Major Misconduct (Aces Hockey #1) (9 page)

“I was working with ad agencies, coming up with slogans like ‘Sometimes you feel like a cheese, sometimes you don’t.’ ”

They guffawed.

“And ‘please don’t squeeze the cheese.’ ”

“ ‘Good to the last cheese’?” Hughie said.

Lovey laughed with delight. “Yes! You got it.”

“I know a good joke about cheese,” Brent said. He paused. “Well, actually it’s about mice.” Lovey smiled. “Three mice are in a bar talking about which one of them’s the toughest. One mouse says, ‘I’m so tough I go up to the mousetrap and rip the cheese out.’ The other says, ‘I’m so tough I snort rat poison.’ The third mouse finishes his beer and gets up to leave. ‘Where you going?’ asks the first mouse. The third one says, ‘I’m going home to fuck the cat.’ ”

The guys all roared with laughter and Lovey giggled along with them. Then Brent said, “Uh, sorry, language.”

Lovey waved a hand. “God, don’t worry about it. I grew up with Duncan and all his hockey player friends.”

“True that.”

“I know some stupid cheese jokes,” she said. “How do you get a mouse to smile?” She paused for a beat. “Say cheese!” They all groaned, but she grinned. “Okay, how about this one—what do you call cheese that is sad? Blue cheese.” More groans, but reluctant laughs too.

“Not cheese jokes,” Hughie said. “
Cheesy
jokes.”

She grinned. “Ha! Exactly. What do you call cheese that isn’t yours? Nacho cheese!” This time they laughed.

“What’s going on?”

Everyone turned at Duncan’s voice.

“Hey, Armdog, you’re home,” Jared said.

Marc walked in too, looking at the laughing group at the table.

“Just hanging out waiting for you two,” Jared said. “Lovey’s been entertaining us with cheesy jokes.” He grinned.

“They’ve been waiting here for
hours.
” Lovey winked at Jared.

Duncan frowned at her.

“They invited me to go for burgers,” she said. “Sounds great.”

Marc frowned too.

Fuck him and his Captain Codger stick up his ass.

Her own thoughts made her smile and she lifted her beer to her lips.

“You assholes are drinking all my beer,” Marc said. “It’s not like you can’t afford your own.”

“Dude,” Hughie said. “We brought more. Don’t get your shorts in a twist.”

“Lovey probably doesn’t want to hang out with you losers,” Duncan said with a meaningful look at her.

She drained her beer and set it down on the granite countertop. “Sure I do. We were having fun—right, guys?”

“Right.” They all smiled at her.

Duncan muttered something under his breath and Marc’s face tightened.

“I bought you more yogurt,” she said to Marc.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Fine,” Duncan said. “We need to shower. Be right back.”

They took off to their respective rooms and returned a short time later, damp-haired and now dressed in jeans.

The tavern they went to was only two blocks away—Lovey had passed it earlier—so they walked there. It was dusk now, lights coming on all around them. Lovey pushed her hands into her jacket pockets and lowered her chin into her big scarf. She’d been in a grouchy mood earlier—bitchy, as Duncan had so bluntly put it—but she felt better now. She was never one to stay down for long.

Although she was still bitter about Marc and his rude rejection of her. She ignored him throughout dinner, flirting and laughing with the others. They were all good guys. There was no spark of attraction like there was with Marc, but that was okay. She needed friends now that she’d moved to Chicago, and guys made good friends too.

They stayed in the tavern for a while after they’d eaten, watching—what else—a hockey game on the big-screen television. St. Louis vs. Vancouver. She liked listening to the guys comment on the play, trash-talking some players, or admiring another player’s shot or stick-handling.

Lovey watched the attention the guys attracted from other patrons, male and female alike. Did people wonder why she was the only girl there? She shrugged. They probably figured she was someone’s girlfriend.

Speaking of which, these guys needed girlfriends. Why were they all single? Right, Olaf had a girlfriend. And she knew why Duncan was still single. It was because he was a complete redneck goof. That beard he now wore probably didn’t help. As for Marc—well, he was an asshole. She dismissed them. Andrew apparently had no trouble finding women on his own; the guys said he’d been dating someone different every weekend since he’d arrived in Chicago last month. She’d have to find girls for Jared, Brent, and Hughie.

