you know Alex?” I hear from my right, and turn my head to see the platinum blonde has moved down to sit right next to me. The other woman has followed, and sits just to her right.

The question wasn’t asked in mere curiosity, and the frigid tone of her voice tells me to tread carefully.

“He’s a business colleague,” I tell her smoothly, because that’s absolutely true.

She runs her eyes down me with what I’m thinking might be disdain. I can’t help it when my own gaze drops, doing a quick check of my outfit to make sure I didn’t mistakenly wear something that clashed.

Nope. Dark washed jeans, a light gray, long-sleeved T-shirt and my black Converse Chuck-T’s. I’m confident I match and while I may not be oozing sex and pink fluffy angora from my pores, I think I look okay.

“Business colleague? You’re with the Cold Fury?” she asks.

“No. Alex and I are working together on a project for the Cold Fury.”

“How did you get a ticket to this session?”

I want to tell her,
Just down the street at a little store that’s called “None of Your Freakin’ Business,”
but I resist the very strong temptation.

Instead, and for some reason that I can’t quite fathom, I give her a sweet smile and say, “Alex had a courier bring it to my office for me last week.”

The woman’s blue eyes narrow at me and I can tell in that split instant that she has some type of proprietary interest in Alex. I’m not sure if she wants him, had him or maybe both, but there’s something there and damn if that thought doesn’t rankle me.

I am here on a business-related matter,
I tell myself firmly.

I have no personal interest in Alex,
I remind myself again.

I need to stop fantasizing about Alex and me naked,
I practically shout to my vagina.

After repeating these words of motivation to myself, I give the woman a warm smile and say, “I assure you. This is just business. We’re putting together an anti-drug campaign the Cold Fury wants to sponsor, and Alex will be the spokesperson.”

A crack against the glass causes all three of us to jump, our heads whipping toward the sound. Alex stands there, glaring at the woman with blond hair, his finger pointing down the aisle of chairs. He’s actually pointing for the woman to move away—from me, I guess. He looks furious and it makes me so uncomfortable, I have the urge to flee. Then his gaze flicks to mine and he gives me a reassuring smile before he skates off.

“I’d get out of here, if I were you, Cassie. Alex doesn’t look happy. He could have you thrown out of here in a heartbeat.”

Turning around, I see a woman sitting behind me. She’s got medium-length, curly brown hair and her dark brown eyes are focused on the woman sitting next to me.

“It’s a free country,” Blondie seethes, causing me to whip my head back around to her. “I can sit wherever I want.”

The woman behind me says softly, but with absolute certainty, “You’re acting like a brat. No wonder Alex kicked you to the curb.”

I don’t bother turning to look back at her—my poor neck can’t handle the whiplash, but I see Blondie’s eyes go wide and then fill with rage. “Where did you hear that? It’s a lie.”

This is interesting…in a soap opera sort of way.

The brown-haired woman snickers and that causes me to look back at her. “What do you mean, where did I hear that from? I heard it from your sister,” she says as she nods to the woman sitting quietly next to Blondie. “And of course, she heard it straight from you.”

Okay, I want to see this reaction, because that was shocking. My head spins supremely fast back to my right, and I’m just in time to see the red flush creep up Blondie’s neck, over her cheeks and straight into her hairline. She opens her mouth to say something, slams it shut, then turns to look at who I’m now understanding is her sister.

“I can’t believe you told her that!” she accuses.

“I’m sorry, Cass. I didn’t know it was a secret,” the other woman whines.

While the sisters start bickering, a soft hand squeezes my shoulder and I turn back to the woman behind me. “Come on…let’s go sit down a few seats away from this spectacle.”

I immediately grab my purse and nod a smile at her. She leads me to the next section, a few rows higher and away from the fans. We sit down side by side and she turns to offer me her hand. “I’m Kelly Malone. My husband Mike is on the second line—left winger.”

After exchanging a firm handshake, I tell her, “I’m Sutton Price.”

“I know,” Kelly says with a grin. “Alex told Mike you’d be here and he told me. I think he was worried Cassie might pull some shit if she showed up, so he asked me to just keep an eye on you.”

My gaze slips out onto the ice and I see Alex running some drills with the team. He and a teammate fly down the ice, passing the puck back and forth, bearing down on the goalie. Alex pulls back on his stick to take a shot, and just as the goalie commits to him, he gives a quick snap of his wrist to pass it to his teammate, who easily puts it in the net.

“So, what was that all about?” I ask Kelly, even though I keep my eyes on the action. Alex said he’d quiz me and I’m not quite sure what that means, but I can’t stand to do poorly on tests.

“Oh, that’s just Cassie. She and Alex had a thing but he broke it off with her, apparently. Her sister, Allie, is married to Kyle Steppernech, one of our defensemen. Allie usually drags her to everything so she always seems to be hanging around. Can’t stand the bitch, actually.”

“I’m not sure she got the message Alex broke it off with her,” I murmur, watching him stand next to a teammate, while they wait for their turn at the next drill.

“She’s not the brightest bulb in the pack,” Kelly says dryly, then lowers her voice and leans her head in toward mine. “But, man that was fun watching Alex go all caveman over you.”

“What?”

“The way he skated up and glared at Cassie, pointing at her to get away from you. Made my heart go pitter-patter.”

I stare at Kelly dumbfounded, because surely she has that wrong. She sees the look on my face and offers a commiserating smile.

“So, here’s the deal about Alex,” she says in a low voice. “No one on the team really knows him that well. He’s a loner, doesn’t really interact personally with the guys. So, Mike was like blown away when Alex asked him to have me keep an eye on you. It’s just not like Alex to ask anyone for help.”

My mind starts racing as I consider what all of this means. Probably nothing. I mean, Alex is just being courteous because he has some loony of an ex-girlfriend who might have shown up and could have caused trouble for anyone. But it could mean something, since apparently Alex stepped outside of his comfort zone and approached another player for something personal.

So maybe Alex is making some changes. He’s reaching out…he’s finding some joy in his sport. This all coincides with me, right? Or is that my ego talking?

And why am I even giving this any thought? I’ll be meeting with Alex in a few hours to discuss our outreach program and I’ve hardly thought at all about it. I’m such a schmuck, I realize with a wave of guilt and shame that I might actually be more interested in my personal feelings for Alex than in helping at-risk kids.

Even though I’m swimming in contrition at the moment because of my inappropriate thoughts, I literally can’t stop myself from asking, “What’s the deal with that woman…Cassie? She seems serious about Alex.”

Kelly snorts so loud, some of the fans down in the bottom row turn to look at us. She slaps her hand over her mouth and looks at me with round, humor-filled eyes.

When she removes her hand, she leans over, chuckling. “Puh-leeze. That woman is out for nothing more than to score a hockey husband. Her sister got one, and she wants one too. I’m sure she’s serious about Alex only to that extent, but I can tell you—Alex was never serious about her.”

“How do you know…I mean…if he’s not all that much of a sharer?”

“Because he always blows her off at the various functions. She tries to latch on to him, but you can tell he wants nothing to do with her.”