Текст книги "Major Misconduct"

Автор книги: Kelly Jamieson

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter 8

“Shhh.” Lovey crossed the dark room toward the shadowy shape of Marc’s bed. “Duncan’ll hear you.”

“Fuck!”

She sat on the side of the bed, but before she could even settle, he’d rolled and leaped out on the other side of the big king-size bed. She stared at him.

His body was cloaked in shadow but she could still see how freakin’ ripped he was. And big. Heavily muscled shoulders, lean waist and hips, thick thighs. His ass made her eyes go wide, it was so firm and round. Sadly, he grabbed a pair of boxers and jumped into them. Then he rounded the bed and closed his big hand around her upper arm, pulling her to her feet none too gently.

“Hey,” she whispered. “What?”

“Get the hell out of here, Lovey.” He dragged her toward the door. Her feet tripped along.

“Wait! Marc!” She tried to dig her heels into the carpet, but he was way bigger and stronger than her. He whipped his door open, stuck his head out, and looked one way, then the other.

“You sleeping on the couch?” he whispered. “Or is Duncan?”

“I am, but—”

“Fucking figures,” he muttered. “You get your way again.” Then he started down the hall, shuffling her along with him. In the living room he gently shoved her and she fell onto the couch. Her hair slid across her face and she gasped.

“Don’t ever come in my room again,” he snarled. “For fuck’s sake.”

“But…but wait. Marc…you kissed me—”

“No. You kissed me. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

A sharp pain stabbed Lovey’s heart and her stomach tightened. “What? But—”

“Stay here. Go to sleep. Leave me alone.”

And he strode out of the room. She heard the quiet snick of his door closing.

She sat on the couch, sheets, a blanket, and a pillow arranged into her makeshift bed, which she’d had no intention of using tonight. After Duncan had disappeared into his room, she’d made the bed, gone to her empty room to change into her panties and cami, then padded across the hall to Marc’s room.

Her chest ached and her bottom lip quivered.

That was harsh.

Confusion swirled in her head. He had kissed her. Okay, she’d started it, but he’d kissed her back, dammit. He’d had his hands all over her, down the back of her pants and on her ass, and he’d liked it. He’d been hard, for the love of cheese!

She lowered her chin and closed her eyes, a hot wave of humiliation sweeping over her. Holy frack. How embarrassing.

Her skin burned and so did her eyes as she fought back tears. Wow.

She covered her face with her hands, massaging her temples with her fingertips. She’d never been so rudely rejected by a guy. What an asshole.

They were attracted to each other. She knew it. He knew it. Why was he being such a jerk about it?

Duncan.

She flopped back against the couch.

Yeah, Duncan had made it clear he didn’t want her getting involved with Marc or any of his teammates. He’d probably made that clear to Marc too.

It was none of Duncan’s business. But she could understand that Marc wouldn’t want to piss off his friend, roommate, and teammate.

She made a small strangled noise that was probably a repressed scream of frustration as she burrowed into the covers and pulled them up to her chin. So, fine, he was trying to do the right thing, but he didn’t need to be so mean about it.

She squeezed her eyes closed.

She just wanted to have fun—hot, sexy fun with an attractive guy. She wasn’t looking for anything more. What was so wrong with that?

As usual, her big brother was standing in the way of that. She loved Duncan, but her whole life she’d taken a backseat to him. And yet, here she was, crashing on his couch. She’d created this situation and she would have to deal with it.

The reality was, she had nowhere else to go. She had some savings, but without a steady paycheck she needed to hang on to that money. If she was going to stay here with Duncan, she was going to have to play by his rules.

She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.

There was chemistry between her and Marc, no doubt about it, and he probably didn’t want to piss off Duncan, but there was also the possibility that he saw her as Duncan’s screwup little sister who couldn’t hold down a job or keep a man and didn’t know what she wanted out of life. He was a respected professional, captain of the Aces, paid millions of dollars, and loved by hockey fans all over North America. Why would someone like him be interested in her, even if all she wanted was a little fun? Oh right. He didn’t do fun.

