Page 45 of He Has Charm

“Smashing. I’ve crushed at least three egos in the past fifteen minutes.”

“Way to go.” He laughs but it’s not funny and I feel terrible. Probably worse than those three perfectly normal guys. Too bad none of them has teasing blue eyes or killer charm or a hunkalicious body. Fuck.

“You call for a reason?” I say above the background noise. He knows I’m out but he tells me about a new recruit possibility and says he’s texting me a draft contract to work over with the terms.

“Can you take care of it tonight, seeing that Maddox is out of town and you have the night off?”

“Why of course I can. My social life is at your disposal.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet, Harper. Remember you’re up for a big bonus and promotion at the end of the season and I’ll show you how grateful I am then. Touch base tomorrow.”

Between periods it’s not too hard to talk Shelly into watching the rest of the game at the townhouse while I do the work Jett requested.

“I’m not actually surprised,” she says as we walk out into the cold and spot our car already waiting. “I was more surprised you showed up semi on time and wearing something half appropriate.”

“Which half?” I ask because I’m in a snarky mood, still upset with the losing score and my misguided conscience. Still wondering if I ought to hire an exorcist. “How much do you think a catholic priest would charge for the procedure?” Shelly lets out a shriek of laughter as we get into the car and get whisked back.

“Let’s face it Harper Buns, as long as you have Mr. Hot and Untouchable living in your midst you’re not going to be satisfied with anyone else and I don’t blame you.” She pats my back. “It’s not a demon, it’s hormones pure and simple. A matter of chemistry.”

“Great. It should be easier to hire a chemist for a reasonable price.”

I watch the game with Shelly and work during the commercials, reviewing the draft contract for the up and coming recruit from the Czech Republic who’s looking for a spot on the new Portsmouth Whalers team.

“How can you work with the game going on? Aren’t you nervous? I’m a wreck every time Maddox takes the ice and I’m not even living with him.”

“Don’t say it like that. It’s not like that. We’re not together together. You know that.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it, sugar buns?”

“Stop calling me that. And why are you smiling like a loon? We’re not in seventh grade. We’re not—”

She cracks up laughing and throws her arms around me in a hug. “It’s okay, Harper. You’re allowed to have a crush on the guy. Accept it for what it is. Embrace it. He’s so unbelievably hot. Those eyes…” She looks skyward. “They just melt a girl, if you know what I mean.” I do know what she means, but I can’t bring myself to admit it because that’s admitting defeat. I can’t. Not out loud anyway.

“By the way,” she says. “I picked up that package you asked about.” She gives me a sly smile and I feel my face heat to a bright burn because I think I know what she’s talking about. She pulls a hot pink rectangular box from her oversized bag and hands it to me.

“That package has nothing to do with—"

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say. It’s not a sin to lust after the guy. It’s not like he’s married.”

“No,” I scoff. “Because he’ll never be married. That’s not a worry.”

Fifteen

Maddox

Finally I let myself in the front door late after being away three nights on the two-game road trip. I feel good about hockey, having scored two goals in the first game and a goal and assist in the second game—not the hat trick Harper asked for—but I sensed the excitement in her voice anyway when I called before we got on the plane. It was a crazy lark to call her, but all the other guys were making calls to the ladies they had waiting back home and it occurred to me I had someone waiting for me I could call too. So when in Rome, right? It doesn’t mean anything.

If it wasn’t two a.m. I’d go looking for her, but as it is, I close the door quietly. In the dimly lit hall I notice the boxes all gone and smile. Of course she finished unpacking. I hope she didn’t strain anything in her zealous need to do everything.

But if she did, I’d be glad to give her a nice long and thorough massage. Shit. Lifting my overnight bag so the wheels don’t make a racket on the hardwood floors, I stalk quietly to my bedroom. Whether it’s wise or not, I stop outside her bedroom door and listen. Nothing. No television, no light snoring. No sound of a vibrator buzzing. Fuck. That’s a visual I don’t need right now.

The rush of postgame adrenaline subsided, but barely because I had nowhere to put my energy. No ladies, no drinking, no celebrating unless you count a lot of bawdy revelry in the locker room, which was cool. But it wasn’t enough. Our team fucking kicked ass on this road trip and I want to light up the night with a hallelujah. Preferably in the form of a stupendous orgasm in the arms of a beautiful lady. Named Harper Sugar Buns St. John.

Leaning against her door, I stifle a groan and push myself past her and the image of her fucking tempting eyes and hair and… everything. Every fucking thing about her is sexy and tempting. Especially the way she rambles when she starts to lose control. I push into my room and close the door behind me. I should probably lock it given past experience. Then I scoff. I should be so lucky that she’d repeat her so-called mistake of eavesdropping on me in the shower.

The shower—which is now fixed—and my imagination are my solace tonight and I ought to get used to it. By the time I get to bed it’s after three a.m. and I make sure the alarm on my phone is off and my shades are drawn because I’m sleeping as late as possible. There’s no team practice until three p.m. I plan on being there by one. That means I can sleep till noon. My head hits the pillow and I go with the plan.

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