A few people approached for autographs and the guys were all polite and agreeable, chatting with them about the game last night, the upcoming home game on Tuesday night, and their chances of making the playoffs.

Then they walked home through dark streets. Lovey’d never felt safer, with all these big, strong, tough guys escorting her. They laughed all the way home, everyone full of smart-ass comments—including, much to Lovey’s surprise, Marc. Huh. Apparently he did have a sense of humor. He kept it well hidden.

Jerk.

Marc was staying away from her. Far away. After she’d invaded his room last night and attacked him—okay, fuck, he was exaggerating as much as she did now—he’d resolved he was not going near her. Never gonna touch her. Never never never.

Fuck.

Once they arrived back at the condo, he disappeared into his room. The other guys all headed home and Army and Lovey turned on the television and were now out there arguing about what to watch.

Seeing her that morning shooting shards of ice at him with her eyes had made his gut twist into knots. Then when they’d got home this afternoon and he saw her sitting in the kitchen with all those guys, giving them that dazzling smile, he’d felt like he’d had something stolen from him. And he wanted it back. Those other fuckers all laughing with her and apparently fucking mesmerized by her made him want to drive his fist into someone’s face.

This did not bode well for the game Tuesday night.

What the fuck? He was the master of self-control. Mature. Self-disciplined. Some flaky chick was not going to throw him off his game.

Much.

He’d gone overboard last night to push her away. He’d been an asshole. His gut had burned all night because of it. He’d seen the hurt look in her eyes and he’d felt like the biggest jerk on the planet. He couldn’t even explain why he’d been that way. Why he’d totally overreacted.

He threw himself onto his bed and reached for the remote control for his own TV, then started surfing. Nothing held his interest. Finally he settled on an old favorite,
Die Hard.

He heard noises as Army went to bed and Lovey used the bathroom. The bathroom he had to share with her, that smelled like vanilla cupcakes. The little pink shaver that sat on a shelf in the shower made him imagine her all naked and soapy, shaving her legs.

Fuck it. His insides still burned and churned. He could not let himself be so thrown by a woman. He had serious problems to deal with—a crappy start to the season that he couldn’t explain, a team that was getting more demoralized and discouraged every day, a couple of teammates he was seriously worried about. He needed to stay focused on his career and turning things around before they found themselves out of the playoffs for the first time in fifteen years.

He had to deal with this.

He turned off his TV and tossed the remote on the bed as he swung his legs off it. He peered out into the hall, which was dark. The bathroom door was open, the room also dark. She’d already gone to bed.

He hesitated, then squared his shoulders and started down the hall. In the living room, he found her wrapped up in blankets, propped against some pillows, reading on a tablet that glowed in the darkness, illuminating her pretty face. She looked up as he approached.

He didn’t get too close. He stopped and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Hey,” he said. “I just…I was…”

She lowered the tablet and watched him.

“I want to apologize,” he finally said. “Last night I was an asshole to you.”

“Yes. You were.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I overreacted liked that. I mean…I knew we shouldn’t be doing that, but I didn’t need to be such a jerk about it.”

Her chin lowered a little and her mouth went soft. “No, you didn’t. But I appreciate the apology.”

“It won’t happen again.”

Her lips twitched. “What won’t? An apology?”

“No. I meant, I won’t kiss you again.”

“Damn.”

His body tightened.

“So you admit you kissed me.”

He sighed, pulling a hand out of one pocket to shove it through his messy hair. “Yeah. But like I said, it won’t happen again.”

“I want it to happen.”

Jesus. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? “Don’t,” he said quietly.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is. We’re both adults. We’re attracted to each other. And don’t deny it. You acted like a big jerk, but you’re not stupid.”

He nodded. “Okay, fair enough. Not gonna deny it.”

She smiled.

“No,” he said warningly. “Nothing can happen.”

To his surprise she nodded. “Okay.”

He frowned. Hesitated. Then said, “Okay. Good. Glad we got this cleared up.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

“G’night, Lovey.”

“Good night.”

He walked back to his room. There. He’d apologized. He felt better.

No, he didn’t.

He still felt like someone had stolen something from him. And he still wanted it back. Shit.

In the morning, Marc was up early for their morning practice. He wandered into the bathroom, yawning. Christ, he’d slept crappy.

