Sneaking around with #34, page 9
Warner seems to push aside his hurt and turns on his charm when the mother rushes over, apologizing the entire time until she reaches us.
“It’s okay.” He places his bagel and coffee on a nearby bench and pats his pockets. “I don’t have a pen or anything.”
The mom drops her oversized purse on the bench, rummaging through it. I look at my small purse hanging from my arm and wonder when that transformation happens. Do you go up a size after each kid or do you ditch the small purse for a huge one as soon as you have your firstborn?
“Here you go.” She holds up a Sharpie as though it’s a prize. I’m not surprised she has one.
“Great. Want me to sign your jersey for you?” Warner squats down and opens the Sharpie before signing his name on the jersey. Then he looks up at me. “Do you have paper?”
Why is he asking me and not the woman who’s ready for war with the monster purse?
“No.”
He digs into his pocket, finding the receipt from our bagels. He signs it and hands it to the boy. “Just in case.”
Then the other boys are rushing forward with pieces of paper the mom with the giant purse is handing out. Warner smiles and asks them if they play. He interacts with ease, but I guess his younger brother has probably helped him learn how to interact with kids.
“Is she your girlfriend?” the redhead whispers.
Warner looks back at me and smirks. “No.”
“But she’s so pretty.”
I want to squat down and hug him for making my day a little brighter.
“I know, right? But she’s way out of my league.”
The entire group of boys is surrounding Warner, and the mom smiles over their little heads at me.
“Nah, you’re Warner Langley,” one of them says.
Warner shrugs. “That doesn’t mean anything. She doesn’t care how I perform on the ice.”
“She should date you just for the number of goals you made two nights ago,” another kid chimes in, giving me a nasty look.
“Ah, remember you can play awesome on the ice, but you gotta be a good person. Treat others with respect, how you want to be treated.” He pokes the redhead in the chest but moves his finger around, so everyone knows the advice is for all of them. “Be a good teammate.”
“Does that mean you’re not those things if she doesn’t want to date you?” the redhead asks.
The mom laughs. “That’s enough questions. Thank Mr. Langley for his time.”
The group of boys step back, all saying thank you at once.
“Thank you very much. You’re very kind to do all this.” She smiles at him.
“Of course. In fact, give me your number and I’ll see what I can do about tickets for the next game.”
“Shut up!” the redhead exclaims, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.
“No way!”
“Awesome!”
The boys’ excitement is contagious. I’ll make sure they get tickets myself. Warner accepts the mom’s number and I pluck it out of his hand.
“I’ll be in touch,” I tell her.
We say our goodbyes to the boys and turn back around to find that the camera crew must have been filming our interaction.
“No good deed ever goes unnoticed,” Warner mumbles.
Guilt tugs at my insides for dimming the light in his eyes with my truth, but I had to be honest. I can’t afford to get wrapped up in this man again. It almost destroyed me once. I don’t know that I’d survive it a second time.
The next stop of the day is an advertising campaign for the watch company he models for.
The minute we walk in, everyone treats Warner like the superstar he is. Fawning over his latest game stats, telling him how they have donuts from his favorite place at the craft table. He does that fist-knocking thing to every guy on set and hugs every woman. By the time we make it to the makeup room, I’m annoyed, but can’t put my finger on why exactly.
The makeup artist comes in, eyeing me up and down before staring at Warner through the mirror. “Who’s this?”
“Imogen Jacobs, meet Mario Cruz.” Warner motions between us.
“I wasn’t asking for a name, more of a clarification.” He steps over and offers me his hand.
I shake it. “I work for the Fury. Just one of the people following Warner around for the day.”
“Oh… how nice.” He raises his perfectly shaped eyebrows at Warner through the mirror and opens his makeup case. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll turn you ugly instead of the other way around.”
I huff and Mario glances at me before focusing his attention on Warner.
“You need something to drink?” Warner asks.
“No. I’m fine.” I take a seat on the couch and lean back and cross my legs.
“Guess who isn’t here yet?” Mario says to Warner as though he’s about to dish out a big piece of gossip.
“Seriously? She messes with the schedule every damn time.” There’s annoyance in Warner’s voice that I don’t hear very often. “I don’t have time to wait around for her to grace us with her presence.”
Mario must notice my confused expression because he’s quick to explain. “They do all the ads together. You know, beautiful woman, gorgeous male.”
“I assume we’re talking about Aria Chand?” I say.
The million ads I’ve seen of her and Warner come to mind. Them on a yacht, them shopping in Los Angeles, in front of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller. I guess Warner can act as well as he plays hockey because every billboard or print ad I’ve seen looks as if they’re in love.
“She couldn’t be on time if she was hosting Saturday Night Live,” Warner grumbles.
Mario touches Warner’s shoulder, giggling. “Did you hear when she did? She was late, and those people had the balls to send her home. Maybe if they did that once here, she’d figure out how to be on time.”
“They won’t.” He frowns, and his gaze reaches mine in the mirror.
People have been shipping them together for years. I get it, the dark brooding bad boy and the beautiful, sophisticated woman. I was jealous the first time I saw them together. It felt like I was swallowing jagged glass.
