“I’m not joking. I want you to be in the wedding.”
While the three of them talked wedding plans, Chelsea excused herself. Most of the room had cleared out, and she walked the few feet toward the dais. She stopped next to Mark and felt the hot swell in her chest again. She would love to tell herself that it was only pride that made her ache, but while she was a good actress, she was a very bad liar. Especially to herself.
He didn’t say anything as he stared at the symbol of his accomplishment. His life goal. His dream. He looked at it like he was mesmerized. Hypnotized by its shininess. Or maybe he was just ignoring her again.
“It’s bigger than I thought,” she said. “Probably pretty heavy, too.” She could only imagine the emotion he must be feeling. She knew that if she ever won an Oscar or even an Emmy, she’d be freaked out. Probably become catatonic. “I don’t know a lot about hockey, but seeing all those names inscribed on the cup kind of inspires awe. Like the first time I stood at the Lincoln Memorial. It’s so grand and filled with history.” He still didn’t speak. “Don’t you think?”
Without looking at her, he said, “Your dress is too tight. That’s what I think.”
“What?” She turned to look at him. “That’s crazy. It covers me almost to my knees.”
“It’s the same color as your skin.”
“I thought you’d like it because it’s all one sedate color.”
Mark glanced down into her upturned face. Into her big blue eyes and pink lips. He did like it. A lot. He’d like it a lot more if they were alone. “You look naked.” And beautiful.
“I don’t look naked.”
“Hey, Short Boss.”
Mark groaned inwardly.
“Hi Sam,” she said.
“You look hot.”
Mark had an irrational urge to kill Sam. Or at the very least, punch him in the head. It had been a long time since Mark had punched anyone in the head. It might feel good.
Chelsea smiled up at the defenseman. “Thanks. So do you.”
“What do you say to you and me hitting the other room? I’ll buy you a drink.”
Mark folded his arms across his chest. “It’s an open bar, numb nuts.”
Sam laughed and put his hand on Chelsea’s elbow. “Free booze. Even better.”
“Didn’t you bring a date?” he asked the man he used to consider a friend.
“No. I stagged it. Some of the other guys too.”
Great. A bunch of horny hockey players and Chelsea in a naked dress. He watched them walk away as bitter acid ate at his stomach. The feeling was rare, almost foreign to him, but he recognized it for what it was. He was jealous as hell and he didn’t like it.
“Mini Pit dyed her hair.”
He looked across his shoulder at goalie Marty Darche. “That’s not Mini Pit. That’s her twin sister, Chelsea.”
“She looks naked in that dress.”
“Yeh.” His gaze slid down her spine to her tight little butt. He didn’t need Marty to elaborate to know in which direction the man’s thoughts were running.
The goalie elaborated anyway. “Do you think her tits are real?” he asked out of the side of his mouth.
They were, and Mark felt another urge to punch yet another teammate in the head. “Big breasts like that cause shoulder and back pain,” he heard himself say. He sounded like such a girl, his neck caught fire.
The goalie laughed like Mark was joking. “I wonder if I got her drunk if she’d play knocker hockey?”
“Don’t be a dick, Marty.”
“What?” Marty looked at Mark as if he’d suddenly grown a horn out of the middle of his forehead. Like he didn’t recognize his former captain.
In the past, comments like that wouldn’t have bothered him. Hell, he might have made one a time or two. Or three. But there were rules. You didn’t talk that way about a teammate’s wife or girlfriend. “Nothing. Forget it.” Mark shook his head and walked away. Chelsea was not his wife or girlfriend. She was his assistant, and he’d been trying like hell to treat her like she worked for the Chinooks’ organization and wasn’t some living, breathing sexual fantasy they’d implanted in his house just to drive him batshit insane. He’d been trying to get the picture of her half naked sitting on his kitchen island out of his head. Mostly he’d been failing, and her touching his chest the other day, and looking up at him like she wanted to have sex right there at Hugo Boss, hadn’t helped. Not one bit.
He moved from the Sycamore Room into the crowded foyer. Music flowed through the doors of the ballroom as the band hit their first set.
“Hey, Bressler.”
Mark turned to his right and came face to face with one of the greatest enforcers to ever play in the NHL. “Rob Sutter. How in the hell are you?” He stuck out his hand.
“It’s been a long time.” Rob had been the Chinooks’ enforcer until a groupie shot him and ended his career in 2004. “Mark, this is my wife, Kate.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Kate.” Mark shook the hand of a pretty redhead with big brown eyes. He dropped his arm to his side. “What are you up to these days?”
“We have a sporting goods store and a grocery market in a little town in Idaho,” Rob answered. “My oldest daughter lives with us now, and we have two little boys.”
“Rob is teaching them all to fly-fish,” Kate said. “It’s very comical.”
Rob smiled. “It’s like the Three Stooges.” His smile leveled out and his brows lowered. “Listen. I was sorry to hear about your car accident.”
Mark looked down at the toes of his black leather shoes. “It changed everything.”
“I know what you mean.” And if there was one other person on the planet who did know what it was like to have your life shattered, it was Rob “The Hammer” Sutter. “One day you have everything and the next you don’t.”
Mark looked up.
“I thought my life would never be go {ld od again. Now it’s better than I ever imagined. Sometimes God has His own plan. Sometimes shit happens for a reason.”
Lord, he missed the Hammer. No one else could get his face slammed into the boards and get all philosophical about it afterward like Rob. “You sound like a Hallmark card.”
Rob grinned. “When you care enough—”
“Stop or you’re gonna make me cry.”
“Pansy-ass girl.” Rob chuckled and shook his head. “You always were an emotional wreck around your period.”
“Rob?”
Both men looked at Kate. Her brows were lowered as if she didn’t recognize her husband.
Rob blinked several times and his cheeks turned red. “Sorry, Kate.”
Mark laughed. “Have you seen Luc?”
Rob looked around. “Martineau? Not yet. Ran into Fishy though.”
Mark hadn’t seen Bruce Fish since he’d retired a few years ago. Together, he and the Sutters moved across the foyer to the ballroom where a decent band was playing. Inside, round tables set with tea lights dotted the perimeter of the dance floor while two bars served the thirsty crowd. His gaze skimmed the dimly lit room and landed on a familiar little beige dress. She stood in a small group of people, laughing at Sam as if he was the king of comedy.
He turned to Kate. “It was great to meet you.” Then he shook Rob’s hand. “Good to see you again.”
“Take care of yourself.”
As Mark made his way across the room toward her, he ran into Hugh Miner and his wife, Mae. Hugh was a legend in Seattle hockey. A wild man who’d played between the pipes for the Chinooks until he got traded to Dallas a year after Mark signed with Seattle.
When he glanced in Chelsea’s direction, she was gone. His gaze skimmed the room, and he spotted her on the dance floor grinding with Walker Brooks. He leaned closer to Hugh’s wife to hear what she was saying, but he kept his eyes on Chelsea. So, maybe she wasn’t grinding. Exactly. But she was dancing with her arms in the air and