He pulled up short at seeing Lovey standing at the bathroom vanity. The door had been open and he’d walked right in on her.

Wearing bra and panties, she leaned toward the mirror as she brushed mascara onto her eyelashes. She turned with a start as he walked in. She blinked at him, holding the brush near her face.

“Sorry.” He backed out. “Didn’t know you were in here.”

“I’ll just be a minute!” she called.

Fuck. He retreated to his room, the image of her seared into his brain, that shimmery ice-blue lace bra, low cut to reveal lush curves, and a pair of matching bikini panties. He pressed his fists to his eyes, remembering the smooth curves of her back, hips, and ass, her long bare legs. Jesus.

Moments later she gave a rap on his open door and appeared there. Christ. She was still wearing nothing but underwear. He knew he shouldn’t look, but it was impossible not to.

“I’m done!” she said cheerfully. “Bathroom’s all yours.” Then she turned, giving him another view of that excellent ass.

He was having a heart attack. Was that what that pain in his chest was? He rubbed a hand over his heart as he hauled himself back to the bathroom to shower. Once again, she’d filled the room with her sweet scent. Some kind of shimmery powder had spilled a little onto the marble vanity and her pink poufy sponge hung dripping from a hook in the shower. He tried to block all that out. It wasn’t as if he’d never shared a bathroom with a woman before. He’d lived with Marissa for two years. Why was Lovey’s girl shit getting to him?

She was in the kitchen when he’d finished showering, shaving, and dressing, sitting at the counter with her laptop open, eating Greek yogurt from a container, a steaming mug of coffee beside her computer. Thankfully she was now dressed, yet he couldn’t help but picture that sheer lacy lingerie beneath the turtleneck sweater and jeans she wore.

“Sorry about hogging the bathroom,” she said. “I don’t want to get in your way.”

“No worries.” He grabbed the loaf of bread. “I didn’t expect you to be up this early.”

“I have stuff to do.”

“Like checking Facebook?” He glanced at her laptop.

She looked up from her computer and blinked at him. “Actually, no. I’m reading ‘Women’s Wear Daily.’ ”

“Oh.” Yeah, that was much better than Facebook. “What are you up to today? Job-hunting?”

She gave him a long, unreadable look. “Sure.”

“You don’t sound enthusiastic.”

“Are you going to be on my case, like my big brother?”

He held up his hands, leaning against the counter. “Hell no. Just making conversation. It’s your life.”

“Nice to hear someone say that,” she muttered. She focused on her screen and clicked her trackpad. “Wow. The Sutton Group is acquiring Elin Olsen.”

Whatever that meant.

The condo door opened and closed and Army appeared, carrying a plastic shopping bag. “Had to get more chocolate milk.” He pulled a big jug out of the bag. “You driving to the arena with me?”

“No, got some stuff to do after. Having lunch with Evert.” His agent.

Army nodded. “Okay.” He looked at Lovey and opened his mouth.

She held up a hand. “Please. Do not ask me if I’m going job-hunting today.”

Army frowned. “Lovey—”

“I have a plan.” She snapped down the lid on her laptop and picked it and her coffee mug up. “See you later.”

She disappeared down the hall.

Army sighed. “Okay, I’m outta here. See you at the arena.”

“You bet.”

After Army had left, Marc looked at the closed door of Lovey’s bedroom. He’d apologized. But he still felt unsettled. Things seemed unfinished. But not only did he have to leave Lovey alone because of her brother, he had to stay focused. For a Stanley Cup champion team, it was humiliating to be playing so shitty. They had a game tomorrow, another chance to snap the winless streak and show their fans—and themselves—they could still do it.

Hockey had to come first.

After practice, Marc found Dale Ronson, whose unofficial role was team enforcer. The guy was six foot six, two hundred eighty pounds. Sometimes he didn’t even have to fight guys to intimidate them—just a mean look would do it. He was out for surgery on his back last year and had been skating for only a few months. “Hey, man, got a few minutes?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

“Let’s go into the screening room.” They could have a little privacy in there.

When they got there, Marc leaned against a desk. “You were late to practice today.”

Dale nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“This wasn’t the first time. And you missed a team meeting last week. You doing okay? Your back bothering you?”

