Page 72 of Secret Husband
Addy chuckled. “Yeah, she’s a real ball buster. But Nazarov—I mean, Maximov—loves it.”
I opened my phone to the website where the fan fic was hosted and held my breath as I read the entry … high heels … blindfolds … something unmentionable with a leather briefcase …
Her name was Autumn Deveraux.
“Summer, that’s you!” I blurted out.
“No, no, that’s not possible,” my co-worker demurred. She assessed her phone screen while her blonde brows angled together. “Okay, so they’ve changed the first name to a different season, and Deveraux is a common name in Louisiana and Mississippi parts?—”
“Just like Landry,” Franky observed.
All eyes focused on Summer. She raised a hand to her chest.
“So someone knows I’m an agent and that I’m dating a Rebels player … but Nazarov?”
“Technically, Maximov,” Rosie commented.
“What will Hatch think?” Esme asked.
Franky pushed back her glasses. “Why would he think anything? This is just fictional.”
“Immortalized in fan fiction.” On a nervous laugh, Summer caught my eye and shrugged. I supposed I should be glad that this mystery author hadn’t figured out anything about Nazarov and me. I couldn’t imagine it being a boon to my career. Clients wouldn’t trust working with me if I had such a tight, personal connection with a player.
Summer was still giggling about all the naughty things she was doing with the new Russian acquisition for the Reb—uh, Renegades. My skin felt hot, my armpits damp. Was I nervous because we were talking about Nazarov’s alter ego, or was I … jealous?
Surely not. How could I be envious of a fictional character engaging in fictional sexy times with a fictional Russian hockey player? Ridiculous.
“Another margarita, Lo?” Rosie held up the pitcher.
“Please. And I think it’s time to switch to the alcoholic version.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lauren
* * *
Later that evening, I was curled up in bed when I opened the Chicago Rebels fan fiction website and searched for the latest chapter.
She was a woman on a mission, and that mission was to get my extension deal with Chicago. I shouldn’t be messing with that, with her, with the system that said a player should treat his agent professionally.
* * *
But I couldn’t stop. The line was right there …
* * *
Hell, it was in my rear view. Had I crossed it months ago when I snuck a peek at her long legs, wishing they were wrapped around my hips as I pumped her hard? Probably. But those fantasies could have easily stayed there, brought out on occasion as I looked for uses for my left hand.
Nazarov was left-handed, just in case there was any doubt.
She tilted her head up to meet my burning gaze. All my intensity was for her. There was no other woman I wanted right now, which made what I was about to do the biggest mistake of my life.
* * *
Kiss my agent. Then bang her through the shower room tile.
Okay, Autumn Deveraux was about to get railed, well and good. Lucky girl.
