He gives me a grin. “If you say so. You know, if I wasn’t married, I sure could find myself being the top to his bottom.” He winks and I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me.

  “Oh my god.” I shake my head. “I won’t tell your husband you said that.”

  “Don’t. He’s already pissed at me enough for not agreeing with him that our en suite bathroom needs a makeover for the third time this year.”

  “Is that the reason you’re eating sugar and carbs?” I nod at the donut.

  He shrugs. “I can’t help it. I crave them when we’re fighting.”

  “Well, I’m headed home. You should do the same. Apologize, then go be the bottom to his top.” I wink, hearing his laughter all the way down the hall.

  When I get to my desk, before grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair, I decide to search YouTube for the clip of the press conference. Surely Mr. Jefferies is exaggerating. Athletes do stupid things all the time. That is not going to go viral.

  But I was wrong because my stomach drops when I find all kinds of clips have been uploaded, most with millions of views and hundreds of comments.

  Some of the comments are of people shipping Brock and me together and saying that we should totally start dating. Some speculate whether we already are. But there’s also a lot of comments like, “How does a broad with a rack like that get a job reporting on sports? One word… casting couch” and “Do you think she can even add up the score if we asked her to?”

  Those feel like a spear to my sternum, and I quickly shut off my computer before sliding on my coat.

  If I stay off-line and ignore all the buzz, surely it will die down. Says every YouTube sensation.

  3

  Brock

  “Hey, Allen! You hook up with that bombshell from the news yet?” one of the security guards asks me as I leave the arena a few days after the incident that shall not be named.

  Except that’s not exactly true.

  Because my teammates get nothing but joy from busting my balls about my slipup. Some of them have nicknamed me Romeo. And since I’m a rarity in hockey to have never been gifted a nickname—I’m afraid it might stick.

  I wave Charlie off and he laughs. He’s worked security here since my rookie year, eight years ago.

  After throwing my shit in the back of my car, I drive my Audi out of the parking lot to head back to my condo. Practice took a lot out of me today. Probably because I’ve slept for shit the past few nights due to Kelsey Callaway.

  I searched her up after the press conference, wondering why I had never seen her before.

  I watched clip after clip of her sports reports, and I found her on social media. Which meant by the time I closed my eyes to sleep that night, all I saw behind my eyelids was that beautiful face surrounded by blonde hair. And when I finally fell asleep, I woke up hard as fucking granite, forced to bust a nut if I wanted any chance of going back to sleep.

  There’s no denying that she’s every man’s wet dream with her huge tits, small waist, curvy hips, luscious blonde hair, and sparkling blue eyes. But more than her looks alone—she knows her shit when it comes to sports.

  It’s clear from watching clips of her that she knows sports intimately as if she’s a true fan, not just a pretty woman a station owner decided to put on TV for eye candy. Her excitement when new records are set, or the underdog comes back to win the game, is evident. And the way she rattles off players’ stats is impressive.

  I park my car in the underground garage and take the elevator to the top floor of the building. After I unlock the door and ditch my jacket on the side of my couch, I grab a beer from the fridge and flop down in my favorite chair.

  After flipping through the channels and finishing half my beer, I heat up the dinner my meal delivery service left for me and then change the channel over to WHFI. And then I wait. I truly am a puppy dog obsessed with this woman.

  Ten minutes in, Kelsey appears on the screen to give her thoughts on our game tomorrow night against Los Angeles. I’m captivated, if not more than a little turned on, and I already know that before this week is through, I’m going to ask her out.

  The next night, after a brutal game against Los Angeles, Kelsey’s at the postgame press conference but doesn’t ask any questions. At least not while I’m being interviewed. I tried not to glance in her direction, feeling like everyone in the room was hyperaware of both of our presence, waiting for something to come more from what I said prior.

  After I’m done with my interview, I rush to the locker room, gather my shit and leave, hoping to catch her, but when I head down the hallway, she’s nowhere to be seen. I poke my head into the pressroom but she’s not one of the few reporters still lingering around.

  “Great game tonight, Allen!” one of them calls out. I wave and smile before turning my attention back to the hallway.

  “You looking for your woman?” Karl, my teammate, says as he approaches.

  “I don’t have a woman,” I grumble.

  “Did you tell the internet that?” He chuckles as we make our way down the hallway, side by side.

  He’s not wrong. Every day it seems like the whole comment I made gaining more attention. Apparently, there was even a joke about it on The Tonight Show last night.

  “I was hoping to catch her so I could apologize for all the attention this is getting.” And ask her out. But I’m not telling Karl that. He’s probably the one sharing that video clip the most.

  “There she is.” Karl points to my left down a hallway and for once, the guy isn’t busting my balls.

  Kelsey stands talking to a guy with a camera balanced on his shoulder wearing a snug-fit black pantsuit with a white shirt underneath.

  “Thanks, man.”

  He claps me on the back. “Go get your woman.”

  I flip him off and head down the hallway. The camera guy sees me first since Kelsey’s back is to me.

