PROLOGUE
Early November
Portland, Oregon
“There’s no easy way for me to say this, Demon.”
Damon held back a growl. Not Demon. Damon, Mark. His agent had a bad habit of wasting his time. Still, Damon’s parents had taught him to be respectful, so he just waited.
Mark shook his head. “You’re missing out on so many opportunities.”
“I’m fine with what I have.” Some major branding from sports drinks and athletic wear. Damon had no complaints.
“You won’t be once you hear the whiskey deal is falling through.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re boring.”
The words seemed suspended in the quiet conference room outside the ice rink. Cold rain spattered against the large windows that turned to hail, highlighting Portland’s creep toward winter.
“I’m what?”
“Boring,” Mark blurted, even louder this time. “Everyone loves Demon Sinclair on the ice. You crush anyone who even tries to come near your cage. Your fists are legendary.”
Damon fought not to flush. “Thanks.”
“But off the ice, you’re approaching sainthood. No fights, no drama, no women hanging off your arm.” Mark paused then brightened. “Or men, maybe? Any jealous lovers?”
Damon sighed. “I’m into women, Mark. I’m just not a flashy kind of guy.”
“Yeah, well, those ‘flashy kinds of guys’ are making millions since the fans want to see a real personality after the skates come off.”
“I find this ironic. Last week, Mickey was getting his ass handed to him for getting caught with two women in his hotel room by his now ex-girlfriend.” It had been all over the tabloids.
“Yeah, and now he’s got a new deal with Axial Brewing worth several million.”
“I’m not going to turn into a dickhead to make money.”
“Not off the ice, you mean,” Mark muttered. He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Look, Demon?—”
“Damon.” How many times had he asked his agent to call him by his real name and not his nickname?
“Demon sounds sexier.”
Damon rolled his eyes.
“Look, with your recovery sidelining you for the first part of the season, take the time to think about what I’m telling you. Maybe find a model to date. Take her around town. Show off. Hang out with McClusky and Ford. They’re a magnet for great publicity.”
“They’re morons who drink too much and think with their dicks.”
“Exactly.”
Damon groaned. He knew Mark only wanted to capitalize on his success. With the injury taking him out of play for a few months, the possibility he’d lose his position was always a worry.
He let that sink in for a moment.
Nah. Even at thirty-one, Demon Sinclair ruled the league as the best goalie on or off the ice. A small meniscus tear wouldn’t change that. Though he was starting to get tired of having to prove something to people he didn’t know and didn’t care about.
