Daisy-Mae Ray made her way down the arena’s concrete steps, guiding the San Antonio Dragons’ mascot. She’d taken the job as a mascot handler in the NHL for two reasons. Debt and debt.
Well, the second reason was actually so she could be closer to the team captain, Maverick Blades. But as a woman who’d officially hit her thirties, it was entirely too humiliating to admit that. Especially when her longtime acquaintance likely had no clue how badly she was crushing on him.
The human-sized plush dragon beside Daisy-Mae suddenly plummeted downward, and Violet squeaked from inside the giant head, her short arms flailing.
“Sorry!” Daisy-Mae scrambled to right her friend before she slipped down another step and twisted an ankle.
“Don’t let me die a humiliating death!” Violet adjusted the dragon head, which had turned sideways.
Daisy-Mae guided her down a few more steps to a small landing overlooking center ice. “Sorry.”
“Come on! We’re the Dragon Babes! A new life outside of Sweetheart Creek full of mani-pedis, parties, and lunching out with players’ wives. Hot jocks and fun! We can’t be the babes if you let me fall and die.” She giggled, the sound muffled by the giant head she was wearing but coming through Daisy-Mae’s earpiece loud and clear. “Although I’m pretty sure I’d bounce in this thing.” She patted the dragon’s stuffed belly.
“Don’t try it,” Daisy-Mae warned her.
“Are we on the landing?”
“Yes. Do you want to practice a few moves?”
Violet waved to the empty arena where the Zamboni was driving in circles, resurfacing the ice. She held her head, covered her eyes with her giant costume hands, and turned away from the ice as though something bad had happened. Then she waggled her short dragon tail toward the rink and wiggled her hands near her ears like she was egging on an opponent.
Daisy-Mae laughed. “Who are you in there, Dezzie Dragon?” Her friend might be part wallflower in real life, but she came alive in the costume. She’d thought Violet was kidding when she said she was trying out for this position. Daisy-Mae had flippantly retorted that if Violet got the job, she’d apply to be her handler.
And now here she was.
Honestly, it was probably one of her better life choices. Even though the job was part-time and over an hour’s drive from her home in Sweetheart Creek, she was paid enough that she could close up several of her at-home businesses. Not that they brought in much, but still—their income had helped her eke out a living. Maybe her mom was right and former beauty queens weren’t cut out for business.
“You liked the tail wag?” Violet asked, doing it again.
“It was good. Very expressive. Want to go all the way down to the ice?”
Dezzie’s giant head wobbled.
“Was that a yes? If so, put more of your torso into it.”
Violet tried again and Dezzie’s whole body swayed forward dangerously. Afraid she was going to topple, Daisy-Mae grabbed her in a bear hug.
“What are you doing?” Violet asked.
“It looked like you were falling.”
“Well, you can hug me any time, because with Owen going back to baseball…” She let out a raspberry sound from inside her costume.
Violet had only just been getting her feet back under her romantically after being dumped at the altar a few years ago. She’d been closing in on Owen Lancaster, the two flirting like mad, when he suddenly had a big fight with his dad about the family ranch, then up and rejoined major league baseball, moving thousands of miles away.
If Daisy-Mae thought she had bad dating luck, Violet’s was even worse.
The Zamboni finished polishing the oval rink and exited the ice via its gate, leaving a shiny trail behind it like an oversized snail.
“What’s that sound?” Violet asked.
“The Zamboni doors are closing.”
Dezzie did a dance. “Yippee! Send out the hotties!”
“Violet!” Daisy-Mae laughed, her cheeks heating with embarrassment.
“I’m marrying a Dragon this season.”
“Me, too.” Daisy-Mae just wished she didn’t sound so wistful.
“You’re going to have them fighting over you. Save at least one for me, okay?” Violet gripped her head, maneuvering the costume, presumably so she could spy through the eyeholes a bit better. “Do you see any hotties yet?”
“Nope. Not yet.” She could hear some deep voices, but so far nobody had appeared.
“Betcha five bucks you have two Dragon proposals by December.”
“I wish.” Daisy-Mae had come from a long line of women who got married straight out of high school, but she’d never once been proposed to. At least not by anyone who wasn’t falling down drunk or joking.
Daisy-Mae directed Violet along a walkway that ran parallel with the ice before taking several more steps down. She shivered, rethinking her fitted checked blouse, which was tied at her navel. It was cold in the arena despite San Antonio’s early October temperatures.
Hockey players hit the ice, their blades shaving the frozen surface, and Daisy-Mae forgot her chill. Their deep voices filled the air, and she shivered again, but now for a new reason. There was nothing like a herd of hunky, strong, athletic men fighting over a frozen black puck. Or an oblong football. Or riding on the back of an angry bronco.
