Asher shoots me a smug smile. “So I was right,” he says, and dammit. He is smarter than a cat.

  “Pretty sure you said you thought they’d lock him up,” I say, trying again since my poker face is tight.

  Asher cocks his brow at me. “Nice try, Lambert.”

  We head inside and down the corridor. Miles is a few paces ahead of us, so that’s as good a distraction as any. “Hey, Falcon,” I call out to the center.

  He turns around, tips his chin toward us. “What’s up?”

  “Question for you.”

  “Sure.”

  I scratch my jaw. “Do you know anyone who babysits?”

  Miles furrows his brow. “Um, no. Is it for your nephew?”

  I scoff, then point my thumb toward Asher, then Wesley. “No, it’s for these clowns.”

  Miles waggles a brow, smiling, getting it now. “Speaking of clowns, I hear you’re going to join the circus when you’re done with hockey. Let me know where you wind up because I will heckle the fuck out of that.”

  I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Why are you guys looking at my social media?”

  “Everyone needs a good laugh now and then,” Wesley says as we head into the locker room.

  Hugo’s here, tugging on his jersey. Christian, the captain, is lacing up his skates.

  When Miles reaches his stall, he looks back at me, tilting his head. “Looks like you had fun at the naked ride. But why didn’t you do the ride?” He asks it innocently, like he’s been educating himself at the Wesley and Asher School of Giving Me Hell. “Were you afraid of scaring everyone with your attire?”

  I look to the ceiling in frustration, tossing up my hands. “Why are you all my teammates?”

  “You’re just that lucky, man,” Hugo calls out.

  “And don’t you forget it,” Christian chimes in.

  “As if I could,” I say, then I grab my shoulder pads from the stall.

  As I’m heading to practice ten minutes later with Asher, my gaze drifts up to the management levels. I picture Everly in her office.

  A dirty grin returns to my face.

  As we reach the gate at the ice, Asher points to me with a busted grin on his face. “Yup. It’s working. You’ve been made over into…a new man, and I know why,” he says, his gaze drifting pointedly to the management levels before he takes off and flies down the ice away from me.

  I try my best to flip him the bird, but it’s fuck-all hard with gloves on.

  Still, I really need to get my game face on, especially since nothing can happen with Everly again.

  It really, really can’t, no matter how much I’m thinking about her and the delivery coming her way today.

  22

  A THIEF AND A PIRATE

  Everly

  “He’s a panty thief!” Josie issues that declaration with a slap of the table at the diner.

  I’m at lunch with my friends after the hottest night of my life. I’ve told them nearly everything. I only feel slightly bad for divulging all the details of our one-time-only tryst, but they’ve been sworn to vault-levels of secrecy. And honestly, I couldn’t not tell them.

  “I never expected that. They were just…gone when I looked all over for them,” I say, a little thrilled all over again as I recall the discovery of his theft. “Like stolen treasure or something.”

  Maeve arches a brow. “It kind of makes him…a sex pirate.”

  I laugh. “Evidently.”

  “Max is sort of swashbuckling,” Fable says thoughtfully, then asks, “and did he admit to taking them?”

  “Yes,” I say, still incredulous over Max’s matter-of-fact reaction via text this morning. “He was unapologetic.”

  Maeve stabs a forkful of salad but doesn’t bring it to her mouth. “The man wants what he wants. That’s impressive.”

  “Is it though? I mean, what did he do with them?” I ask, then take a bite of my lunch.

  But as I’m chewing on the portobello mushroom sandwich, three pairs of eyes from around the table stare wide-eyed at me.

  “Is that a real question?” Josie asks.

  I set down the sandwich. “What do you mean?”

  Maeve snorts, then arches a knowing brow. “I think we all know what he did with them.” She finally takes that bite.

  A flush crawls up my chest and along my neck, setting my face on fire. “Seriously?”

  Josie cracks up. “Sweetie, of course he did.”

