I look back across the rink and the woman still standing there, and he’s not entirely wrong because she’s definitely looking our way.
Cassidy Logan has been a thorn in my side since she became old enough to show up at the office with her dad. Who also happens to be the owner of the Portland Devils, who I’ve been playing with for the past decade. Give or take a few years. Then there’s the fact she manages the majority of the team’s public relations, meaning she likely knows more about all of us than we’d want her to know.
So not only is she off-limits because she’s too damn young, she’s also extra off-limits because the last thing you want to do, is make a play for the boss’s daughter. Even if that means ignoring her shiny gold-streaked brown hair and hazel green eyes. The fact that she’s appears long and lithe, but the moment you stand beside her you get the full picture on how a woman can be ridiculously strong, but also delicate at the same time.
Dave is silent for a moment, and I do my best to ignore him, but then he lifts his hand, obviously waving in her direction, and now I jab my elbow into his side a bit more forcefully than is probably necessary. This only makes him laugh louder, and Cassidy raises her brows, lifting a hand and waggling her fingers at him.
I turn to Dave and say, “See, maybe she’s looking at you.”
“Not a fucking chance, Rafferty,” he replies dryly and then nudges me with his elbow again, pointing across the rink. “See? Definitely looking at youlike that.”
Slowly, I shift my gaze back in her direction, and sure enough, her eyes lock with mine. The corner of my mouth curves up in a small yet uncertain smile, and I raise my eyebrows at her questioningly. Her eyes immediately narrow until she’s outright glaring at me, and this time, when her hand comes up, she doesn’t wave.
Instead, she points one finger and drags it across her throat in a rather threatening manner, and my jaw drops open in surprise. Dave laughs loudly, and my hands come up as I silently ask her what the hell. And then she smirks, that same hand moving in front of her, where she very clearly gives me the middle finger.
Dave, still laughing, says, “Well, what did you do to her?”
I sigh deeply, my hand rubbing my helmet as the final whistle blows, and I look up at the scoreboard to see we at least won the game.
I stand, and Dave stands with me as he asks again, “Seriously, man, what the fuck did you do to her?”
“All I do is breathe. Apparently, that’s all it takes to piss her off.”
“Well, if all its gonna take to make the princess happy is you stopping breathing, I guess I better go buy a new suit for your funeral.”
“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” I mutter.
We all start making our way toward the locker room, and I pause, turning and glancing over my shoulder to see if she’s still standing there glaring at me.
She’s not, but for some reason, that doesn’t make me feel any better.
Trepidation sends a slight shiver through me, and I do my best to shake it off. Because if nothing else, at this point, if the boss's daughter doesn't get me axed, my age will.
2
AN UNINVITED GUEST
REN
It always takesme longer to get my shit sorted and leave the arena than it took me to play the game.
If there’s one thing I always tell all these up-and-comers, it’s that it’s never too early to start taking care of your body. I often wonder if I would have an easier time now if I had thought to do that twenty years ago. Pretty sure the majority of my aches and pains can be blamed on teenager Ren treating his body like it was never going to get old or break down.
And we won’t even think about what twenty-five-year-old Ren was doing because lord knows that guy was a damn moron.
By the time I get back to my condo, it’s the middle of the night. I don’t bother turning on any of the overhead lights; the illumination of the moon through the large windows being enough for me to make it through the main living area and down the hall toward my bedroom.
I dump all my gear in the entryway, kick off my shoes, and slowly half-limp my way through the living room, brieflystopping off at the kitchen to grab a recovery water I left in the fridge.
Only a few years ago, I would have gone out after a game. Now, the idea of having to sit in a bar or a club surrounded by a bunch of people and loud noises makes me cringe.
I make my way down the hallway, stopping to look out the window, always appreciating the city skyline at night. I lean into the glass, pressing my forehead against the cold surface as my knees and ankles remind me exactly how old I am.
Sighing, I push myself away from the window, continuing the short journey to the master bedroom. I walk through the doorway, sliding my hand up the wall to flip the light switch, where I then blink twice, stopping in my tracks as I shout, “What the fuck?” My hand goes to my chest as my heart attempts to leave my body, and I bend at the waist, bracing my hands on my knees as I shout, “Jesus fucking Christ, you scared the shit out of me.”
A quiet laugh breaks through my cursing, and I push myself upright, my hands moving to my hips as I glare across the room.
Her smile is incredibly smug, and she leans back in the large chair she’s sprawled in, humor glinting in her eyes. “You a little jumpy there?”
