Checked (Gold Hockey Book 7) Page 2

  He wouldn’t be her anything. Not ever.

  She lifted her chin, yanked her shoulder free of his grip. “You’re a jerk,” she said, the burst of anger already fading, the urge to get small again seeping forward. But she managed to keep her voice from shaking. “You—”

  “You’re right.”

  She’d been frantically searching her mind for the right words, but his stopped her.

  “I should have listened first.” He held up a stack of papers, and she recognized the top one as a study she’d cited in her presentation. “I printed these off. I spent the last hour reading up on this and—”

  “You read up?”

  He stopped. “Yeah—”

  “You. Read. Up.”

  The anger was back.

  His brows knit together, drawing her attention to rich brown eyes. Her breath caught at the color, and she realized for all the fleeting contact she’d allowed herself with his gaze, she’d never stared long enough to recognize the depth of colors in his irises.

  It reminded her of quinoa, pale brown laced with deep mahogany.

  Pretty.

  But then he smirked. And spoke.

  Pretty disappeared.

  “I’m a doctor, Rebecca,” he said drolly. “I do know how to read.”

  Fury took its place.

  “And perhaps did you read any of those papers I passed out during the presentation?” she asked with clenched teeth.

  His lips pressed flat. “No,” he said. “I prefer to do my own research—”

  “Asshole,” she growled and snatched the papers from his hands. “Did you realize that your research mirrored mine? Or that I gave you this study”—she held it up, flipped to the next—“and this one. Oh! And this one, too.” She shoved the stack of papers back at him. “So, please mansplain to me some more about your research.”

  “I—” He broke off, gaze locking with hers.

  And it was too much. Her eyes dropped to the floor, chest heaving, fire fading. “Whatever, Gabe. Keeping researching, keep proving to yourself that you’re the smartest and know the most and your way is always the best—”

  “I just said you were right.”

  “After you belittled me in front of the rest of the team.”

  “I asked questions.”

  “No, you discounted my idea without taking time to understand the thought and research that went into my proposal,” she said, volume dropping, words beginning to shake. “You could have said, I have concerns, let’s look into this further. Or hell, perhaps, I’ll read the sources that you provided, do some further research, and then we can make a decision.” She released a shuddering breath. “I have a doctorate in nutrition. This is my passion, my life-blood, and you . . . didn’t care. And now you’re coming to me with so-called sources proclaiming it a good idea. Sorry, but th-that’s—”

  “A dick move,” he finished when she faltered.

  She nodded. “Yes.” A beat as she waited for him to continue talking to say anything else.

  But he didn’t.

  And so she pushed past him and hurried from the building. To her car. To her apartment.

  Where it was quiet. Where she was alone.

  Where it was safe.

  Her sister called that evening, but Rebecca didn’t muster the courage to pick up the phone. Between the presentation and the confrontation with Gabe, not to mention the impending tea date with Calle and Mandy, she was an absolute disaster.

  And if there was one thing her sister had little patience for, it was Rebecca being an absolute disaster.

  Eighteen years older than her, Sandra had been the mother neither of them had experienced. Responsible, detail-oriented, an absolute rule-follower. But she hadn’t been particularly soft or caring or empathetic, especially when Rebecca began showing similar characteristics to their flighty, negligent mother.

  What Sandra could never seem to understand was that while Rebecca might have anxiety, might have a similar personality to their mom, she also had pieces that Sandra had given her. Perseverance, integrity, an incredible work ethic.

  So while the anxiety she battled was sometimes crippling, Rebecca always pushed through to the other side.

  She’d gotten her doctorate, was working in a position that challenged and enlightened her on a daily basis, and she’d even recently accepted an offer to release a series of books based on the lifestyle blog she’d started nearly a decade before. That blog was her secret outlet, a safe place she could be herself because the real world was scary.

  No one knew about the blog.

  Well, no one she talked to on a regular basis, that was. Which meant that Sandra didn’t know and neither did her coworkers.

  Being a registered dietician meant that she’d worked in different capacities over the years, first while she’d been getting her masters and PhD, then before she’d found a full-time position with athletes, as was her dream. Initially, she’d worked at hospitals and nursing homes, then with colleges and minor league teams, and finally she’d gotten her position with the Gold.

  Now she was in her mid-thirties, working her dream job, and . . . dealing with men like Gabe.

  Not fair. But also . . .

  Yes, her feelings had been hurt.

  Yes, she was still going to go to work tomorrow.

  She’d do what she did best, pretend and move on.

  But for that night, she ignored her sister’s call, took a long ass bath, then slipped into her rattiest sweats and coziest sweatshirt. She’d huddle, recover, get stronger. And tomorrow she would have tea with Calle and Mandy.

  She’d talk about the diet plan. She’d answer questions and share insights.

  She’d interact, no matter how challenging.

  But that would happen tomorrow.

  Tonight she would soak in the tub alone, exactly like she preferred.

  Even if she spent a lot of that alone time wondering if it was actually being by herself that she had a preference for, or if it was because being alone was all she knew.

  Molly’s was one of those rare places she could count on.