  She must sense me or see her camera guy’s widened eyes because she turns her head to look over her shoulder. I’m not sure what reception I might receive from her, but the narrowed eyes weren’t it.

  Okay…

  “Can I talk to you?” I ask her.

  Her lips form a straight line. “No.” She turns around and carries on her conversation with the camera guy as if I’m not even standing there.

  Meanwhile, his gaze keeps darting from her to me.

  Eventually, she huffs and says to him, “He’s still standing there, isn’t he?”

  Camera guy nods. “I’m gonna go out for a smoke.” He nods at me, and mouths “good luck” when he passes.

  That can’t be a good sign.

  Kelsey slowly turns to face me, arms crossed, head tilted and eyes looking like they’re on the verge of an eye roll.

  I clear my throat. “I wanted to apologize if I embarrassed you the other day with my remark. I didn’t intend for the whole room to hear me.”

  Her arms drop to her sides. “Yes, well, that happens when you’re surrounded by microphones.” As if she has no control, her eyes finally roll.

  “I covered the mic!” I say in my defense.

  “You covered one mic. There’re still others up there.”

  I wince. “Yeah, spur-of-the-moment reaction. The fact I said it in the first place says I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.”

  “Clearly,” she deadpans. “Is that all? I’m busy.”

  It’s probably stupid to try and ask her out, given the tone of her voice and her body language that’s screaming fuck off, but I’m not really a guy who likes regrets.

  “Listen, I was wondering if you might want to grab a drink or go to dinner with me sometime?”

  Her mouth hangs open. “I’m not going to go out with you!”

  She says you like I’m a deranged sociopath, not a professional hockey player at the height of his career.

  What the hell is this woman’s problem? A simple “no thanks” or “I’m not available” would suffice.

  So, I called her beautiful. Where’s the fucking harm in that?

  “Why do you say it like that?” I scowl.

  “I’m sure you’re used to all the puck bunnies fluttering their eyes and lying down for you like they have mattresses strapped to their backs, but I’m not interested.” It’s when her gaze coasts down my body and her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip that I know she’s full of shit.

  “Is that right?” I arch an eyebrow and step forward.

  She takes a couple of steps back, putting her back flush against the wall. I use the opportunity to cage her in with my arms, making sure we’re still not touching.

  I can smell her perfume this close and the scent makes her even more desirable—like sugar and vanilla or something. What I am sure of is that I want to press my face into her neck and inhale until I’ve figured out the concoction.

  “Are you saying you don’t find me attractive?” I ask, hedging my bets.

  She sucks in a large breath, causing her chest to heave. And what a chest it is. What I wouldn’t give to feel the weight of her breasts in my hands.

  “You’re obviously attractive.” Her voice loses a little of the fight.

  “And you already know I think you’re beautiful.”

  She swallows audibly.

  “So, what’s the issue? What harm would a date do?”

  Something shifts in her demeanor as though she’s just remembered something, and she pushes against my chest so I back up to give her some space.

  “You’ve already done enough harm. Thanks to you, that clip is all over the internet and people won’t stop talking about you and me. They’re shipping us and coming up with cutesy nicknames like Klock and Kelrock.”

  My forehead creases. Shipping? “What the hell does that mean… they’re shipping us?”

  She rolls her eyes again and I want to take her by the back of the neck and pull her to me and kiss her until her shitty attitude disappears.

  “Shipping as in a relationship…” When I still look at her like I don’t know what she’s talking about, she huffs. “They think we should be in a relationship together.”

  I shrug. “Maybe they’re right. Good way to find out is to go on a date together. That’s usually how these things work.”

  Her hands fist at her sides as though she’s losing patience with me. “The last thing I’m going to do is to start dating you. I’m not giving any more life to this thing than it already has.”

  “I don’t understand what the big deal is.”

  One of my teammates passes by the hall and calls his goodbye, so I wave at him before returning my attention to the irate female in front of me.

  “It’s not a big deal for you. You’ve made out great in all things. Everyone’s totally buying your sweet, chagrined act.”

  I open my mouth to tell her it’s not an act, but she raises her hand to stop me.

  “Me, on the other hand… people haven’t been quite as complimentary.”

  I frown, not knowing what she’s referring to, but I’ve been on the other side with trolls.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “I’ve got all kinds of people calling and emailing and texting me looking for a comment or wanting to interview me. Random strangers stop me to ask if we’ve already gone out. I made the mistake of telling one no and got an earful about all the reasons I should rectify that immediately. That if she were me, she’d have already gotten a ring on her finger from you. If I do, I’m a gold-digging slut, and if I don’t, I’m a frigid slut. Either way, there’s no winning for me.”

  I don’t know what to say. Who would have thought that me calling her beautiful would have such a negative effect on her life, but she’s not done yet.

  “And then there’re the comments complimenting me on my looks while bashing me, asking how smart could I be? That maybe if I was naked, they’d entertain having to hear me talk about sports because there’s no way I know what the hell I’m talking about with a pretty face like mine.”

  My reaction must take too long because, with a huff, she pushes past me.

