Page 11 of Big Stick Energy
I roll off the bed and march over to fling the door open. And there he is, delectable as usual, even in swim trunks and a Legends polo shirt. It’s infuriating. “You know what, Eric? I already know you’re a great captain. You never let issues fester in the dressing room. Talking it out isusuallythe right doctrine. But not this time, okay? Have you heard that phrase—you can’t fix stupid?”
He squints back at me, all six-foot-three worth of blond, hulking glory. “I’ve heard it.”
“Well, this is the kind of stupid you just can’t fix. So just leave me alone to wallow in my embarrassment. Don’t give it another thought. It’s better if we never discuss it at all.”
“That’s not true,” he says firmly. “And I think I can make you talk to me.”
“No way,” I insist.
He pulls a big hand from behind his back. And, damn it, that hand is holding a plate full of chicken, empanadas, and black bean salad. There’s also a wedge of cheesecake. “Delivery,” he says cheerily. “I even brought silverware and a linen napkin. Now, don’t you want to invite me in?”
My stomach growls, and I realize he’s done it again—figured out exactly the right thing to de-escalate a situation. I look into his gray eyes and marvel at him for a second. How does a personbecomeEric Tremaine? There must be some kind of wild alchemy responsible for his rare combination of competence and confidence. His leadership style is basically like if a golden retriever got a PhD in emotional intelligence and decided to captain a hockey team. He has this infuriating ability to be both ridiculously attractiveandcompletely right about everything. It’s honestly rude.
I take the damn plate.
His grin is only a little cocky as he follows me into the room and shuts the door.
But now I’ve miscalculated, because Eric Tremaine is standingin my hotel room, his powerful body leaning casually against the furniture. My stomach does another backflip.
I hate everything.
Setting the plate down, I turn to him, resigned to my fate. “Look, I appreciate this gesture,” I start, avoiding those gorgeous eyes. “But I should be the one knocking on your door toapologize for being inappropriate. I’m very sorry. That message was…” I pause awkwardly. “Temporary insanity?”
His cocky smile widens. “Got it. Temporary insanity. So none of it was true, and you actually hate my new tux?”
“No!” My mouth flops open, and then I clamp it shut again. “That’s not…”
He grins.
I let out a growl of outrage. “Now you’reteasingme? Really?”
“Too soon?” he asks with a wide smile.
“Definitely,” I hiss. “We’re never joking about this. Or mentioning it to anyone. Ever.”God.If Mr. Sharp thinks I’m spending my time sexting his players, I’ll lose my job.
His expression softens. “Aw, Darcy. Don’t take it so hard. I’ve forgotten about it already, okay? We’ve got bigger problems to solve.”
“I know,” I say quickly, my shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Like winning game seven.” This is familiar territory. I’m good at my job, and I’m invested in the team’s success, like a good little admin.
“There you go,” he says. “We obviously need to focus on the greater goal. And just think—if we advance to the final round, we’re headed to Colorado.”
“Yes,sir,” I say breathily.
He freezes. Then he rubs a hand over his face. “And you realize—if we’re in Colorado, we won’t even have to go to that stupid wedding shower. What the hell is adance-off? I’d rather die.”
I blink. “Wait,” I say slowly. “Are you talking about the Fletcher-Randolph wedding?”
“Of course.” He shrugs his big shoulders. “Why do you think I bothered to fit a new tux during the playoffs? I have to go to the wedding, too. How do you know Maribel?”
I drag oxygen into my lungs. “The, uh, bride? We’ve never met. I just…” I shake off my surprise. “I’m related to the groom.”
“Oh? How?”
“He’s, um, my brother.”
It’s Eric’s turn to blink. “Wait, what? I heard Theo has a twin sister. That’syou?”
Slowly, I shake my head. “I’m the other sister, the one nobody mentions. My family is, um, messy.”