  Fresh, fabulous food, plenty of tables—including ones safely tucked into corners—and low-pressure ordering.

  They never looked at her with impatience if she stuttered or changed her mind, and with the cozy seat cushions, sleek granite tabletops on tables that never wobbled, and lots of vegan options, it was her go-to.

  They also served her favorite organic pomegranate green tea.

  Or they had begun carrying it after Rebecca had haltingly mentioned it as her preferred variety one time in passing to the owner, Molly.

  Reason number 642 why Molly’s was great.

  The waiter, Tom, brought her tea almost before she sat her butt down at the table—okay, it was almost like her table because she was in so often. “Salad today, Rebecca?” he asked.

  “Not today.”

  With a nod, he left her to it and she spent the next few minutes booting up her laptop and opening the presentation on the screen, along with the research she’d gathered.

  “Whew!” Calle said, sinking into the chair opposite her with a flurry of movements. “I’ll never get used to how the weather changes in this city. I was frozen an hour ago and now I’m sweating.”

  “And welcome to winter in San Francisco,” Mandy said, walking in behind her and sitting with much less fluster. She picked up a menu from the holder on the table. “You have to try their salads, Calle.”

  Calle made a face. “I’ve decided I’m adult enough to avoid eating my veggies.”

  Rebecca gasped.

  Mandy laughed.

  Calle smiled. “I’m kidding, of course.” A shrug. “Sort of. How about I’ll consume a reasonable amount for my status as an adult?”

  Rebecca glanced down at her hands, feeling a little like an idiot for not having realized that Calle was joking. “T-that sounds good,” she said softly then forced her eyes back up. “Should we talk about how we’re going to force the guys t
o eat them instead?”

  Mandy grinned. “Definitely. I can’t wait to torture Blane.”

  “I’m not sure that’s how relationships are supposed to work,” Calle said, lips twitching as she reached for a menu. “Are you eating?”

  “I—” She’d been planning on not, on having an escape route so she wasn’t tied down with a plate of food, but dammit this was Molly’s and she wanted one of their salads.

  “Of course, she is,” Mandy said, answering for her as Tom came back over to take the rest of the drink orders.

  “The girls changed my mind,” she said when he glanced down at her.

  “Good,” he replied. “Molly just pulled the candied nuts out of the oven.” He winked and Mandy snorted, which made Rebecca relax enough to giggle. Calle, much more open with her feelings, laughed outright.

  “That’s what all the boys say,” she quipped.

  Which made Rebecca giggle again and Mandy demand, “More candied nuts!”

  Tom disappeared with a salute and they continued talking, drifting into discussing the nutrition plan.

  “Will it be personalized for each player?” Calle asked.

  “For sure,” she said, pouring more tea into her cup. “Some of the needs are similar, but allergies and food sensitivities have to be considered, along with where we are in the season or if they need a boost to help them recover from an injury.”

  “I wish I had you when I blew out my knee,” Calle said. “I tried to come back afterward, but no amount of rehab could get it to where it once was.” She sighed. “Not that I don’t like coaching and don’t feel incredibly lucky to have this job as well as having gone out after playing on that gold medal team, but . . .”

  “It’s not the same standing on the sidelines as being in the game.”

  Mandy and Calle both looked up at her in shock.

  Rebecca shrugged. “Or I’d guess th-that was—”

  Mandy reached across the table, squeezed her hand.

  “That’s exactly how it is,” Calle said.

  “But you push through and find other ways to find your happy,” Mandy told them. “You pivot and transform and . . . you summon up the courage to grab on to it when the opportunity comes along.”

  She and Calle glanced at Mandy.

  “Whoa,” Calle eventually said. “That was deep.”

  Mandy snorted, opened her mouth, but was interrupted by Tom dropping off their plates of food. “Get deep on those nuts,” she quipped, picking up her fork.

  “Oooh,” Calle said on a laugh. “I like this side of you.”

  “What? The unprofessional one?”

  “Yes. That, exactly.”

  Rebecca laughed as they continued bantering, starting in on her salad, and while she shook her head, it was with a smile on her face because she was having a good time.

  Socializing.

  Who knew that was even possible?

  Over the next few days, she managed to socialize a bit more, or at least to finalize her plan with Calle and Mandy over another lunch at Molly’s and then reintroduce it to Gabe and the rest of the training staff.

  They were giving her initial roll-out a trial period after the break.

  Then they would reevaluate.

  But Rebecca felt like she’d been filled with helium, she was so buoyant and excited they were giving her plan a chance. If it worked out, it would mean a ton more leg work for her going into next season, but she was thrilled to be given the opportunity and was going to make sure absolutely every detail was hammered out before the players returned for training camp.

  This was new and exciting and because it was food and diet plans and nutrition, instead of being panicked at the thought of all the work ahead of her, she was excited.

  Just think of all the office supplies she got to buy.

  Blue Post-Its, green ones. Hell, maybe she’d even splurge for pink. And file folders, do not get her started on file folders.

  She snorted and obeyed her phone when it ordered her to make a left turn. There was a reason she was thinking about food and nutrition, and that was because she was forcing herself to undergo even more socializing that evening.

