Practice had just ended and a few of the guys—Cam, Max Stone, Paul Nordbeck, and Ian Zappala, were going out for lunch. They’d all piled into Max’s SUV and were driving to a seafood place on the waterfront.
“So how was she?” Ian asked Cam.
Max cleared his throat. “Somebody’s a little too interested in somebody else’s sex life.”
“I’m talking about the maid,” Ian said, irritably.
Max mussed Ian’s hair. “I’m just fucking with you, rookie.”
Ian glared at Max and tried to fix his hair. “I haven’t been a fucking rookie for two years.”
“Anyway,” Cam said, “she was great. She was so good, in fact, that I hired her to come every week. To clean my house, you immature assholes.” All three of his teammates were snickering or laughing silently.
“You’re going to love having a maid every week,” Paul said. “I wasn’t sure about it at first. This is going to sound sexist but I thought Natalie would do most of the cleaning, but it turns out that women don’t necessarily like to clean.”
“They don’t?” Ian asked. “I thought that was like hardwired.”
“Shit, were you two born under a rock?” Cam asked. “Jesus.”
“How’d the filming go?” Paul asked.
Cam shrugged. “Good, I guess. The place looked great. Suzette worked her ass off and amazingly, I was able to keep things looking nice until the crew got there the next morning.”
They got seated immediately at a table with a view and after they ordered, Paul said, “So, you know how they had to delay the reveal of the new third jerseys?”
As in all other sports, NHL teams had dark and light uniforms, one for home games and one for road games, but once in a while they wore alternate jerseys to generate sales. The Dragons had no vintage look to fall back on like some of the more established franchises, so the front office had been monkeying around with different ideas no one had ever seen before.
“I got to see a sneak peek,” Paul said.
“What do they look like?” Ian asked.
Paul shook his head. “Fans are going to hate it. Hell, I hate it.”
“What’s it look like?”
Paul leaned back in his chair. “All right, I understand Lillian Pei is our owner and she’s proud of her Chinese heritage. That’s great. I actually think the Chinese stuff like our logo and the Chinese food vendors at the arena are terrific and different. However, they’ve crossed the line with the third jerseys.”
Three worried sets of eyes rested on Paul.
“You’ve heard of the Chinese zodiac, right? It’s like astrology, kind of. Your sign depends on the year you were born.”
“Yeah, I got dumped once because I was the wrong sign,” Max said.
“No shit?” Ian said.
“She was Chinese and she really believed in that zodiac stuff, so when she found out I was a dragon, she told me we were incompatible because she was a dog.” He shrugged.
“That’s kind of fucked up,” Paul said.
“You haven’t even heard the best part. She said that dogs and dragons compete with each other too much wanting to be the dominant one.” Max scoffed. “As if I’d let any woman dominate me.”
“I’d prefer not to delve too deeply into your sex life, if it’s all the same to you,” Paul remarked. “Besides, I was trying to tell you guys about how they want to tie our third jerseys to the zodiac.”
“And…?” Cam prompted.
“And it’s the year of the pig.”
“Shit,” Ian said. “How ugly is it?”
“It’s…” Paul trailed off, shaking his head. “They concocted this image of a pig with a dragon draped over his shoulders. They’re supposed to be buddies, I guess. I don’t know. The pig looks a little like Miss Piggy, maybe to appeal more to women hockey fans? And our dragon has been declawed. He looks positively…friendly.”
“Who’s Miss Piggy?” Ian asked.
Paul frowned. “Shit. I forgot. You’re only twelve. Miss Piggy is a Muppet.”
Ian still looked clueless.
“The Muppet Show?” Paul said. “Kermit the Frog? Fozzie Bear?”
“There were Muppet movies, too,” Max said. “Didn’t you see that one with…shit. I forgot her name. Superman’s girlfriend.”
“Lois Lane?”
“Yeah, the redhead.”
“Amy Adams,” Cam said.
“That’s her. Amy Adams.”
Ian shook his head. “Never heard of them.”
“Never mind,” Paul said, with a sigh. “The point is, the jerseys are an abomination.”