Well, she had no intention of settling for anything less than fun. She could figure out what she wanted from life and work hard at that, and have fun at the same time. She’d just have fun with somebody else.

–

They all slept in the next morning, although when Lovey finally got up, she heard the sounds of a television in Marc’s room as she shuffled into the bathroom. He’d probably been awake for hours and was afraid to come out of his room in case she tried to jump him.

Phhht.

She washed her face and brushed her teeth, gathered her hair up into a messy knot on her head, didn’t bother with makeup, and then went into her room to get dressed. She pulled on another pair of leggings, patterned knit ones, and a big loose sweater, today a black one. She added a scarf looped twice around her neck and sat on the floor to put on socks. Then she emerged to hunt down something for breakfast.

She cast a baleful look at Marc’s door as she passed it. Should she let him know she was up and he could safely come out? Nah.

Duncan was in the kitchen making toast and drinking orange juice.

“Morning,” she said.

“Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Fantastic.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her sarcastic tone. She skipped the juice and went straight for coffee, frowning at the numerous slices of bread Duncan was spreading with peanut butter. She opened the fridge door and peered in. “Can I have one of those Greek yogurts?”

“They’re Marc’s, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll go shopping later and buy him a replacement.” She slammed the door shut and rummaged for a spoon. “And I’ll get some things for myself. This place is a carb castle.”

“We eat lots of protein,” he objected. “Just usually at the arena.”

“Or in a restaurant. But since you both make so much money, I guess that’s not an issue. I’ll get myself some chicken breasts, fish, and veggies.”

“Uh…you sure you slept okay? You sound kinda bitchy today.”

She gave him a slitty-eyed look. “Bitchy?”

“Uh…no, no, I mean…”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. She spooned up some of the yogurt and honey. “What are you doing today?”

“Uh…not sure. I thought you and I should have a talk…” His voice trailed off as she leveled him with another look.

“About what?”

“About your plans. Uh…why you quit your job…what happened with Richard…”

She continued to hold his gaze.

“Maybe this isn’t a good day.”

“Or maybe never is a good day.”

“C’mon, Lovey, I’m just concerned about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mom and Dad are worried about you too.”

“What?” She frowned.

“Mom emailed me and said you were coming. She wanted to make sure you’re okay, because you and Richard had broken up and she was worried your heart was broken and that’s why you’d taken off.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh. Um. Well, my heart’s not broken.”

“What happened with Richard?”

“He wanted to get married and have babies.”

A noise from behind her caused her to turn, and she saw Marc. Her stomach swooped and her heart gave a little bump. “Good morning. Would you like to hear about my screwed-up life too?”

He cast a wary look at Duncan. “Uh…”

Lovey waved her spoon. “Never mind. I’m sure you heard that last part. Richard was eleven years older than me. He was ready to settle down. I wasn’t. After I broke up with him, I couldn’t stay working at Kleinheinz, so I left. I wasn’t entirely happy there anyway. My creative ideas for marketing cheese weren’t really what they were looking for, and the whole nine-to-five thing bugged me.”

“You think that’s going to be different somewhere else?” Duncan asked.

Marc held up his hands. “I’ll come back.”

“No, no, don’t let me interfere with your breakfast.” Lovey pushed away from the counter where she leaned. “This is your place.” She held up the yogurt container. “I understand this is yours, but I’ll replace it later.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll replace it. I know I’m butting in here and I don’t want to put you out. So are we done?” She looked at Duncan.

“Fuck no, we’re not done. What are you planning to do here in Chicago? I assume you’re going to look for another job?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Lovey, for Chrissakes…”

Her chest squeezed. She was not in the mood for this. She was irritable, impatient, and bad-tempered.

“Don’t worry, Dunc, I’ll be gone as soon as I can. Jillian’s checking around to see if anyone she knows needs a roommate. I’ll find something cheap.”

