Off Her Game (4 page)

“Vince wants to see you upstairs.”

“Now?” Darren was surprised. Vince Jenkins rarely pulled anyone out of practice and the idea turned his stomach on its ends.

“Yeah,” Rogers said. “Look, Moran, I know your temper, so lemme tell you this.” He paused, waited to make sure he had Darren's full attention. “This is a seasoned team. Which means that Jenkins is looking for players to move.”

Darren blinked. “I'm getting traded?” Panic rose bile into his throat. First his wife and now his team? He didn’t want to leave Fort Glasgow. What team would he end up on?

“No,” Rogers said. “Not yet, anyway. But if you don't keep old man Jenkins happy, I'd expect not to see you too much longer here. Something to keep in mind, okay? Now go suit out and head up to the offices.”

Darren nodded automatically but there was a void in his stomach as he skated over to the gate and left the ice. Traded. Or possibly traded. None of this could be good.

“Moran!” Darren turned back where Rogers stood. Rogers pointed his pen at him. “Eleanor's in town. That's probably your saving grace.”

Darren nodded and walked to the locker room. Dread crept into his blood. Was he going to be traded? True, he'd been with the Highlanders for nearly ten years now, since his second year in the national league. Jenkins's daughter, Eleanor, had been thirteen when he'd come to the team.

His contract was up for renewal too. He didn't like the idea of being a free agent. He and Angela bought into a house, looked at school systems and property taxes.

Even though Angela was gone, he wasn't ready to chuck it all and start over with a different team. He liked being a Highlander. He liked the fans here. He liked the whole package. He liked Val.

Wait, what? Liked Val? Where did that come from? He shook his head, hoping the thought would fly out, but it was still there, warming his heart.

Oh, hell. He did like her.

Darren took a quick shower and cleaned up. He shrugged on his shirt and buttoned it up, wondering exactly what Jenkins would say.

He liked Jenkins as a person. He was a damn shark when it came to his team but right in that moment, he was a little afraid that he'd have to think about life after the Highlanders.

Darren finished getting dressed and headed up to the office spaces on the second floor. His boots thumped across the tiled hallway as he approached the owner's office.

His receptionist, Marilyn Jane, looked up as he came up. She pasted a professional smile on her face and set her pen down. “Mr. Moran. How are you today?”

“I'm good, Miss Jane.” He leaned over the desk and propped his head on his palms. “How's you?”

“Tired. Mr. Jenkins is keeping me busy today, especially with the progeny here.” She flipped her head back toward the closed oak doors.

“Ellie’s here?” He glanced at the doors and smiled. This wouldn’t be all bad. Ellie Jenkins and he were old buddies. “I hear I have an appointment.”

Marilyn laughed. “Oh, you’re the player he’s been yelling about in there? He's expecting you. Hang on.” She pressed the red intercom button next to her and waited.

“Yeah?” The voice bellowed through the small speaker, gruff and growly.

“Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Moran is here.”

“Tell him to get in here.” The audible click almost sounded like a phone hanging up, even if Darren knew it was just a press of the button.

He winked at Marilyn and went into Jenkins's office.

Jenkins was one of those guys that liked to show he was rich. His office proved it, a decisive switch from the reception area. Hardwood floors underneath Persian rugs. Heavy English oak furniture, all matching. Shelves of hockey paraphernalia, including pictures of Jenkins with various hockey stars, from players, to announcers, to commissioners in the league. Jenkins had been around a long time.

There were two in Jenkins' office when he walked in. He recognized Eleanor Jenkins immediately. Her chin-length chestnut hair fell forward as she leaned over the desk. Unlike the normal jeans and tee she usually wore to visit her dad, she was wearing a slim-fitting black pinstripe suit today. A pale lavender blouse peeked from under the jacket.

She straightened as he came near, a soft familiar smile on her face.

Her father was a different story. He had permanent frown lines stretched across his brow, his forehead, and around his mouth. Salt-speckled brown hair that probably matched his daughter's at one time had receded about an inch from his hairline. The baby blue eyes his daughter had were an echo of his.

Jenkins glanced up from the papers in front of him as Darren stopped in front of the desk.

“Moran. You remember my daughter?”

“Eleanor, it's nice to see you again.” Darren said.

