Page 57 of For the Boys
“I had plans for that jersey,” he said, leaning back, eyes bright.
“Next time,” she whispered before his mouth was on hers again.
One second, Brent’s tongue was tangled with hers, and the next it was gone as she was lifted into the air and carried away from him. There was only one person at the loft ballsy and big enough to pull off that kind of move.
“Mitch!” she squealed, pounding her fists on his back. “Put me down right now!”
He did as he was told, setting her down on top of the bar, looking at her with a pout. “This is my party, and you spend the entire night sucking face with Pretty Boy in the corner. What kind of bullshit is that?”
Brent appeared next to her, lips swollen, hair sticking up all over. “Pretty Boy? C’mon, Mitch. That’s not very nice.”
“I don’t know,” she said, scanning Brent from head to toe—designer jeans, green plaid button-up, dark hair expensively cut and usually perfectly styled, beard a few hours past a five o’clock shadow. All in all, he looked more like a male model than an athlete. “You are kind of pretty. Maybe even prettier than me.”
One of the things she liked most about Brent was that he truly had no idea how sexy he was. Girls—and, to be honest, a lot of guys—stopped and stared wherever he went. His broad shoulders, trim waist, and long, lean legs topped with the most incredible hockey ass the world had ever seen created an impressive overall package.
Berkley wanted to dig her fingers into the muscles of his back and sink her teeth into his strong shoulder, especially after that make-out session on the dance floor.
“I think you’ve got yourself a girlfriend, Berk,” Mitch said.
Brent pouted.
“Aww, c’mon. Don’t be like that.” Berkley reached up and dug her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, scratching lightly. He still wouldn’t budge. “Would it make you feel better if I took back what I said about you being prettier than me?”
Brent stepped toward her so he was standing in between her legs, dropping his hands on her thighs. They were eye level. “Yes, because you are the most beautiful woman I know.”
Berkley’s face heated, and she smiled stupidly at him, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “I’m sad I’m leaving. I mean, I’m excited to see my family, but I’m going to miss you. I feel like we’re just getting started, and now I’m taking off for almost a month.”
Brent nodded, his hands sliding up her thighs to her waist. “I’m going to miss you too. But it’ll go fast. We’ll FaceTime and text, right?”
“Of course! Every day. You’ll be sick of me by the time that three weeks is up,” she said, trying to make light of a situation that was threatening to make her do something reckless, like inviting him home with her.
“Definitely not. But everything will be fine. We’ll make this work.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to hers.
“Promise?” she asked, leaning back to look him in the eye.
“Promise.”
Later that night she lay in bed, sleep eluding her as visions of Brent and his sexual exploits ran rampant through her imagination. She had to admit that the thought of him with someone else, a girl like one of the desperate, scantily-clad women at the loft tonight, made her sick to her stomach. Her doubts about letting this man become a fixture in her life crept forward once again, and she tried her best to shove them down. She had been lied to and cheated on before. It was not an experience she cared to repeat, and despite all evidence that Brent was a good man, he had heartbreak written all over him.
Chapter Eleven
Brent
The annual Warriors Winter Gala was really just an excuse for upper management to parade the players in front of season ticket holders and attempt to squeeze them for more money.
At least, as far as Brent was concerned.
Generally, he didn’t mind attending. That was before though. Before Berkley.
She was leaving for Traverse City in the morning, and while he desperately wanted to spend more time with her before she was gone for three weeks, he couldn’t avoid this particular commitment. He hadn’t even asked her to come with him, not wanting to push too much on her too soon.
As an alternate captain, Brent was seated at a table with Jordan and Mitch, plus Cole and two of the wealthier season ticket holders, Mr. Winters and Ms. Reyez.
James Winters was a squat man in his fifties, the top of his head bald and shiny. He owned a large accounting firm and purchased a business season ticket package every year, affording him the use of one of the larger suites the arena offered.
His wife sat next to him, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Dolores Umbridge from the Harry Potter movies. Brent could not for the life of him remember her name.
Penelope Reyez was a local immigration attorney and an avid hockey fan. She purchased a ticket package every season and often sent her clients to games instead of using the tickets herself. Her girlfriend was a tall, regal African American woman with bead-embellished braids that hung down her back.
