As a publicist for the San Francisco Thunder hockey team, Dixie Braddock is too busy rescuing the players from trouble to get into any of her own. Except, of course, when it comes to the super hot new goalie. Because when a guy's kiss curls your toes and sets your heart on fire, how the hell do you just walk away? But if anyone ever catches them together, she'll lose her job faster than any slapshot.
Eli Casco is on the brink of having everything he ever wanted. He's finally been called up from the minor leagues to play on a championship team. And he just had the most mind-blowing night with the woman of his dreams. But now that he's an official Thunder player, Dixie is determined to keep her distance. None of the fame and fortune means anything to him without her to share it. If he truly wants Dixie in his life, it's time to throw down his gloves and put everything on the line.
The San Francisco Thunder series: Score
Release date:
December 5, 2017
Publisher:
Grand Central Publishing
Print pages:
368
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I glance at my phone to check the time and then shove it into my blazer pocket. Tonight is not going as planned. I was almost late getting to the arena because of an accident on the freeway, and as soon as I arrived I realized I forgot my employee pass. So I had to skip the PR briefing and run to security to get a temporary pass. I managed to print out the press list, but now I’m late for a meeting with the owner of the team, Ryanne Bateman. She’s the reason I wanted to work for the San Francisco Thunder hockey franchise to begin with, and I’m about to mess up my first impression. The thought has me so panicked my skin is itching.
I jam my thumb into the elevator button again. And again.
“Punching it repeatedly doesn’t make it come any quicker, you know.” The voice rumbles through me like an earthquake. My first thought as soon as my eyes land on him is Ooh…he’s pretty. If a scientist mixed the DNA of a Disney prince and an action hero, this guy would be the result. Tall, dark, rugged, muscled and exuding calm confidence. Who the hell is he?
I glance at his chest, which is expansive, to say the least, looking for the pass that should be around his neck if he’s a guest or staff, but there’s nothing there. My eyes move up from his chest to his face, and on the way they land on a scar. It’s hard to miss because it’s pink and puffy and takes up a lot of real estate on his strong neck, moving from below his ear to an inch or two from his Adam’s apple. There’s only one person with a scar like that who would be in this arena.
“You’re Levi’s brother,” I announce, like he doesn’t know his older brother is captain of the Thunder.
“Just Eli is fine,” he corrects and his voice is even deeper than before, which is both unbelievable and unbelievably attractive.
He’s in a suit that fits him like a glove, and the charcoal gray color compliments his shock of thick, dark hair. His eyes are…green? I’d have to step closer to find out, and I almost do but catch myself. Then he smiles, something that his constantly brooding brother rarely does, and it’s sexy as all hell.
“Are you lost? Are you looking for the friends and family lounge or something?” I ask and glance at the elevator, which still isn’t here. “I’m heading down that way. You can come with me.”
Eli’s sexy smile grows bigger. “There’s nothing I’d rather do.”
He winks at me. Wow. Talk about cheesy. So why am I smiling? I bite the inside of my cheek to stop it from spreading as he takes a step closer so he’s standing right beside me now. He’s looking down at me with those definitely green, like dewy moss or freshly cut grass, eyes. Wow. He’s hot. Am I breathing? I don’t think I’m breathing. I take a deep, deliberate breath. “You’re going to need to get a pass from security.” I hold up mine as an example. “All non-players walking around the VIP areas need a pass on game days.”
“I don’t need a pass,” he replies casually and then dips his head a little to read the name on my pass. “Dixie Wynn, PR intern.”
I glance down. “Crap. They printed my old title. I’m PR staff now. Since June,” I mutter, annoyed. “Also, I know you’re the captain’s brother, but you still need a pass.”
He smirks at that. “I don’t.”
Wow. He’s entitled. I decide not to argue with him. He’ll find out quick enough when the security guard at the players level won’t let him off the elevator.
The elevator dings and the doors open. No one is there. That’s weird. Why was it taking so long if no one was in it? I step inside and he follows, once again standing right next to me even though we have the whole elevator to ourselves. It’s disconcerting and yet somehow flattering at the same time. I keep my eyes focused on the elevator panel after I punch the bottom floor.
“There might be something wrong with my eyes,” he murmurs and his rough, deep voice seems to reverberate off the walls of the elevator. I look up at him and he smiles. “Because I can’t seem to take them off of you.”
