Offside (4 page)

“Would you ladies like a beer?” Nik
called to them.

They exchanged glances, and one then
replied, “Sure!”

Chairs were moved and arranged closer
and their group of four became seven.

“I’m Bryn,” the woman with long dark
hair introduced herself. “This is Lissa, and this is
Karin.”

The guys offered up their
names.

“What do you ladies do for a living?”
Joe asked, leaning back with a smile on his tanned face.

“I’m an entertainment lawyer,” Bryn
said. “Lissa and I both work at Warner Brothers. She’s a production
assistant. And Karin’s an actor.”

Of course she was. Matt smiled
too.

“And you guys?” Karin, the blonde,
asked.

“Hockey players,” Joe said. “We play
for the Condors.”

The girls’ eyes widened, and Matt
wanted to shake his head. He’d seen Bryn around the building before
and he was ninety percent sure she knew exactly what he did for a
living.

“No wonder you guys are so big,” Lissa
said, batting her eyelashes.

“And in such great shape,” Karin
added.

Yup.

The girls ended up having dinner with
them. Bryn kept eyeing Matt but he politely kept his distance and
she turned her attention to Joe. The other two paired off as well,
and by the end of the night, Matt was the only one going home
alone.

Which was fine with him.

Chapter Three

Honey opened the door to her
apartment, closed it behind her and let out a huge sigh.
God.

Her first day at the new job hadn’t
gone quite like she’d planned.

Not only had she not anticipated the
animosity she’d encountered with her co-workers, she sure as fuck
hadn’t anticipated meeting up with Matt Heller.

She dropped her purse on her small
kitchen table and headed into her bedroom to change.

The apartment was tiny, but it was
hers and hers alone. She hadn’t had a chance to do much with it
yet, but now she’d started her new job she’d be able to buy some
things to make it nicer.

There was a time in her life when she
would have turned up her nose at this little one-bedroom apartment
with fake hardwood flooring and fake granite countertops in the
tiny kitchen. There was a time she would have laughed at the
thought of living somewhere like this, on 6th Street in Santa
Monica. Having grown up in a huge house on six acres of property in
Thousand Oaks, this was not just a step down, it was several
stories down.

But that was okay.

She hung her skirt, jacket and blouse
in her small closet and pulled on a pair of drawstring yoga pants
and a T-shirt, then padded to her kitchen to search out dinner.
Eating alone was no fun.

She opened the freezer and eyed her
selection of Lean Cuisines. Whatever.

While one was heating in the
microwave, she poured herself a glass of white wine and sorted
through some mail. Then she sat at the small table and ate the
chicken and pasta dinner while she flipped through Newsweek
magazine.

But she wasn’t really reading the
articles. She was reliving her day.

She needed to figure out what to do
about this job that wasn’t really a job. Was she going to play
along and sit there and look pretty for the next four months? Was
she going to quit?

She finished her meal and glanced at
the time. Her neighbor Farrah Bedros was bringing her daughter Mia
over in about fifteen minutes so Honey could babysit her for the
evening. Honey turned on the television and flicked through
channels, pausing at Dan Jasper on ESPN talking about the Condors
and their chances of making the playoffs this year.

Fucking hockey.

She emitted another long
exhalation.

And she’d ended up working for a
fucking hockey team. Well, not exactly. For the Condors Community
Foundation, the charitable arm of the California Condors. You
couldn’t get much closer to the team.

She leaned her head back against the
couch. She’d made so many mistakes in her life. The therapist she’d
seen had helped her understand why, but even so, she still felt
shame wriggling inside her whenever she relived her past. But that
was another thing she had to get over—the guilt and
self-recrimination.

This job was so important to her, a
chance to prove that she’d shed her past and grown up. And now it
turned out to be not what she’d thought. Damn.

On television, Dan was now
interviewing Matt Heller, all sweaty and gorgeous after their
practice earlier.

She sat forward
involuntarily.

Matt.

She’d tried to avoid Matt or any
mention of him for the last eight years. Avoiding him hadn’t been
that hard, seeing as he’d been shipped up and down from the minors
to the NHL and back again, then traded to another team. When he’d
signed with the Condors again last year, she’d been away at
college, but shortly after signing with them, he’d been injured and
out for the rest of that season. Injured bad. Now he was back,
apparently almost recovered from his injuries, skating with the
team, and the media was all over him.

When he’d been hurt last year, she
hadn’t been able to ignore it. She’d watched the news stories in
horrified fascination, like watching a car accident, her stomach
hurting at seeing him carried off the ice on a
stretcher.

She hadn’t been able to avoid him in
the meeting that morning either, and it looked like if she stayed
with the Foundation she’d be working pretty closely with
him.

She gazed at his image with disturbing
fascination.

Matt. He didn’t look much different
than he had eight years ago, bigger and more solid definitely, his
face settled into more mature lines, but still boyish—square jaw,
chin dimple, dancing eyes.

Memories flooded back, the weeks
they’d spent together that summer eight years ago. She’d already
been in trouble then, even at nineteen years old, partying too
much, drinking too much, doing wild things. Her stomach clenched
and she reached for a cushion on her couch to hug as she stared at
Matt talking.

Smart, well-spoken, charming. The
smile he flashed would make a fan out of anyone. He knew hockey, he
knew how to talk about it, he was passionate about it. He was
self-deprecating, not an asshole at all. A good guy who was popular
with everyone—fans, teammates…her.

Her heart squeezed remembering how
she’d messed things up with him. How he’d messed things up for her.
For a lot of years she’d been angry and resentful about that.
Blamed him for her downward spiral. Now, she couldn’t really blame
him.

The knock on her door startled her and
she clicked off the TV and jumped up to answer it.

