“Goodnight, Nikita,” she answers with a singsong tone as she closes the door and puts the car in drive.
CHAPTER 9
BEA
Tampa’s arena is decently full for a Monday night, and among the powder-blue-and-gold jerseys, I stick out like a sore thumb in my electric purple. With Andy next to me, we’ve managed the stairs into the lower bowl, locating our seats just to the right side of The Midnight’s goal. From our vantage point, we’ll be able to watch Nicky play without being in his line of sight. Andy’s film crew is in the press area, and there’s one more in a different section of the bowl getting crowd and game footage on their phone.
“I really love how you’re obtaining raw footage versus just the traditional film set-ups like back at the facility,” I comment when Andy and I sit down. Andy’s munching on some popcorn, their now-vibrant green hair as stark a contrast in the arena as my top. I like the humble way they smile in response. “I think it’ll make the end product feel more intimate and real. It’s also really helped Nicky be more at ease, not constantly having the crew follow him around.”
“He’s a fascinating subject,” Andy begins, sipping from their water bottle. “I wasn’t sure what we were going to get out of him on that first day. He kept his cards close to his chest, and I can see he finds it hard to open up to people. He’s so focused and serious a lot of the time—which is probably why he’s helping the team sit near the top of the division.”
“I thought Nicky was like that when we first met, too.” I pick up my own drink and think back to our introduction eight months ago, at the end of the regular season. Violet had just been fired by her wanker of an ex-supervisor, and she and Crosby were still trying to deal with the media’s attention, but there was a game to be played. Just to irritate Gus, I chose to wear Nicky’s jersey. The boys went out to celebrate their win, and I tagged along. “He barely spoke to me the entire night. Even when I tried, he just kind of looked at me with those intense eyes and gave me a few short sentences or grunts of acknowledgment.”
“And now he talks to you all the time,” Andy states. I bob my head.
“We’ve definitely become friends,” I acknowledge. “He was a little harder to get to know than the rest of the boys—except for maybe Charlie—but he’s a wonderful friend.”
“A friend.” Andy doesn’t ask a question, but I hear the suspicion in their tone all the same. Even as I give another nod and suck down a quick sip of my drink to avoid giving a more concrete confirmation, I feel the fallacy of categorizing Nicky as just a friend. I think about when he held me in his arms before Thanksgiving last week and looked at me with a softness I hadn’t seen from him. It felt like more than how close friends interact. I’ve been left to obsess over it through the team’s road trip, Thanksgiving, and a home game on Saturday before flying here.
The entire time Gus peeled potatoes and I kneaded pie crust that night, I wished so badly to be in a different kitchen, witha different man. I wanted greasy pizza and a little girl singing “Golden” at the top of her lungs into a spoon microphone. And I’ve been thinking of him nearly nonstop since, hoping like hell we didn’t miss our chance. That Nicky and I might keep moving toward each other.
I’ve never wanted someone this way. It’s a pull for so much more than just the physical. I know Nicky’s gorgeous, but it’s everything else about him I focus on now. The polite professionalism when under the camera lights. The quiet way he helps keep the guys in line when they’re all together. The paternal energy never fully goes away, even when he isn’t near his child. But when he is, it shifts entirely. He loves his daughter, protects her, and cares for her with ease.
The sound of the public address announcer and the shifting of lights pulls our attention to the ice and the announcement of the teams. Andy has their phone out to snap some pictures, and I pull mine out as well. I want to take a video of Nicky skating out to send to Ms. Margaret for Natalia to see before bed. I didn’t have a very good reason to ask the nanny for her number the last time I was at the house, other than the thin excuse that I would be able to contact her if Nicky’s filming ran long and he couldn’t do it. If the older woman questioned it, she kept that feeling to herself, insisting it would be nice for Natalia to receive updates about her dad whenever I was able to send them.
I zoom in on Nicky’s face as he makes his way to the goal, his full mask tilted up to rest atop his head. He’s already flushed and sweaty, but his blue eyes are clear and sharp. He skates directly to the net, laying his stick across the top and ditching the blocker and glove in the space next to it. There’s a green Gatorade bottle already in place, which he picks up with one hand while removing the mask with the other. His blond hair has grown out some, and there are tendrils sweeping across his forehead. I keep the focus of my camera tight as he squirts somewater into his mouth, only to spit it out next to the goal post a couple of times. Then he lifts the bottle, dousing the back of his neck before closing his eyes and wetting his face. Once he’s drenched, he takes a long pull, swallowing half and blowing the rest into the air like a whale breaching the surface of the ocean. It’s oddly erotic, and I start to lose focus when I hear a chirpy female voice behind me, not-so-subtly whisper, “I know he’s on the other team, Victoria, but that goalie is fucking hot.”
I giggle to myself, hastily stopping the recording.I won’t be sending that clip to Natalia.Beside me, Andy lets out a guffaw as the woman and her companion continue to objectify every player who skates near the glass.
