He chuckled.“It’s nice to be missed. As for the Flyers, it’s an if, not a when.I have to pass a physical first and try out for the job. It’ll be no picnic,which is why I’m drinking nothing stronger than seltzer. If they sign me,you’ll miss me some more unless you join me in Philly, which is where I’ll bewhen I’m not traveling with the team.”
Silenceat the other end.
Hedowned more Pellegrino. “Well, let’s just see how it all shakes out. I may beback before you know it. I dreamed about you last night, by the way.”
“Youdid? Good dream or bad dream?”
“Wetdream.”
“Oh!”Her voice went all girly and breathy, bypassing his brain and bolting to hiscrotch.
“Iclassify it under ‘good dream.’” He twirled the glass, and the ice clinked.“But now I have something less pleasant to tell you.”
“What’sthat?”
Theeffects of the bolt withered, and he pulled a sizeable breath into his lungs.“Some of the models I told you about, the girls …”
“Thescantily clad women?” She giggled—sort of.
“Yeah,well, there are only two, and they’re fully dressed, but one of them was asurprise.”
“Why?”Her tone sounded cautious.
“Nowbefore you load up your battleship guns, I had nothing to do with this. SomehowYamila found out about the shoot and pulled—”
“Yamila’sthere?” Andie squealed.
“Not inmy room. In Vegas.”
“Areyou … are you spending time with her?”
“Hellno!”
A knocksounded.
“Hey,pixie. My dinner’s here. Can I call you when I’m done?”
“Imight go to bed early. Text me. If I’m awake, I’ll call you back.”
“Allright. Talk soon, lov—pix—ah, Andie,” he stuttered. He hung up and was headingfor the door when another impatient rap came. “Coming.”
Heopened the door. It took a beat for his brain to align with what he was seeingbecause it wasn’t a waiter pushing a tray with shiny silver domes.
“Whatthe …?”
Yamila,in heels and a fur coat, stood in his doorway. The fur coat gaped wide, givinghim a full nude frontal. The only other thing she wore was a shit-eating grin.
“How’dyou find my room?” he sputtered.
“Ipeeked at Marie’s paperwork.” She fished out a plastic baggie from a pocket. Itheld white powder, and she shook it in front of him. “I have your favoritebourbon in the other pocket.”
As hewas preparing to slam the door in her face, two men emerged from a room severaldoors down. Yamila pivoted and flashed them too, the baggie still very visiblein her hand.
“Wannajoin our party?” she tittered. “This is the famous hockey pl—”
Beckettmoved whip-fast, yanking her into the room, a hand over her mouth. Her wordscame out in a muffled, garbled yell that thankfully sounded nothing like hisname. As he was shutting the door, he shrugged apologetically. “My date’s alittle drunk.”
He’dnever seen two more astonished faces.
.~ * * * ~.
Paige did a few laps around her couch before picking up herphone again. She’d expected Beckett’s text a half hour after he ate, but thatwas hours ago. She rubbed the back of her neck. Did this have something to dowith Yamila?
Yamila!He hadn’t sounded pleased she was there, nor should he have been giventhe nasty stuff Paige had seen in that folder, and yet, he hadn’t deleted heremails. Beckett had proved there was more to him than charm, but was the badboy simply on hiatus? Had he truly changed? Did she trust him? Not completely.Not yet. Tigers couldn’t be completely tamed, and she didn’t trust herself enoughto comprehend if the stripes had changed or merely disguised the beast beneath.After all, her instincts had gone missing when she’d picked Adrian; she’d neverseen the whole man.
Paige’sstubborn doubt lingered.
Maybehe’s working out details with his agent. Which brought up a different kink in her gut. Returning tohockey meant more than returning to the game Beckett loved. It meant returningto endless temptations, including lines of women waiting for their chance toscrew Beckett Miller.
He’dmade it clear he enjoyed spending time with her—but was she like any otherflavor of the month? Here today, gone … well, at the end of the month? Andvanilla was not a good flavor to be if you were trying to capture the heart ofan elusive man like him. Maybe it would be nothing more than a fling in theend; she’d enjoy it and move on.
Stopit!
Shepicked up her phone and thumbed a text.
Uthere, Beck?
Twentyminutes later, no answer. It wasn’t like him. She looked at the phone again andtapped his number only to hit the red disconnect button before the call wentthrough. You’re being ridiculous. Holding her breath, she hit it again.It rang and rang. As she was about to disconnect, there came a fumbling noise.Someone answered. A feminine voice with a velvety accent.
OhGod! Not again.
“Um, isBeckett there?”
“He’sbusy right now. Who’s calling?” came the breathless voice.
“Thisis Andie.”
“Wellhi … Andie you said? This is Yamila. He’s lying here next to me, and hedoesn’t want to talk to you right now. You interrupted us, and we are—or ratherhe is—anxious to finish what we started. So if you’ll excuse me, I needto get back to my impatient man.” She tittered and hung up.
A callvibrated Paige’s phone, a number she didn’t recognize. She jabbed the redbutton. Seconds later, the strange number buzzed again, but she dropped thephone, and in an obscene cosmic déjà vu, she ran to the bathroom and heavedginger ale.
God,could she pick them or what? A sliver of success, and Beckett hadreverted. Once a bad boy …
Thestrange number proved to be him calling from his hotel. He blew up her cell,leaving voicemails rambling about losing his phone and would she please callhim at this number, any time tonight, that he’d be leaving the hotel in themorning, and he wasn’t sure how soon he could replace his phone or how shecould reach him. He called her office phone and left messages there too. Shecleared out both inboxes, shut off the phones, and crawled under the covers.
Howcould I have been so stupid? Why did I ever let myself trust him?
.~ * * * ~.
Bleary-eyed, Paige inspected herself in the mirror the nextmorning and almost climbed back into bed. Dark circles under puffy red eyes, hairresembling a pile of cuttings one