Oh God. Is he serious? Who uses lines like that? Our eyes meet and he grins, and it makes me grin. Damn it. I’m enabling him.
“That was cheese-tastic. You need to work on your pickup lines,” I say. “On someone else.”
He chuckles lightly. This guy must think because he’s the captain’s brother he can do whatever he wants.
“You clearly don’t know why I’m here, so how did you know who I was?” Eli asks, and it makes me look up at him again.
“You’re here to visit Levi, obviously, and I recognized you because…” My eyes linger on the scar instead of his face, and when I do make eye contact I can see a scowl cross his face, but he quickly smiles.
He raises his hand to his neck. “I got it saving orphans from a knife fight.”
I bite back a laugh. “Do you actually tell women that?”
He nods. “Sometimes. Other times I say I was saving puppies from a hostage situation. Women love heroes, Ms. Wynn.”
“Are you for real?” I ask, and I can no longer hold back my laugh. “Do cheesy pickup lines and ridiculous lies honestly work for you?”
He laughs too. “Yeah. Because it gets women to laugh and it starts a conversation. And it takes the stick out of even the tightest little asses, like yours.”
“You really can’t talk to me like that!” I warn him, but I can’t sell it because I’m not all that angry—mostly just stunned. “Are you sure you share DNA with Levi? He’s way more…refined than you.”
He chuffs at that. “Refined? You mean boring.”
Before I can answer there’s a noise—a horrendous grinding sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck rise—and then the elevator shimmies and stops abruptly. I reach out and grab for the small railing along the walls, and he reaches out and grabs me. His hand around my waist is tight and firm and it causes a tingle that has nothing to do with the fear from the faulty elevator. I can’t remember the last time I was this close to a guy this hot, which seems pathetic, but I’ve been busy with work, and since I found out about my dad being sick, I haven’t exactly been in the mood to go out and meet people.
When I’m convinced it’s not going to move again I step forward, out of his protective embrace, and look up at the lights telling us what floor we’re on. No floor is lit up. I punch the bottom-floor button again. Nothing happens.
“No,” I say out loud. “Just no.”
Eli steps forward. I can feel his whole body like a warm, muscled wall behind me. “It’s stuck.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Fucking hell. Fuck my life!” I blurt out and instantly hate myself for it. I couldn’t be more unprofessional right now. Embarrassed by my outburst, I step away from him, closer to the panel of buttons, and hit the one marked Call. A ringing sound fills the elevator.
“It’s okay. We’ll get out of here,” he says in a soothing tone. “It’s not going to turn into a survival movie where one of us has to eat the other. Although I’m open to that…”
I snap my head up to stare at him. He’s grinning again. Jesus, does this guy take anything seriously? Why is everything sexual? And why is it suddenly warm in here?
Before I can chastise him the ringing stops and a voice comes out of the little speaker above the floor numbers. “Security.”
“Hey! We’re trapped in an elevator!” I yell, panicked.
“Okay, ma’am…” the security guard says. I bristle at that term and see Eli chuckle. “We have fourteen elevators in the building, so can you read me the number at the top of the panel? It’s engraved in the metal. That will tell me which one you’re in. I don’t see an alert on our system.”
Oh fuck. That can’t be good. “S4,” I say.
“Okay…” His pause fills me with dread. “We’ll figure this out. I will send someone over there to see if they can manually reset it and call the elevator company immediately. It will take a little bit of time though, so hold tight.”
“How long?” I ask and the anguish in my voice is more than a little apparent. It’s so strong Eli drops a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I have somewhere to be.”
“We’ll work as fast as we can, ma’am.”
“We’ll be fine. Thank you,” Eli says. “We’ll buzz you again if we need an ETA.”
He hits the button again and the little light that was lit up fades. I look up at Eli. “What did you do?”
“Ended the call so he can get to work getting us out of here,” Eli explains casually. I want to argue with him, but I don’t know why. He didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just raging inside that yet another thing today has totally backfired and I want someone to blame. Being late makes me crazy. I’m always early to everything—meetings, parties, doctor’s appointments, funerals.
I pull out my phone and pull up the PR director’s number. I text Mr. Carling that I’m stuck in an elevator. I’m about to make a bad first impression on a woman I’ve studied and admired since college.
