Page 4 of Mister Hockey
“Good, you’re here!” Neve burst in wearing black dress pants and a gray collared shirt. Breezy loved vibrant patterns, the bolder and funkier the better while her big sister had an allergic reaction to wearing anything that wasn’t a neutral color or cotton. “Your assistant thought you’d still be changing.”
“Thanks for bailing me out on no notice.” Breezy rinsed the Westy mug and tossed it in her “Reading is Sexy” tote bag before reaching for the door. “We’re running late so here’s how it’s going to go up there. I’ll introduce you and...”
“Breezy—wait!”
The nerves connecting her feet to her brain snapped midstep into the hall. She froze, her gaze raking a pair of vintage Adidas sneakers and climbed up gray sweatpants hanging off a trim, narrow waist. Shadows played on the cotton, highlighting the merest suggestion of a bulge. Then up to a broad chest and even broader shoulders. The distinctive chin. The scruffy jaw. Those eyes that were... that were... what were colors?
What was life?
Every muscle in her body flexed tight, her heart unable to squeeze anything approaching a full beat.
Holy guacamole with a side of chips.
Jed.
West.
Captain of the Hellions.
Jed West.
Her ultimate celebrity crush—Jed freaking West was inherlibrary. Leaning against a cinder block wall four feet away.
Her heart paid a visit to her throat. Small hairs prickled at the nape of her neck.
No way. No freaking way. But yes. Oh yes. Oh God yes.
His black raincoat offset the rich, espresso-brown gloss to his thick hair. Tiny rain beads clung to each perfect strand, bright as carat diamonds. The Fates swooned. Nope, wait. That particularly breathless mewl came from her own parted lips.
“Told you I was bringing a surprise.” Neve spoke in a slow, even cadence while her piercing gray eyes silently ordered,Get a grip, dude. Do not lose your shit.
“Nice cape. Do I get one?” Jed’s famously lazy smile twisted an invisible screw at the apex of Breezy’s thighs, a sharp twinge that settled into an acute ache. Of course he didn’t know about the starring role he played in her biweekly Hitachi wand sessions. Or the imaginary dirty talk he groaned in her ear while she writhed in the dark.
I taste you on my lips, sweetheart.Tell me who owns you.
He couldn’t have the first clue about her dirty overactive imagination, but Jesus H. Christopher Christ riding a unicycle, she knew. Whenever she fantasized about a guy putting ranch dressing in her Hidden Valley, he was the one wielding the big, big bottle.
Her cheeks turned a subtle shade of rose-blooming-in-hell as she forced a gasping chuckle. “Uh, hang tight. I forgot... a... thing.”
Beating a quick retreat into the bathroom, she did what any non-freaking-out, red-blooded gal would do when encased in ancient threadbare red Lycra and confronted by their ultimate dream man.
She let the door smack his beautiful face.
Chapter Three
“Please.” Breezy’s horrified gaze bored into the bathroom door until her eyeballs burned. “Oh please, oh please,” she chanted through the fingers pressed to her mouth. Let this nightmare be an oxygen-deprived dream triggered by the too-tight costume.
A comforting flicker of hope flared in the black pit of her belly. God, if that could be the case than she’d never park crooked at the grocery store ever again.
Jed West standing five feet away—ridiculous! Not improbable. Straight-up impossible. He was on her mind because of that silly coffee cup and her stressed-out brain manufactured a hallucination. Not altogether comforting, but then a psychotic break was preferable to encountering her ultimate sexual fantasy while sporting serious camel toe.
A short rapping knock came at the door. “Breezy?” Neve’s peeved voice was a half step below testy.
She expelled a lungful of air, tightened her grip on her tote bag and stepped back into the hall. “Forgot to turn off the sink. Water conservation is very important.” Her laugh came out thin and high.
Jed West wasn’t a mirage. She was speaking to him, actual words out of her actual mouth. He made eye contact. Knew that she existed in this mad-spinning world. The downside was that he stared as if she’d sprouted a second head, one that insisted on belting out the Titanic theme song.
In Russian.
