Page 35 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
She laughs.
“Okay, you have a point. I had a moment there. What are you having? Ice water? To refresh the supply you have running through your veins?”
“Low blow, but a good one,” I say, then tell the bartender I’ll have a Jack Daniels straight up.
“Serious stuff. Or routine for you?”
“Neither.” I have a feeling I’m talking to Gossip Girl, so I back off. “You get all the photos and gossip you need for your show or are you still on the clock?”
“Shit.” She shakes her head. “Fair question. But no, I’m not on the clock for my best friend’s wedding. No matter what my stupid fucking boss says.”
“He threatening you?” A protective alarm goes off in me, tensing me up like I’m ready to fight someone, which is so wrong on so many levels. Because her boss is a phantom, not even here, and if he was, I’m in a tux and I’ve vowed against all drama for the duration of this wedding. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Chelsea scoffs. “Nothing you need to worry about. The usual boss things that all us big girls know how to deal with. I’m not a kid anymore, you know.”
Nodding, I know she’s feeling the residual effects of our so-called date, or maybe I am. Because I still can’t believe how I whiffed so completely on that. How I started out with brave intentions and then let my lily-livered conscience get the better of me. What the fuck did I think I was saving her from? Me? Herself? Were either of us so bad?
Maybe my talk with Levi did have an effect on me after all, because I didn’t feel so undeserving right now, didn’t feel like a blackguard taking advantage of an innocent wench. Felt maybe like I was ready to put my days as a skirt-chaser behind me. But thinking the thought knotted my gut because I didn’t know how to do any other kind of relationship with a woman. Didn’t know if I could continue to turn away beautiful women when they presented themselves to me for the taking so readily and so often—and not just puck bunnies, but professional business women—albeit women who saw me as a commodity more than who I am. Ryan fucking O’Rourke. Whoever that is. To them, I’m just a rich buff hockey star with a chiseled jaw and a charming smile, the press release version of myself. The real version of me? Well, I’m not sure who that is anymore, except when I’m on the ice or at home with family. Or like right now here with Chelsea fucking Wilde.
Most of the time. When she’s not playing Gossip Girl.
I take my drink from the bartender, stuff a twenty in his tip jar, and walk away. Chelsea grabs my arm and comes with me. I give her a raised eyebrow.
“I had a talk with Mrs. Brown,” she whispers. This ought to be good.
“And?”
“We agree that in order to keep the focus on Levi and Maggs, to keep you out of the limelight, I need to help. To do my part.” I nod, but she doesn’t explain.
“What does that mean, Chelsea?”
“I have to protect you, stick with you, not let any women have a shot at you, keep you all tied up—”
“I get the picture.” I’m picturing her tying me up, but I refrain from stating the obvious and give her a wicked grin instead.
She actually blushes. Just when I think she’s a new, jaded version of the Chelsea I knew, she fucking blushes. Fuck. We don’t get to explore this fascinating conversation any further just now because the photographer fucking blows a whistle and lines us up. Before he gets through with us, taking shots in I swear a hundred configurations, I feel like I’ve been through a wedding day version of training camp.
When we’re released into the reception, it’s as if the buzzer sounds ending a long, hard practice session and we all head straight for the bar, all except Levi and Maggs who are formally introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Levi Brown. Baddest man in all downtown. The emcee has a sense of humor, or is trying to.
Chelsea catches up to me in a ladylike run until she reaches my side and sticks there like a magnet.
“A drink. Please,” she says.
The band starts playing and we get our drinks, again, content to stand together on the sidelines and watch for the moment. But I should know better, because no matter how low key I want to be, this is a party and we both know a lot of people here. Two of them head in our direction now. Tim, my old BC teammate and now my accountant, and Tiffany, now his wife. I’d gone to their wedding, but didn’t stay long when a pile of her girlfriends made a spectacle of me. No one was happy about it, least of all me.
No one cared that I hadn’t taken any one of the girls home with me, they blamed it on me anyway. Levi and Maggs had been there, thank God, to help smooth things over after the fact. But that was the kind of thing they wanted to avoid at their wedding. My thought on that is that the quality of guests alone will help prevent that kind of thing at this wedding, but I’m not going to turn down bodyguard duty by mybest girleither way. I like thinking of Chelsea that way, but hell if I know what it means. All I know is tonight I’m not going to try and bend my mind around the puzzle of our relationship.
“And there’s my favorite client,” Tim says, putting his hand out for a shake. Not the usual man hug from him and I’m fine with that as my eyes slide unwillingly to Tiffany as she titters her greeting. For once, she doesn’t assault me on sight and I inwardly sigh in relief.
“You’re going to need to upgrade your client list then,” I say. He snorts. Tiffany stares at Chelsea. “You remember Chelsea Wilde. She’s Maggie’s best friend.”
“Of course, the maid of honor. You look gorgeous in that gown. Are you a model?”
“Thank God, no,” she says. I think she means it. She doesn’t like trading on her looks. She’s probably in the wrong line of work considering she’s on-air talent, but I’ve never mentioned this to her. It’s a mysterious hot button. That and the Olympics and I wonder if the two hot buttons are related.
“That’s right. You’re Gossip Girl on that BeanTown Sports show,” Tiffany says. I know it’s not an offhand or innocent comment because I don’t know when I’ve met a more calculating woman.
Tim says to Chelsea, “Did you know this guy is not only a hockey star, but he’s a very savvy businessman too?” As if he’s imparting some inside gossip. I roll my eyes.