“When are they going to be unveiled?” Cam asked.
“Never, if I have anything to say about it. But we’re supposed to wear these things eventually. Maybe on Lunar New Year Night in February.” Paul shook his head again and heaved a sigh. “Just be glad you don’t have to speak to the press about it and act like they look fine.”
Later that afternoon, Cam had an appointment with his agent, Garth Finley. Garth had represented Cam ever since he’d been drafted and after eight years, their professional relationship had morphed into one of friendship as well. Garth was a straight-shooting, shrewd man with wicked good negotiation skills and Cam had never regretted taking any advice from him. After a bit of chitchat, Garth brought up a possible endorsement deal with a men’s fashion subscription box service called Urban Streetwear.
“So they want you to take some photographs and shoot a short unboxing video. You open the box, talk about the clothes, and try them on. The subscription box market is huge right now. They’re going to be advertising in the Dragon Arena, so the video will likely show during intermission or a TV time out.”
“What do you think I should do?” Cam asked.
“I think it’s some easy money.” Cam opened his mouth, but Garth said, “And don’t tell me you don’t need it. You never know when your career will be snuffed out.”
“Thank you for the reminder, Miss Sunshine.”
“It needs to be said. It’s my job to make sure you don’t end up broke in your old age.”
“I wonder why they didn’t ask Ian Zappala.”
Ian’s underwear billboards were plentiful in and around the San Francisco area.
“I don’t know. He probably wanted too much money,” Garth said.
“Okay,” Cam said. “Set it up. Where do we shoot the video?”
“They wanted to do it at your house, but even though they’ll pay extra for that, I told them that wasn’t a good idea.”
“Because of the mess.”
Garth saluted him with his water glass.
“I’ll have you know, as of yesterday, my place looks good now.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I had it cleaned for that ‘At Home With’ thing. Remember?”
Garth scoffed. “And that’ll last for about a week. If that.”
“Okay, okay, normally that’d be true, but it worked out so well, I have the maid coming every week now. So if we just do the unboxing thing right after she comes, we’re golden.”
Garth looked thoughtful. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. You should come over. You’d be shocked. We can catch some Monday Night Football.”
“Sounds good.”
The next Saturday, Cam found himself looking forward to Suzette’s arrival, but like Garth had assumed, it hadn’t taken long for him to fall back into his old ways. His house didn’t look anything like it had before she came the last time, but on a scale of one to ten, ten being a disaster, it scored a solid seven.
In his own defense, the Dragons had a grueling week. The Bruins had come to town, followed by the Kings two days later. Because these were tough clubs, the coach had ridden all their asses at practice. During his off hours, Cam analyzed film of his shifts against those teams. The games themselves had really taken it out of him. Unlike in football, hockey players had to play every two to three days, sometimes back to back, which meant his body only had that long to recover from all the abuse it took on the ice.
He still managed to find the energy to pick up all the actual trash and throw it in the bin outside, but the sink was full of dishes, the microwave looked like a war zone again, and dog fur was everywhere. Cam now understood the “clean before the cleaning lady comes” syndrome of which he was now a victim.
“You know, the place actually looks better than last week,” Suzette said as walked in. She greeted each dog in turn, first Zeus because he was the most insistent. Gizmo she picked up for a cuddle.
“Thanks,” he said.
“But that’s not saying much.”
He laughed as she put Gizmo down.
Hitching the strap of her duffel higher up on her shoulder, she said, “Just give me a minute to change and I’ll get started.”
“Oh, hey, about that,” he said, shifting his weight. “I wanted to tell you, you don’t have to do that.”
She gave him a questioning look.
“I’m fine with you just wearing street clothes.” Even though he appreciated the view and had enjoyed himself at strip clubs back in the day, he felt skeevy about her strutting around in her undies in his own house.
“That’s really nice of you,” she said with a surprised smile, “but there’s actually a rule. How about a compromise? To be honest, I wouldn’t mind ditching the heels.”
“That’s fine, sure,” he said, nodding.