“You can stay as long as you need to.”

“That’s not what you were saying yesterday.”

He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you’re pissy today. What crawled up your butt?”

She cast another narrow-eyed look at Marc, briefly meeting his eyes, then looked back at Duncan with her chin lifted. “Nothing. So. I have stuff to do. I’ll see you later.”

She grabbed her laptop case and carried it and her cup of coffee into the empty bedroom. She plugged in the computer and turned it on. She settled herself on the carpeted floor, leaning against the wall, ready to check emails and various news and then social media sites. It was Sunday, but even so, she would do some work for her clients.

She spent a couple of hours working, changing position several times to get comfortable; not having a desk was a major pain the butt. And neck. And wrists. Hopefully her furniture would be able to be shipped quickly. She sent off a quick email to her mom to check on that and to assure Mom she wasn’t brokenhearted over Richard and was fine.

Then she powered down her computer and popped into the bathroom. Before going out she needed a little cosmetic armor. She put on some eye shadow and mascara, and a swipe of lip gloss. When she came out of the bathroom, Marc’s bedroom door was closed.

Whatever.

She headed out, not sure where she was going, but she’d figure it out. She wanted to explore her new neighborhood, even if it was only a temporary home. She needed to find a store where she could pick up some groceries. She needed a reason to get out of that condo and stay out for the rest of the day.

Today the sun was out and the unexpected snow from yesterday was melting. Streets and sidewalks were a slushy mess. With boots and gloves, and her big scarf snuggled up around her chin, she was quite comfortable walking for a while.

She explored the South Loop neighborhood on a Sunday afternoon, walking through Millennium Park, lingering at the “Bean” sculpture, then wandered past funky little restaurants and pubs, a wine shop, a shoe boutique, and a used bookstore. She passed a small Italian market and noted its location to return to on her way home.

She went into the Museum of Contemporary Photography, partly because she needed to warm up and partly because of her interest in photography. She’d always liked taking pictures and had done a couple of college courses in photography as part of her Visual Arts diploma.

She returned home several hours later carrying a few plastic bags of food. She let herself into the condo, not sure what to expect, but a bunch of big guys on stools at the kitchen island wasn’t it.

She swept them with her gaze. Jared, Brent, Hughie, and Olaf. Not Marc and not Duncan. She dropped her bags, hung up her jacket, and removed her boots, then lifted the groceries and carried them into the kitchen. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

“Not much.” Brent jumped up to help her with the bags. So sweet. “Waiting for Duper and Army to get home.”

“Oh. Where are they?”

“They went for a run. Then we’re going to eat. Burgers. Wanna come?”

She pursed her lips as she pulled food out of the bags. Greek yogurt. Cottage cheese. Bags of spinach. Fruit. “I don’t know. Sounds like fun, but Duncan probably doesn’t want me to tag along.”

“Huh. You’re probably right. He already told us you’re off-limits.”

She lifted her eyebrows, pausing. “He did?”

“Hell yeah. It’s the rule.”

“The rule?”

They explained it to her.

“We told him we’re all nice guys and he should be happy if you went out with one of us.” Hughie grinned. “He wasn’t buying it.”

“He’s a little overprotective,” Lovey said dryly. “You know what? I’d love to come for burgers.”

“Attagirl.” Jared nodded with a grin. “Want a beer?” He nodded at the empties on the counter.

“Yeah. I do.” She smiled at him. Damn, he was gorgeous, and always dressed so well and perfectly groomed. And yet, she wasn’t even a little interested in him. She sighed.

Jared opened the fridge and pulled a beer out, then opened it for her.

“Thanks.” She lifted it in a small toast. “You guys just come in here and make yourselves at home?”

“Yup. And drink Army’s beer. Cheers.”

Lovey reached for one more shopping bag. She wasn’t sure why she’d bought two big bags of tortilla chips and two jars of salsa, but this seemed the perfect time to break them open.

“Oh man, chips,” Jared said with appreciation. “You rock, Lovey.”