  “I…” I begin, but I’m speechless. And turned on all over again. “I guess I didn’t think it through. Really? Really?” But of course that’s what he did. “I didn’t play out the whole ‘what happened next’ bit in my head.”

  “Because the act of theft is hot in and of itself,” Maeve supplies with a cat-like grin. “You were fixated on the simple fact that he took them.”

  I wince but nod guiltily. “I was. Since that was just hot,” I say quietly, leaning closer to them as I whisper, “No one’s ever done that before. But the fact that he did kind of got me going this morning.”

  Fable’s naughty grin spreads. “So what you’re saying is you were too turned on from him taking them to even think about what he did with them?”

  “Girl, what he did to me is all I could think about last night when I got into bed. Then this morning before I left for work. And at work while I was supposed to be finalizing the press notes for tonight’s game,” I say, then lift my iced tea. I need a drink. I’m hot all over. After I take a thirsty sip, I put down the glass with some finality. “But it can’t happen again.”

  “Why?” Maeve asks curiously.

  “We work together. It’s considered a bad idea to get involved with a player.”

  “Really?” Josie asks, seeming sad on my behalf.

  “It’s an unwritten rule. Mostly because of all the ways it could go wrong,” I say, laying out the facts. “I’m not his direct report, and he’s of course not mine. But that doesn’t matter necessarily. If you get involved with a player, it could change the way the other players see you, how the media sees you, and of course how management does. Every move you make could look like favoritism or bias. Someone could think you’re promoting the guy you’re involved with over other players. And that could hurt the team dynamics. And it could look like I’m trying to use that connection to move up. I don’t want to take that chance, especially when I’m competing for a promotion.”

  “That makes sense,” Fable says, nodding thoughtfully. “I know Blaine Enterprises has all sorts of guidelines in its HR handbook about office romances and relationships with co-workers. It’s good to be careful.” That’s the company she works for that owns the city’s winningest and most popular football team.

  “Exactly,” I say, trying to stay as clear-headed as I can about the Max situation—since last night can’t happen again. “If a fling goes south, the team doesn’t want to find themselves in the position of punishing a player. They spend millions on their players. And it’s understandable—the players are the product. But no one wants to handle a broken heart at the office.” I pause. “Or worse.”

  Maeve sighs, then drags a French fry through her ketchup. “I wonder what it’d be like to have an office romance. They always sound so hot.”

  She’s an artist so she’s never worked in an office.

  “Maybe you could have a studio romance. With a moody sculptor or a tortured painter or something. And then you’d get paint all over your—” I gesture to her chest.

  “Yes! I want to find a man who’d like to paint my tits red.”

  We crack up, but when the laughter fades, Josie clears her throat, turning to me. “But I get where you’re coming from, Ev. Your job matters to you. You’ve worked hard for it. I personally don’t think sleeping with a player undermines that, but I understand why you’d worry.”

  “Thank you,” I say with a sigh of resignation. Renewed acceptance, too, that last night was a one and done. “It’s hard enough as a woman in sports. I remember reading this memoir by a female sports reporter about all the harassment she had to endure and the sexism. That’s the other thing—there’s this overhang for a lot of women working in sports. Getting involved with a player kind of goes against years of sisterhood trying to make it an even playing field.”

  “Sisterhood matters,” Fable says, then tilts her head. “But so do your feelings. Do you care about him?”

  I think about Max and the things we’ve spoken about. About his grandfather, about his past heartbreak with Lyra, about his sister. He’s been surprisingly open with me, and it warms my heart when he is. Those moments when he shares feel special in ways I didn’t expect. But even though I shared about our night together, I won’t share the personal details about Max—those are for me and me alone.

  I keep my answer simple and truthful. “I care about him. But there’s no room for anything more. Our work together has barely begun. There’s so much we still have to do,” I say. This afternoon I need to focus on the Dogs on Ice event I have planned for next week—part of step two, the community outreach phase we’ve been building toward. This will be the payoff. Or so I hope.