“Who are you texting? Your boyfriend?”
I roll my eyes. “My boss. He was going to introduce me to the team owner, but now I’ve screwed that up.”
“It’s not your fault the elevator crapped out,” he reminds me.
“Yeah, she’s not going to care. She’s just going to see me as a screw-up,” I tell him, my voice filled with disappointment. “In her memoir Ryanne says all mistakes must be owned, and nothing is out of your control. If something goes wrong, there’s a reason, a choice you made, that should have been different. Like I could have taken the stairs.”
“Wow, you’ve read her memoir?” he says, his green eyes wide.
I nod. “She made her first million by twenty-eight. She’s a marketing genius and the only woman to own a professional hockey team. And the Thunder are the most popular California hockey team in the league, thanks to her marketing savvy.”
Eli’s expression seems to cloud a little, dimming the flirtatious twinkle in his eyes. “I’m sure she has flaws. Maybe even a dark side.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, men often say that about successful women.”
He chuckles. “I’m just saying. We all have a little fault in our stars.”
I glance at my phone screen to see that Mr. Carling replied.
She’s done meeting staff, gone to meet with the team. Maybe I can introduce you after the game. Hope you get unstuck soon.
I slump against the wall and cover my face with my hands for a moment, fighting to rein in all these hideous emotions. “Dixie? Tell me what I can do to help.”
He’s suddenly serious and it radiates through his tone. It’s low and rough and I feel it inside me like the bass in a song coming out of a kick-ass sound system. I drop my hands and look up into his eyes. “Your voice is so deep it’s kind of insane. It sounds like sandpaper but feels like velvet.”
He stares at me. His expression is intense, but his face is passive and calm in an unnerving way. “You feel my voice?”
Somehow he said that with even more sandpaper and velvet. I feel it everywhere. I try to swallow and nod my response. The elevator suddenly feels claustrophobic and hot. I move away from the wall, and him, and shrug out of my blazer. The air swirls around my bare arms, and I pinch the front of my sleeveless silk shirt and move it, creating a breeze.
“If it makes you feel any better I have somewhere important to be too,” Eli tells me quietly, still serious. “And I could use a little luck right now also.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about and I open my mouth to ask at the very moment the elevator lurches up but stops just as abruptly as it did before. It makes me squeak in shock at the sudden movement and stumble, but he grabs me again, this time with both hands on my waist, and I face-plant into his chest. It’s rock hard and warm, and he smells unbelievable. I look up at him. “I guess we both need something good to happen.”
“So let’s make something good happen.” Before I realize what he’s doing he’s got his hands against my cheeks and he’s tipping my head back.
His mouth hovers so close to mine as he tilts his head slowly. His lips part just a little bit as his mouth gets even closer. I feel like the whole world has stopped just like this elevator. We’re frozen in this almost kiss. And then his lips are against mine. It isn’t sudden. It isn’t rushed. I’m not taken by surprise. I knew exactly what he was going to do and I let him do it. Still, somehow I’m surprised. My pulse races and my breath catches, but I kiss him back. With everything in me, I kiss him back.
It’s long, it’s deep and hot and perfect, and I find myself suddenly begging the universe to leave us here in this elevator forever. But the universe isn’t taking my calls right now, obviously, because the elevator shudders and starts moving down. This time it doesn’t stop.
He steps away from me abruptly and my hand flies up to cover my mouth. He just stares at me, a victorious smile on his lips. “That was something good,” he says in that deep velvety voice.
Oh my God. Suddenly he’s way more than just a pretty face. And just like that I am totally, fully and completely crushing on Elijah Casco.
The elevator stops, smoothly this time, and the doors slide open. I rush out. He follows. We’re on the player level, my original destination. I turn to him and I start to open my mouth because I need to say something—but what? Do I ask for his phone number? Do I ask him out for drinks? Do I act like that kiss didn’t just curl my toes and set my insides on fire?
“Dixie!” Mr. Carling’s voice shatters the euphoric post-kiss haze that had engulfed me. “You’re out!”
I spin to face him as he approaches. “Hi, Mr. Carling. Yes. We’re out.”
He glances past me at Eli and his entire face lights up. “Elijah! You were trapped in the elevator too? We’ve been looking for you everywhere! The rest of the team is already dressing, and Ryanne wanted to meet you before the game.”