She grinned as she found a couple of bowls and filled them, then climbed onto a stool. “Did you stay late last night at Eddy’s?”

The guys all dove into the chips like they hadn’t eaten in a year. “Depends what you consider late. I left around two,” Jared said.

“That’s late.”

“So Lovey, what do you do for a living?” Brent asked.

“I’m in marketing and visual arts. In Madison, I was working for Kleinheinz Cheese.”

Silence. Then Hughie said, “Cheese?”

“Yeah.” She grinned. “Come on, guys, it’s Wisconsin.”

They all nodded.

“I was working with ad agencies, coming up with slogans like ‘Sometimes you feel like a cheese, sometimes you don’t.’ ”

They guffawed.

“And ‘please don’t squeeze the cheese.’ ”

“ ‘Good to the last cheese’?” Hughie said.

Lovey laughed with delight. “Yes! You got it.”

“I know a good joke about cheese,” Brent said. He paused. “Well, actually it’s about mice.” Lovey smiled. “Three mice are in a bar talking about which one of them’s the toughest. One mouse says, ‘I’m so tough I go up to the mousetrap and rip the cheese out.’ The other says, ‘I’m so tough I snort rat poison.’ The third mouse finishes his beer and gets up to leave. ‘Where you going?’ asks the first mouse. The third one says, ‘I’m going home to fuck the cat.’ ”

The guys all roared with laughter and Lovey giggled along with them. Then Brent said, “Uh, sorry, language.”

Lovey waved a hand. “God, don’t worry about it. I grew up with Duncan and all his hockey player friends.”

“True that.”

“I know some stupid cheese jokes,” she said. “How do you get a mouse to smile?” She paused for a beat. “Say cheese!” They all groaned, but she grinned. “Okay, how about this one—what do you call cheese that is sad? Blue cheese.” More groans, but reluctant laughs too.

“Not cheese jokes,” Hughie said. “Cheesy jokes.”

She grinned. “Ha! Exactly. What do you call cheese that isn’t yours? Nacho cheese!” This time they laughed.

“What’s going on?”

Everyone turned at Duncan’s voice.

“Hey, Armdog, you’re home,” Jared said.

Marc walked in too, looking at the laughing group at the table.

“Just hanging out waiting for you two,” Jared said. “Lovey’s been entertaining us with cheesy jokes.” He grinned.

“They’ve been waiting here for hours.” Lovey winked at Jared.

Duncan frowned at her.

“They invited me to go for burgers,” she said. “Sounds great.”

Marc frowned too.

Fuck him and his Captain Codger stick up his ass.

Her own thoughts made her smile and she lifted her beer to her lips.

“You assholes are drinking all my beer,” Marc said. “It’s not like you can’t afford your own.”

“Dude,” Hughie said. “We brought more. Don’t get your shorts in a twist.”

“Lovey probably doesn’t want to hang out with you losers,” Duncan said with a meaningful look at her.

She drained her beer and set it down on the granite countertop. “Sure I do. We were having fun—right, guys?”

“Right.” They all smiled at her.

Duncan muttered something under his breath and Marc’s face tightened.

“I bought you more yogurt,” she said to Marc.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Fine,” Duncan said. “We need to shower. Be right back.”

They took off to their respective rooms and returned a short time later, damp-haired and now dressed in jeans.

The tavern they went to was only two blocks away—Lovey had passed it earlier—so they walked there. It was dusk now, lights coming on all around them. Lovey pushed her hands into her jacket pockets and lowered her chin into her big scarf. She’d been in a grouchy mood earlier—bitchy, as Duncan had so bluntly put it—but she felt better now. She was never one to stay down for long.

Although she was still bitter about Marc and his rude rejection of her. She ignored him throughout dinner, flirting and laughing with the others. They were all good guys. There was no spark of attraction like there was with Marc, but that was okay. She needed friends now that she’d moved to Chicago, and guys made good friends too.