  “Onward and upward then,” Josie says, lifting her glass. “But let’s toast to knowing a panty thief. Well, besides my dog.”

  I freeze. “Wait. Pancake is a panty thief?”

  She shrugs a yes. “Apparently, it’s not that uncommon. Guess he’s a horndog.”

  We all clink, and then drink to that.

  When lunch ends, I return to the arena with a renewed focus now that I’ve gotten that confession out of my system. After I grab my afternoon London fog latte from a shop nearby, I head to my office and sit down at my computer, toggling the mouse. As the machine wakes up, there’s a soft knock on my door.

  I spin around. It’s Jenna. She’s standing in the open doorway, holding a pretty dove gray envelope. “This just came for you. It’s a personal delivery.”

  I furrow my brow, thinking on what it could be. Then I brighten. “It must be that new team T-shirt I ordered,” I say, then reach for the envelope and rip it open.

  I reach my hand inside, fishing around in the soft tissue paper, and yank the shirt out.

  Only it’s not a shirt, and my face flames hot.

  23

  MY UNDOING

  Everly

  I’m praying sweet, angel-faced Jenna who comes to me for publicity advice did not see my new thong.

  Please, universe. If you could grant me one wish right now, it’d be that. I’d be super grateful.

  I stuff the lace to the bottom of the envelope, then farther, like, say, to the center of earth, and ideally all the way to Siberia on the other side.

  I’m not in the spin business for nothing though. I flash an oh what a silly mix-up grin, and say to her, “I got the size wrong.”

  I roll my eyes, like can you believe it?

  But would my face be as red as a fire engine over the wrong size? Maybe Jenna won’t notice I’m imitating a candy apple.

  The worker bee tilts her head to the side and says helpfully, “Want me to handle the return? I don’t mind at all. I do it for my girlfriend,” she says. “She orders way too many shirts to try on all the time, and I’m always the one sending them back.”

  It’s a relief that she didn’t see the new lingerie our star goalie sent me. “Nah. I need to return some…” I glance around quickly, but my desk is mostly empty except for a succulent that I’ve never fed. “Some plant food too. I can do it all.”

  “I don’t mind. I totally have a green thumb.”

  Jenna is the nicest person in the sports world, and I don’t deserve her. “You don’t need to spend company time dealing with my mistake. But thanks, Jenna. You’re the best.”

  “Okay, well let me know what I can help you with.”

  I wrack my brain for a project to keep her busy. “Actually, I need some research done on the upcoming event with Little Friends next week.”

  Quickly I give her a few tasks for Dogs on Ice, and when she trots off, I shut the door, something I rarely do unless I’m sitting in on an interview, but I need a moment alone with this treat.

  I return to my chair, take a breath, and then set my hand on my chest. My heart is beating so fast. No one has ever sent me lingerie. I haven’t had a relationship long enough to enter the meaningful gift stage. My fingers are so eager to touch this pretty thing. To see if there’s a note. I dip my hand back into the envelope and pull out the panties, getting a good look at them at last.

  A smile coasts across my face. A smile of amazement.

  He got me the exact same pair. A perfect replacement. Delivered in less than twenty-four hours. But there’s not only a replacement here. There’s one more item waiting patiently at the bottom of the envelope. I dip my hand back in, the tissue paper softly crinkling as I pull out another gift.

  My breath catches.

  It’s another pair of panties, and these are royal blue lace. Specifically, Sea Dogs blue. With white lace edging and white embroidered rosettes along the waistband.

  He bought me a pair of panties in team colors. I squirm a little in my chair, my chest tingling, my belly flipping. I reach for the small card in the envelope, flip it open, and press my lips together to swallow my gasp.

  It’s not signed, but it doesn’t need to be. There are only five words—Wear the blue ones tonight.

