Caged (Gold Hockey Book 11) Page 2

  “I—I—” She shook her head. “I—”

  “It’s okay,” he said quickly, stepping back. “No hard feelings.”

  Deep brown brows drew down. “H-hard feelings?”

  “You’re not interested.” He took another step back, all the hard feelings ruminating through him, but unwilling to let them escape, to taint their workplace. He wanted her, but he wasn’t that guy. Wouldn’t ever be. “I promise, I won’t bring it up again.”

  Her mouth opened and closed, words stuttering out. “I—I—”

  “It’s fine,” he said quickly. “You want me to bring these to the guys?”

  “I—”

  Another few feet away. “I’ll just—”

  “Will you stop interrupting me?” she snapped.

  He blinked.

  Her chin lifted and for a moment, he was frozen in place by her eyes. They were brown—he’d known that from the glimpses she’d given him before—but what he hadn’t known was that they weren’t just brown. Shades of russet and amber, speckles of gold, streaks of ebony. No, those uniquely gorgeous irises couldn’t simply be categorized as brown. They were . . . spectacular and entrancing and—

  Dani kept talking, drawing him out of his head.

  “I’m shy,” she said. “But I’m not stupid. I can tell someone when I’m uncomfortable or if I don’t want something.”

  Hope bloomed through him.

  “Does that mean you want to go out with me?”

  Her eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing. “I—um—I—”

  This time he didn’t interrupt, just waited for her to get her thoughts together, her words to catch up, and all the while the prospect of being able to take out this woman he’d admired for so long lingered in the back of his mind.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she whispered. “I need to get these to Max and Coop.”

  Bleak.

  That was the only word to describe what he felt at the moment. But he’d meant it when he’d promised himself that if she didn’t return his interest, he wouldn’t press this, that he’d just go back to pretending he wasn’t attracted to her.

  “Okay,” he said, holding up the tablets. “I’ll take these to the locker room.”

  She nodded.

  “For the record, I never thought you were stupid,” he said, “and I don’t mind the shy.” With that, he turned and made his way down the hall, cursing himself six ways to Sunday as he moved. He should have played it so much cooler, should have won Dani over before springing a date on her. He should—

  “Fuck,” he whispered on a sigh.

  Because he had been trying to win her over these last months, finding reasons to be in her presence—e.g. tonight volunteering to grab tablets she was going to deliver, asking for extra tape, casually joining the conversations when she was with Brit or Mandy, testing the waters when she was with people she was comfortable with.

  And he’d thought he’d made progress with trying to get her to talk and loosen up.

  So today, tonight, he’d hoped for her to let him in just an inch.

  Too fast.

  Fucking hell.

  Ethan knew that most of the guys on the team thought that Dani was a little cold. But most of the guys were idiots. Okay, that wasn’t true, not even in the least. The San Francisco Gold were the NHL’s newest team—though that would soon change with several more expansion teams entering the mix next season—and they were one of the best franchises to play for. He’d been around for the last win of the Stanley Cup and for last season’s heartbreaking loss. Before that, he’d bounced around the league, playing a few seasons with different teams. But nothing had ever stuck. Or maybe, the roster hadn’t gelled like the Gold’s did.

  Or perhaps . . . it was because the Gold were more like a family than a business.

  Which should sound ridiculous because it was a business, and hockey was his job.

  But somehow, it wasn’t ridiculous.

  The men and women on the team were a family. Without qualification. As obvious as a crosscheck to his opponent’s numbers would get him sent to the box. It was just . . . fact.

  What was also fact?

  That even now, well after the game, the locker room would still be full of the guys and Brit shooting the shit, hanging around because they actually liked each other.

  A rare feat indeed.

  Laughing to himself as he strode through the door, handing the tablets to Max and Coop, he thought back on his first game with the team. God, it had been such a weird feeling, as though he’d ended up in an alternate reality.

  There wasn’t the least bit of hazing or him needing to earn his spot. They’d included him, given him the benefit of the doubt, and right away, he’d felt like he had a place.

  They’d invited him to dinner after the match.

  They’d actually included him in the conversation from the get-go—as well as giving him an assigned day on manning the radio. The latter was something everyone took turns with, and though the guys had some overlap in taste, it was something of a rite of passage to get your pregame playlist poked at.

  Today’s postgame playlist was Brit’s choice, which meant that as he finished getting undressed and headed to the showers, he was serenaded by various boy bands with syrupy lyrics and poppy soundtracks.

  The songs were fucking catchy, he’d give Brit that.