“I was just as bad at the first game I went to with Violet,” I confess to Andy. They lean a little closer so our conversation stays between us. “Didn’t think much of it. Handsome men doing hot things equaled easy commentary…‘Boy aquarium’ and all that bollocks. Took the piss out of Vi mercilessly when I saw Crosby.” I like that Andy’s face is contemplative, not judgmental, when I look at them, so I continue, “Now I know they’re just doing their jobs, like the rest of us. Yeah, they love it—devote their lives to it in a way us regular people don’t fully understand—but they’re atwork.It got me thinking about how wrong it would be to have that kind of behavior happen in any other work environment. That made me shut up pronto.”
“That’s fair.” Andy swipes a few times on their phone and begins typing. “I’m going to add it to my notes for Nicky’s next interview. I can’t imagine that kind of attention goes unnoticed by the players. I’d like to get his perspective and find out if it impacts his personal relationships.” Andy stops entering the note and levels me a serious look. “Will Nicky talk about his private life? I know Natalia’s mom is off-limits, but in all our research about him, we can’t dig up any information on him ever having a girlfriend. Hell, even the one-night stands we’vemanaged to track down have nothing negative to say and choose not to go on-the-record. He’s the source of a fair amount of online interest for his looks and mysterious air.”
“Um.” I can’t help but need a moment to gather my thoughts as they war between professional and personal. I swallow down the uncertainty I feel at listening to Nicky discuss his personal life: what he looks for in a partner, how he pictures his future, if he even trulydates. I suck in a breath and search for the words that convey an answer befitting a public relations officer navigating the request for her client. “According to the guidelines Nicky set out at the beginning of filming, he is open to questions regarding his personal life. However, should there be a time that he refuses to answer or requests the interview cease, I will quickly move to protect my client.”
Andy’s face breaks into the biggest, most blinding smile I’ve seen from them yet. It crinkles the corners of their eyes and makes the lights of the arena sparkle off the gold from their nose hoops.
“Spoken like a truefriend.”
“Beatie,pleasecome get a drink with me and the boys?” Gus is pulling on my hand like a child. His head is angled down, causing his shaggy hair to fall into his face as he pouts. “We won, and while we can’t get completely shitfaced about it because we have to be on a plane in…” He lifts our joined hands to check his watch. “Nine hours—we can have a round or two.”
“Idon’thave a flight in nine hours and am looking forward to a lie-in, brunch, and a leisurely return to Connecticut,” I protest.Gus swaps holding my hand for wrapping his arm around my neck, tucking me into him as close as he can. As if I’d even attempt to get away from him. He’s bigger and stronger than I am. And I hate making him sad. Gus isn’t a person who is meant to be anything less than happy, so I can feel myself relent as he twists me to look into my eyes. He doesn’t say anything else as the seconds pass. I let out a low grumble and stomp my heeled foot on the tile of the hotel lobby. “Fine!”
“Fuck yes! Let’s go, baby.” He pumps a fist in the air, whooping with a grin broad enough to show he didn’t put his tooth in after the game. I shake my head at his silliness.
Moving me like his personal chess piece, Gus turns me in the direction of the hotel bar. It’s late, but they’ll stay open for a couple more hours, and as we pass the threshold, I spot the rest of the usual group of boys gathered around a high-top table. Charlie’s nursing a beer around the split lip he got in the second period. Crosby’s pint is abandoned as he types on his phone—likely to Violet. Continuing around the table, Obie and Leo are deep in conversation, a few discarded shot glasses being pushed around the flat top as they rehash the game. The only one missing is Nicky. The realization isn’t surprising, but my stomach dips with disappointment all the same.
“I’m grabbing a beer,” Gus says as I bob my head in greeting to everyone. “Do you want anything?”
“I’ll take a pint,” I tell him. He heads to the bar, and I look around at the familiar faces. The rest of the guys don’t seem as excited about their two-zero win tonight, but maybe they’re just being mindful of keeping their celebration in check. I’m gifted smiles from across the table, and a side hug from Obie when he realizes I’m there. I haven’t been out with the team after a win without Violet, and I notice how much I rely on her to act as my buffer. “Couldn’t convince your goalie to have a little fun?”
I look around, even though I’m painfully aware of Nicky’s absence, and hope I appear casual. I’ve schooled myself enough in the game of hockey to know a goalie is unanimously celebrated by their team when they play a shutout. It’s a difficult accomplishment because I can’t even keep my eye on the puck for ninety percent of the game. I’ve grown to be in awe of Nicky’s ability to not onlyseethe puck but stop it as well.
“No convincing needed.”
I’m so preoccupied with looking aloof, I don’t catch Nicky approaching the table from my right. He has the barest, crooked grin, and his hands are in the pockets of his black slacks. The plain white button-down he wears is undone at the collar and rolled up to his elbows. The flashes of his silver chain and veined forearms have me pushing an exhale between my lips to try and release the tension coiling inside me. The man is unbelievably sexy, and I am losing my belief that finding out what he looks like naked is a terrible idea. But right now, even as my woefully underused pussy gives an attention-seeking throb, I also notice how tired he is. The toll playing tonight’s hard-fought game took on him has me reaching out to rub along the outside of his bicep when he nears me. It’s part greeting, part reassurance, and I love how his eyes brighten with my touch and remain focused on me.
“Really?” I ask playfully. “This was completely voluntary?”