“We’re not a couple.” Warner stands and pulls off the white piece of paper around his neck.
“Hey, I wasn’t finished.” Mario holds a small eyebrow brush.
“I’m fine.” Warner walks out.
I stand from the couch.
“Boy, you sure get his undies all wadded up, don’t you?” Mario comes over and elbows me in the side. “Tell me the tea. Who are you really?”
“I’m the hype woman for the Florida Fury. That’s all.”
I follow Warner down the hallway. The camera crew is already in front of him to track his every step.
“She’s not here yet?” Warner says to a woman sitting in the chair I envision directors in.
She finishes chewing the donut she’s eating and swallows. “She’s a few minutes out, I’m told. Got caught in traffic. Not used to being here. Blah, blah, blah. Let’s remember you dictated for us to come to you. She’s making the special trip.”
Warner practically growls. “I have plans. Can we speed this up? Get the lighting figured out in the meantime… something?”
The woman looks at him as though she’s placating him. “We need the both of you.”
He tugs on my sleeve, pulling me to his side. “You can use her.”
I pull my sleeve out of his hold. “Excuse me?”
The woman looks me over. “Just sit and wait. Eat the donuts you love so much.”
Warner’s hands fist at his side. “Janice, I have something to do after this that’s pressing.”
I hate that I wonder what he has to do and who it might be with. It’s none of my business.
“I’ll make it snappy when she gets here. Promise.” But Janice must see something in his face because she sighs. “Fine. The two of you up in front.” She points, but I stay in place.
“Imogen, come on. You’re just Aria’s stand-in.” Warner holds his hand out to me.
I shake my head, but he doesn’t retract his hand.
“Please. I’ll make this up to you.”
I exhale a deep breath. Him and those damn eyes. “Fine, but you can make it up to me by not doing anything for me.”
“How do you want us?” Warner asks Janice, ignoring my jab.
“You’re sitting in that chair and your wrist is cocked to look at your watch. She’s standing above you, leaning over your shoulder and whispering something in your ear.”
That’s easy enough. The two of us get into position. God, the closer I get to him, the more I can smell his cologne. He smells good. My eyes close of their own accord and a flash of our naked bodies running along one another’s flashes in my mind.
Janice comes over and moves my leg up on the arm of the chair and brings his arm around my thigh so he’s touching my shin with the arm without the watch on it. “You have to lean in close like you’re telling him something very dirty that’ll get him to ditch whatever appointment he has, hence him checking his watch.”
Warner’s hand runs up my thigh and back down. “Relax. This is just for lighting. Nothing more,” he whispers.
I suppress the shiver that threatens to rack my body and lean in close.
“Feel free to talk dirty to me,” he says. “On second thought, I don’t want my dick to get hard.”
I sputter out a laugh. Leaning in close, I can’t help myself. “Telling you I’m not wearing any panties right now wouldn’t make you hard, would it? Or the fact I’m completely bare under my blouse and pants?” My nipples pebble.
The photographer takes a few test shots.
“Great, you two. Let me check some things.” Janice walks away with the photographer, and they go to look at the monitor set up at the side.
“Damn, Gen,” he says, shifting in the seat.
“I’m here! Everyone, I’m here!” a female voice with a slight accent announces. As Aria comes out of the darkness and sees me with Warner, she stops in her tracks. “Who are you?”
“Aria, you’re late again,” he says.
“Who’s this?” She points and looks at who I assume is her assistant, from the number of bags she’s carrying and the flustered look on her face.
“I have plans. Can you please get ready?” Warner asks.
“Tell her to get out of my spot,” she snipes while she walks away.
I gladly step away and back toward the camera crew.
Warner’s cell phone rings. He silences it and walks over to me. “Do you mind holding this? I forgot I had it on me.”
I take it. “Sure.”
Forty-five minutes later, Aria walks on set, giving me a nasty look. She kisses Warner on the cheek and says something about how muscular he’s getting. I inwardly roll my eyes.
Janice puts them in a similar position to the one we were in, but I’m sure Aria pulls it off much better than I did. They end up going through four different setups, Janice saying they want a sequence of events. The whole thing ends with Warner’s watch on the nightstand of a bed and Aria in a man’s dress shirt walking into a room. At least I didn’t have to actually see him in a bed with her.
When the shoot is finally over, Warner shrugs on his shirt and talks to Janice and a few others. His phone buzzes in my hand, and I glance down and see the name Iris on his screen. I’m guessing she’s his important plans for tonight. I let it go to voice mail and I’m forced to admit to myself that I’m seething with jealousy.
“Hey, you ready?” He’s in a much more chipper mood than before.
I hand him his phone. “Sure.” I push his phone into his chest with more force than necessary.
He glances down at the screen, but says nothing, pocketing his phone.
We walk out of the studio, say our goodbyes to the camera crew, and I slide into his SUV.
“I was thinking we could do dinner?” He turns the key in the ignition.
“Only if it involves a protein bar from the gas station.”
He chuckles. “What?”
“I already told you, we’re not going on a date.”
