I get on my phone and open Dropbox, going to the folder where our film coordinator, Jax, left videos for everyone to review. I sit in the back of the plane on flights, either sleeping or watching film. When I get in my bag to find my reading glasses, I catch a glimpse of Jules walking down the center aisle of the plane. She’s wearing another suit, this one black with a silky royal-blue V-neck beneath the jacket. Her makeup is perfect, as always, and her long hair is done in an elegant knot at the nape of her neck.
I shouldn’t be looking at her so long, but I can’t make myself look away. She greets every player with a smile or a nod, stopping about midway down the aisle.
Isaac is standing, giving her that shit-eating grin. She smiles back and shakes her head. He reaches for her carry-on bag. When she pinches her brows together in a look of concern, I know exactly what’s up.
I get my phone and text Talia.
Noel:Get Jules to sit with you.
“Jules!” Talia calls out, standing up from a few rows in front of me. “I saved you a seat.”
Jules gets her bag back from Isaac, who isn’t smiling anymore. That fucker knows better than to try to get a staffer into his bed. But I don’t have much room to complain since my own daughter is a staffer who’s in a relationship with a player.
Lucien and Talia both do their own thing on road trips. He sits with teammates, playing cards or listening to music, and she usually sits by herself, sleeping or reading a book. But she clears space for Jules, who flicks a quick glance at me before sitting down.
She’s so goddamn gorgeous. And with her curves, I don’t see a twenty-nine-year-old who’s far closer to my kids’ ages than mine. I just see a woman, and her vulnerability makes her even sexier.
Any man should fall on his knees for a chance with her. I still can’t believe that fucking guy told her she’s too big. When she blurted out that she’s a professional in my office the other day, I got my hopes up that maybe she was rattled in my presence.
Maybe fifteen years ago. She could have her pick of any man who’s single, and there’s no way she wants a moody prick who’s old enough to be her father.
Still, I’m not letting a playboy like Isaac Moss have her. I have to keep my distance and remain professional, but I’ll still pull the strings I can to keep her away from him. He’s not mature enough for a woman like her.
The plane is quiet, everyone settled in and waiting for takeoff. I put on my headphones, planning to watch film of Spokane’s starters. It’s an expansion team, and this is their first season. That means there’s a lot we don’t know about how they play yet.
I don’t click on the film, though. Instead, I open Instagram and search for Jules Barnard. Her account is called @rulesbyjules, and I click on it. I choose a random video, which she posted about a week ago.
“Hey, it’s Jules, here to remind you about rule number eleven.” She’s wearing a worn Ohio University sweatshirt, her face clean and her hair up in a messy pile on top of her head, a few pieces loose around her face. “If he doesn’t get hot for you when you’re in sweats, he doesn’t deserve you in Louboutins. And honestly, girls, if you’re worried about him seeing you in sweats with no makeup, that’s a red flag. If it’s been at least a month and things are going well, and you’ve spent at least one night together, it’s time to let him see you unfiltered.” She stands up and steps back, giving the camera a view of her baggy sweatpants, pulled up to just below her knees. “If he doesn’t think this is sexy, I don’t want him.”
She flashes her perfect smile, blows the camera a kiss, and pushes the button to end the recording.
I shift in my seat, irrational jealousy searing through me. Unable to help myself, I click on another video. She’s perfectly made up in this one, swiping one last coat of mascara onto her long, thick lashes.
“So I’m single, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get to look and feel sexy. I may or may not have some spectacular lingerie on right now, and it’s not for anyone but me. You’ll also notice I’m following rule number five: red lipstick fixes anything. I’m telling you, even if it’s a jeans-and-hoodie day, add some red lipstick and mascara and you’re ready to slay.”
I want to kiss every bit of that red lipstick off her. See a ring of it around my cock. I feel like a fucking perv, but it’s just a fantasy. No one needs to know I’m thinking about her this way.
Even though I’m in the back row of the plane where no one can see it, I shield my phone screen with my hands, clicking onto another of her videos.
I’m not soldon the name of pro hockey’s newest team, the Spokane Spuds. A potato isn’t exactly a badass mascot. But now that I’m in the arena for the first time, I see what they’re doing. The team’s mascot is a brown-and-white bulldog named Tater, and his cartoon face is all over the arena.
We’ve just gotten back to the visiting team locker room after our morning skate when a Spuds staffer comes in with a waddling, potato-shaped bulldog on a leash.
He’s an immediate hit, sniffing all the guys and shaking his back end when they scratch his back. Jules is in here to film some of the guys about tonight’s game, and she meets my gaze when everyone else is crowded around the dog.
There’s an almost physical pull toward her. Like I could grab an unseen thread and tug her closer. I hardly know her, but now that I’ve seen her vulnerable side, I want more. She looks flawless and confident, but she was crushed by that fucker from the dating app. I don’t get how a nothing like him could hurt her, but he did.
She starts walking over to me, my mouth going dry. I lightly clench my hands, which are aching to touch her. I’ve never reacted to a woman like this when I’m at work. I’m good at switching from personal mode to work mode, but she walked past that boundary like it didn’t even exist.
“Can I grab you?” she says.
Fuck yes, she can grab me. She can put her hands all over me while I do the same to her.
It takes me a second to mentally slap myself and clear my throat.
“For what?” I manage.
“Just a couple questions about tonight’s game.”