“It's Ellie, Darren. You've known me since I was thirteen.” She smiled brightly.

“Have a sit, Darren.” Jenkins shuffled papers out of the way and folded his arms on the desk. “Seat, I mean.”

Suddenly, Darren felt like he was twelve years old and in the principal's office after setting off a stink bomb in the boy's bathroom. Ellie's face was unreadable, a professional smile plastered on her face. When had she grown up anyway? The last time he'd seen her had been a couple years ago when she’d left for college. She'd had braces. He was getting old.

“Your last season kinda sucked, Darren.” Jenkins began, his gruff voice pulling Darren from his thoughts. His voice didn't sound angry. He sounded tired. “You had a lot of distractions.”

“I got a divorce, Vince.” Darren ground out.

“I need players that are going to be focused. Did you know the team is predicted to reach the playoffs this year? That will sell tickets, but if I can't count on one of my star players to deliver the best game, then the fans aren't going to come back.”

“Angela's gone, Vince.” Strangely, it didn't hurt that much to say. “There won't be any distractions.”

“There better not be.” Jenkins let out a long breath. “Alright, Darren. Here's the deal. If you don't perform, you become a free agent. The Highlanders won't resign you.”

Darren’s muscles tensed. A heavy lump stuck in his throat, like a hockey stick turned sideways. “I’m focused on hockey, Vince. I promise you that's my priority.” He didn’t have anything else now.

“Hope so. For your sake. That's my terms, Darren. Take it or leave it.”

“No distractions,” Darren growled.

“Dad,” Ellie said. “Perhaps some incentive to actually stay?” Her prod was met with a stoic expression.

Then he sighed, resignation in his eyes. The power of Ellie’s stare was too much for her old man. Darren tried not to laugh, even though his heart was pounding with anxiety. His future was being decided here and the very thought sickened him.

“Fine.”

Darren’s eyes shot up to Jenkins.

“We're scheduled to sign your renewal at the end of this season. You play well, it'll get signed.”

“Dad...” Ellie prodded again.

Jenkins glared at his daughter. His lips pursed tightly. “Fine!”

He leaned forward. “You get us to the playoffs, Moran, and you get a ten percent raise and a three year contract. Stanley Cup finals, twenty-five percent and a fucking kiss.”

“I got it.” Darren nodded and stood up. “You'll have your Stanley Cup, Vince. I'll tell you though... A kiss from you isn't really incentive. Just saying.”

Leaving Vince’s office, Darren had to smile. This year
was
going to be much different.

***

Football, basketball and hockey season crept up fast, which meant busy for the Penalty Box. Not that Val minded. Busy meant tips, and she needed it. Three weeks without a day job. Her bank account was anemic, her savings nearly gone. Her apartment was getting too rich for her blood.

Val handed a chardonnay to the strawberry blonde woman at the bar since Nick was on break and poured another beer for her table. Jen was a new regular to the bar. She'd started coming in with Darren's group, but now she came on her own. Men dogged her at the bar, but she didn't show them any interest. Mostly, she sat quietly, talked to Nick, and drank her wine.

Not that she'd seen much of them at all lately. After a rash of away games, it'd been three weeks since she'd gone out with Darren. But he was there tonight. After their kiss, she'd wanted to be unavailable, because trying to have a complicated relationship while unemployed was not a good idea. But then he vanished himself. She should have been happy. That was what she'd wanted.

She scowled and wondered when Nick was coming back from his smoke break. She had a new beer ready to replace the nearly empty one in Darren’s hand, but she couldn't leave the bar unattended. Not that she was super anxious to go back over there. While she waited for her boss to come back, she scrubbed the bar top and wondered if using bleach on the counter while the bar was open would be a bad thing.

Darren was just out of her league. She was an unemployed counselor working as a cocktail waitress. She wasn't even a speck of dust he'd wipe away with a three hundred dollar feather duster.

Valerie's boss slipped back into the bar area, smelling of sweat and cigarettes and that ridiculously overpriced cologne he wore. Nick's hazel eyes narrowed. “Stop cleaning my bar.”

“Someone has to. God knows, you won't.”