When she came back out, she was wearing a purple bra, matching panties and her red Converse. It was a weird combination but for some reason, it fit her personality—sexy and sassy. And damned if he didn’t find himself getting hard.
She stood there, hands on her hips and smiled. “Well?”
“You look good in purple,” he said, half turning so she wouldn’t see.
“Thanks. I got this at Walmart. It’s not high quality stuff, obviously, but it looks pretty good, considering.” After placing her duffel near the front door, she said, “Well, those dishes aren’t going to wash themselves.”
“How do you know there are dishes?”
She gave him a wry smile. “How do I know the sun will come up tomorrow?”
He laughed.
She walked past him, her stride purposeful. Her panties rode up a little and she yanked them back into place with a hooked finger a finger. She did have a fantastic ass. It was plump and soft looking. He imagined what Suzette would be like in his bed, looking up at him with desire in her eyes or looking at him over her shoulder as he took her from behind. That round ass of hers would provide the perfect cushion as he thrust into her.
And now he had a hard-on. Great.
“Believe it or not,” he said, banishing the provocative image of her from his brain, “I did put things away. I’ve been putting things away ever since I got home from the morning skate.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Really.”
With an arched brow, Dakota marched to the pantry and reached for the door handle. Cam’s hands shot out and he opened his mouth to utter a warning but it was too late. A mini-avalanche of items tumbled out onto the floor.
“Hey,” he said, laughing, “you’re supposed to be cleaning the place up, not making a bigger mess.”
“Don’t try laying the blame on me, Mr. Sweep It Under The Rug. Putting things away means putting things where they belong, not just out of sight. Big difference. What we did last week was only a stop-gap measure.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” he said lamely.
“Besides, a pantry is supposed to be for food and kitchen items. Potatoes, paper towels, canned goods. That kind of stuff.”
“The potatoes are in the freezer. Where they belong. Ha!”
She gave him a long-suffering look as she walked to the sink and started putting the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. “I meant real potatoes, potatoes that haven’t been processed and sealed in a plastic bag.”
“Oh. I don’t have any real potatoes.”
“You don’t really have any fresh food, which I find really surprising for a man who depends on his body to make his living.”
“I’ll have you know my plus-minus is four right now, thank you very much. And I’m not home that much anyway. Stuff goes bad and you know how gross food in the fridge gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“What does that mean?” she asked with a sidelong glance. “Four doesn’t sound very high.”
“In hockey, if you’re on the ice when your team scores a goal, you get a plus. If you’re on the ice when the opponent scores, you get a minus.”
“Oh, that makes sense now. Well, congratulations on your big four thing, but unfortunately that has nothing to do with the neatness of your house,” she said, slipping the last crusty plate into the sink. “What you need to focus on is having a place for everything—”
“And everything in its place.”
“Gold star, Mr. Bowes,” she said, touching her nose with her wet index finger.
“Well, I need help finding places for everything,” he said, realizing it even as he spoke the words. “I mean, that’s a huge job.”
“I agree.” Having filled the sink with hot soapy water, she soaked the sponge and started wiping down the granite counters, occasionally scrubbing at a rough spot. “You should probably go get started.”
“It’s a job I could really use some help with,” he said with what he hoped was a disarming grin.
Dakota gave him another sideways glance. “Is that a hint?”
“I’ll pay you extra. Like before.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It would kill me to help you organize everything only to see it slowly become disorganized as the weeks went by.”
“You don’t know that I’d fall off the wagon.”
“No, I don’t,” she said, eyeing him, “but I think it’s likely.”
“We could play it by ear then. Maybe having a system will work so well, I’ll want to put stuff ‘in its place.’” He started shoving the pile of junk back into the pantry with his foot so he could close the door. “Think about it. Or maybe…”
She stopped wiping the counters. “Maybe what?”
It was a wild idea, but one that had a lot of appeal. For him at least.
“Maybe…you could come every day,” he said, watching her carefully to see her reaction. “Quit at Eye Candy Maids and come work for me full time.”
Her eyebrows rose. “What do you mean? Like your housekeeper?”