They stayed in the tavern for a while after they’d eaten, watching—what else—a hockey game on the big-screen television. St. Louis vs. Vancouver. She liked listening to the guys comment on the play, trash-talking some players, or admiring another player’s shot or stick-handling.

Lovey watched the attention the guys attracted from other patrons, male and female alike. Did people wonder why she was the only girl there? She shrugged. They probably figured she was someone’s girlfriend.

Speaking of which, these guys needed girlfriends. Why were they all single? Right, Olaf had a girlfriend. And she knew why Duncan was still single. It was because he was a complete redneck goof. That beard he now wore probably didn’t help. As for Marc—well, he was an asshole. She dismissed them. Andrew apparently had no trouble finding women on his own; the guys said he’d been dating someone different every weekend since he’d arrived in Chicago last month. She’d have to find girls for Jared, Brent, and Hughie.

A few people approached for autographs and the guys were all polite and agreeable, chatting with them about the game last night, the upcoming home game on Tuesday night, and their chances of making the playoffs.

Then they walked home through dark streets. Lovey’d never felt safer, with all these big, strong, tough guys escorting her. They laughed all the way home, everyone full of smart-ass comments—including, much to Lovey’s surprise, Marc. Huh. Apparently he did have a sense of humor. He kept it well hidden.

Jerk.

Chapter 9

Marc was staying away from her. Far away. After she’d invaded his room last night and attacked him—okay, fuck, he was exaggerating as much as she did now—he’d resolved he was not going near her. Never gonna touch her. Never never never.

Fuck.

Once they arrived back at the condo, he disappeared into his room. The other guys all headed home and Army and Lovey turned on the television and were now out there arguing about what to watch.

Seeing her that morning shooting shards of ice at him with her eyes had made his gut twist into knots. Then when they’d got home this afternoon and he saw her sitting in the kitchen with all those guys, giving them that dazzling smile, he’d felt like he’d had something stolen from him. And he wanted it back. Those other fuckers all laughing with her and apparently fucking mesmerized by her made him want to drive his fist into someone’s face.

This did not bode well for the game Tuesday night.

What the fuck? He was the master of self-control. Mature. Self-disciplined. Some flaky chick was not going to throw him off his game.

Much.

He’d gone overboard last night to push her away. He’d been an asshole. His gut had burned all night because of it. He’d seen the hurt look in her eyes and he’d felt like the biggest jerk on the planet. He couldn’t even explain why he’d been that way. Why he’d totally overreacted.

He threw himself onto his bed and reached for the remote control for his own TV, then started surfing. Nothing held his interest. Finally he settled on an old favorite, Die Hard.

He heard noises as Army went to bed and Lovey used the bathroom. The bathroom he had to share with her, that smelled like vanilla cupcakes. The little pink shaver that sat on a shelf in the shower made him imagine her all naked and soapy, shaving her legs.

Fuck it. His insides still burned and churned. He could not let himself be so thrown by a woman. He had serious problems to deal with—a crappy start to the season that he couldn’t explain, a team that was getting more demoralized and discouraged every day, a couple of teammates he was seriously worried about. He needed to stay focused on his career and turning things around before they found themselves out of the playoffs for the first time in fifteen years.

He had to deal with this.

He turned off his TV and tossed the remote on the bed as he swung his legs off it. He peered out into the hall, which was dark. The bathroom door was open, the room also dark. She’d already gone to bed.

He hesitated, then squared his shoulders and started down the hall. In the living room, he found her wrapped up in blankets, propped against some pillows, reading on a tablet that glowed in the darkness, illuminating her pretty face. She looked up as he approached.

He didn’t get too close. He stopped and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Hey,” he said. “I just…I was…”

She lowered the tablet and watched him.

“I want to apologize,” he finally said. “Last night I was an asshole to you.”

“Yes. You were.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I overreacted liked that. I mean…I knew we shouldn’t be doing that, but I didn’t need to be such a jerk about it.”