It didn’t matter the sport. Daisy-Mae had a thing for jocks.
Violet and Daisy-Mae made it down to ice level where the rink’s boards and Plexiglass protected them from errant pucks, giving them a thrilling close-up of the players. The team was skating around the perimeter to warm their muscles, zipping past the women.
Daisy-Mae waved to a few of the men as they glided past. A couple of rookies waved back, unable to block out the attention from the empty stands during today’s closed practice. Daisy-Mae scanned the men, searching for their captain, Maverick Blades. She had a secret, teensy, growing fantasy where he’d spot her in the stands and his pale blue eyes would lock on hers. A private moment would pass between them, and she’d feel as though he truly saw her amid the hubbub as the game roared on. Weeks later he’d casually ask her out for dinner, then an awards banquet where he would get another plaque or golden hockey stick or whatever players won. He’d break his don’t-date-them-twice rule, and they’d become inseparable. Soon after, he would propose to her on center ice after winning a cup. Everyone would be celebrating, but he’d ignore it all, take off his helmet and get down on one knee. His gorgeous eyes with those ridiculous dark lashes would meet hers and he’d say—
“I can’t see!”
“What?”
“I can’t see!” Violet sounded like a toddler about to have a meltdown.
Daisy-Mae quickly adjusted Violet’s head, shifting it back into place. “Better?”
Violet waved at the passing men, continuing through the routine she’d learned during her training. “You’d think the ice would melt these men are so hot.”
Daisy-Mae laughed as she scanned the players. She finally spotted Maverick, her heart skipping faster. She’d almost won spending Valentine’s Day with him last February. That had been a disappointing miss. Not that she’d admit it to anyone. Crushing after a man that was so obviously out of her league? She was probably too old for that, too.
One of the players waved at them each time he passed. Daisy-Mae smiled and waggled her red-tipped fingers. You never knew where your next Mr. Right might be hiding. And the man in the black helmet, practice jersey, and white hockey socks could be the one. He was fast, cute, and likely earned more in a month than Daisy-Mae did in a decade.
“Was that Leo?” Violet asked.
“I don’t know.”
“He used to be a bull rider.”
“Are you crushing on him?”
“Nah, he’s just a friend.”
How had she even had the time to befriend players already?
Possibly-Leo came around again as Violet practiced some of her dance moves, bumping into Daisy-Mae who laughed as she nearly fell into one of the seats.
On the next pass, Maverick closed in behind him.
The player slowed slightly, calling out a “Hello, ladies!” Maverick, his stick held in both hands, used it to gently push the man’s back. Daisy-Mae heard Maverick’s gruff voice telling the man to focus.
Violet turned to Daisy-Mae. “Was that Maverick? What did he say?”
“Focus.”
“I want to know what he said,” she said in a pouty voice.
“That is what he said. He told him to focus.”
“Told you! Proposals by Christmas!” Violet said triumphantly. “But seriously? They were nuts putting Maverick front and center as captain after all that bad press.”
“He has the most experience, is the best defender in the division, made all-star when he was playing for—”
“Do you know those kinds of facts about everyone on the team or just your ex’s BFF?”
“And he can bring a team together,” Daisy-Mae said, her heart hammering. “He got traded because the Dragons need him.”
And no, she didn’t know any stats about the other Dragons.
“He didn’t get traded. He got the boot because of the Lafayette mess. They had to get rid of him even though he’s strong.”
Daisy-Mae clamped her mouth shut. There was no way the rumors about Maverick and the Blur owner’s wife were even close to true. Women falling all over Mav? Yeah, that was one hundred percent legit. But him getting involved with a married woman? No way. His mama had raised him right, and he had Texas honor ground into his soul.
Some might argue that money and fame could corrupt anyone, but she knew it couldn’t change Maverick. That would be as easy as changing the direction of the sunset. It just wasn’t going to happen.
“I heard they didn’t have a choice whether to accept him,” Violet continued. “Forced trade.”
“You know, the team’s publicists really need to do their job.”
“Don’t you dare fall for him,” Violet chirped. “That man needs some serious work, and he’ll break your heart. He hasn’t been seen with the same woman twice—other than what’s-her-face-married-chick and that introvert from years ago. He’s the kind of man your mom warns you about.”
“My mom warns me about all men who don’t propose after three dates. And Lafayette was bad news right from the start. The Blur’s owner is as sketchy as…” She shuddered, thinking of the vibes Adwin Kendrik gave off. He got wins and was celebrated in the world of the NHL like he was some sort of god, but just looking at photos of him stirred up that gut feeling. “Anyway, none of that matters because I’m not Mav’s type.”
She wasn’t even close to a college-educated, sophisticated career babe.