  I clutch the card in my fingers, not wanting to let it go as the puzzle pieces slide fully into place. Max must have ordered both of these last night, and I try to picture him in his home. I think he lives off Union Street in a tall building, overlooking the city. Was he in bed, scrolling through sites, picking out underthings for me? Including a pair to wear to tonight’s home game?

  A noise escapes my throat. A soft murmur. Thank god the door is closed since I’m turned on as the late-night reel plays in my head for the thousandth time. I close my eyes, relaxing against the back of the chair, picturing the things he did to me all over again.

  Seeing, too, what he might do to me in these.

  Such a dangerous thought.

  Something I can’t entertain except in my mind. But here, in the afternoon with my eyes closed, I entertain the hell out of the fantasy. Breathing in deeply, then out, savoring the naughty moments unfurling before my closed eyes.

  “Yoo-hoo.”

  I sit bolt upright. It’s Elias in promotions, and he’s rapping on the door. Fear of getting caught fondling a lingerie gift roars down my spine. Hastily I shout “come in” right as he helps himself, swinging the door open. I stuff both pairs of panties back in the envelope like they’re contraband and he’s border control.

  Fresh-faced Elias is smiling because of course he’s smiling. Everything goes his way all the time. His gaze drifts to the bag. “Ooh, a fun little gift?”

  How the hell does he know it’s a gift? Does he even know what it is? “Yes. I mean, it’s a shirt. The wrong size. It happens.” I wave a hand like this is all no big deal. Then grab my latte and gulp some–that makes my casual routine more believable. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  “I hear ya,” he says with a solidarity nod. “Like, how hard is it to get a size right?”

  “Seriously,” I say, trying to mask my breathiness, trying to hide the furious beating of my pulse, and hoping I’m not red-faced anymore. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “Just wanted to talk about…” He pauses, wait for it style, then booms shockingly on key, “Who let the dogs out?”

  It takes me a beat to catch up. “Right. The dog rescue event next week.”

  “It’s going to be great. We used to do those sorts of promos when I played in college,” he says in a reminiscing tone, and it only took less than one minute for him to remind me he played college hockey. What I really want to say is did you do those events? Because I really don’t think adoption events are done for college hockey. But there’s no point in calling him on it. I wait for him to keep going and he does, asking, “And you talked to my contacts at Little Friends, right?”

  Um, he’s not the only one who has contacts at the city’s rescue. I know people there too, and I contacted them. But I don’t want to be an asshole, so I say, “Yes, I spoke to Little Friends, and everything’s all set for the dog adoption event. Thanks for checking in.”

  “Sweet. Just want to make sure everything’s good to go. And I paved the path for Donna to be there.”

  Hold on. I don’t need the emcee. It’s not an in-game fan experience event. It’s community outreach. An adoption event we’re hosting. “I’m actually going to have some of the players do that. Since, well, they’re the draw.”

  His face falls. “Shoot. Donna loves that stuff especially. Big dog person.”

  I take a moment to think things over. “I’m sure we can make room for everyone,” I say diplomatically, solving the problem with a the-more-the-merrier approach.

  “Cool. I’d feel like a jerk if I told her not to come,” he says, then turns to the door.

  Leave, Elias, leave. I need to ogle my pretties some more.

  But instead, he swings his gaze back to me again. “Hey, I wanted to give you a heads-up. I’m applying for the director job too. But I’m totally not going to get it. You have way more experience—on the desk,” he says, a subtle dig that I don’t have on-ice experience. “But I figured hey, how am I going to get experience applying for a promotion if I don’t apply for one?”

  Great. The general counsel’s nephew is applying for the job I want. That doesn’t hurt my chances at all.

  “That’s fantastic,” I say, and it nearly sounds like I mean it.

  He raps his knuckles on the wall for luck. “May the best…” He stops himself from saying man, shifting to, “human win.”

  “Absolutely,” I say.

  But before he leaves, his eyes drift to the package on my desk. “Enjoy your gift.”