  But he much preferred his classic rock pre or postgame.

  He wondered what kind of music Dani listened to, though he supposed he wouldn’t be in a position to find out.

  “What’s going on in that big, juicy brain of yours?” Max asked, when Ethan sat back down in his stall and began pulling his clothes on.

  Big, juicy brain was the team’s favorite way to refer to him.

  A guy works on getting one master’s degree, and suddenly he was everyone’s favorite nerd.

  But seriously, what else was there to do when a man was on the road for half a season and drinking and partying got really old? Plus, his parents were professors, had always teased each other about being career students. It would have been a surprise if he didn’t follow in their footsteps, at least a little bit. “What are you talking about?” he muttered.

  “You look all mopey,” Max said, bending and tying his shoes.

  Ethan scowled but didn’t otherwise comment as he yanked on his underwear and slacks, began buttoning his shirt.

  “You’ve got a little frown in between your brows. Angie would say you’re being all scowly.”

  “Did you just do air quotes?”

  A shrug. “They’re endearing.”

  “No,” Ethan said. “They’re really not.”

  “So, does the mope have to do with a certain brunette who won’t give you the time of day?”

  Ethan’s eyes shot up, a critical error that had him giving away his hand before he’d been ready to. This was why he was shit at poker, and he knew he was fucked when Max’s eyes sharpened. He was one of the worst gossips on the team, perhaps only eclipsed by Brit.

  Though, Coop was honing his skills.

  Pretty soon, they’d have three Musketeers to contend with.

  Ethan shoved his shoes on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Hmm,” Max said, leaning back in his stall and crossing his arms behind his head, “and here I thought you’d be better at lying.”

  Ethan laughed. “You saw me last poker night. How could you possibly think that?”

  Max smirked. “True.” A beat. “So, win Dani over yet?”

  He froze. Fucking motherfucker was such an asshole . . . and too damned inquisitive for anyone’s good. “Don’t you have to get home to your family?” he grumbled.

  “Not right at the moment.”

  Great. He sighed, slipped into his jacket, then risked a look out of the corner of his eye.

  Max was still staring at him.

  “What?” he asked again. “I’m not talking about Dani.”

  “Ah. N
o progress. You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He shrugged. “It’s . . . not fine, but I’m not going to pursue something she doesn’t want. I’m not an asshole.”

  “No, you’re not. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” His face went serious. “I could—”

  “No. Thanks, though, man.”

  Max nodded, was surprisingly quiet as they went through the remaining motions of getting ready to go.

  “So, aside from the lack of progress with the unnamed brunette tech guru, I also detect a dash of sad. Did you fail a pop quiz or something?”

  “No, I most certainly did not,” he said.

  “You’re getting straight As, aren’t you?”

  “My GPA is beside the point.” He grinned. “Also, so what if I am?”

  Max slugged him. “Brawn. Brains. It’s not fair, man. Look at this”—he held up his arm, pointed to his bicep, which was respectable in the hockey realm where lean strength was valued over grizzly bear status like Ethan had—“it’s puny in comparison.”

  “You have tree trunks like this,” Ethan said, holding up his own arm, “and you’d crush Angie. She’s tiny.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Speaking of Angie, I heard she was pregnant again. Congrats.”

  Max smiled. “Thanks, man.”

  “Is Brayden excited to be a big brother again?” he asked.

  “He’s a teenager,” Max said. “He’s not excited about much, unless it’s some new TikTok trend.” A sigh. “But he didn’t sulk off to his room”—Max smiled—“and he stopped after school today to pick up Angie’s favorite milkshake from the Dairy, so really, even though he is a teenager, he isn’t too bad of one.”

  “Brayden’s a good kid.”

  Max shook his head, still smiling. “Yeah, he is.”

  Brit walked up, waved a hand in his direction. “What’s going on with this face?”

  Ethan sighed, waited for Max to dish.

  Surprisingly, he didn’t, just silently watched Brit as she studied him with laser focus.

  “I failed that pop quiz you were teasing me about earlier,” he said.

  A blip of quiet, Brit’s expression stern. “So, you’re not going to tell me why you’re scowly and moody?”

  No fucking way. But he didn’t say that, just lifted a brow and waited.

  Silence.

  Max stood up, clapped Ethan on the shoulder. “See ya.” And then the fucker walked off, leaving him in Brit’s clutches.

  “Spill,” she ordered. “Tell me how I can help.”

