Page 1 of The Huckleberry Bookshop

Chapter 1

Athena Gavras wobbled momentarily in her heels, then strode through the ballroom, which was beautifully decorated for the gala. She hadn’t gone far when the San Antonio Dragons’ publicity agent grabbed her arm.

“Athena!” Nuvella trilled. “I didn’t realize you were coming tonight.”

“Of course I came. It’s a team event.” The Dragons had recently started a local charity for sick kids, and everyone on staff had been invited to the Christmas fundraiser. Everyone from the hockey team’s dietician—Athena—right on up to the owner, Miranda Fairchild. All rubbing elbows for a good cause. You’d need to have a heart of stone to skip out on tonight. Or a fear of black tie. And Athena had neither.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the book you’re working on.” Nuvella arched a perfectly penciled-on eyebrow as she paused, eyeing Athena’s vintage couture gown with a curled lip as though considering it severely out of place. And maybe it was—right along with the woman wearing it. But the plum, off-the-shoulder Raffaella Curiel dress with its ruffled, asymmetrical strap looked amazing on her. She felt like she should be lounging on a piano in a smoky club, singing the blues in a husky, sensual voice.

Nuvella couldn’t see it, apparently. Or else felt vintage lounge gowns weren’t suitable attire at Christmas galas while mingling with millionaire NHL stars.

“Eat Like a Player? Is that a working title for your cookbook? Because I don’t feel it sends an appropriate message. Perhaps I could recommend a few alternate titles?” She reached for her black-and-white-spotted purse, an unfortunate choice given her nickname, Cruella de Vil, was borne out of her uncanny ability to shred many a soul. That and her bleached hair.

“Sorry, can’t chat,” Athena said, edging away. She gestured vaguely toward the bar area, assuming she could find at least one player over there breaking her rule about no alcohol during the season. “I’ve got to talk to the guys.”

As the team’s dietician, she was the bad guy. It was a role with power, supposedly, but more often than not was nothing short of unrewarding, thanks in large part to center Chadwick Mullens, who all but flaunted his rule-breaking dietary choices.

She wanted to smack him—when she didn’t want to kiss that infuriating smirk off his handsome face.

“Remember, we need to keep the Dragons focused on the game, not posing for your cookbook,” Nuvella called after her.

Right. The cookbook project that was spiraling out of control due to all the sports egos she’d invited on board. A project she hadn’t cleared with the team’s head of publicity, Nuvella, who thought it should be all about the Dragons.

Good times.

“It’s an official National Hockey League cookbook now,” Athena replied, sidestepping around a cluster of elegantly dressed mucky-mucks and sending a parting smile over her shoulder. She jumped, finding the woman still hot on her heels. “I only need one or two Dragons.”

Athena continued past the orchestra, then several beautifully decorated, sky-high Christmas trees. She aimed herself at the wall of broad shoulders lined up at the bar.

“We need to build up their images…” The publicist’s voice faded behind her, blending into the ballroom sounds.

“Who cares about image? We need them to stick to their diets,” Athena muttered, marching toward the players.

Just because their somewhat new expansion team was losing, it didn’t mean they should throw out her careful, individualized dietary plans. And she’d bet that wide span of tuxedo at the near end of the bar belonged to Chadwick Mullens. He was the ringleader, tempting players away from good habits with his charm, jokes and popularity.

People wanted either to be him or be with him.

Athena approached the high bar, gripped its edge and pulled herself onto a wobbly, vacant wooden stool. The bartender nodded at her.

“Margarita, please.”

She lifted a finger, catching herself with an intake of breath. No alcohol.

She lowered it and nearly laughed, shaking her head. She could drink. She wasn’t one of the athletes. But she was so used to lecturing them about their health that she often absorbed the advice herself.

She even cooked out of her first cookbook, a copy of which she’d given to every player on the team.

The man beside her lifted a short glass of amber liquid to his lips.

She knew those lips. Almost daily they smirked at her and indiscriminately allowed any food or drink past them, with no regard to what color list they were on. Green for allowed. Red for off-season only. Orange for moderation.

Athena slid off her stool, ready to scold him, but her stool tipped, dumping her onto her strappy black heels. Her ankle gave way and she crashed against him. Reflexively, a strong, muscled arm snaked around her waist, pressing her to his side, preventing her from tumbling to the parquet flooring. Something cold and wet splashed into her French twist and down her cheek, followed by ice cubes.

“Tina?”

She looked up at the brick wall holding her and shivered as his drink trickled under the edge of her bodice and between her breasts.

Chad Mullens. Sexy wild child. Team bad boy.

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