Page 144 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Devious pleasure?” I laugh, but hell if that slow, sweet ache doesn’t come to life at the apex of my thighs thinking about Hunter and pleasure.

“So good it’s dangerous.”

“Jesus!” I laugh. “Yes, that’s it. I kidnapped you and then twisted your arm so I could take full advantage of you.”

“Tasered me too.”

“Was it that bad? Is going with me so brutal that tasering is the only option?”

He leans forward and puts his elbows on the table, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me. I freeze and then feel ridiculous when he does nothing more than murmur, his voice a low rumble. “You want to know the best part of the game?”

“Hmm?” I’m surprised by his sudden change of topic but entranced not only by his voice, but by how content he seems.

“Everything I do, everywhere I go, someone wants something from me. Time, talent, notoriety, you name it. Do you know how nice it was to go to a game and just enjoy it? To be amazed by talent and laugh at tennis balls and to sit in the stands where no one knew who I was or demanded something of me?”

“I can’t imagine,” I murmur and feel like a traitorous asshole, because I want something from him.

“Part of it’s the Cup, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s why Ian and the Jacks gave me such a huge contract,” he says, referring to the LumberJacks general manager. “It’s on my shoulders to deliver the Cup in return.”

I laugh at the ludicrousness of that. “Any agent worth their salt wouldn’t agree to those terms.” I shake my head and place another mental tic next to why Sanderson is an asshole. Commission, first. Client’s well-being, second. “What happens if you don’t deliver?” I ask, and the only response I get is the twitch of that muscle in his jaw. Curiosity owns me, and while I understand that companies acquire benchmark players to build on, no one can guarantee a Stanley Cup.

“It doesn’t have to be written in the contract to know what’s expected of me,” he says answering my unspoken question.

“Winning is expected of every player.” I laugh, but it falls when I see the gravity in his expression. “That’s why you play the game, right? That’s why every player is out there on the ice. No one forms a team hoping they’ll be mediocre.”

“The teams without the big purse strings do.”

“You’re missing my point, Hunter.” I shake my head and lean back and stare at him. Now, he looks like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, and I wish I could take it all away. “Do you know how many exceptional players never won the Cup? I can list a ton of them.”

“So can I, and my name would be one of them.”

“Your career has been phenomenal. Even if you never win the Cup—”

“Don’t bullshit me, Dekker. You can be the greatest there ever was, but if you don’t ever win, it doesn’t mean shit. The greats win the Cup. More than once. So that was our deal. He paid me a ridiculous amount of money, and expects me to build the team around me that will help win the Cup for the first time in franchise history.”

“You’re staring down your first playoff berth. I’d say the team you built around you is working just fine.” But at what cost, I wonder. “What is there, fifteen games left in the season?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a hell of a lot of pressure,” I murmur more to myself than to him.

“You have no fucking idea.” He sighs. “And we’re almost there. We’re so close I can all but taste it . . . but, fuck if I know if we can do it.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, reaching out and putting my hand on his to stop him from pulling away.

“Never mind. It’s nothing.” His smile is tight as he downs the rest of the beer. “It’s late. We should get going. It’s a long drive back.”

I sigh as he scoots his stool out and goes to close out his tab, because I feel like we were making genuine headway. The positive in this? My hunch was right. Hunter Maddox has reached his emotional limit, and he doesn’t know how to admit it to himself.

Instead, he’s angry. He acts out. He burns the candle at both ends. For a man who prefers to fade into the background, he’s the face of a team who I think is going to take center stage in the coming weeks.

How is he going to handle it? Because if his reaction to the pressure he’s under now is any indication, it’s not going to be good.

Will helping him realize he’s burned out help the situation or hurt it?