“Yeah,” he said, then again with more conviction, “Yes. You’d come here, say, Monday through Friday and tidy up and clean. That way I wouldn’t have to.” He grinned. “And if you came that often, it would never get bad.”
She put the sponge down, rinsed and dried her hands. “That would mean I’d have to quit both my jobs. At Eye Candy Maids there’s non-compete clause—or whatever they call it—in the contract I signed. We’re not allowed to work for competitors or do freelance cleaning. Gwen said she had girls who poached clients from her, which is why she started using contracts.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, and I’m wary about doing that. I don’t think Gwen would be too happy about me going solo, so if things didn’t work out between you and me, I probably wouldn’t be able to get that job back.”
“What are you talking about? We get along fine. You’ve already seen my house at its worst.”
She shook her head. “Then what if you get traded? What then? You move to another city and I’m stuck applying for unemployment.”
She had a point.
“Well, that’s true, but that just means I need to hammer out the details.”
“Okay,” she said, checking out the refrigerator and sniffing with obvious trepidation. “You do that. I’ll keep cleaning.”
Zinny’s first grade teacher, Ms. Peterson, habitually left shortly after the students did, so Dakota had to act fast if she wanted to catch her.
“Evelyn, do you have a couple of minutes?” Dakota asked. “It’s about Zinny.”
Dakota was to address the teachers formally when students were present, but when they weren’t around and it was just adults, she could use their first names.
Ms. Peterson’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Just a few.”
“Zinny has been upset lately. She told me the kids are bullying her on the playground.”
To her credit, Ms. Peterson frowned. “That’s terrible. Has she been injured?”
“Not physically, no. But Zinny says they’re refusing to play with her because I’m a school custodian and that she’s dirty by association.”
Ms. Peterson pursed her lips. “When you said bullying, I thought you meant she was being hurt.”
“She is being hurt. She’s cried over this, and getting her to come to school has been a battle every day.” Not to mention the fact that Dakota had to try very hard not to monitor the schoolyard, find out who the little cretins were who were harassing her niece, get in their faces, and let them know they were treading a thin line.
Ms. Peterson nodded. “I understand your concern. Of course we hate it when we think our children are suffering.”
Think being the operative word, Dakota thought.
“But,” Ms. Peterson went on, “I’m a believer in empowering children to solve their own problems. Zinny needs to develop the social skills to deal with this kind of situation.”
“She’s six,” Dakota said a little irritably.
Ms. Peterson raised one eyebrow. “Even so. Also, as her legal guardian, it’s your responsibility to establish a morning routine and to make it clear that missing school is not an option no matter how much she resists. If she is throwing a tantrum—”
“I never said she’s throwing tantrums.”
“—it’s because you haven’t been firm. The boundaries haven’t been set strongly enough. Children are smart. When they figure out something doesn’t work, they stop doing it.”
Dakota considered it a miracle that she didn’t snap and give Ms. Peterson a piece of her mind. This wasn’t about Zinny’s morning routine.
“Be that as it may,” Dakota managed to grind out, “I’d appreciate it if you talked to the class about this. Maybe you could teach a lesson about all jobs having value or how making fun of people is mean.”
“As it happens, we have a unit coming up about workers in our community and I can easily add your job to the list. If you want, you can come talk to the class about what your day entails.”
Dakota hadn’t expected her to acquiesce and it took her by surprise. “Oh, that would be great. I’d love to.”
“I’ll let you know what day,” Ms. Peterson said as she turned to go. “Oh, and the fish tank needs cleaning. Be a dear and take care of that this afternoon.”
And just like that, the goodwill she’d felt toward Ms. Peterson went up in smoke. Dakota’s job description did not include the care and feeding of any of the classroom pets. Sure, if Dakota saw that the guinea pig in Room 5 needed water, she provided it. But she wasn’t obligated to care for the animals, and Evelyn Peterson knew that. But she also probably knew that she had Dakota over a barrel and that Dakota would put up with a lot of shit so that Zinny’s school day ran smoothly. Still, the canny witch had conceded to let Dakota address the class, so that was a step in the right direction. If that meant adding one more task to her list today, so be it.