The Romance Line (Love and Hockey Book 2)

Max

Phoenix is aggressive from the second the puck drops. They’re working me hard, taking shot after potent shot on goal. I can’t get a break. Our defenders aren’t getting their sticks on the rebounds enough, and every time one of our forwards snags the puck, Phoenix strips them of it.

I’m lunging for the bullets flying my way. Slapping most down, but not enough.

By the end of the second period, Phoenix is up by two, and it’s been the workout to end all workouts. My muscles are screaming and my eyes are exhausted from watching every nanosecond of the game. As I skate off the ice, I grab my water bottle, down some, then glance at the stands. That’s something I rarely do, but tonight my sister, Sophie, is here with Kade and they’re sitting center ice. I tip my chin toward them and Kade waves wildly to me, then I disappear.

That kid is pretty much the cutest thing I’ve ever seen— well, Athena is cuter, but cats aside, my nephew is—and I’d like to win for him.

In the locker room, I do my best to refocus as Coach prowls the room. “They don’t get to come into our house and clean up like that. We need to be getting in their faces. Taking shot after shot on their net. I want you to get back out there, be aggressive, take control of the game, and don’t let them get all the damn shots. Get creative. Get a power play. And get some points, men.” He breaks down the game, then highlights the opportunities we’re blowing, talks up the plays we should be taking, then pauses, scanning the room. Noah McBride looks like a CEO in his suit. He’s tall, sturdy, a former player, and now, a methodical, coolly strategic coach. His inspo speeches aren’t long. They don’t need to be, because he commands the room with his mind. “You’ve got this, team.”

When the intermission’s up, we hit the ice again with renewed focus. Aggression even. And it works.

Bryant attacks the puck fast and hard, sending it screaming into the net at the start of the third period. Ten minutes later, Falcon goes on a tear, flying down the ice, then flipping the puck to Callahan who sends it screaming past their goalie’s legs.

Yes, fucking yes! I’m cheering from the other end of the ice. We’re tied now. All we need is another goal, and for me to shut them down.

Trouble is, Phoenix slips one past me, and that’s all she wrote.

I’m pissed when I leave the ice, but one look at Kade, and I’ve got to let it go. He’s clapping as I head to the tunnel, barely seeming to care about the final score.

Truth be told, I don’t let the day in and day out eat away at me. Hockey is a long season, and I intend to have a long career. I don’t beat myself up over the losses. I focus on the next game and doing better.

A little later, after I’m showered and dressed, I track down Sophie and Kade in the corridor, where I told them to wait for me, away from the media scrum. They’re hanging out with Josie, Wesley’s girlfriend. When he told me she was coming to the game tonight—which she often does—I asked if she could hang with my sister and nephew at the end. She said yes. It’s not the first time she’s done this.

She’s showing Kade some of the trophies. No, wait. She’s reading to him the words on the plaques inside the trophy case. Of course. She’s a librarian, so everything’s a reading opportunity. When she spots me, she waves, and I head over.

“Thanks, Josie.”

“Anytime. And next time I’ll bring my hockey little reader for you,” she says to Kade.

His blue eyes pop. “Yes! Thank you, Jo-Jo-Jo,” he says, trying to say her name.

“Jo-Jo-Jo works for me,” she says, then takes off.

I scoop up Kade, who’s all smiles—the life of an almost five-year-old.

“You almost won, Uncle Max,” he says. “But I don’t care because I got popcorn. They have my favorite popcorn here. Do you know what else they have?”

“What else?” I ask the cutie as I set him down in the corridor.

“Mushroom jerky! I thought it was going to be gross, but it’s so good.”

I laugh, turning to Sophie. “Mushroom jerky? They’re serving mushroom jerky here now? ”

My sister sweeps her arm in the direction of the arena. “Have you seen this place? Of course they serve it.”

“Yeah, makes sense. If mushroom jerky doesn’t say bougie, I don’t know what does.”

The vendors are chichi, the offerings are organic and expensive, and the ticket prices are outrageous. Also, every game’s sold out. Pretty sure my sister would never be able to afford the tickets on her own. She’s a nurse raising a kid solo with some help from our parents, so outrageous hockey ticket prices are not in her budget. Fortunately, I get comp seats, so I get to treat her to the best seats in the house.

I turn my attention back to Kade. “What’s your favorite flavor of popcorn?”