Dale gave a brief shake of his head. “I’m okay. But yeah, my back still hurts. Probably always will.”

“You still working with Tony?” Their head trainer.

“Yeah. Sometimes.”

“You need to stick with it, man.” Marc paused. “You taking anything?”

Dale gave him a brief, narrow-eyed look. “Yeah. Some painkillers.”

Marc waited.

“They don’t help like they used to,” Dale admitted. “I have to keep taking more and more.”

Shit.
Just what he’d been worried about. “Look, man. We need you here, a hundred percent, every time. If you’re not recovered, do something about it. Get more PT. Tony’ll help you. We need you. We need you to come out skating and hitting. Saturday, you looked like you didn’t even want to be here. We can’t win games like that.”

“I know, I know.” Dale rubbed his face.

“I’m concerned about you,” Marc said quietly. “You don’t have the energy you used to. You don’t seem very happy.” If he was being honest, Dale seemed depressed.

“I’m fine.”

Marc nodded, studying his teammate. “There’s help if you need it. Just saying.”

“Yeah. I’m good. Look, I gotta go.”

“Yeah.” Marc stood. “Me too. Got a lunch date with Evert. See you tomorrow.”

He watched Dale leave. His gut was telling him there was more going on with him than he’d admitted. That brief comment about needing to take more and more painkillers scared Marc. He’d seen this happen before, guys who’d been injured came back and started popping pills so they could play, ended up addicted to narcotics. They were trying to save their career and ended up trashing their whole life. Yeah, he was worried about Dale’s impact on the team, but he was also worried about Dale.

Well, he’d put a bug in the guy’s ear and hopefully Dale would give some thought to what he’d said.

Lovey spent the morning online, working on her blog and finishing the industry research she’d started while eating breakfast. She was getting annoyed with Marc’s little jabs about Facebook and she’d seen his skeptical expression when she’d said she was reading “WWD.” Truthfully, she
had
been on Facebook, messaging with Jillian about how her skating date had gone, but that was only a few minutes. But she didn’t want to reveal too many details of what she was doing until she was more successful.

She had a meeting that afternoon with a potential client, a women’s clothing manufacturer and retailer. Not one of the biggest in the country, but well known in the Midwest. Their headquarters was here in Chicago and she had a meeting there this afternoon to talk about her social media plan for them. She wanted to be knowledgeable about what was happening in the women’s apparel industry. This acquisition by the Sutton Group, a major competitor of Panache Clothing, was big news and she needed to know how it could affect her client.

She had her presentation all ready to go. After she ate a light lunch—tuna and some raw veggies she’d purchased at the Italian market yesterday—she changed into a suit and did her makeup. She’d already been on Google Maps and figured out how to get to the Panache offices, which weren’t that far away. She hadn’t wanted to ask Duncan or Marc for help, because if this deal didn’t work out, she’d rather they not even know about it.

Panache would be her biggest client yet and she really, really wanted them. It would be a big kick-start to her fledgling business.

She wore her black high-heeled boots today and a charcoal suit, a silky blouse in silvery gray and black beneath it. She carried her laptop in a case over her shoulder and her purse, and headed out for her meeting.

Three hours later she was back home. She felt things had gone well but they hadn’t offered her the contract on the spot, and she wasn’t sure what to make of that. She walked into the condo to find Marc and Duncan sprawled on the couch watching TV.

She dropped her purse and laptop case. “What on earth are you watching?”

“The Big Bang Theory.”

They both laughed at the show. “Those guys are such nerds,” Duncan said.

Lovey lifted an eyebrow. Well, she could honestly say Duncan had never been a nerd, and she was pretty sure the same could be said for Marc. “Why do you watch the show?”

“Kaley Cuoco. She’s hot.”

Lovey laughed and looked at Marc, who just shrugged. “I never saw this show before I moved in with Army. And it’s better than
Duck Dynasty.
Christ, he’s obsessed with
Duck Dynasty.
”

“Why’re you all dressed up?” Duncan asked, taking in her outfit and not denying the accusation. “Job interview?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Where?”

“Don’t want to say.” She perched on the arm of the couch. “I’ll tell you if I get the job.”

She felt Marc’s gaze on her, much more than Duncan’s brief brotherly assessment of her suit. She met his eyes and held his gaze. He looked away, back at the TV.