Page 67 of Wild Blades

“Stop worrying. They always make shit up.” Like the time they said I was dating a Victoria’s Secret model. They pulled that story out of their ass because it never happened. I’ve never met her. “Ignore it. You know as well as I do, they’ll move on to someone else.”

“I know. It’s just…”

“Kali. Ignore it.”

“Okay.” Wiggling in her seat nervously, she says, “I’ve written several press releases and sent them to the tabloids. Five have picked up your story from Saturday with Rory and you’ve had…” Checking her figures, she takes her time to calculate. “…over seven thousand shares across all platforms. Plus, after the video of you buying Rory’s birthday presents, I've had a request for you to be a guest star on Play On, the sports trivia show in a few weeks. Someone has pulled out and they want you. I checked your schedule and you’re not playing the day before or the day of filming, so I said yes. Thought we could tie in your photoshoot with Calvin Klein at the same time as they are both in Los Angeles.” Pulling another phone out of her leather purse of a designer I’ve never heard of before; she frowns at whatever she reads on the screen. She’s got three phones. Fuck knows how she keeps up with the notifications.

“You’ve been busy.”

“Couldn’t sleep, stayed up most of Saturday and Sunday writing press releases and taught myself how to edit video clips using a new piece of software. I posted one to your main feed of you playing hockey. Dozens of clips of you in time to music. Pretty cool actually.”

That does sound cool.I gave Kali access to all of my social media. It takes the pressure off me, and I like not having to think about it. I’ll need to check my apps to see how well everything she’s doing is being received.

“I’ll take a look. Why couldn’t you sleep?”

Continuing to mess with her phones, she replies, “Don’t want to talk about it.”

“I would have thought having been a model that you would have seen hundreds of naked men during your career,” I tease. “Be accustomed to it.”

“You’re spicy this morning.” She looks up at me and away again.

“You’re in my room this morning.”

“Well, our appointments are on the calendar. Lola told me she printed them off for you. I wanted to get here before Emmanuel, your stylist, arrived.” She checks the time on her phone. “He’ll be here in ten minutes to measure you up for a tuxedo for Friday night’s gala, and he’s bringing you a whole new wardrobe of clothing that you are being sponsored for, which reminds me, I’ll record some footage later of you wearing them, and then we are meeting the realtor at eleven to take you house hunting.”

Shit, I forgot.Before I went to sleep last night, I made a different plan to hit the gym today, then shoot down to our training facility to meet Jordy for a two-hour speed training session.

“I promise to have you back by four o’clock at the latest.”

“That’ll work.” I’ll text Jordy and meet him later, then visit Gretchen’s grave afterward if it’s not too late.

I throw a banana, strawberries, some pineapple, and a huge dollop of Greek yogurt into the blender, then fill the rest with coconut water.

“You can pump iron and spin around the rink after our appointments,” she says.

I narrow my gaze, hit the button on the smoothie maker, and wait for it to do its job. It whirls and whizzes loudly, not allowing for conversation. When it’s finished, I ask, “Spin around the rink? Is that what you think I do?” I want to laugh. It’s the best description I’ve ever heard.

“Yup. You’re technically a figure skater, minus the sequins and dancing to the music.” She’s yet to look my way, but I can tell from the sarcastic tone in her voice and a sly smile she’s trying to conceal that she’s screwing with me. “I’m sorry I’m being rude. You are a super-talented hockey player. You score a few goals now and again. Fight a bit, growla lot, gloves come off, helmetthrown, you can be a bit scrappy. Did that describe your job better?”

“And I’m the one that’s spicy this morning?” I point to my bare chest, and she finally looks at me, then drops her head as if in shame. “Why can’t you look at me?” Remaining silent, she ignores my question, so I ask again, “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

She slaps the phone she’s currently working on down on top of the kitchen island then proceeds to jump down my throat, “Because I can’t stop thinking about what we did on Saturday, and I can’t look at you without… feeling things.” Her confession feels like one she’s been desperate to get off her chest and her words trail off so quietly toward the end I can barely hear her. “Which is completely unprofessional of me. And I’m sorry about the other night. I feel awkward about what happened between us,” she whispers in a room where there are only two of us.

I can’t think of how to reply to that.

“I’m a professional businesswoman, and business for me is just… business. With you it’s… Complicated.” Sounding exasperating and pissed off all at once, her shoulders sag.

“Kali, look at me.” I abandon the smoothie making and move around the island to stand next to her. When she doesn’t turn, I grab her stool and yank it, forcing her to face me. She lets out a small squeal as I jerk her closer, the stool scraping loudly across the wooden floor beneath.

I dip down and hold her gaze, trying my best to ease her anxiety. “I never want you to feel awkward around me.”

“I know but…”

“But nothing. You’re here to do a job. I get that. We’ll spend the hockey season together and then we go our separate ways. Nothing more, nothing less. What happened between us, as incredible as it was, was a onetime thing. I fucked up.” I’m always fucking up; she’ll get used to it after a while. “So, we moveon, we forget about it.” I don’t want to do that, but it needs to be said, and I need her to agree this time.

“I messed up and crossed a line with you the other night too. I’m sorry.” Apologetic big dark chocolate eyes plead with me to forgive her, and I take a moment longer than I should to bathe in her beauty. She’s fucking gorgeous and makes my heart beat out of my chest every time she looks at me. That never happened with Amelia.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I shouldn’t be asking, but I do. “Feeling things?” I ask what she meant by that. “Explain.”

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