Page 95 of In Your Wildest Dreams
“Doesn’t own the arena.” I really hate that prick and hate even more that Bridget still feels like she needs to walk on eggshells to keep him happy. “I get that you don’t want to see him, and you don’t want him to know about us, but it isn’t like we’re going to be fucking on center ice.” Though that sounds interesting. I step to her and rub my hands up and down over her arms. “Ev and Grace are going, right?”
“Just Everly. Grace is going out with Lane tonight.”
“It’s highly unlikely you’d run into Gabe. He’ll be in the press box, and I can get you seats all the way across the arena. If by some chance he randomly spots you—because let’s be honest, you do stand out, babe. You’ll easily be the hottest woman there. Then stick with Everly. She’d love to give him a piece of her mind.”
“I want to come, I do. You in your little hockey getup is seriously hot.” She does another slow appraisal of me. “But I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
It shouldn’t disappoint me. I’ve never cared that much about my family or girlfriends being there. Sure, it’s fun to have them in the stands, but we play more than eighty games a year. Even some of the wives don’t make it to every single home game.
Still, that feeling stirring in my chest is achingly close to disappointment. I try not to think too hard on why I want Bridget there so badly. Especially knowing that it puts her in such close proximity to the douchebag ex. My selfishness shouldn’t trump her comfort.
“Nah, I get it,” I say. “We’re just coming up on another long road trip and I was hoping to spend some more time with you first.”
“Sitting in the same arena is hardly spending time together.” She drops her arms over my shoulders and laces her fingers together behind my head.
“I’ll take you as close as I can get you.” I brush my lips over hers.
We get lost in kisses and soon we’re back in bed and naked. I’m disturbingly good at pushing away all thoughts and worries when her legs are wrapped around me and I’m buried inside her.
Eventually we do have to get dressed and leave the house though—real bummer. I head home for my usual meal and power nap before the game.
Hours later when I get to the arena, I go straight to the locker room. Slipping into my routine has helped me forget about my disappointment but when I see Gabe, those feelings are back and tinged with anger.
He’s standing in front of one of the stalls talking to Lewis as the latter removes a name plate and tosses it to the ground, then places a new one in its spot.
I drop my bag on the bench in front of my locker. Leo looks up, then turns his gaze to where they’re readying the new spot.
“Traded,” he says quietly. “We got Nick Galaxy from Chicago, which should help with scoring.”
I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. More guys have come and gone in the three years I’ve been with the Wildcats than I can count. We’re all professionals and most of us know what it’s like to be the new guy so we don’t spend a lot of time mourning the guy that left because we’re too busy figuring out how to adjust to the change. Our job is to win despite everything else. I never resented it so much until now.
Lewis finishes changing out the stall and picks up the discarded pieces on his way out. Just like that it’s done. Gabe is all smiles as he talks with Nick.
“Galaxy played on the junior team Gabe worked for before he was drafted to Chicago.”
It’s a reminder of Gabe’s influence over who comes and goes on this team. A pit forms in my stomach as I watch the new guy and Gabe’s easy camaraderie. Eventually Gabe shakes his hand and leaves Nick to settle in.
Leo doesn’t waste any time. He stands and walks over to Nick. If I know my buddy, he’s welcoming him to the team and shooting the shit, trying to ease the nerves and bring him into the fold quickly.
I’ll do the same. He’s a good player and a huge get for us if he can come in and help put pucks in the net.
Gabe’s steps slow as he approaches me.
“Kelly,” he says, shoving one hand into his tailored pants pocket. “How’s it going?”
“Fantastic.” My voice drips with sarcasm. I don’t bother asking how he is. Don’t give a flying fuck. “What can I help you with?”
“Just checking in and making sure everything is all right with you.” His attempt at genuine concern is almost believable if it weren’t for the words that follow. “Your stats are down from this time last season.”
Of-fucking-course they are. I missed four weeks because of my shoulder.
“Only one goal in the last four games.” He cocks his head to the side. “Jim thinks you can turn it around, but I’m not so sure. Maybe what you need is a change of scenery. Dallas is nice this time of year.”
I keep my mouth clamped shut, knowing there’s nothing I can say. Guys like him feed on control and feeling like they have the upper hand. I refuse to give it to him. Maybe I should talk to Jim though. If he has concerns, I want to address them. But even doing that feels like giving in to whatever twisted power trip Gabe is on. My jaw tightens. I’m going to crack a molar if I don’t get away from this guy.
“How’s Bridget doing?” he asks.
“Probably great now that she’s away from you,” I say with a smile. If anyone saw me talking to him or overheard, they’d think I was joking.