  “Wait!” I reach out for her arm to stop her but she’s too quick and snatches it away, but doesn’t walk away from me either.

  “So, no. I won’t be going out with you. And I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone.” She stomps down the hall and I watch until she turns the corner.

  That didn’t go quite as I hoped.

  4

  Kelsey

  I tilt the wineglass back and take another sip, hoping it will dull the ferocity with which I keep thinking about Brock.

  I meant what I said to him earlier this week. I don’t want to go out with him. But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate him for the fine specimen he is.

  When he had me caged against the wall, all I wanted was for him to bend down and take possession of my lips. His freshly showered body smelled woodsy with undertones of musk, and I squeezed my thighs together to dull the ache between them.

  But none of that matters because if anything were to happen between us, it would only fan the flames of public interest in the two of us. Him making that comment on national television sealed our fate to never date.

  “Earth to Kelsey.”

  Whitney’s voice draws me out of my thoughts.

  “Sorry.”

  “Who are you thinking about?” Lennon, my other friend, says.

  I definitely don’t want to tell her where my mind was. She’s the most sexually free woman I’ve ever met. She owns a sex toy company and is hell-bent on making sure every woman is satisfied on the regular.

  And I am… when I have a sex life at all, that is. Which now that I think about it was a while ago.

  “Sorry. My mind wandered for a moment.” I smile.

  We’re in my living room, which isn’t very big or lavish compared to where these two live with their very rich husbands, but they’ve never made me feel less than because of it.

  “I’ll bet I know where it wandered to…” Whitney singsongs.

  I chuckle and roll my eyes. “Give it a rest.”

  I filled Whitney in on what happened between Brock and me in the hallway and she’s tried to convince me to give him a chance ever since.

  “I feel like there’s more to the story than the fact that a superhot professional athlete basically confessed that he wants to fuck you on national TV.” Lennon looks between the two of us.

  I groan and fill Lennon in on my hallway confrontation with Brock. She’s grinning by the time I’m done.

  “Girlfriend, you need to take him up on his offer.”

  I scoff. “No way. I don’t want any more attention on us. I want this to go away so I can do my job without having people trying to guess my bra size.”

  She raises her hands up. “I get it. I really do. It’s hard enough to get the patriarchy to take us seriously on a regular day, let alone when everyone is talking about your amazing rack. But are you attracted to him? I mean, if all of this hadn’t happened, and he asked you out, would you have said yes?”

  I consider what she’s saying for a moment and shrug. “I guess so. I mean, I also report on his team, so there’s a bit of a journalistic conflict there, too.”

  “Then you should go out with him and see where it leads. Fuck whatever anyone else is going to say.”

  And if I were Lennon, I’d probably feel the same. I’ve never met someone more comfortable in their own skin. Unfortunately, I’m the complete opposite.

  I shake my head. “It’s better if this all just washes away. In a few weeks, no one will even remember anything about this.” I tip my glass back and finish off the rest of my wine. “Anyone else want a refill?” I stand from the couch.

  “Me, please.” Whitney finishes off her glass and hands it to me.

  I walk over to the kitchen that’s open to my living room and pull the white wine from the fridge.

  “Hey!” Whitney shifts on the couch to face me in the kitchen. “Cole’s new restaurant is opening next week. You should come to the opening. There will be lots of eligible bachelors there. Maybe we can find someone to get your mind off Brock Allen.”

  I scowl across the room. “I told you—my mind isn’t on Brock Allen.”

  “Neither is your pussy,” Lennon says and tosses back some of her wine.

  “Lennon!” Both Whitney and I dissolve into giggles as I return to the living room and hand her her glass.

  We don’t mention Brock’s name again for the rest of the night, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about him.

  I step into the warmly lit restaurant and look around. Whitney told me Cole’s new venture was a departure from the pub he owns that I’ve been to several times over the years, but this is the complete opposite.

  Rather than worn wood floors and tables, there are cream-colored linens covering the tables and plush fabric seats. Candles flicker in the center of each table and rather than stale beer, my stomach rumbles at the scent of seafood and garlic.

  All the tables on the perimeter of the room remain, but some tables in the middle of the space have been removed to allow people to mingle.

  After I check my coat, Whitney spots me. She leans in and says something to her husband, Cole, who looks in my direction and gives me a nod and wave, then returns to his conversation with the man standing near them.

  I’m sure Cole is busy making the rounds, and I make a mental note to catch up with him later.

  “You came!” Whitney engulfs me in a hug when she reaches me, then pulls back to take me in. “And you look phenomenal.”

  “Thanks.” I slide my hands down the clingy fabric of my black dress.

  I’m so used to wearing my work clothes that it feels odd to be wearing something so formfitting and revealing. My cleavage is on full display in the V of this body-con dress. But I’ll admit, it’s nice to feel sexy.

  “You look beautiful.” Her dark hair is pulled back, and she’s wearing an emerald-colored dress.

  “Thanks.” She hooks her arm in mine and leads me farther into the room. “You have to try the food while you’re here. The chef basically made little versions of the bigger plates on the menu, and they are delish. But how about a drink to start?”

 

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