Page 70 of Puck Love

The next morning,I wakelate. My head hurts like a bitch, and after inspecting my face in the mirror, I’m glad I decided to press charges. By the time the police had arrived last night, I was a mess. The adrenalin had worn off and I was exhausted. I’d been taken down to the station to file my report and they’d been kind enough to drop me back here at three a.m. I’d showered, put Van’s hoodie back on, and crashed hard. I’d wanted the officers to drop me back on his doorstep, but what could I say to make it better? I’d lied to him, not outright, not to his face, but I’d omitted my messy, fake two-year relationship with Logan, and it had beenwrong.

After a soak in the tub, I throw on Van’s hoodie and order room service, having the concierge bring up the paper and a few items of clothing from the hotel gift shop, too. I have no intention of returning Van’s sweater, but I can’t be seen in it outside of this room after the incident with the paparazzi yesterday. While I push the eggs around my plate, I stare at the headlines on the papers brought up to my room. The tagline onTheCanadian Starreads:Nashville sweetheart to puck bunny? How one NHL player brought the Queen of Country to her knees. Another deals a low blow, enjoying a little word play on my number-one Billboard hit:Was she worth it? Luke Bryant broken-hearted over StellVansleepover.

“StellVan? Seriously?” I shake my head at the offending paper. “They couldn’t come up with a better name thanthat?”

Another shows Van on his front stoop, buck naked, tattooed, and crazy-eyed as he attacks a paparazzo. There are shots of his glorious face and body in action, and once again I’m reminded how formidable a presence he is. I stroke my fingertips over the muscles of his well-defined backside and strong thighs. God, who knew it was possible to miss a man you just met thismuch?

The phone rings, and I shove the papers away from me and answer it. The concierge tells me she has a Lana Lambert downstairs demanding to see me. I tell her to let her up, and I sigh as I stare at Van’s picture one last time before throwing the papers in thetrash.

Minutes later, my manager pounds on my door. When I open it, I expect her to start ranting the second she sees my face, but she doesn’t. She frowns, swallows hard, and says, “Oh honey, are youalright?”

“No, I don’t think I am,” I whisper. Lana engulfs me in a huge hug, and for a beat, I don’t really know what to do other than stand there pondering this embrace. Lana is not a hugger. Not by any means. In fact, in the five years she’s worked for me, I think she’s touched me exactly once, when she shook my hand at our first meeting. She’s something of a germaphobe. That isn’t the only reason the gesture is odd, though. It’s the fact that she isn’t yelling at me.Why isn’t she yelling at me? It’s her job to make sure I adhere to my strict schedule, and she must have been going out of her mind with all the drama my absencecreated.

With a sigh, I finally hug her back and then step away from the door. “Please tell me you have my purse, or I may need to use yourAmex.”

“I have it.” She fishes into her enormous handbag and pulls out my purse, passport, and my phone. I stare at that last one as if it might bite me, but I take it from her and set it on the bed. Lana looks around the room, pausing when she sees my room service. She arches her brow, and I can tell it’s because she’s thinking that the Stella Hart she knows doesn’t eat white bread and eggs. She doesn’t drink coffee or juice, and she doesn’t lie around in oversized hoodies belonging toathletes.

Lana glances at the papers in the trash and pulls the top one out. It’s the one with a naked Van, and to be honest, it’s looking a little worn around the edges for a paper that was only delivered to my room an hourago.

Lana gives the picture a onceover and whistles low. “He’sum. . .”

“Built like a Greekgod?”

“I was going to say an interesting choice. But an athlete, Stella? You know how I feel about dating athletes. They’re a no-go zone for someone like you. Especially man whores like VanRoss.”

I exhale loudly, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of my eyes. “Iknow.”

“Oh, Stella.” She shakes her head. “If I didn’t love you so much, I might have considered dropping you. This has been one hell of a PR nightmare to cleanup.”

“I really made a mess of things,huh?”

Her expression is mocking. “Youthink?”

“What am I supposed todo?”

“About the hot hockey player or yourcareer?”

“Both.”

“Well, you’re not going to like it, but you schedule a press release, and yougrovel.”

“Right.”

“There’s no other way around it, babe. Your fans need to know why you ran out on them, and you’ve got to come clean about what happened with the hockey player and Logan. The police report has already been leaked this morning, so at least you have that in your favor. Instead of looking like a cheater, you’re now a battered wife seeking protection in the arms of a fearsome hockeygod.”

“That’s not exactly how it wentdown.”

“That’s the story as far as the public sees it. I know it sounds brutal, but honestly, Logan hitting you last night and making such a scene really played the public in your favor. Your Twitter is filled with survivors who supportyou.”

“But I’m not a survivor. I’m afraud.”

“Honey, everyone in show business is a fraud. Where the hell have you been the last tenyears?”

“I can’t pretend to be something I’m not,” I say. She raises an eyebrow at me, because Lana always did wonder about my virgin status. She’d told me as much. “Notanymore.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “He wasn’t your first, washe?”

“No.”

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