Page 3 of Hot Stuff
My spine stiffens. She can’t know I’m about to be out of a job. Forced to retire due to injury. Sure the team could keep me on injured reserve for the rest of the season, but why would they when there’s no hope I’ll play competitive hockey again.
I swallow around the lump in my throat and ask, “Why would I move?”
She leans back in her chair and folds her arms over her chest, pushing her mouthwatering breasts higher, and it takes all my strength not to drop my gaze from hers.
My dick is twitching in my pants again too.
I don’t get the reaction I’m having to Oakley James. Shit. Kristina stood naked in front of me numerous times in the last year of our relationship and got no response.
“I’m going to be honest here, Walker, and then we can talk about whether or not you would move.”
I nod. I’m all for honesty from a woman. Especially after the lies I’ve heard pass from Kristina’s lips in recent years.
Hell, maybe everything she ever said was a lie. At this point I wouldn’t be surprised.
“I know it’s highly unlikely you’ll play in the NHL again.”
My lungs fill with air so fast I choke. Covering my mouth with a fist, I cough hard, giving myself a few seconds to digest the words she’s just spoken.
They might be true but no one—including the many doctors I’ve seen over the last few months—has uttered those words out loud.
Until this morning.
And even then, they skirted around the truth, never once coming right out and saying “you’ll never play professionally again.”
“I don’t know what the doctors are saying but from what has been made public and the fact you have not returned to the ice, it’s obvious to me your professional playing career is over.”
Fuck. Her words are like daggers through my chest. How can they have a greater impact coming from her lips when I’d felt nothing but numb when the doctor spoke similar words this morning?
“Here’s where I ask you to sign an NDA.” She slips a sheet of paper from beneath the envelope and hands it to me along with a pen. “You sign that, and we can really talk.”
Glancing down, it takes me a moment to focus on the words. It’s a standard Non-Disclosure Agreement. I have no idea what she could want to talk about that would require one and really, when I think about it, I should get her to sign one because if I tell her I’m out of the league before I tell anyone else, she could leak it to the press.
At this point though, it’s inevitable the press will find out some time today, tomorrow at the latest. As soon as I’m finished here, I have to call Drake, my agent, and give him the news from the doctor so he can get on top of things with my team.
The team that won’t be mine much longer.
“Okay,” I say, and scribble my signature. “Talk.”
“Would you move from New York if you had another career opportunity within the league?”
“Yes. Although I have no idea what I’d do if I can’t play.”
She smiles, a cat that got the canary smile. “Really? I find that hard to believe. Surely you’ve thought about what you’d do after you retire.”
“Sure. But retirement is years away. At least ten.”
“You saw yourself playing until thirty-nine? That’s one hell of a career.”
“It would be.” Except…now it wouldn’t. I can’t stop the sigh that drops my shoulders and slumps me back in my chair.
“Before I tell you what that career could look like now, I want to revisit my original question. How invested are you in your relationship?”
“I’m not. It’s done. Has been for a year.”
“And yet she’s still living in your apartment.”
Fury rolls through me, snapping my spine straight. “She has neverlivedin my apartment. We maintained separate places throughout our three-year relationship, a relationship I ended a year ago.”