  Christmas Gold-style.

  Just the thought of being around that many people was terrifying, but she was doing it anyway.

  Look at her go. Socialization multiple times in one week.

  Go her.

  She made the final turn and saw the line of cars parked along the street and in the driveway, carefully picking a spot that made sure she wouldn’t be blocked in. Then she turned off her car and breathed.

  “I can do this,” she commanded, though her heart was pounding. “You know all these people. It will be fine.”

  Bathroom. She needed to find out where that was first thing. And scope out the food. And—

  A knock at her window had her jumping.

  “Hey!” Mandy called through the glass.

  Both more nerves and less. She had to go now, couldn’t put her car back into drive and leave. But she’d also have a friend. Sucking in a breath and straightening her shoulders, she reached for her purse. “You can do this.”

  Mandy stepped back when Rebecca opened the door. Blane walked up to join them, their baby girl, Emily, in his arms. “I’m so ready for pie,” he declared, tossing Emily high enough that Rebecca gasped.

  Mandy just smiled, especially when Emily giggled.

  “Come on,” Mandy said. “Less tossing of the baby. I thought you’d give your mother a heart attack last time she saw you do that.”

  Blane grinned. “Em loves it,” he said, nuzzling their daughter. “Don’t you, baby girl?”

  Rebecca relaxed, reaching into the backseat of her car for the brussels sprout dish she’d brought.

  Mandy snagged Emily, Blane stole the bag she was carrying then turned to Rebecca and also took the dish from her hands—

  “Oh,” she exclaimed. “You don’t have—”

  But he was already walking to the house.

  “I know I don’t have to,” he called over his shoulder. “Hurry up, before all the pie is gone!”

  “With all the rookies around,” Mandy said, “he might be in for a rude awakening for what food might have survived the ride . . . or the first five minutes, anyway.”

  “They do seem to consume an insane amount of food.”

  Mandy flashed her a smile, untangling Emily's hand from her hair. “I heard Kevin bought a ring.”

  “Me, too,” Rebecca murmured. Part of the reason she’d come when Kevin had asked. Her friends deserved to share their happiness with people, even if one of those people happened to be an awkward, anxious woman with more baggage than an airport.

  She could suck it up and find a way to put that aside for a few hours.

  Mandy nodded, lips twitching. “Speaking of rude awakenings,” she said. “Bex is going to freak.”

  “She sure is,” Rebecca agreed.

  She walked up the path and into the house, Mandy at her side, completely oblivious to the fact that the she was the Rebecca about to have a rude awakening.

  If she’d known the next few hours were going to change her life, then there was no way she ever would have agreed to come.

  In the end, she wasn’t sure if that rude awakening had been good.

  Or bad. Really, really bad.

  Three

  Gabe

  He watched Rebecca slip from the house, head down, shoulders bowed in on themselves, and his feet were moving almost before he consciously knew he was following her.

  Red hair trailing in waves down her back.

  Tall and slender—she took her nutrition ideas to heart—but no diet plan could take away that fabulous ass.

  Two perfect handfuls of woman he wanted to grab hold of.

  And he’d fucked up any chance of that by being a dick.

  Probably safer that way for her. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship, not after his ex had destroyed him.

  Being tied to a woman was w
ay too complicated.

  But he still followed Rebecca out, sticking a hand into the opening of the door just before it closed. He halted its progress, slipped out.

  “You’re leaving,” he said.

  She froze, green eyes wide on his. Fuck, she was pretty.

  With a huff, she spun away and began walking toward her car parked near the edge of the property.

  “Rebecca,” he called, following her.

  She kept walking.

  Fucking hell, he didn’t like that. Not when—

  What, asshole? his conscience chimed in. You don’t want her, so just leave her alone.

  Except, he did want her. Mostly because she was beautiful and smart and when he could get her to say a few words, she was funny. But part of him also wanted her because she reminded him of—

  Not. Going. There.

  “Rebecca.”

  She reached for the driver’s side door handle.

  He caught her arm. “Baby—”

  “I am not your baby,” she snapped, “and you don’t get to touch me.” She yanked her arm with more strength than he’d expected, considering her waif-like body, and pulled free, reaching for the handle of her car again. “You don’t even like me.”

  He stepped close, real close. Not touching her when she’d told him not to, but still close enough to get a whiff of cinnamon.

  Cinnamon. He inhaled deeply. Fucking spice.

  Fucking hell.

  “That. Is. Where. You’re. Wrong.”

  Her jaw dropped open. “What?”

  He bent his head, spoke directly into her ear, a soft floral scent mixing with all that cinnamon, making his head spin, and him blurt.

  “I like you, Rebecca. Too fucking much.”

  Then he turned and strode back to the house, listening to the slam of her car door, the rev of the engine as he did an admirable job of scaring her away.

  Four

  Rebecca

  She was avoiding going into work.

  It was Monday morning. It was after Christmas. It was . . . two days since Gabe had cornered her outside her car and had declared—

  I like you, Rebecca. Too fucking much.