“Everything bagel,” he says, then shakes his head. “But I didn’t pick it. Mommy did. I wanted kettle corn, but she got the everything kind, and I didn’t think I’d like it. But I did. Just like the jerky.”

“You know what that means, Kade?”

“What?” he asks, bouncing on his sneakers.

“You’re a savory,” I declare.

He scrunches his brow. “That’s a weird word.”

Sophie runs a hand through his brown curls. He’s the spitting image of her, but with a more golden complexion thanks to his dad, who was Puerto Rican. Good guy who adored my sister, but he died when Kade was one. “It means you like salty snacks more than sweets,” she says.

“I like sweets too though,” he says, then his whole face lights up. “We should get ice cream.”

Sophie yawns. “It’s late, baby. I need to get to bed. And so do you. I’m a bad mommy for letting you stay up this late.”

“Nah, good moms let their kids watch hockey,” I say to Kade, because it’s not that late. We had a five-thirty puck drop on a Wednesday night, so it’s almost eight forty-five. “Which is why I’ll take you out for ice cream tomorrow. How about I pick you up from daycare and we can do it then?”

Kade pumps a fist. “Yes!”

“Max,” Sophie chides.

“What? Ice cream is always a good idea. Grandma and Grandpa can come too. And we can taste test the sweet and salty flavors,” I say to the little guy. “Then you can meet Athena.”

“Who’s that?”

“A kitten I’m fostering,” I say, then whip out my phone and show him a pic.

Sophie checks it out too, but she’s yawning again. I nod toward the end of the corridor. “Let’s get out of here,” I say. “I’ll drop you guys off.”

“But we’re all the way over the Bay Bridge,” she protests.

I roll my eyes. “Like I don’t know that.”

“It’s not drop-off territory. We can take a Lyft,” she says.

That’s way too pricey. “Nope. I’m driving, and that’s that.” It’s said like there are no two ways about it. I set a hand on her back and head down the hall. I’m almost out of here, when Everly pops out of the media room, calling out to someone in there, “We’ll talk tomorrow, Jenna.”NôvelDrama.Org holds © this.

“See you then,” Jenna calls back. Pretty sure she works in Everly’s department.

When Everly spins around, her gaze lands on me. Surprise registers in those brown eyes, but she composes herself quickly as her gaze swings to Sophie then Kade, then me. Damn, she looks good tonight in those trim, dark gray slacks that hit a few inches above her ankle, exposing the skin of her lower leg, making me wonder for some annoying reason how her ankle would taste.

Floral? Tropical? Like a summer garden? An orange blossom? The sea? A hunger rolls through me as I imagine brushing my lips over that ankle, ideally while she’s wearing only those impossibly sexy black heels. I bet she’d taste like…a garden bursting with flowers in June.

A rumble works its way up my chest, and I tamp it down before it makes landfall. I tear my eyes away from her legs, dragging my gaze up to her face, like that’ll snuff the lust. But goddamn, her eyes are so expressive. They’re big and brown, deep pools that flicker with emotions, amusement, or excitement, depending on what’s going on inside her. She has zero poker face. She can’t hide her feelings because of those eyes.

Right now, there’s curiosity in them. “Hi, Max,” she says, her lips curving up. “I was looking for you. Thank you for the cake. It was delicious.”

I’m picturing her eating it, licking frosting off the fork seductively, her tongue flicking over the tines. This is getting to be a bigger and bigger problem, so I give a casual, “No problem.” But I replay my response. Ah, hell. I sound like a jackass who thinks he did her a favor by sending cake. It was a thank-you gift. I need to make that clear. “Thanks for the save. In Seattle.”

“Happy to help. It’s my job. And it did, in fact, help me work on publicity plans,” she says, then shifts her focus to Sophie and Kade. “This must be your sister and nephew?”

And the door slams shut on my desire. My hackles go all the way up. Does she think my family is part of her publicity project? No fucking way. “Don’t get any ideas,” I warn her .

“Um, I was just going to say hello,” she says, a little defensively.

But I don’t trust her. Or anyone.

Sophie sets a hand on my forearm through my suit jacket but directs her attention to Everly. “Forgive him. He’s part Doberman.”

“What’s the other part, Mommy?” Kade asks eagerly.

“Honey badger?” my sister suggests.

“Black bear?” Everly asks next.

“Snow leopard?” Sophie offers.

“Ornery kangaroo,” Everly suggests, with some finality.