Mia and Farrah entered. “Hey, Honey,”
Mia said. “Are you going to do my nails tonight?”

“Sure thing, sweetie, if you
want.”

“Thank you, Honey,” Farrah said,
dropping a small backpack on the carpet. “I’ll be home by
ten.”

“No worries. Happy to help.” A single
mom Honey’s own age, Farrah worked two jobs to support herself and
her eleven-year old daughter. Honey had recently ended up spending
“girls’ days” with Mia, when Farrah had no child care and Honey
hadn’t started her new job yet. Honey wasn’t sure why she’d made
the offer, but Farrah had been so grateful and Mia was a good kid,
just not quite ready to be left on her own.

A few hours later, Honey looked down
at the small toenails she’d just painted Strawberry Margarita pink.
“There,” she said, screwing the cap on the bottle tightly.
“Beautiful.”

Mia sat on Honey’s couch, thin little
legs stretched out in front of her, feet on the coffee table, pink
foam spreading her toes. “I like it.” She flashed Honey a smile.
“Thank you, Honey.”

“You’re welcome.” Honey smiled back.
She cast a quick glance at her own toes, which Mia had painted
Cha-Ching Cherry, and tried not to wince. The polish had wandered
off the nail onto her skin in more than a few places, and her left
big toenail was bumpy. Not like the salon pedicures she used to
get. Ah well. She’d wear closed-toe shoes to work
tomorrow.

Honey liked kids, but didn’t know much
about them and somehow she and Mia always ended up doing manicures
and pedicures and facials to pass the time. Which probably wasn’t
doing Mia any real good. Why that mattered, Honey had no idea. She
was just helping out a very new friend, really an acquaintance. Why
did she have this feeling she should be taking Mia to museums and
art galleries, doing crafts or something educational and mind
expanding? Mia wasn’t even her kid.

“Next weekend we’ll go to the
Aquarium.”

“Yes!” Mia bounced on the couch. “The
pier!”

Oops. That was probably a wrong move.
Mia was undoubtedly thinking about the Ferris wheel and roller
coaster and junk food at the Santa Monica Pier.

Whatever. Kids needed to have fun too.
Right? Right.

“I want to shave my legs,” Mia
announced.

Honey blinked. “Oh.
Really.”

“Mom says I don’t need to, but I want
to. You’ll show me how, right, Honey?”

Honey pursed her lips. “Um. That’s up
to your mom, sweetie. If she says no, then I’m not going to go
against that.”

Mia gave her a pout. “I thought you
were cooler than my mom.”

“Are you kidding me? Nobody’s cooler
than your mom!” She leaned over and gave Mia’s waist a tickle.
“Moms are the best!”

Mia giggled even as saying those words
made Honey’s chest hurt, but she kept her smile firmly in place.
God, she wished she had a mom like Mia’s, a mom who loved her so
much she’d do anything for her, who loved her no matter
what.

But that was all old shit in Honey’s
life. She was starting over.

“My mom will let me shave my legs if
you ask her,” Mia said with a sly smile.

Honey had to laugh. “It’s a good thing
you’re cute.”

Mia grinned.

A loud knock on Honey’s door had both
their heads turning, and Honey hopped up to answer the door. “Hey,
Farrah,” she said, letting Mia’s mom in. “How was work?”

“Hell.” Farrah shoved her long dark
hair back off her face. She looked at Mia and smiled. “Hey baby,
how’s it going?”

“Good! Look at my toes! We did
pedicures.” Mia lifted her feet and wiggled her toes.

“Nice!” Farrah shot Honey a grateful
glance. “Get your stuff and let’s get home. It’s past your bed
time.”

Mia and Farrah shoved a few things
into Mia’s backpack and Honey stood in her open apartment door
watching as they let themselves into the unit across the hall. She
gave them a wave and a smile then closed her door.

She moved back into the living room
and gathered up the things they’d used for their pedicures, her
manicure set and bottles of base coat and polish and top coat. Mia
had hobbled across the hall still wearing the toe separators, but
she’d get those back. She put things away in her bathroom, the only
bathroom in the small apartment.

She should get to bed too. But the
tightness of her stomach and the way her mind kept replaying things
told her she wasn’t going to be able to sleep just yet. She still
hadn’t decided how she was going to handle things in the morning.
So she pulled out her yarn and knitting needles and settled on her
couch. If there was ever a time she needed the comfort of knitting,
it was now.

Her needles and fingers moved
rhythmically as her mind raced. She should quit this job. Working
with people who hated her was not exactly fun. Yes, they’d judged
her on her past and who she was, and she fucking hated that. But
she also hated that she might be causing problems for an
organization that did a lot of good. She did not want to mess
things up for them.

And if it wasn’t going to be a real
job, what was the point? She could quit. Surely to god she could go
out there and pound the pavement and find something that was real,
something she could be proud of.

By the time her mind was calmer and
she felt more settled and ready to go to bed, that was her plan of
action for the morning—quitting.

But by morning, things didn’t seem so
black and white. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe they really were
just trying to ease her into things on her first day and not
overwhelm her. Today she would work hard at figuring out everything
she needed to know and showing people that she was there to really
work. She’d give it a little more time.

And she had that meeting with Matt
Heller.

Which had nothing to do with her
decision.

She and Dulcie spent the first part of
the morning reviewing the projects that Matt was working on in
preparation for the meeting with him. Honey had a lot of questions,
but Dulcie’s answers were brief, meaning Honey had to ask more
questions, which led to Dulcie frowning and looking at her
watch.

“I’m sorry,” Honey finally said. “I
can tell my questions are annoying you. I know you’re busy. I’d
really like to learn so I can help you.”