“But it was something. Tell me!”
“Minou.” A deep rumble echoed on the other side of the door before it was pushed open to let in more life-affirming light from the hallway and a shot at Erik making it out alive. He had never been so glad to see his former teammate Remy DuPre, husband of the woman before him.
“Anything I need to worry about?” the honey-voiced Cajun murmured with a lot more calmness than the situation deserved. Erik was about to be spit-roasted here.
“I’ve got it under control,” Harper said in that steely tone she used whenever someone on the team fucked up majorly or worse, disappointed her. “Jorgenson was just about to tell me what he did to kill the light in Casey’s eyes.”
Remy stood at the door, arms folded, looking mildly sympathetic to Erik’s plight. “Sounds a bit dramatic.”
She hitched an eyebrow. “Erik?”
“It’s between me and her.”
Harper tried to kill him right then with her eyes like cut emeralds. Or maybe cut emeralds with spiky edges dripped in … poison? Yeah, poison. Erik was sure she would have added her fists if Remy hadn’t stepped inside and curled an arm around her waist.
“Let the boy make it right.”
“You’d better.” One final finger poke in the pec and then he was alone, wondering how the hell he was going to fix this mess.
“Hey, you okay?”
Casey turned to find Mia Wallace with her head cocked in concern. Mia was hockey royalty: sister to Vadim Petrov, the Rebels captain, girlfriend of Rebels center Cal Foreman, and a talented player heading for the Olympics in February. They had hung out together during some of the Rebels games and clicked, so it was nice to have someone to chat with at this party.
If only she wasn’t so unnerved by what had happened.
“Yeah, fine. The elevator got stuck at work and it sort of freaked me out.”
“Oh, no, that’s terrifying!”
More terrifying was having to spend time in an enclosed space with Erik. She hadn’t meant to blurt out their connection like that—she had a most excellent plan to take it to the grave—but he had pushed. Right after he soothed her silly fears about the cable snapping and the car plummeting three floors to kill them both. They would have found her covered in twisted metal, pretzeled around the Rebels goalie.
He had goaded her to reveal the truth. Or maybe she was overstating that. Maybe she had been ready to speak it after all this time. She wanted to see the horror float across his face. For a guy who came across as clueless, he was surprisingly bossy.
It turned her on.
Which made her the most pathetic woman in the room.
“It was a bit scary but I’m fine. Really.”
Tara Becker, Mia’s friend, appeared. “What’s going on?”
“Casey got stuck in the elevator at Rebels HQ.”
“Oh, God, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It was just for a couple of minutes and it was over before I knew what had hit me. Just a shock.” Which was pretty much Erik’s reaction when she dropped that knowledge on him. Flummoxed. Like she had ripped the elevator floor from under him.
Harper was making a toast, welcoming the new players and congratulating everyone on the decent run for the season so far. She introduced Hale Fitzgerald, the new general manager, who added a few words of his own.
Casey had already met him when he came in to interview. A native of Georgia, Fitz was older, maybe early forties, but still clearly in great shape. That accent was to die for as well, thick and syrupy with just the right amount of silky edge to it. With the toasts done, Casey turned to Mia and Tara.
“He’s got big shoes to fill,” she murmured. “People really miss Dante.” Their previous GM had retired to become a stay-at-home dad to Rosie, his little girl with Cade Burnett.
“I miss looking at him,” Tara said, sipping her wine. “I know he’s gay but that guy was one fine piece. Now we’ve got this geriatric geezer in, which is not an adequate substitute. Where can I lodge a complaint?”
“Uh …” Mia bit her lip and gave an awkward smile over Tara’s shoulder.
Hale walked by, his mouth quirked. “Ladies.”
Tara blinked and colored, watching as Hale moved smoothly through the room, shaking hands with the players and front office staff. “Thanks for the heads-up, Wallace.”
Mia gave a finger jab in Tara’s direction. “That’s all on you. Maybe think about turning on the filter between your brain and mouth before you blab your opinions on the Rebel chief executives.”
Tara shook her head in disgust and turned back to Casey. “Were you alone?”
“What?”
“In the elevator. That’s a great way to get up close and personal with a guy. Maybe I should add it to my strategy list.”
Tara’s strategy list was all part of her grand scheme to score a pro-athlete. According to Mia, she had binders. Man binders.
Casey would rather not get into her solo or not status in the elevator, and luckily she didn’t have to. The air had changed, like the molecules suddenly tingled with electricity. She looked toward the entrance to the room—the salon, Harper called it—and sure enough, the man himself had arrived.
God, he looked good.
Now she was acting as if she hadn’t already been confronted with Erik in all his blond-haired, blue-eyed, Nordic gorgeousness.
You’ve already seen him back at Rebels HQ. Better yet, you already looked right into those gorgeous eyes and got a whiff of his aftershave and felt him deep inside you.
Her entire body was an electric current, live with want and self-disgust. What kind of woman was attracted to a man who had cast her aside, who couldn’t even recall her face when he met her again? At least Andrew had wanted her enough to be willing to try again, though really he needed a doormat to wipe his shoes on while he ascended the throne. Clearly, she wasn’t the kind of woman who inspired a deeper connection.
Erik was coming over, a palpable intensity driving every step.
“I need a drink!” She gushed to Mia and Tara. “Do you need a drink?”
Mia opened her mouth but Casey was already backing away. “Of course you do! I’ll bring you something.”
She scrabbled her way to the kitchen, expecting it would be busy with catering people but not at all. Only Remy DuPre and Reid Durand, one of the Rebels players, heads close together in what was obviously a serious conversation.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”
“Pas de probleme,” Remy said in that distinctive Cajun drawl.
Casey turned and crashed into Erik. She jumped back and held up her hands. Overdramatic, perhaps, but she was in a full-scale panic here.
“So that’s it?” Erik said. “We’re not even going to talk about it?”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
Oh God, the expression on his face … she had really hurt him.
But he hurt her first.
He might not have meant to. He was merely an inconsiderate jock who fucked random women and didn’t remember. While she wasn’t sure if that was worse than the knife in her back wielded by Andrew, she couldn’t help how she felt.
Discarded. Used.
She headed out to the hallway, thankful he didn’t follow her. Glad that he was finally respecting her boundaries.