They are having entirely too much fun at my expense when the fact is I have a right to be concerned. But first things first—this convo. “All right, all right,” I say, pushing my palms down, the sign for that’s enough . “I’m not a kangaroo.”

“Kangaroos are cool,” Kade shouts, then bounces a few times, hands curled, marsupial-style, above his imaginary pouch.

Sophie sticks out her hand toward Everly even though they’re obviously besties already. “I’m Sophie Lambert-Morales, Max’s sister, and this is my son, Kade.”

“So nice to meet you. Everly Rosewood. I do PR for the team.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about you,” she says, and her voice is dripping with sisterly amusement.

I snap my gaze to Sophie. What the hell is she talking about? I haven’t said a word about Everly to anyone besides the guys.

“It must have been a couple years ago. When you were a reporter,” Sophie continues, talking to Everly.

But no way did I say anything about this unchecked lust. I was with Lyra then, and I didn’t start having these irritating thoughts about Everly till she started working for the team and needling me after every goddamn game—thoughts that escalated ever since I saw the lacy lingerie in her luggage. “I don’t think I said anything about her,” I say to my sister.

“Yes, you did,” Sophie says, too pleased. “You said she was smart and tough and easy to talk to.”

Everly’s mouth parts, and she’s now enjoying this too much. “Max Lambert. That’s another nice thing you did.”

I narrow my eyes, muttering, “I did not do something nice.”

Kade grabs my hand. “You’re a nice honey badger, Uncle Max.”

“I’m not,” I grunt.

“You kind of are,” Sophie says. “Except you were kind of a j-e-r-k too when you got on Everly about Kade and me.”

Get on Everly.

I’d like to get Everly on her back, spread her legs, and fuck her into next year.

And fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ve got to stop thinking about her in this way. My dickhead mind is spending all its time in the triple-X cinema when it comes to her, but I’ve got to do a better job at keeping it in the PG theater, watching innocent cartoons, not filthy reels that have no place in this situation. Everly’s a work colleague, whose expertise I unfortunately desperately need.

“All right, now that you’ve had your fun at my expense, the answer is no,” I say to my work colleague .

“You don’t even know the question,” Everly points out. She has no problem going toe to toe with me on anything.

“I do,” I say, firing right back at her. “You want to take a pic of me with my sister and nephew. You said you were working on publicity plans.”

It’s an accusation, a cold one, but she ought to know my family’s off-limits.

She squares her shoulders, holding her ground. “Well, yes. Of course. I would love that. But I know better than to make that request. I do understand that’s not happening,” she says, and I blink, briefly taken aback. She does? Okay, that’s good. “But that’s not what I was coming here for. I wanted to see if we could get together soon to discuss our battle plan. That’s what I was working on while eating the world’s most sinful chocolate cake. And I have some ideas mapped out already.”

I was wrong. I was too quick to assume. I should probably admit that, but instead, I say, “Sure. How about Friday?” I’ve got plans with Kade tomorrow, but it’ll be good to get this meeting on the calendar right away. Good to move quickly. The sooner we tackle this, the sooner it’ll be over. I’ll fix my problems, make the team happy, do the documentary, and move the hell on.

Which’ll have the added benefit of me spending less time with the object of this inappropriate lust. Goals.

“Do you want to meet here in my office or one of the media rooms?” Everly asks.

I glance around the corridor, weighing if I want to meet here in the thick of it or go someplace with a different vibe. Not sure the convo is going to be my favorite so I’d rather the whole organization not be wandering the halls as we have it, but before I can say a word, Sophie chimes in helpfully, “Or you could do coffee or lunch or even dinner. There’s a great new coffee shop in the Marina District called Republic of Coffee, and a cute new café in Russian Hill called Morning Glow. There’s also sushi in Japantown. Which is great for dinner. I love Japantown. Don’t you?”

Everly reins in a smile. “All of that sounds great. Max?”

“Sushi’s good,” I say, then Everly tells me she’ll text me later with details. Finally, she continues down the corridor, and I side-eye my sister as we leave and head through the lot. “Coffee? A café? Sushi?”

She smirks, “Well, I was right. You picked dinner.”

Shit. She’s an evil genius. She tricked me, but I try to shrug it off. “It’s a work dinner,” I insist as we weave past a Mercedes.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she says with the smugness only a younger sister can pull off.

“It is,” I say.

“Of course it is, Max.”

“What else would it be?” I ask, since evidently I’m in the mood to double down.