Violet snorted. “You’re every man’s type. And Maverick is every woman’s type—all hot and tall and unattainable. Total fantasy. I bet he accounts for at least half of any ticket sales made to women.”
Daisy-Mae smiled. Yeah, she’d buy a ticket to watch him skate across the ice. Right now he was practically floating along, making skating look like the most natural thing. And he was tough during games too, sending grown men into the boards as though they were unsuspecting pedestrians taken out by a Mack truck. Nothing got between him and the puck.
As Maverick made his way around the rink again, he took his eyes off the man in front of him long enough to give Daisy-Mae a subtle head nod and maintain a beat of eye contact that made her stomach flip. Then he was gone.
She spun, watching him race around the curve, her hands pressed against the cold Plexiglass.
That had felt exactly like it did in her best fantasies.
Which meant trouble.
Trouble for her heart, as it was in the process of informing her that it was locked and loaded for one man, and one man only—Maverick Blades.
She needed to get ahold of herself. He was so far out of her league she could barely even see his league. She took a steadying breath and stepped away from the glass, her eyes still locked on his form. The man’s strength and agility were clear as he performed flawless crossovers, his confidence solid in the thin metal blades beneath him. Sexy. So very sexy.
“I can’t see much from in here, but I saw that,” Violet murmured, her tone amused. “You’re smitten with Mr. Bad Boy.”
Daisy-Mae cleared her throat and tried to school her expression, certain she was close to drooling. But she couldn’t seem to shake the overpowering thought that kept running through her mind: she needed to fix Number 53’s reputation, and then maybe, just maybe, make him hers.
* * *
Maverick Blades coasted to the gate to exit the rink. He gave his helmet’s chin strap a sharp yank, releasing the snap before slipping the rig from his head. His hair was soaked with sweat, each passing year requiring more effort to prove himself on the ice with the latest batch of fully energized rookies. He remembered that unstoppable feeling of youth. He didn’t recall being as cocky as some of them, although he was pretty certain he had been.
He led the line of players to the locker room, thinking about today’s practice and how soothing the frigid ice bath would feel on his screaming muscles. Thirty-one years of age wasn’t young in the NHL. Still, he was holding on to his title as the top defender in the division.
Louis Bellmore, the team’s head coach as well as a good friend, was waiting near the locker room door.
“Good practice out there, team. Don’t forget to pick up a copy of your finalized diet plan.” Louis raised his voice to ensure the line of tired players heard him. “Athena left copies by the door—be sure to take your own. They are labeled.”
There was a round of “You got it, coach.”
Before Maverick could enter the locker room, Louis jerked his chin toward his right shoulder, indicating Maverick should join him. The team filtered past as he stepped aside.
“What did you do now, Blades? Date a woman more than once?” one of the rookies chirped.
“Yup,” he teased back. “Getting soft in my old age.”
“You said it. Not us,” Leo, Maverick’s favorite rookie, said with a loud laugh. The kid, already in his late twenties but new to the NHL, had so much talent that Maverick wished hazing was still allowed, just so he could ensure the rookie remembered there was a pecking order. And that he wasn’t at the top of it. Not yet, anyway.
“One day you’ll grow a personality, Socks,” he called after Leo. “Looking forward to that day.”
“I hate that nickname,” he called back. “I go by Blaze, thank you.”
“Blaze is what a fifteen-year-old calls her barrel-racing horse.”
“You lose your socks before our first exhibition game, the nickname sticks,” Landon, the second oldest player on the ice, chimed in.
“I swear someone stole them from my locker.”
Landon gave Maverick a commiserating pat on the back as he hobbled past in his goalie gear. “Keep on fighting for us old guys.”
“Fight the Alzheimer’s and arthritis, old man!” Leo cackled.
Maverick smirked, knowing his life could be a lot harder than a few teasing jabs. Despite his humiliating mid-season trade last year, and the swirling rumors that had come with him, the team had mostly accepted him as their captain.
Louis and Maverick moved down the hallway for more privacy.
“You were looking good out there,” Louis stated.
Maverick ran a hand through his hair, mussing up the damp locks out of habit from his times going on camera immediately after a game. “Thanks.”
“Think we’ll have a good season?”
“Leo is green but learned a lot during his short time in the minors. More than most. And he’s eager to pick up what he doesn’t know. He’ll win some cups during his career.”
“He was a decent pick.” Louis was quiet for a beat. “So were you.”
“I know there was no choice.” Not this time.
“I came out on top.”
That was a generous statement coming from a man coaching an expansion team. As they were new to the league, the owner was working hard to gather players and investors, and having to take on a player with bad press and a high salary wasn’t a position he’d ever want to be in. The Dragons needed some wins and some fans, and Maverick feared he’d be unable to deliver either.
