I leave Shamrock in the foyer because the guy oozes anxiety lately. Being his teammate, I should be at his side tonight, boosting his ego, but I’m hoping being at our boss’s party where he’ll have the pick of any hot woman he wants will soothe him. He’s overthinking the fact he’s in a slump. He’ll come out of it, I know it. He has to, otherwise he’ll get traded and that would suck.
“Big man.” Mr. Gerhardt spots me when I enter the room, calling me over to him and a few other men who look like they never played hockey in their lives.
“Mr. Gerhardt.” I shake his hand and he pats me on the back like he’s my dad about to introduce me to his friends.
“These are some of our investors,” he says, pointing to each one, giving me names I’ll probably never remember. I shake hands, politely smile and think of any excuse to get out of this circle.
“Hell of a game the other night,” one of them says.
“I’d hate to go against you,” another one chimes in.
They’re all drinking the amber liquid with one solid round ice cube in their glass.
“Thank you,” I say and bow my head in respect. Although none of them probably know much about hockey, they are the reason my salary is being paid.
“You don’t have a drink. You need a drink.” Mr. Gerhardt saves me whether he meant to or not. With another pat on the back, I say my goodbye. “Did Aiden come with you?” he asks before I can get far enough away.
I turn back around and just the look on the investors’ faces makes my stomach plummet. Makes me understand Shamrock’s anxiety. Trading deadlines aren’t as far away as we think they are and if he gets traded while he’s already in the slump of all slumps he might tailspin right out of hockey. I love the man too much to allow that to happen. “Yeah, he’s here somewhere.”
“Good, I need to talk to him before he leaves. I have someone I want him to meet.” Mr. Gerhardt raises his glass. “Now, go enjoy yourself, get something to drink.”
All the rest of the guys raise their glasses and then take a sip.
I leave them happily to venture to the bar but by the time I get there, Aiden already has a drink and is chatting up some blonde woman and a teenager. Interesting.
I order my vodka on the rocks. At least Mr. Gerhardt doesn’t skimp on the good stuff.
Perusing the crowd, a brunette stands out in the corner talking to a couple. My eyes find her left hand to make sure she’s not wearing a ring because I’m not about to break up a marriage. I smile seeing the left ring finger bare.
I watch her from across the room, the cute dimple on her right cheek, the shade of pink on her lips. Mostly, I take in the black dress that I know is hiding a great body underneath. She’s a knock-out.
I step forward to get closer, to catch her attention, but just as I get situated in her direction, two men come up to me to tell me how much they love the Florida Fury. That they have season tickets and rarely miss a game. Finally, I get rid of them only to have two teenagers come up to me.
“Maksim Petrov?” the doe-eyed girl asks.
I sip my drink and nod. “Yeah.”
“Are you here with Aiden Drake?” the other girl asks and eyes him across the room.
“I am.”
“And Ford Jacobs?” the first girl asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“You guys are amazing. We watch you every week,” the first girl who I assume is the bolder of the two tells me.
My eyes scan the woman and she hugs and kisses cheeks with the couple. This is the time to make my move.
“Excuse me, girls,” I say and step in front of the woman.
I hear the scoffing, but come on, they’re like sixteen. Jail isn’t the place for me.
“Hey,” I say to the woman.
She stops short and rears back, her champagne almost spilling on her black dress. “Hello.” Her eyebrows raise.
“Maksim,” I introduce myself and put my hand in front of her.
She stares at my hand a moment. “I know who you are.”
“That’s not fair.”
She sips her champagne, crossing one arm around herself. “What isn’t?”
“The fact you know my name and I don’t know your name?” I smile.
She doesn’t seem impressed—at all.
“Isn’t that what comes with being a professional hockey player? People know you and you don’t know them?”
I shrug. “Yeah. Rarely am I interested in finding out their names. You’re lucky.”
She laughs. “Lucky? Should I bow or kiss your feet or just strip right here for you?”
“Stripping would be nice. You look mouth-watering gorgeous in that dress, but I bet if you take it off, I’d be drooling.”
She smiles and that dimple indents farther. The problem with her smile is I’m not thinking it means I’m making progress with her. Good thing I love the chase.
“Sorry, Maksim, I’m not available.”
I glance at her left hand again to make sure. “Boyfriend?”
She shakes her head.
“You’re not engaged or married since you don’t have a ring.”
“I don’t date guys from the Florida Fury,” she says, patting me on the shoulder and trying to step around me. “Sorry.”
I grab her hand and tug her back into me. Her one free hand lands on my chest and she looks up at me. “Tell me you’re not a Knights fan?” Wouldn’t that be the dagger to the heart if she cheered for the other team?
She shakes her head.
“Are you a hockey fan?”
She shakes her head again.
“How can you not be a hockey fan?” I release her because as much as my dick is saying “keep her exactly where she is, your charm will win her over,” I’m not sure I can be with someone who doesn’t like hockey.
“I’ll be honest, the skating is impressive, but the fights, the pushing into walls. Kind of barbaric.” She finishes her champagne and sets the empty glass on a server’s tray as they pass by. “Don’t worry, I see two hockey fans over there for you.” She points to the teenage girls who are still staring at me.
“Not my type.”
She nods like she’s immune to my lines and charm. Who the hell is this woman?
“Just give me your name?” I ask.
“You’re used to always getting what you want, aren’t you?”
I shrug as my answer of yeah. She pats my shoulder. “Well, sorry, this time you’ll just have to wait to find out my name.”
“Are you suggesting I will find out?”
She steps back and her eyes fall over my body. “You’ll find out soon enough.” And then she spins around and disappears into the crowd.
My eyes are still on her when the two teenage girls step in front of my vision and I blink, rearing my head. “Yeah, nope. Sorry.” I walk between the two of them and head anywhere but there. Food will help my bruised ego, I’m sure.