Rest of the…what? I blink. My eyes fly up to Eli. He’s giving Mr. Carling an easy smile. “Sorry. I would have called but my phone is in the locker room.”
“You still play?” I blurt out, stunned and horrified. Eli nods. His back is to Mr. Carling because he’s about to walk away, so Mr. Carling doesn’t see the smug smirk and the wink. That’s just for my viewing pleasure.
Mr. Carling looks at me with confusion and a little judgment, which makes me feel like I just let him down somehow. “You didn’t know?”
“I mean, I knew he played in college…” I mumble like an idiot. “I saw the news reports on the accident a couple years ago, but I assumed he quit hockey after that.”
Eli frowns, hard, but I ignore him and concentrate on Mr. Carling, who’s still looking at me like I’ve just failed some test. “He’s been with our farm team for almost a year now. We called him up for the game tonight. I guess you haven’t see the team roster yet.”
“No. Sorry,” I mumble, stunned and confused. It’s like the world just stopped and then started spinning in the wrong direction.
“I figured you wouldn’t even need the roster since Levi is best friends with your brother. I’m surprised Jude didn’t ever mention Eli was playing in the organization.” Mr. Carling glances down the hall and smiles. “Oh! There’s Ryanne. Let me go get her.”
He starts to march down the long, curved corridor. I try not to fall headfirst into a panic attack because holy shit, the hottest kiss of my life just turned into a giant mistake. There’s a strict policy against fraternization between employees and players, and I’m fairly certain having Eli’s tongue in my mouth in the elevator counts as fraternization. I don’t break rules. Ever. Especially ones that can cost me my fledgling career.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a Thunder player?” I whisper harshly when Mr. Carling is out of earshot.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were Jude Braddock’s sister?” he counters, looking just as stunned as I feel.
“Because I don’t tell anyone. That’s why I use my middle name as a last name,” I reply sternly. “I don’t want the team to think he got me the job, so you can’t tell anyone. Just like you can’t tell anyone about that kiss. Please. Because this is the only good thing I have in my life, and I’m not losing it over a kiss.”
“For the record, I didn’t tell you I play for the Thunder because I don’t. I play for the Storm,” he tells me calmly. “And I won’t tell anyone your real last name, but who cares who knows about the kiss?”
“I care! They have a strict policy about that stuff here,” I explain. My eyes keep darting down the hall. Mr. Carling is coming our way now with Ryanne. “That kiss could cost me my job.”
“Okay. Okay. If you want me to pretend that incredible kiss didn’t happen, then I will. But I don’t think either of us will forget it,” he manages to whisper before Mr. Carling and Ryanne are standing in front of us. She looks equal parts power and beauty in a pair of tailored black pants, with her long dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail that looks as silky as her red blouse. I open my mouth to introduce myself, but her eyes are on Eli, not me. She extends her hand to him. “Mr. Casco. I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do out there tonight.”
He shakes her hand and flashes a confident grin. “I’m looking forward to impressing you.”
Ryanne glances at Mr. Carling. “This one is much bolder than his brother. Let’s hope he can back it up.”
“I should get into my gear,” Eli says and then puts a hand on my back, which makes me bristle. “I’ll leave you to talk to your best and brightest communications team addition. Nice meeting you.”
Eli walks away and I’m left frazzled again, but I try not to show it as I look up at Ryanne and give her what I hope is a poised smile. “Dixie Wynn. I’m very happy to meet you, Ms. Bateman. You’re the reason I wanted to work here.”
She smiles and shakes my hand. “I’m flattered. Your whole department—hell, the whole organization—has nothing but positive remarks about you.”
I smile brighter, my nerves starting to dissipate. She leans in and winks at me. “And I admire the fact that you haven’t told them who you are. You earned your fantastic reputation on your own.”
She stands straighter and turns to Mr. Carling again. “I’m heading to my box. Looking forward to seeing you all at the party later tonight.”
And just like that she’s off down the hall, her four-inch heels clicking loudly against the concrete floor. That went way better than I thought it would after all the drama leading up to it. I turn to Mr. Carling. “I’m going to go brief the team on the media info for after the game.”