Louis grew quiet, arms crossed as he watched Maverick from under the brim of his Dragons ball cap. “I made you captain because you’re good with the guys and you keep the team focused.”
Focused. He nearly scoffed. He’d practically tripped over his own stick when he spotted Daisy-Mae in the stands earlier. His buddy Myles Wylder’s ex-girlfriend. Little Miss Cutoffs with legs that went clear to her ears, a generous smile, and a kind and gentle heart that made him want to pull her into his arms every time he saw her. Seeing as she was Off Limits thanks to the stupidest honor system known to man—the Bro Code—he did what he could to avoid her.
That was when he wasn’t trying to accidentally-on-purpose bump into her somewhere just to feel the force of that mega-watt smile. He was a sucker for her casual insights and the way they made him believe he’d been seen by someone who didn’t want something from him.
If she was truly the mascot handler, like she’d appeared to be today, the team would never win a home game. The woman could give Miss America a run for her money, and she was probably now the not-so-secret weakness of at least ninety percent of his teammates. Ninety-five, if he included himself. He only hoped that visiting teams would face the same lack of immunity to her focus-breaking charms and miss as many passes as the Dragons had today.
“I need your head in the game and in practices,” Louis said, his tone firm and slightly reprimanding.
“Yes, Coach.” He lowered his gaze, embarrassed by how distracted he’d been.
Louis’s chest expanded as he held in a breath. From experience, Maverick knew he likely had about ten thousand things to say and was deciding where to start. They were all probably things Maverick didn’t want to hear.
He shifted in his skates and waited.
“This team is an opportunity for both of us to end our careers on a high note. Problem is, the press is still looking to skewer you.”
And that would impact the team. Nobody wanted to watch a home-wrecker—which the press seemed to think he was—earn big bucks on the ice.
Louis sighed when Maverick remained quiet. He’d known Louis for a long time, having skated under him during his rookie year in the NHL back in Toronto. The man knew him, his mom, and what he stood for. He was like family, and he wouldn’t push something that shouldn’t be pushed, but he was looking like a man debating pushing something. Something important.
“Miranda wants you to talk to PR.”
It must be worse than he thought if the team’s owner wanted him to go to the publicity team. Did that mean he was hurting ticket sales, sponsorship opportunities, and investor confidence, and that he needed to do something sweet in public such as save some puppies from burning buildings? Because if it was as bad as he feared, then by association alone, he was impacting the rookies and their ability to strike deals as well.
That was pretty uncool.
All because he’d stepped in to help someone.
“Talk about what?” he asked, hoping for a hint so he didn’t go into the meeting blind.
“Just to work on your image and such. You up for that?”
“Yes, sir.”
The so-called twins were supposed to be an amazing public relations duo from New York, but they didn’t know Texas, and they didn’t know the NHL. They’d have him wearing pink and knitting baby booties to rebuild his reputation if given the chance. Not command him to immediately rescue some golden retriever puppies.
However, if it took the worried tone out of his mother’s voice whenever she called after hearing yet another fabricated news story about him, he’d do it.
“Whatever it takes,” Maverick said, hoping he wouldn’t regret his words.
“Are you willing to share your side of the story from Lafayette?”
“You know I can’t. Not without hurting someone.”
“Reanna seems okay with you suffering damage.”
Yeah, she did. But that was understandable, as it was dangerous for her to expose her side of the story: the truth.
“I made a promise.”
“How’s your mother handling all of this?”
“Leave her out of this,” Maverick warned. He hated how performing a series of good deeds was impacting his mom’s ability to hold her head up high in Sweetheart Creek. He often lay awake at night, trying to rebuild the past or find a new way through the mess with Reanna that didn’t lead to his negative new image. So far, he hadn’t found one. Not one that would have also kept Reanna safe.
The two of them were barely even friends. That was the tough part.
Louis sighed and lifted his hands to show he was backing off. “Fine. Have a shower and go talk to the twins. They’ll be waiting for you.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes, Lou. I promise you that. I’ll even wear pink booties if it helps.” Louis gave him a pained look of confusion. “I’ll do anything—unless it involves me getting married or something.” He smiled to show he was joking and trying to lift the heavy mood.
Louis didn’t laugh.
Maverick stared at Louis, waiting for the man’s somber expression to crack.
“Lou…man… I was joking. You know the only commitment I have time for is hockey.” He’d learned that four years ago with Janie. Maintaining a relationship was nearly impossible when he was deep into a season. Coach had to be pulling his leg with that meaningful look of his. “Nobody’ll believe I’m ready for that kind of business. I don’t even have a girlfriend.”
“Then you’d better come up with a stronger idea for mending your image, because according to what I’ve heard from the twins, it’s that or taking on a princess mascot.”