Page 34 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Get yourself packed and make it fast. Delaney won’t like it if we keep her waiting,” I call out in the direction of his bedroom in a desperate move to reassert some control.
A few seconds later he emerges in a Brawlers jersey and jeans, a denim jacket slung over his arm and his duffel slung over a shoulder. It’s a gigantic duffel bag and probably weights more than me, but he carries it like he’s Thor’s stunt double. I thought hockey players were supposed to be lean and fast, not big and strong like—he cuts into my thoughts as he steps around me to the door.
“We definitely don’t want to piss off the ballbuster Delaney,” he says. “Finn told me stories about her that would curl your toes. She has brass ones and a take-no-prisoners attitude.” He smiles as he pushes open the door, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Not like you.” He steps into the hall, grabs the handle on my luggage, and heads for the elevator. I’m left following behind.
“Hey, what do you mean by that? I’m just as tough as Delaney. Don’t think you can get away with anything just because I’m—”
Not sure what I am. Nice? That’s what I was about to say, but nice hardly qualifies for prison guard material, does it? He punches the elevator button and turns to me.
“Sweet. And soft. Warm hearted. That’s what you are.” He gives me that smile again with the crinkles and it looks so sincere my knees want to give in and my uterus lets out a moan I can feel vibrate through my tummy.
“I’m none of those things. I’m tough and serious and professional and—”
“Adorable. Can’t forget adorable,” he says as the elevator doors open and he puts a big strong hand on the small of my back to guide me on ahead of him. I have the feeling again like he’s in charge and that can’t be how this goes. I need to take back control.
“No. You’re all wrong about me. Let me correct your picture. I’m relentless. I’m dogged and tireless in my quest to get things done and get them perfect. I dot every i and cross every t and never miss a detail. I work hard because I love work. In fact I love it so much it feels like play. I have ambition and—”
“You ramble like a fucking maniac when you get going, and I don’t know when I’ve been more fascinated by a rambling mouth ever in my life. And that’s the fucking truth.” His eyes hold mine. No crinkles. No smirks. No tease in his voice. I forget to breathe because I think he could be serious but he’s never serious and if he is now then I’m doomed. But he can’t be. This is Maddox Knight, the madman of NOLA talking.
The guy who visits sick kids at children’s hospitals in every NHL city and wants no one to know about it. Shit. I stare back, trying to think past the shock for something to say, but the elevator doors open and I rush out like I was about to drown and need a gulp of air to revive me, to live another day. He’s not serious. He’s not fascinated by me. And even if he is, it’s not the kind of fascination I’m interested in. He’s interested in Sugar Buns and that’s not me.
So what if I had a momentary lapse when I overheard him…in the shower. I’m human, aren’t I? That could have happened to anyone. Any girl with a drop of estrogen would have responded the same way—or worse. I know a few who would have joined him in the shower without hesitating—like Shelly, probably. But not me. I restrained myself admirably, like a professional with bigger and better things to concern myself with.
He’s a player.
He’s the guy who put a blanket on me and a pillow under my head last night.
We walk through the lobby and I get ahead of him to arrange a cab with the valet out front.
“It’s fucking cold,” he says, slipping his jacket on then standing close to me and leaning in like we’re a couple waiting for a cab out front of a hotel after a tryst. A shiver runs down my spine. Where the hell did that thought come from? I turn to him.
“Thank you for the blanket and pillow last night,” I blurt. Shit. Why did I have to acknowledge that gesture of kindness? Why couldn’t I just let it go? Because it kills the nice girl in me not to say thank you, not to be grateful for a kindness and say so. A smile spreads slow and deep on his face, showing all his laugh lines around his mouth and eyes like he does it so often the lines are etched. His face is more relaxed, more natural with that expression of pure joy.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I look away. He’s too bright to look at, like he has the wattage of a million suns and I’ll melt into a puddle of wimpy emotions if I stare.
When the cab pulls up, I hurry to get in the front seat so I don’t have to sit next to him in the back. He tosses me an accusing look, shaking his head as he throws our bags into the back seat and follows them inside. The ride to the townhouse is blessedly short but I talk to the cab driver the whole way, not that he listens. I’m honestly not even sure the poor man understands much English, but my nerves are fried with all the expended effort of resisting Mr. Hockey Charmer.
As soon as the cab stops I jump out as if I need to escape, except that’s ridiculous, foolish, and irrational since my escape is straight into the lion’s den—a townhouse I’ll be sharing with this irresistible tomcat for the next four months. Then I turn, because I remember I need to pay the cabbie, but I find Maddox taking care of the driver as he hands over a fifty-dollar bill.
It figures. He’s over the top in every way. He probably doesn’t even carry tens and twenties like normal people. He unloads our bags onto the sidewalk. At the end of a short walk lined with a wrought iron fence that cages in a patch of grass and flowers on each side, the townhouse door flies open. Delaney steps outside and she’s not smiling, and I’m not sure the last time I’ve seen her smile.
“About time. Let’s get going. I have work to do.” Delaney makes a show of checking her watch as she glares at Maddox, who carries the bags and follows us inside the door. “Here are the keys.” She hands me two sets. “Front and back door. I have some paperwork for you both to sign.”
“Good morning, Delaney,” Knight says. “I apologize for not bringing coffee. You clearly could use some.” He seems to have a death wish giving the ballbuster shit, but she surprises me and snorts a half laugh as she motions for us to follow through the hall. Maddox leaves the bags in the impressive front entry and we all push through a door into a sparkling chef’s kitchen.
Knight lets out a wolf whistle as if there’s a naked woman laid out on the massive island, the way he’s eying the marble countertop.
“Fucking A, Delaney. This place rocks.” He spins around, checking it all out like he’s a kid stepping onto the ice at the Garden for the first time, flat-out awestruck. He rounds the island and wraps his arms around the Delaney, lifts her off her feet and spins her around.
Well, color me green because my first gut reaction is to wish I was the one in his arms, followed closely by my second, which is to feel an overwhelming surge of jealousy. No matter how ridiculously inappropriate and irrational the feeling is, it’s there in spades and I’m having a hard time shoving it down to the recesses where my baser instincts reside. I resolve to get a new imaginary lock put on that door to contain feelings like this.
“Put me down and sign the lease. It says we’re deducting the rent from your salary.” She turns to me and says, “And of course we’re accounting for the Jett agency’s share as well. Utilities and a cleaning service are included.” Knight sets her on the floor and picks up the pen and signs the paper on the island without reading it. Delaney almost smiles and slides the paper and pen over to me on the other side of the island. They’re both watching me and I know it’s a done deal, that we’ve already agreed to this, but I hesitate all the same because my heart thuds and rises into my throat. This is a momentous occasion.
I’m signing up to live with a hot hunky player who’s magic to my body and death to my career.
“Get on with it, St. John. I don’t have all day. It says exactly what we agreed to. Don’t you trust me?” Delaney scoffs like I’m a shithead if I don’t trust her, which I would be.
“It’s not that,” I say, but I don’t elaborate and my eyes track to Knight’s automatically. His eyes flare up at me as if I’ve admitted that it’s him I don’t trust. He smirks. I lift the pen and scrawl my name. If he can do it, I can. And I can do it better.