Her chin lowered a little and her mouth went soft. “No, you didn’t. But I appreciate the apology.”

“It won’t happen again.”

Her lips twitched. “What won’t? An apology?”

“No. I meant, I won’t kiss you again.”

“Damn.”

His body tightened.

“So you admit you kissed me.”

He sighed, pulling a hand out of one pocket to shove it through his messy hair. “Yeah. But like I said, it won’t happen again.”

“I want it to happen.”

Jesus. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? “Don’t,” he said quietly.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is. We’re both adults. We’re attracted to each other. And don’t deny it. You acted like a big jerk, but you’re not stupid.”

He nodded. “Okay, fair enough. Not gonna deny it.”

She smiled.

“No,” he said warningly. “Nothing can happen.”

To his surprise she nodded. “Okay.”

He frowned. Hesitated. Then said, “Okay. Good. Glad we got this cleared up.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

“G’night, Lovey.”

“Good night.”

He walked back to his room. There. He’d apologized. He felt better.

No, he didn’t.

He still felt like someone had stolen something from him. And he still wanted it back. Shit.

–

In the morning, Marc was up early for their morning practice. He wandered into the bathroom, yawning. Christ, he’d slept crappy.

He pulled up short at seeing Lovey standing at the bathroom vanity. The door had been open and he’d walked right in on her.

Wearing bra and panties, she leaned toward the mirror as she brushed mascara onto her eyelashes. She turned with a start as he walked in. She blinked at him, holding the brush near her face.

“Sorry.” He backed out. “Didn’t know you were in here.”

“I’ll just be a minute!” she called.

Fuck. He retreated to his room, the image of her seared into his brain, that shimmery ice-blue lace bra, low cut to reveal lush curves, and a pair of matching bikini panties. He pressed his fists to his eyes, remembering the smooth curves of her back, hips, and ass, her long bare legs. Jesus.

Moments later she gave a rap on his open door and appeared there. Christ. She was still wearing nothing but underwear. He knew he shouldn’t look, but it was impossible not to.

“I’m done!” she said cheerfully. “Bathroom’s all yours.” Then she turned, giving him another view of that excellent ass.

He was having a heart attack. Was that what that pain in his chest was? He rubbed a hand over his heart as he hauled himself back to the bathroom to shower. Once again, she’d filled the room with her sweet scent. Some kind of shimmery powder had spilled a little onto the marble vanity and her pink poufy sponge hung dripping from a hook in the shower. He tried to block all that out. It wasn’t as if he’d never shared a bathroom with a woman before. He’d lived with Marissa for two years. Why was Lovey’s girl shit getting to him?

She was in the kitchen when he’d finished showering, shaving, and dressing, sitting at the counter with her laptop open, eating Greek yogurt from a container, a steaming mug of coffee beside her computer. Thankfully she was now dressed, yet he couldn’t help but picture that sheer lacy lingerie beneath the turtleneck sweater and jeans she wore.

“Sorry about hogging the bathroom,” she said. “I don’t want to get in your way.”

“No worries.” He grabbed the loaf of bread. “I didn’t expect you to be up this early.”

“I have stuff to do.”

“Like checking Facebook?” He glanced at her laptop.

She looked up from her computer and blinked at him. “Actually, no. I’m reading ‘Women’s Wear Daily.’ ”

“Oh.” Yeah, that was much better than Facebook. “What are you up to today? Job-hunting?”

She gave him a long, unreadable look. “Sure.”

“You don’t sound enthusiastic.”

“Are you going to be on my case, like my big brother?”

He held up his hands, leaning against the counter. “Hell no. Just making conversation. It’s your life.”

“Nice to hear someone say that,” she muttered. She focused on her screen and clicked her trackpad. “Wow. The Sutton Group is acquiring Elin Olsen.”

Whatever that meant.

The condo door opened and closed and Army appeared, carrying a plastic shopping bag. “Had to get more chocolate milk.” He pulled a big jug out of the bag. “You driving to the arena with me?”