“Gee. I can’t even imagine.” She stops walking, forcing me to look back at her as she gives the smuggest of smug smiles. “You sent her cake.”

“She helped me out of a jam in Seattle! I was thanking her.”

“Ohhhh. So it was a work cake,” Sophie says as we reach my car.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Do you send cake to everyone you work with who helps you? Like, did you send Hugo a slice for blocking that shot on goal the other night?” She parks her hands on her hips.

I don’t back down though. “Thanks for the reminder. I’ll get right on that.”

She stares at me without blinking. “I can’t wait to find out what he thinks of it next time I come to a game. ”

“Me too.”

While she opens the back seat door, I grab the booster from the trunk, then buckle in Kade. He’s already yawning as I shut the door.

When I get behind the wheel, I add, “And you are not going to try to set me up with my publicist.”

“Of course I would not,” she says as she settles into the front seat. “But now that you mention it…have you thought about dating again?”

I stare sternly at her before I pull out. “Do I look like I enjoy torture?”

“You do play hockey for a living. So maybe.”

“Touché,” I say, and shift topics to her work, then to Mom and Dad and how the school year is going for them as I drive her across the Bay Bridge.

“Mom says this is her best dance class ever,” Sophie says of our mom, who teaches dance at a performing arts school.

“And let me guess. Dad says it’s the best class of actors ever?”

Sophie laughs. “Of course that’s what a drama teacher would say.”

“Gotta love their optimism,” I say, and we chat more about them as we head over to Oakland, where she lives a few blocks away from them. After I carry a sleeping Kade inside, then make sure the alarm is on and no one’s out front, I hop back in my car. Before I head back into the city, I stop at a local Whole Foods and order a breakfast platter for my parents, sending it to the school where they teach for delivery in the morning. Bagels and fruit are the key to their hearts.

I return to my car. Alone at last, I turn on the Bluetooth and toggle over to the app for the class on navigational tools used in the eighteenth century. It’s not my favorite topic, but I’m not taking this online course for fun. As the lights of San Francisco guide me home, I recite the facts I’m learning so I’ll be ready to take a quiz in a few days. I need to ace it. For me. I don’t want to end up like my grandfather when I’m older. Forgetting everyone. My heart clutches as images flash by of his final year—the long, painful months where he was gone before he was gone.

I’ve got to keep my mind in as good a shape as I keep my body. I hope I can have a different fate. A different future. And that’s what I need to focus on—the future. For my family and for me.

“Taste test time!” Kade issues the announcement as he runs into The Hand Dipper the next afternoon, rushing to the counter.

I follow him into the shop in Hayes Valley with my mom and dad. Sophie has a twelve-hour shift today.

“He’s been talking about this nonstop since this morning,” my dad says to me, still utterly charmed by his grandson. “On the way to daycare, he asked us to read him the flavors.”

“Gotta love that kind of prep,” I say.

“Exactly, and who can blame him? There isn’t a better way to spend, well, a day than testing ice cream flavors,” Mom says.

Dad goes pensive for a beat when he arrives at the counter. “You know, in my next life, maybe I’ll be an ice cream taster,” he says, staring at the plethora of flavors. No, he’s gawking. Well, this place is damn good. Wesley recommended it to me, and the dude knows his ice cream.

Mom squeezes Dad’s shoulder. “What about in this life, Mike? Let’s get started now.”

The four of us survey the offerings from the blackberry jam swirl to the pretzel and chips confetti. Kade presses his palms to the glass. “There are soooo many, Uncle Max.” He spins to face me, utter concern in his eyes. “Help me pick.”

I bend down and read off all the flavors to the kiddo, debating which ones sound the best. He takes his time, then picks out four flavors for us to taste test.

Before my dad can even attempt to swipe his phone, I slide mine over the card reader. It’s nice that they don’t have to think about whether it’s in the budget like they did when we were kids. I like that they no longer have to worry.

And I don’t ever want that to change.

Later that night, after my parents and Kade have met Athena and I’ve said goodbye, my phone flashes with a message from Everly. I sneer at it even while I click it open so fast. It’s the time to meet her tomorrow evening. Then a chipper message can’t wait .

I scoff.

That’s doubtful. She probably wishes she were getting a root canal instead of dealing with me. Understandable. I feel the same about her.

I just wish she weren’t so distractingly beautiful, and after I get ready for bed and wander past the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, I wish I weren’t wondering where she lived.