Casey wasn’t buying it. Sure, she had made the effort, even went to the salon to get an auburn rinse in her hair and her usually unruly curls blown straight. She wanted to be someone different. Someone who could attract the attention of any guy here.
But even when you say that’s your intention, you don’t expect it to work. Deep in your heart, you know that new hair, a short skirt, and a fuck-you ’tude do not a pick-up success make. You were not suddenly worthy because if you were, you wouldn’t have been dumped in the first place.
This bar was known as a Rebels player hangout, or so she’d been told. Casey loved hockey, was a huge fan of the Rebels, but she would never go to their local bar. It smacked of too much star-fuckery for her liking. She wouldn’t want to look like some drooling fangirl and besides, she had a boyfriend. A third year law student who was going places.
But Andrew had said that after a year together, maybe they should take a break. The day after she graduated from Northwestern with a degree in English and Communications—and no immediate post-graduation plans or interviews—her boyfriend had said they might be too different. All because she said she didn’t want to go to law school.
What he didn’t like was that she scored higher on the LSATs and still turned down a spot at Northwestern Law.
Now she was single and ready to mingle, as the kids said. Twenty-one, and she felt old.
She had already downed one Sea Breeze and was trying to get the attention of the bartender for another when Amee elbowed her with far more force than necessary.
“I think that’s Erik Jorgenson.”
“Nah. They must have all left town by now.”
The season was over and the Rebels had failed to make the playoffs. Again. None of the players should be here tonight.
“No, it is. He’s with Cade Burnett—God, that Texan is so freakin’ cute!”
Casey looked over, and sure enough, it was them. Cade Burnett looked like he was in the middle of a story, but every now and then his teammate’s attention would wander … to Casey. He smiled at her with this awfully droll look that said “save me from this guy” and she couldn’t help laughing.
As a fan of the team she knew plenty about him. At twenty years old, Erik was a native of Örnsköldsvik in Sweden, the town that had produced more Swedish NHL stars than any other. He was a good goalie with the potential to be great, if he received the right encouragement and coaching. She wasn’t sure that would be with a team like the Rebels, which seemed to be stuck in neutral lately.
The next ten minutes was more of the same. Amee drooling, Cade talking, Erik sneaking glances her way, and Casey trying to act like a Swedish hockey superstar in her orbit was perfectly normal.
Finally he came over.
“Hi, I’m Erik and I’m in need of rescue.”
“Oh, really?” Play it cool, play it cool. She glanced over his shoulder. Cade was staring at Erik and shaking his head, like he couldn’t believe his teammate just upped and walked away mid-sentence. “Looked like a good story.”
“It wasn’t. Something about American football and a kicker with a lead foot. Alamo thinks he is so entertaining.”
Amee grinned. “But he’s so cute. And now he’s so lonely.”
Erik smiled at Casey, a touch of diffidence to it that made her heart flip. “Perhaps we should swap.”
Casey stood and smoothed out her skirt. She might have done it on purpose to draw the attention of a hockey hunk to her legs, which were having a good day. “Sure, I’d love to hear about the kicker with the lead foot.”
She made to walk away, only to have Erik place a hand on her arm. The tingles!
“Ah, funny girl.”
She stopped and they stared, the moment seeming to stretch to infinity. Amee must have said something, maybe about going to talk to Cade Burnett, because the next thing Casey knew, she and Erik were alone and the Sea Breezes were flowing.
Which is why she was making out with a gorgeous strange man in the back of that cab. Only it didn’t end there …
4
“Jorgenson, you’re late!”
Erik crossed the threshold of Chase Manor and winced at the pointed look Harper was spearing into him. No one liked when their boss gave you the evil eye. When your boss tasked you with a job and you failed at the first hurdle—well, that didn’t sit right at all.
“Sorry, there was a problem at HQ.”
Harper was five feet one and a half and looked like she would fall over on those spindly heels if you pushed her gently with a finger. Yet somehow she managed to manhandle all two hundred and twenty three pounds of him into a small room—or large closet, depending on your point of view—off the main entrance. The door remained ajar, though it might have been better if it had fully closed. He wouldn’t mind if Harper’s feral expression wasn’t quite so clear.
“Does that problem have dark curly hair, lovely blue eyes, and no love for a certain Swedish goaltender?”
“Uh, possibly. We got stuck in the elevator—all fixed—but she left in a hurry. I tried chasing her down but she was pretty fast.”
“Well, speed isn’t what I pay you for, Fish.” She tapped a foot. “Any idea why she blew in here about five minutes ago looking like the Ghost of Christmas Pucked?”
“I need to talk to her.” He still couldn’t believe it. You fucked me and forgot.
The thing is, he did remember. The night. The girl. The sex.
The great sex.
He had been drinking, but that wasn’t the problem. She gave him her number—on a napkin—and he had put it in his pocket or at least he thought he had before they headed to his place.
She had stayed over. Ridden his cock like a rodeo queen then lay back and let him taste her. Everywhere. He remembered all that gorgeous red hair laid out on his pillow.
But Casey was a brunette with wild curls. The woman he remembered had smooth, straight, flowing hair the color of October leaves in his hometown of Ö-vik. The next morning she was gone before he woke up and that damn napkin was nowhere to be found.
No wonder Casey was furious with him. When he met her again, it didn’t register that they were the same person.
Harper was looking at him, those green eyes slits of death. She poked a finger in his chest, more of an upward jab because he was so much taller than her.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. Well, something, which was fine”—more than fine, the sex had been phenomenal—“and then nothing, which wasn’t fine.”
“What the hell does that mean? Is that some Swedish proverb?”
He couldn’t fess up to Harper. She’d strip him naked, bind his wrists, ankles, and balls with stick tape, and leave him to die in the middle of the practice rink.
Not even the regular rink.
“I’m going to fix it.”
Her eyes went wide. “Erik, did you hurt my executive assistant?”
“Thought she was your personal assistant.”
“I just gave her a promotion because I’ve a feeling she deserves it for whatever she’s had to put up with for the last year. Every time she had to look at your too-fucking-handsome face—”
“You don’t even know what I did!”