Page 17 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“No way. I’m not living with her,” I blurt like a little boy being forced to dance with a girl. Her eyes light up like firecrackers.
“I don’t want to live with you either, but I’m an adult and—”
“Calm down, both of you. We’re in public and people are glancing our way. Get a grip.” Ham looks between us and my heart races feeling like he holds my fate in his hands. Taking a deep breath, I will my cool to return. Problem is I don’t remember the last time I felt cool—oh yeah, it was before I met Harper Sugar Buns St. John.
“It’s the fact that we are adults that I’m worried about.” I whisper the words low and steady into the space near Harper’s ear. She’s back to Harper because I can’t keep thinking of her as Sugar Buns—not with Ham’s fucking pronouncement that we need to live together.
“Don’t worry. I have a friend I can stay with,” she hisses, and her words spike the bubble of my pent-up whatever and I deflate all at once. Shit. I should feel relieved, but the sense of loss and disappointment overrides me. I’m a sick fucking bastard. That’s the only explanation there is. Because any way to avoid spending a lot of time in close quarters with Harper should be applauded. Because those are the kind of circumstances where I’m setting up my balls to turn all kinds of blue and possibly fall off altogether from a terminal case of wanting what’s so close I can taste it, but it’ll kill me if I eat it. Or even touch it—it being Sugar Buns and all the gloriously mysterious parts of her. Fuck. Now my mouth is watering with wanting a taste.
I exchange an uneasy glance with Harper. Her mouth is tight, but she doesn’t argue with Jett and I get it, because he’s her boss and she’s looking to get ahead. Apparently by any means possible because she gives a tight nod.
“I don’t want to force you, Harper,” Jett says expectantly and we both look at her, I hold my breath in anticipation of her answer. Part of me is horrified at the prospect of living with temptation incarnate and part of me looks forward to having her with me, spending time with her, having her strength and optimism light my space. Her positive energy is a good thing, right?
She nods. “All set.” Her mouth is set at a grim line like she just signed up for suicide duty.
“Then it’s all set,” Jett says, “except for one thing.” He aims a cold stare at me as if he’s the one in charge and I guess he is. That’s how fucked-up things are when my agent is calling the shots because he’s just bailed me out of a career-ending hole. The owner of the NOLA team would have benched me and not renewed my contract if he couldn’t have traded me. Then I’d have been damaged goods—even more damaged than I already am—when it came to shopping me for next year. The bad boy who may not be serious enough about hockey to compete after all.
“What’s that?” I bite.
“You keep your fucking hands and all other body parts away from Harper. She’s off-limits to you. She’s like kryptonite. If I find out you’ve sneezed wrong near her, I will destroy you.” He tosses a deadly glare at me before easing up. “Are we cool?”
“Frigid,” I say, shuddering. It’s truer than I’d like because I believe him. I have the distinct impression that Harper is universally liked and respected here, and Jett may even think of her as family, the way he also likes to treat his clients. Which explains him acting protective enough to give me real shit.
One more reason to keep my hands, mouth, and dick away from her. Far away.
Ham’s face changes to all business. “In the meantime, seems you’ve even managed to offend your sponsor Mama Regina’s Pizza, and they want to drop you.”
“Shit.”
“I’ll talk to them,” Harper says, “see if I can convince them to reconsider and explain the circumstances.” She doesn’t meet my eyes, but I see her tension and the flash of desperation in her green eyes. There must be some damn compelling reason why she needs this promotion and I wonder what that’s all about. Money? Does she need money that much?
Nah. She can’t be that desperate. A girl who wears designer shoes can’t be desperate for money. Except she did seem awful upset about breaking that heel.
As the size of the crowd grows, I feel the stares become less surreptitious and more like pinpricks of conscience, accusations whether they are or not. But I rally against the discomfort and stand as tall as my spine will stretch, shoulders back, and smile at whatever flickering looks I can catch.
We join O’Rourke and Lemaire, who are buying drinks for their wives at the bar. Jett shakes their hands and I’m introduced to the two women. O’Rourke’s wife, Zoey, gives me a baldly curious stare and Rafe’s wife gives me a knowing, almost understanding look.
“You look familiar,” I say. Rafe wraps a possessive arm around her and points a deadly stare at me.
“She was once a supermodel. Now she’s a mother, coach, and runs a foundation that benefits disadvantaged children.” I raise my brows, duly impressed, and she elbows her husband with a chuckle.
“You’re so adorably ridiculous, Rafe.” She kisses his temple, almost as tall as he is, and I can see the supermodel still in her. She’s comfortable being stared at. “You’ll have to come to our event next week,” she says. “Both you and Harper.”
Harper pulls out her phone out and scrolls.
“When is it and where? You know I love supporting your cause.”
“It’s a celebrity volleyball game in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. It’s on the team’s night off after the road trip.”
“We’ll be there,” Harper says, and I nod. Zoey gives me a speculative look.
“You’re a tall guy, Maddox. Play any volleyball? How about if you join the team? We can always use another player.” I grin wide.
“If you’re looking for a ringer, you’ve just found one.” Harper turns her green eyes on me.
“Is there anything you’re not good at?”
“I make a terrible porn star. Can’t keep up the reputation. Pun intended.” She shakes her head as the others snicker, but I don’t miss the tug of a smile. “On a different note, any idea where we can find a two-bedroom apartment quick?.”