“It looks like a busy bar.” He snatched her rag away from her and thrust the beer into her hand instead. “People tip better when you're busy. Now, stop cleaning and shoo.” He waved his arms away from himself. “Go annoy your own customers.”

She glared at him, until her gaze slipped over his shoulder. “Jesus, Nick. Can't you just keep things organized?” She pushed him to the side, set the beer down, and hopped on the counter to grab a Smirnoff bottle from beside the Jack Daniels. She jumped down and set it beside the left of the Skye and picked up the beer again.

Nick crossed his arms indignantly. “I'm busy. And it's not a freaking requirement if the bottles aren't in alphabetical order, you know.”

She snagged her towel back from Nick and fixed him with a glare. “It's easier to find things in alphabetical order.”

“You know what else is easier?” Nick glared at her. “When you stop annoying your boss and get back to your own customers. Get out from behind my bar before I fire you.”

She muttered expletives as she left the bar area, carrying the Shiner Bock she'd poured for Darren. As she approached, she fought the trembles that surfaced, the memory of his lips on hers. Why did Darren have to be such a nice guy? He'd never be her nice guy. He hadn't even called.

Case in point as she walked up to the table. His attention wasn't on the rest of the bar, or the television, but on the gorgeous Jen.

Jealous heat coursed through her, both embarrassed at having been taken in by the man's charms, and by the fact that he was openly ogling another woman in front of her. Apparently a kiss was nothing to him.

It was worse that the woman wasn't mean or horrid. Jen was a freelance photographer. In fact, Nick had just hired her to do shots of the bar for the website he was building. So not only was she a genuinely nice woman, Val would have to see her a bunch now.

Val stared hard at Darren, his long, thick fingers wrapped around his almost-empty beer bottle as he tipped it back and finished the last of it. Deep in her imagination, he was a super-secret spy with the government, sent to infiltrate the local bar scene for a master-mind criminal that liked to frequent the place.

Or... He was a super-secret agent on the run and his enemies would catch up to him and see how taken he was with her. Then he'd have to take her away to protect her from his enemy, and they'd hole up in some dark hotel room together, and then one thing would lead to another, and he'd kiss her, and the warmth of his arms would surround her and they'd fall into oblivious ecstasy.

The control freak in her hated that the idea of losing that grip on her life, but a smaller part was excited by the prospect of him touching her and being the protector.

Maybe she was taking this too far, she thought. Her heart fluttered with nerves. Really, he didn't even see her anyway. The fact that he'd not even given her a thought in three weeks was proof of that. And she refused to be the whiny woman chasing after the man that obviously didn't give a shit about her.

Val scowled and cleared her throat, but he didn't look at her. As she came to stand next to him, she shook her head. She wasn't even on the man's radar. So much for the spy fantasy.

***

Darren emptied his third beer and leaned back in his seat as he studied Misha's ex-girlfriend. He'd been fascinated by her all night, and he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because the woman never talked to anyone anymore, nor returned anyone else's interest. Misha had said she wanted to see other people, but she was turning everyone away. It was not the behavior of someone who wanted to play the field.

She wasn't really his type, with her light strawberry blonde hair and her too-skinny figure. Darren liked the more girl next door look. Women that were nothing like his ex-wife, Angela. Like Val, who was a little neurotic about the cleanliness, but fun to poke at. He liked her shiny dark curls and the way her hips flared in that so very feminine way.

“Are you ever going to talk to her?”

Darren glanced at the woman in question as she came up to the table and set a fresh beer on the table. Val had been on his mind lately, but he needed to concentrate on hockey, so he hadn’t allowed himself to call her. The way she'd taken care of him after his divorce finalized, the way she'd eaten her frozen yogurt in that weird circular pattern, and the way she'd taken picking up Misha and Gavin in stride… There wasn’t anyone nicer than her, more deserving of all his attention.

And the softness of her lips... He'd never forget that kiss. He regretted not calling her, but he’d made a deal with Jenkins. He had to see it through. There was a Stanley Cup in his future. At thirty-three, he only had a few years left and he wasn't going out as a has-been. He was going to be on top, and he would stay there.

“Please. The woman hates people.” Darren sounded more easy-going than he felt. He hadn't thought seeing Valerie again would be so... frustrating? Awkward? Exciting? What was it, anyway?