“No, got some stuff to do after. Having lunch with Evert.” His agent.

Army nodded. “Okay.” He looked at Lovey and opened his mouth.

She held up a hand. “Please. Do not ask me if I’m going job-hunting today.”

Army frowned. “Lovey—”

“I have a plan.” She snapped down the lid on her laptop and picked it and her coffee mug up. “See you later.”

She disappeared down the hall.

Army sighed. “Okay, I’m outta here. See you at the arena.”

“You bet.”

After Army had left, Marc looked at the closed door of Lovey’s bedroom. He’d apologized. But he still felt unsettled. Things seemed unfinished. But not only did he have to leave Lovey alone because of her brother, he had to stay focused. For a Stanley Cup champion team, it was humiliating to be playing so shitty. They had a game tomorrow, another chance to snap the winless streak and show their fans—and themselves—they could still do it.

Hockey had to come first.

After practice, Marc found Dale Ronson, whose unofficial role was team enforcer. The guy was six foot six, two hundred eighty pounds. Sometimes he didn’t even have to fight guys to intimidate them—just a mean look would do it. He was out for surgery on his back last year and had been skating for only a few months. “Hey, man, got a few minutes?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

“Let’s go into the screening room.” They could have a little privacy in there.

When they got there, Marc leaned against a desk. “You were late to practice today.”

Dale nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“This wasn’t the first time. And you missed a team meeting last week. You doing okay? Your back bothering you?”

Dale gave a brief shake of his head. “I’m okay. But yeah, my back still hurts. Probably always will.”

“You still working with Tony?” Their head trainer.

“Yeah. Sometimes.”

“You need to stick with it, man.” Marc paused. “You taking anything?”

Dale gave him a brief, narrow-eyed look. “Yeah. Some painkillers.”

Marc waited.

“They don’t help like they used to,” Dale admitted. “I have to keep taking more and more.”

Shit. Just what he’d been worried about. “Look, man. We need you here, a hundred percent, every time. If you’re not recovered, do something about it. Get more PT. Tony’ll help you. We need you. We need you to come out skating and hitting. Saturday, you looked like you didn’t even want to be here. We can’t win games like that.”

“I know, I know.” Dale rubbed his face.

“I’m concerned about you,” Marc said quietly. “You don’t have the energy you used to. You don’t seem very happy.” If he was being honest, Dale seemed depressed.

“I’m fine.”

Marc nodded, studying his teammate. “There’s help if you need it. Just saying.”

“Yeah. I’m good. Look, I gotta go.”

“Yeah.” Marc stood. “Me too. Got a lunch date with Evert. See you tomorrow.”

He watched Dale leave. His gut was telling him there was more going on with him than he’d admitted. That brief comment about needing to take more and more painkillers scared Marc. He’d seen this happen before, guys who’d been injured came back and started popping pills so they could play, ended up addicted to narcotics. They were trying to save their career and ended up trashing their whole life. Yeah, he was worried about Dale’s impact on the team, but he was also worried about Dale.

Well, he’d put a bug in the guy’s ear and hopefully Dale would give some thought to what he’d said.

–

Lovey spent the morning online, working on her blog and finishing the industry research she’d started while eating breakfast. She was getting annoyed with Marc’s little jabs about Facebook and she’d seen his skeptical expression when she’d said she was reading “WWD.” Truthfully, she had been on Facebook, messaging with Jillian about how her skating date had gone, but that was only a few minutes. But she didn’t want to reveal too many details of what she was doing until she was more successful.

She had a meeting that afternoon with a potential client, a women’s clothing manufacturer and retailer. Not one of the biggest in the country, but well known in the Midwest. Their headquarters was here in Chicago and she had a meeting there this afternoon to talk about her social media plan for them. She wanted to be knowledgeable about what was happening in the women’s apparel industry. This acquisition by the Sutton Group, a major competitor of Panache Clothing, was big news and she needed to know how it could affect her client.