He glances over when we reach a stop sign, then presses hard on the gas, making my back plaster to the seat. He’s silent the entire ride home, and I can’t get out of his SUV fast enough when he pulls into his driveway beside my car.
“I don’t know why you’re so mad. You said you had important plans tonight.” I climb out of his SUV and walk to my car.
“With you. My plans were to take you to dinner.” There’s an edge to his tone, like he has the nerve to be pissed off at me.
I open my car door. “Why don’t you call Iris?”
Then I climb into my car and drive off, effectively getting the last word in.
It doesn’t feel as great as I thought it would.
Drake comes up to me after the game, mindful that Ford is ahead of us because he speaks in a low voice. I know where his loyalty lies, but I’ve given the guy more assists than Ford in the last few games, plus, we seem to be able to always know where the other one is on the ice.
“I’ve never played with someone who can backhand with the control you have,” he says while we walk down the hallway toward the locker room.
“I’ve never played with someone who has your stamina.”
Drake laughs. “Conditioning. I’ve been doing a helluva lot more of it since they signed Jet. Gotta keep my starting line position.”
I understand what he’s saying. I sense Drake and I are the same type of person. We don’t do second place, but both of our times to hang up the skates will come. It’s inevitable.
“Listen.” He stops me outside the locker room. “Saige and I are having a dinner party next month that rare weekend that we don’t have a game. Do you want to come?”
“Dinner party, huh?”
He shrugs. “Ford will be there, but I’ll talk to him.”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’m gonna pass.”
He peeks into the locker room and puts his hand on my chest to keep me from going in. “I don’t know why you two hate one another. Ford is pretty tight lipped about it, but it’s making our line suffer. He’s pissed every time I shoot you the puck, and you two avoid one another on the ice like you’re each other’s competition. We can’t win the Cup if you guys continue on this way. The dinner party is a way for me to get you two to mend fences.”
“The problems of a captain,” I say. Drake’s supposed to be the man who keeps our locker room drama-free.
“You’d think they would’ve consulted me before trading for you.” He chuckles and pounds his fist into my chest lightly. “Just think about it. I’ll deal with Ford.”
He disappears into the locker room, and I follow a minute later, noticing Ford and Drake in conversation. Ford whips his head in my direction, and it’s clear he’s seething.
I understand that Drake’s in a tough position, but he’s right. We aren’t going to win the Cup if Ford and I don’t get on the same page. If we can’t figure out how to play together on the same line, we’re screwed.
At my locker by Cory and Kane, I sit down to take off my skates.
“I hate meet and greets,” Kane says. “It’s like an excuse to let women grope you.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Cory asks with a chuckle. I don’t know if he’s ever done a meet and greet, and maybe he won’t care that he has to hug every single woman who comes through. Given the way he’s screwing his way through the puck bunnies these days, my bet is he won’t mind.
While Kane gives Jet the lowdown on how they work, I glance at Ford and Drake, seeing Maksim Petrov is now talking to each of them. Those three are like the three musketeers of the Florida Fury, and now I’m causing trouble in their friendship, which was never my intention. I never wanted to lose my friendship with Ford, but when push came to shove, he had to choose a side. I can’t blame him for taking his sister’s. Maybe that’s why he never wanted us to get together in the first place. He didn’t want to be in the situation I put him in. But he seems to forget that he put me in a situation I didn’t want to be in either.
Our coach at Lauder had a friend who coached at a public high school and organized a scrimmage between the two teams. Both of us were the best of the best for our respective leagues.
Ford and I were talking about a delicate situation as we headed to the rink. “Come on, man, Mrs. Iverson loves you. You’re the only one who can get a copy of the test, and if we don’t get the McGregor brothers to pass Greek mythology, they can’t play, and we won’t win the big trophy our senior year.” He pounded me on the shoulders.
“If they want the test, they can get it themselves.”
Could I get a copy of the test? Probably. And pretty easily, because Ford was right, Mrs. Iverson had a soft spot for me. She’d asked me to stay on my first day and told me that if I ever needed anything, to go to her. Stealing the test would feel like deceiving a good friend. But I also knew Lauder had brought me on to win a championship and that wasn’t going to happen without the McGregor brothers.
“They’d fuck it up and get suspended,” Ford said.
“Why don’t we just tutor them?” It was my last grasp for any other reason not to steal the test. I was smart enough and patient enough to tutor. Hell, I had been Trinity’s tutor since she was in pre-K and came home crying that she didn’t know her ABCs.
Just then, the McGregor brothers bulldozed by us onto the ice, arguing about almond milk and whether it was true that if you put almonds in a grinder, it would produce milk.
“Can’t we just cut it open like a coconut?” one said to the other.
“No, I tried to cut one open the other day and no milk in there.”
I looked at Ford and nodded. Yeah, tutoring wasn’t an option. The McGregors were our biggest defenders, and if their grades slipped any further, they couldn’t play.
“I’ll see what I can do.” I figured at least that would buy me some time.
Ford hit me in the chest. “Don’t forget the answer key,” he said, then skated over to our side.
