Page 37 of He Has Pluck

The elevator doors slide open, and we step out into the lobby of the practice facility side-by-side. She’s about to walk away, and I can’t let her. I grab her arm, and she turns back to me.

“But Coach forgot what it’s like to be a twenty-one-year-old stud,” I say.

Her eyes spark, and the mesmerizing blue of her irises makes them look like they’re on fire. My dick gets too hard for comfort, and I reach for self-control because we’re in public, but that’s the only reason.

She gives me the slightest nod. A smile like she’s a hell cat who just bit off the canary’s head takes over her face, and I should take my cue to leave, run the other way, because everything I’ve been working for all my fucking life depends on it, depends on keeping focused, not messing up by messing around with a woman I have no business messing with.

She’s not my type, not someone I’d ever be interested in. She’s not good for me.

She fucking hates hockey for fuck’s sake.

She walks away. She doesn’t commit to coming over, but I’d bet my balls and all my unborn children that she will. I’m fucking pathetic because there’s no way I can send her away if she shows up.

Chapter Eleven

JULIETTE

His invitation was circumspect at best, more like a challenge. But it’s the kind of challenge I find irresistible because like the man said, he’s a twenty-one-year-old stud. Shit. He’ a double-stud based on my experience with him so far. Not the kind of guy I run into often. I drive home alone, and Carlos greets me at the front door, taking the camera bag from me.

“Where’s the rest of the equipment?” he asks.

“In the equipment room.” I give him an of course, where else? raise of one brow. Carlos doesn’t come close to Hockey Boy in the stud department.

Why the hell am I comparing Jason and Carlos when I know there’s no comparison? Carlos doesn’t tempt me at all. I brush past him and head straight to my bedroom.

Jason, on the other hand, is not the kind of temptation I can say no to. The devil on my shoulder shouts why should I? as I come face to face with my bed, the scene of my so-called crime.

Oh yeah, because dallying with the subject of my documentary could ruin my career. But that’s only if it got out, if certain people in the business knew about it. Which they never will.

What about personal integrity and preserving professional perspective for the sake of my craft and … Fucking hell. It’s a fucking hockey documentary, and I could score an award on this project with one eye closed and my hands tied. It’s just not that challenging.

But Jason Tansem? He’s another matter because he’s another kind of challenge. I admit I’m fascinated. Of course I’m attracted to him because I’m a healthy red-blooded woman. And that’s all there is to it.

My only real obstacle to playing out our fling to its conclusion—other than my conscience—is Carlos.

Pulling off my work clothes, I check my bags for something not black and not serviceable. My gaze skims over the team jersey with a jerk at my resolve never to wear it. But as soon as I see the red silk blouse, I snatch it up. It’s meant to pair with a skirt, but I find some leggings and they’ll have to do.

Not bothering with a jacket, I grab my small bag and head for the door. Carlos stops me on my way out.

“Where are you going? We have edits—”

“I’ll take care of them tomorrow some time. I’m going out for the night.” He stares at me, and I stare back at him for a beat.

“Where?” he asks, his mouth grim.

I take a deep breath. “Look, I’ve been working non-stop since I got here, and I need to blow off some steam.”

His face softens, and he nods. “Go have fun then. I’ll take care of the edits.” He smiles. “But stay away from the hockey players.”

I’m pretty sure he’s kidding. I don’t hear any accusation in his voice, so I smile and roll my eyes to let him think I would never consider such a ridiculous thing. I hear his good-natured laugh as I close the door behind me, like we’ve shared some inside joke at the expense of hockey players.

And I don’t know who I’m betraying. Carlos or Jason? Fuck, maybe I’m not betraying anyone. Maybe I’m being true to myself because I wasn’t lying when I said I need to blow off some steam, need to lie in the arms of a man who knows how to make me forget everything, who transports me somewhere else. A place where I’m the most important person, an object of insatiable desire and infinite attention. Or that’s how he makes me feel.

Not for the first, or even the hundredth time, I wonder, why him? Shuddering in the chill evening air of April in Boston, I start my car and drive to the address in Chelsea he texted me.

I decide the reason I’m so smitten with Jason the hockey boy is because it’s all about the challenge and the fun of someone so different that he can’t possibly be a threat. I have it all under control.

No one can tell me what to do with my personal life, not Carlos, not Ruminski, not coach and not even Jason.