Page 9 of On the Line
“Who are you recruiting this time?”
“Some financial whiz a company in Indiana wants to bring on as their new CFO,” Lexie told her. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. All depends on how amenable this kid is to the offer.”
Berkley smirked. “Well, youareLexie Monroe. And no one walks away from what Lexie Monroe is offering.”
Lexie gave Berkley a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
No one walked away from Lexie Monroe, she thought.No one except Mitch Frambough.
Mitchdroppedthebarbellback onto the rack and sat up, reaching for a towel to wipe the sweat from his face and naked chest.
“So what’re you and Kiera up to tonight?” His teammate and defensive partner, Gabe Huntley, asked.
“I think she put together some listings for me to go see,” Mitch told him.
“Finally gonna put down some roots out here?” Gabe asked with an eyebrow wiggle.
Mitch fought a smile as he snapped the towel in his direction. “Maybe.”
Truthfully, Mitch had fought finding a new apartment for as long as possible. But it had already been six months since the trade, and he figured it was probably time to stop renting month-to-month.
Although that was far preferable to his first two months in the City of Angels, during which he lived out of a hotel room.
It had been easier than acting like this place was home now, but he couldn’t avoid it any longer.
But nothing permanent; he would not bebuyinganything. To him, living in LA still felt like a bad dream, although he’d never admit that to Gabe.
Some mornings, he still woke up and experienced a split second where he expected to open his eyes and find himself back in his condo in Detroit, Lexie naked and passed out next to him, that vanilla and cinnamon lotion she favored clinging to his sheets around her, sticking in his nose.
But a blink of his eyes always placed him in a barely recognizable room, in an apartment he lived in like a ghost, no trace of that girl or her warm and spicy scent anywhere to be found.
And his heart broke a little more each time.
Shaking his head, he returned his attention to Gabe as he laid down on the bench and pumped the bar loaded with heavy plates up and down.
Their first game of the season was the next day, and the Knights were out for blood after being knocked out of the playoffs in the Western Conference Finals the year before.
God, it’s insane how much has changed,he thought.
Once Gabe finished his sets, wrapping up his and Mitch’s strength training regimen for the day, they opted to head outside for some early-morning cardio.
Most hockey players hated it, but running had always relaxed Mitch. While being on the ice was akin to breathing for Mitch, something about running was soothing. He loved emptying his mind of everything but focusing on his breath and putting one foot in front of the other.
As hockey players were creatures of habit, Mitch and Gabe always ran the same route: northwest up Figueroa Street and farther away from the ocean until they met Temple, where they took a right and followed that until they hit Spring Street. Mitch loved jogging along Spring Street. To his left was the massive thirty-two-floor, Art Deco-inspired Los Angeles City Hall building. And to his right was the Grand Park pet park and playground, where the sounds of dogs barking and children squealing filled the morning air. Past that, they hooked a right onto West Second Street and continued along until it connected up with Figueroa again, where they would turn left and head back to the arena.
A little over five miles later, they stumbled into the locker room and collapsed at their stalls. The few teammates still milling around from that morning’s weight lifting session chuckled at their expense.
“I don’t know why you guys torture yourself like that,” Cally said. “You know running and skating are not the same kind of cardio. You’re wasting your time.”
“Speaking as your captain, Cally,” Gabe said, followed by a desperate gasp for air, “kindly fuck off.”
Connor “Cally” Callahan snorted. Cally was a rookie phenom and had spent most of the previous season with the Knights’ AHL team in Ontario. He’d been called up to Los Angeles the same day Mitch was traded.
The kid had all the makings of a superstar career, but he had a bad habit of not being able to keep his mouth shut.
Cally stepped close to Gabe and leaned down so they were nearly eye to eye. “Say it to my face, old man.”
Case in point.
