Page 14 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Smirking at the thought of her prickly disapproval had she heard my thoughts, I pick up the phone and dial the concierge because I have a mission of my own for him. There must be a Neiman Marcus in this city and they must carry Christian Louboutin shoes.
* * *
It’s crazy that I haven’t stepped a skate on the ice yet and I’m meeting my teammates for the first time at a formal charity ball. None of them were at the press conference earlier because they were all running drills, doing what they’re supposed to be doing as pro hockey players. Doing what I should have been doing because I’m itching like fuck to get back on the ice. First, because I miss it, and second, because I need like fuck to prove myself to this team.
After a quiet, tense, thankfully short drive where I remind myself in a silent mantrado not touch Harperbecause she looks like a one-way ticket to nirvana with her short black dress over those long legs all topped by those fiery dark auburn tresses. Her green eyes are all glammed up, but the essence of her determined, authentic self remains in full force under all the sexy vibes. We arrive at an impressive glass building, which is 60 State Street according to the giant 3D sculptured sign. I’m surprised to see a half dozen cameras around, Hollywood red-carpet style on a modest scale.
“Cameras on the street in Boston?” I say under my breath as I put my arm around Harper’s back as if we’re together because, damn, it feels like we are and she looks too hot to be arriving solo. Even if she’s half hidden under her long black coat.
“Seems you’ve created a stir and have poked the interest of even the conservative Boston sports market.” We walk inside and take the elevator to the top, to the State Room, and when the doors open, I’m impressed. Through the tall window walls, the harbor views convince me there’s more to like about Boston than the Brawlers and sports.
“What do you think?” Harper asks, knowing the answer.
“Spectacular.” I take a deep breath and look around at the crowd. “Smells like money in here.”
She elbows me and says, “Shh.” But her suppressed smile says she agrees. Another stuffy event. At least tonight’s event is for a damn good cause. Turns out the Brawlers foundation supports the children’s hospital in Boston among other things, and children’s hospitals are my favorite cause.
“I see some of the guys near the bar. Let’s join them,” Harper says and I follow her, keeping a hand on the small of her back. The contact seems appropriate, even important.
“Is Jett coming to this shindig?” I’m not sure why I want to know except the nagging feeling he wouldn’t appreciate my proprietary hand on sugar buns. Definitely wouldn’t appreciate me thinking of her as sugar buns. Or the way my fingers itch to touch those actual sugar buns of hers because she really does have a world-class ass.
“Yes. I bet he’s already here.” We reach the bar and the four huddled teammates all glance my way. After brief grunts and nods at me, they greet Harper with hugs and warmth as if she’s their long-lost kid sister. Her agency doesn’t rep all of them, but she knows them all, and it’s clear they know and respect her. I have a feeling this isn’t her first Brawlers charity event though she lives and operates in New York. But that’s only a stone’s throw in air travel.
“How’s my favorite junior agent?” Ryan O’Rourke asks, letting her go from his embrace.
“Getting close to graduating from junior status so I can get rid of that terrible title.”
“Come on,” Finnegan Reed says. “You’ll always be Junior St. John to us. It has a ring.” She punches his arm and laughs, more relaxed than I’ve seen her yet. It’s like she’s one of us, a hockey player. I’m relieved to see her unwind. Not so relieved to realize I’m likely the reason for her wound-up, business-only vibe all day. “Seriously, though,” Finn adds, “If Jett doesn’t promote you him and my knuckles will be having a talk.” She snorts a laugh.
“Guys, this is your newest teammate, Maddox Knight—who you all know. But be kind to him in spite of his rep because he’s been having a tough time.” I’m shocked into silence at her request for kindness on my behalf as she goes down the row of four men with outstretched hands and smiles. She introduces Ryan O’Rourke, captain of the team. Finnegan Reed, goalie. Raphael Lemaire, hockey icon. And Aiden Cavanaugh, tough-ass defenseman.
“And here he is, our new resident porn star,” Finn says with bald candor and a giant dose of mischief in his grin. The guys laugh, but I feel Harper tense up. I like the goalie and not only because I sense a fellow mischief-maker, a play hard inandout of work type of guy, but also because he’s the best badass goalie in the league in my not-so-humble opinion. As a top scorer in the league, I make it my business to know these things.
“Soon to be your residentscoringstar,” I say, holding my hand steady at that spot on Harper’s lower back like I own it, willing her to relax, wishing I could do more to relieve her stress, but I stick to being a wiseass to crack the ice with my new teammates. “I bet you’re glad you don’t have to face my wrist shot into the upper left corner of your net again this season.”
“You’re not all wrong,” Finn says.
“I know I’m right because I spent hours studying film of last year’s playoffs when you beat us in the first round.” I acknowledge his expertise and his team’s success and hope that gets us past the need to talk about my porn-star status. He nods, but his smile fades and, as the obvious spokesperson for the guys, he’s not letting me off the hook.
“Hockey aside, man, because we have nothing but respect for your hockey,” Finn says, “we do need an explanation for the video.” He stops and waits. All four of the guys look at me at me. No way around it except to give them what they’re asking for.
“Guys that’s not fair—” Harper says, but I cut her off.
“Afraid it is fair, sug—St. John.” I slip, almost using her secret endearment, and notice the hardened stare from O’Rourke and the way Lemaire leans forward, frowning. Finn goes still and quiet. “She’s been protective and sweet about the whole incident. That’s what I love about St. John, don’t you?” I pause and barely get a grunt out of Aiden.
“Are you going to give us an explanation or not?” Lemaire says with a fancy French accent and some edge. “We don’t want any shit to deal with. We’re on a serious run for the cup. We need to know you’re serious and committed same as we are.”
“Let’s get straight to it then,” I say. “Because I am seriously committed and not taking the chance I’m being given with the Brawlers for granted.” I look each of them in the eye before continuing with the story about what happened because I want them to understand I’m telling the truth, not holding back. I need them to trust me. Satisfied that I have their attention, I nod.
“That night, barely a week ago now, happened to be my birthday and my teammates thought they’d surprise me with my own private party at the end of a long night of drinking. I’m usually up for anything, though I had no fu—no idea what I was in for that night.” I take a deep breath. “I thought it was good fun with a couple of willing ladies, local puck bunnies, though I only knew one of them. I figured I could trust her two friends, but it turns out I was wrong.”
“You’re saying you had no idea you were being filmed?”
“No fucking clue—pardon my French,” I say automatically to Harper. She’s looking at me like I just told her someone shot my puppy, a combo of sad and mad that I like on her, giving her brilliant eyes another dimension.
“That’s just so… so mean,” she says.
“Mean?” I glance at those sparking green eyes and feel her real emotional investment. “Don’t feel sorry for me. No excuse. I drank too much and used fucking poor judgment. My teammates were only taking my lead with their idea of a fun birthday because of my generally reckless behavior.”
