Page 3 of Pipe Dreams
“Bombs away,” he said. “But we need the whole organization in one hotel,” he cautioned. “Coach will burst a vessel if the guys aren’t all together. Team unity and all that. If you have any trouble call the league and ask for help.”
“Got it,” Lauren said. She’d done this all before, and not that many years ago. Although it felt like another lifetime.
The doors parted once again, and Georgia put a hand on the boss’s arm. “Slap on that humble face, Nate. Here we go.”
An entire corridor full of reporters swung their lenses in Nate’s direction. They began to shout questions as he made his way past their cameras. “Press conference starts in five!” Georgia called. “This way, please!”
Nate led the way into their press room, which would be packed tonight. At the other end of the hall she spotted Coach Worthington and defenseman Patrick O’Doul. The team’s captain was already showered and wearing his suit. The new publicist—Tommy—must have bribed the guy to get him camera-ready so fast. And he wassmiling.
O’Doul was not a smiler. The whole world was turned on its ear tonight.
She followed her boss into the press conference where she spent the next half hour trying to appear joyful while avoiding eye contact with any of the players. Just another day at the office.
•••
It was after eleven o’clock before the room emptied again after speeches and Q & A. Lauren had reported to work fifteen hours ago already. That was life in professional sports. Now she faced a car ride home to midtown. At least there would be no traffic on the FDR.
She’d given away all the hired cars already, so Lauren found herself on the Flatbush Avenue sidewalk, tapping her Katt Phone to summon an Uber driver. The app gave her a four minute wait. She used the time to compose a monstrous to-do list for tomorrow. Not only did she need to plan for the play-offs, but she needed to check in on the Manhattan office, making sure that the place wasn’t going to seed in her absence.
And at some point during this fiasco she’d have to do a final revision of the senior thesis she was about to turn in. She’d only taken one last course this semester. That was all she needed to graduate, and her work was almost complete, thank God. If the Brooklyn Bruisers wrecked her odds for receiving her diploma this June, she would not be responsible for her actions.
Nate wouldn’t let that happen, Lauren’s conscience whispered. Her boss had made every possible accommodation these past two years as Lauren struggled to get her degree. Nate, for all his quirks, liked to see his people succeed. She was still mad at him, though, for asking this of her. The man knew exactly why she avoided the team, and he’d put her in this position anyway.
“Hi,” said a voice beside her.
Startled, Lauren whirled to find the very reason for hermisery standing there on the sidewalk, his rugged face regarding her curiously.
Her stomach flipped over and then dove straight down to her knees. Mike Beacon in a suit had always been her undoing. His tie was loosened already, showing her a glimpse of the contrast between the olive skin at his throat and the crisp white dress shirt he wore. A five o’clock shadow dusted the planes of his strong jaw, gathering in the sexy cleft of his chin.
She used to put her thumb right there beneath his full lower lip as she tugged his face closer for a kiss.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine, thanks!” she insisted, snapping out of it. She tore her gaze off of the only man she’d ever loved and looked up Flatbush for the RAV4 Uber had promised her. Every muscle in her body was tense as she waited for the goalie to just walk away.
Which he did not do.
She turned and pinned him with what the assistants in the Manhattan office termed the Lauren Glare. The laserlike effect of her stare made interns put away their phones and get back to work. It seared incompetent messengers into delivering packages in a timely fashion. It was a “powerful and terrifying weapon,” according to her coworkers.
Beacon just smiled.
What an asshole.
“Why are you still here?” she asked.
“Because you’re standing on a dark sidewalk at midnight?”
Seriously? This from a man so obviously unconcerned with her well-being? If he gave a damn, he wouldn’t have walked out on her two years ago without an explanation. He wouldn’t have tossed her heart on the street, stomped on it, and then vanished from her life. Forty-eight hours before she realized he was gone, they’d been circling real-estatelistings in the newspaper together, discussing whether they needed a three-bedroom apartment, or whether two would be plenty. While naked. In bed.
Lauren didn’t remind him now, though, because she’d said it all before. For weeks she’d sobbed into his voice mail because he didn’t pick up the phone. She’d begged for an explanation, wondering what she’d done wrong.
There was really no point in going there again. “Just don’t, okay?” she demanded instead.
“Don’t what?” his husky voice asked.
Oh, for Christ’s sake. She turned to face him, her blood pressure doubling. “Don’t be nice. Don’t talk to me. Don’tlookat me. Just stay between the pipes and guard the damn net. And leave me the hell alone.”
He swallowed, and she saw a flicker of a shadow cross his face, but it was gone before she could name the emotion.Note to self—never square off against a champion goalie. They were the masters of playing it cool when they needed to. Lauren found herself staring again, trying not to remember how easy it had been to get him to toss off the mask and reallylive. “Nobody gets me like you do,” he used to whisper into her ear.
