Page 39 of Lucky Puck
She pulls away from me.
“The story won’t be easy to undo since everyone who saw the game or the news reports or social media posts from the game thinks we’re married.”
“Right. There’s that.”
She goes quiet, and I can see her supercomputer brain working. Her brow furrows, and she’s in some kind of impenetrable zone because she doesn’t even react when I put a hand on her thigh.
Or maybe she does, because she looks at me then with one of those smiles that makes me think of angels heralding from on high.
“Maybe it could work out to both our advantages.”
“What?” I don’t follow her change in attitude, but I watch the change in her expression going from angelic to devilish like a slow, smooth decline into decadence. “Hey, I don’t like that look on your face. It’s like you’re planning something devious. Something I’m not going to like.”
“As I see it, there’s one way to handle it.”
“What way is that?”
“We stay pretend married for the rest of the season.”
“How the hell? No way—”
“It’s for your own good, kid,” Sabien says.
“Who are you calling kid?”
“You’re not even old enough to drink.”
Bianca clears her throat. “We’re here. Get out of the car and stop bickering like a couple of brothers.”
We get out and she stands as tall as she can considering she’s short, and I don’t miss the vulnerability in her eyes in spite of her attempt at a take-charge attitude. I wave my hand in a circle to tell her to go on. We all walk in silence to the elevator, and Sabien gets off at his floor below ours.
“See you in a couple of hours for the flight home.”
When we get off the elevator, I wrap an arm around her. “Come to my room so we can work this out.”
We go in, and I sit on the couch and pat the seat beside me. She hesitates for a blink before she joins me.
“What’s the best way to handle this problem, my esteemed problem-solving agent?”
“Clearly, you need someone to look out for your best interests, someone you can trust to keep women from taking advantage of you.”
“You’re crazy. You really believe that?” I say the words even if I half agree with her. And crazy or not, that doesn’t stop my boner from dancing in celebration because she’s hot, and I must be an idiot because I like how she tries to take charge and thinks she can boss me around.
Those pouty lips shout take me—at least that’s what I hear. A hot fucking challenge I can’t resist. Maybe she’s right about my weakness for naughty women.
But maybe I’m right that she’s hiding a very naughty side under her unassuming business façade of thick glasses and outdated suits. So I test her, doing what comes naturally, teasing her, poking holes in her plan, and being a general nuisance.
“You realize Portsmouth, New Hampshire, is nothing like Las Vegas, right? How am I going to get into trouble there?”
“We’re a stone’s throw from Boston, and the team travels, don’t they? I’ll stay around and make sure you don’t lose any promotional opportunities. I’ll do my job more effectively, getting you more deals and making sure you don’t mess them up.”
“I didn’t mess up—”
“We almost didn’t make the shoot because of your—”
“Concussion. Because I got a concussion, not because of—”
“The showgirl. She drugged you for cripes sake. You got yourself hurt because you were hungover and exhausted and then missed half the All-Star game and almost missed the shoot. With the news and social media kerfuffle, I know Martino is in love with the Vegas wedding publicity, so it might be in your best economic interest as well as for your hockey career and your personal well-being to have someone—.”