His phone buzzes and as his eyes slide to the screen, I leave him to head into the locker room. I march right in, even though some of the guys are in various states of undress. I learned early on that being timid or shy with these boys caused them to give me more grief than if I just walked in on them when they were half naked.
“Boys! Listen up!” I bellow and ninety percent of the heads in the room snap to attention. Only one of them is glaring at me in horror—my brother, Jude Braddock.
“Hey, Ms. Wynn,” he says, accentuating the Wynn part. “Maybe knock before entering or something!”
I give him a quick I don’t give a fuck smirk. He knows the look well, and I know it annoys the hell out of him, which is why I do it. The only thing I love more than Jude is irking the hell out of Jude.
“I’m not the Virgin Mary, Braddock.” I let my eyes sweep the room, but they somehow get stuck on Eli. He smiles and casually reaches up, touching his lips with his fingertips, subtly reminding me…teasing me…I blink and wrench my eyes away. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
I shoot out my directions about press after the game like a drill sergeant, explaining it’s a light schedule tonight because the media only want to talk to the Casco brothers after the game. The irony is I was holding this list the entire time. If I’d just read it in the elevator I would have known Eli was playing for us. I leave, forcing myself not to look back at Eli even though every fiber of my being wants to. I have to let it go—forget the kiss and how attractive I find his bold, goofy personality.
Fifteen minutes later the players are filtering out to take the ice. Eli is the last one out of the locker room and as his eyes connect with mine, he grins and gives me a wink. Everyone continues down the hall chattering away, excited for the game. Eli pauses for just a second right in front of me and in a rough whisper says, “Admit it. That was one hell of a kiss.”
“Go!” I command sharply and he struts off down the tunnel with the rest of the team.
Alone in the hall, my fingertips brush my lips absently, my breath hitches. He’s not here to see my response, but I can’t help nodding my head in agreement.
1
One Year Later
I walk into the dark apartment and drop my keys on the coffee table as I toe off my shoes. I don’t bother turning on the lights as I make my way to the kitchen. I swing open the door of the fridge and blindly reach for a bottle of water. My hand hits a can of beer instead. Even better. I usually prefer mixed drinks, but tonight I don’t care. I grab the Coors Light and crack it open, taking a sip as I make my way to the back of the apartment.
It’s only nine at night. The whole team has gone out to drown their sorrows—at least that’s the excuse, but the fact is they go out, win or lose, after every game. I rarely do because I rarely have something to celebrate, and when the team loses I don’t want to commiserate, I want to stew. Especially when I was in goal, like tonight.
I make it to my bedroom and decide that turning on a light, as much as I don’t want to, is the best option because my room is a mess, and I’m likely to trip on something if I don’t. I turn on the small lamp on my desk and put my beer beside it while I shrug out of my suit jacket and start unbuttoning my shirt. My laptop is open on the desk with the screensaver looping silently. It’s made up of images from my cloud. I set it to one specific folder filled with images from my hockey career. The good times—championship wins, MVP trophies, medals, press photos of amazing saves. I thought reliving those moments would help. Positive reinforcement. But it hasn’t. I’m still playing like shit.
I let in three goals tonight, and only one of them was forgivable. The other two should have been easy saves. But I tensed and froze for the slightest second at just the wrong time on both. My heart was pounding the entire game. I could feel my knees wobble. I couldn’t get a decent grip on my stick. It sucked.
I let my shirt fall to the ground and kick it out of the way so I can pull out the desk chair. I drop into it and run my hand over the mouse pad so the screensaver goes away, then take a long, slow sip of beer. If positive reinforcement doesn’t work, maybe negative will.
I pull up a browser and search for the video. It’s not hard to find. I’ve only watched it once. Right after I got out of the hospital and went back to the dorms, my roommate pulled it up to show me. I didn’t ask to see it, and I didn’t realize how much I didn’t want to see it until I was watching it.
I don’t want to see it now, but maybe I have to. Avoiding the memory hasn’t helped me, so maybe I need to watch it repeatedly and desensitize myself. I’m surprised by how much of it I do remember.
It was a good game. We were winning, and I was five minutes away from a shutout. I was in control. I was relaxed. I was confident. I was me.
I stopped a shot, but the puck bounced free. There was a scramble for it by players on both teams inches from my face. The video shows a big blur of body parts and jerseys. . . .
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