Page 36 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
As I finish the last of my packing, I weigh the idea carefully. The thought hasn’t occurred to me before, but now that it’s out there, it sticks in my brain more than I care to admit.
Would it really be possible for me to climb into Holt’s bed again, just to make my same escape before we got carried away? Maybe we do just need to finish what we started so many years ago. It’s possible that’s true—before I can truly turn the page on that chapter of my life.
Or maybe I’m delusional, and the press would run wild with it. If the media thought I was sleeping my way through the team—security, staff, players, whoever—it could ruin everything. One blog post could bring me to my knees.
And not in the fun, sexy way.
No, it would be a total embarrassment. I’m stronger than that. Smarter. I have to be.
“No, Gretchen.” I shake my head. “You know that’s not possible. You saw all the news articles condemning me before I even started this job. People assume I’m going to melt down over my ex, or fall onto some other player’s stick. Holt might not be a Titan, but he’s still employed by the team. I can’t let them be right.”
I throw one last comfy sleep shirt into my bag, then zip it up. It’s closed, just like this topic.
Gretchen nods as she takes the tiniest sip of her tea. “So, what are you going to do?”
My mouth lifts in a slight smile. “My job, first and foremost. But more immediately? I’m going to go to the airport, fly to Detroit, and watch the Titans kick some ass.”
12
* * *
HOLT
This is it. Our first trip for an away game.
When I board the team’s private jet, I have a surreal moment, wondering if this is actually my reality. As head of security, I’ve traveled with clients before, and I’ve flown on private jets more upscale than this one. Still, the fact that I’m traveling with a professional sports team—an experience that most fans would give their left nut for—isn’t lost on me. Too bad I’m not a hockey fan in the slightest.
Eden is in the second row seated next to her assistant, Aspen, and they’re deep in conversation. Les is in the row across from them. I step into the aisle and keep my eyes straight ahead—toward the back of the plane.
Clusters of players are spread out in the seats, some shuffling cards, and others pretending to sleep. The goalie, a French-Canadian guy named Lucian, watches a movie on his tablet as I pass.
I take an empty seat near the middle of the plane and pull out my phone to send a text to Eden. Are you doing okay?
I wait for a couple of minutes, but she doesn’t reply. Maybe her phone is already set to airplane mode. And since we’re getting ready to take off, I do the same.
As we find our cruising altitude, I can’t help but overhear a few of the guys talking about a certain dating app and arranging hookups at the hotel. Alex Braun laughs along to the conversation and doesn’t dispute that he’ll be doing this too.
If he does anything to humiliate or embarrass Eden, I will fucking end him. Hasn’t he put her through enough? I can’t even look at him, with his easy smile and cocky playboy attitude.
“You’re Holt, right?” someone asks from behind me.
I turn in my seat and find one of the defensemen, Price St. James, known to his teammates as Saint, looking at me. “Yeah. That’s me.”
He nods. “Is everything going okay? With Eden, I mean.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I say, not sure if he heard about the shellfish incident last night.
“She’s not like getting,” he lowers his voice, “death threats, is she?”
So maybe he hasn’t heard about her allergic reaction after all. He seems more interested in my presence and why she’s now traveling with extra security.
I shake my head. “No, nothing like that. Just some loudmouthed fans calling for her resignation. I’m here as a precaution.”
Saint nods, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “They’re wrong. She’s going to be a great owner. I can tell.”
“You should tell her so.”
“You think?” His mouth lifts in an uncertain smile.
I nod. “You know what they say . . . it’s lonely at the top. She may appreciate hearing something positive once in a while.”
“Yeah, good point.” Saint rubs at the stubble on his jaw. “I’ll do that.”
I give him a polite smile, wondering if he’s single and wants more from Eden than he’s letting on.
Jeez, drop it, Rossi.
Not every guy on this team wants to fuck her. Probably not, anyway. I mean . . . Lucian’s married, and there are rumors that Lindquist is gay.
Man, I’m really losing it.