  And that right there was why the nosiness was tolerable, even welcome, though significantly less so when it was directed at him. Because Brit and everyone else on this team actually gave a shit. They wanted to know every detail, yes, but it wasn’t to ridicule and scorn. It was because they wanted everyone to be happy.

  “Want to be my study buddy?”

  Brit’s eyes narrowed. “Sure, you failed that quiz, Eth.” She pointed two fingers at herself then at Ethan. “Watching you.”

  Max poked his head back into the conversation. “And you know the gossip train is, too.” He lifted a fist, raised it up and down. “Choo-choo!”

  “You guys are hilarious,” Ethan muttered.

  “Damn right, we are.” And with that, Max walked out of the locker room, waving goodbye to the rest of the team, most of whom were in various states of their postgame routine or getting ready to follow him out.

  Brit gave him one narrowed look then turned and hit the showers.

  Ethan sighed. He still had the video to watch—and wounds to lick— but he could do both of those from the space of his own house.

  He’d bring the tablet back tomorrow.

  Slipping his wallet into his pocket, the tablet into his backpack, which he then shrugged on, Ethan found himself drawn into a conversation with Blane, and while he liked his teammate, a whole hell of a lot, he really wanted to go home, have a beer—since it was close enough to his cheat day tomorrow that he didn’t have to worry about Nutritionist Rebecca giving him a hard time about veering off his specially designed diet plan. He was typically a firm believer in the what-she-didn’t-know-didn’t-hurt her approach to dealing with nutritionists, but the team had bought into Rebecca’s plans long ago and truthfully, even though the diet was a bit restrictive, especially for his meat-loving heart, he’d never felt or played better. So, it hadn’t taken him long to get on board.

  Especially, when she’d worked in those cheat days and he could have a beer and burger every once in a while.

  “Eth?”

  He turned, saw that Brit was back, staring at him, her long, blond hair slicked back after her shower. “What’s up?”

  She crossed to him, voice quiet when she said, “You know that play wasn’t on you, right?” Her nose wrinkled in a way that was decidedly cute and definitely not in the typical tough hockey player realm—but that was Brit, a constant in juxtapositions.

  It didn’t take much to understand what play she was referring to, especially because it was his fault. He’d misjudged an angle, the player from the other team had gotten by him, and he hadn’t made it back in time. They’d scored, and it had been on him.

  “I mean,” she said softly. “Shit happens, and it’s on everybody, not just one person.”

  Still, it was easier to let her think that he was upset about the play instead of his failed wooing techniques with Dani.

  “Nice try.” He bumped her shoulder with his when she sat beside him. “You know damned well it was my fuck up, but”—here he sighed and told the truth, and conveniently, it applied to both the play and the shit with Dani—“I can’t do anything about it, so I’m going to go home, have a couple of hours’ early cheat day, and I’m going to wallow in my ineptitude. And then tomorrow,” he added quickly, when her expression turned concerned. “I’ll be over it, and all will be good.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You promise?”

  “Yes, Mom,” he teased lightly.

  “So not funny,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  A roll of her eyes. “Stefan wants a baby. He’s ‘willing to wait’ as long as I want,” she said. “But he also said that he wouldn’t mind if I didn’t take such a long contract next time so that he’s not a grandpa by the time we have our first.”

  He sat back in his stall, brows lifting. Now this was interesting.

  “I mean,” she whispered, “I want kids. It’s just that I don’t know if I want them when I’m away so much, but I’m not ready to stop playing, and getting pregnant would mean . . .”

  She kept talking, and he’d been part of the team long enough to find this particular bit of gossip fascinating—especially when she was freely offering it up. Though he supposed she didn’t have much to hide after she’d fallen in love with and married the former captain of the team and spent the majority of her time poking her nose in other people’s business. However, that notwithstanding, Brit was great with kids, even if it was obvious that a woman couldn’t be pregnant with men shooting pucks at her a hundred miles per hour, not to mention the collisions she took sometimes.

  Kids would have to wait until after she retired.

  Unless . . .

  “You could always adopt,” he said.

  Her brows lifted, her lips freezing in the middle of describing what Stefan would look like as a grandpa. “I could adopt?” she mouthed.

  He nodded.

  “Holy shit,” she whispered. “Stefan and I could adopt.”

  Ethan patted her on the shoulder. “You’d both be great parents.” He’d met Stefan, who’d retired from the team a few seasons back, enough times over the last couple of years to know the other man fairly well. He was a good guy, treated Brit like the goddess she was, and he’d never seemed to hold her successful career against her, even though he was no longer playing.

  In fact, Stefan had a reserved seat at the Gold Mine, directly behind Brit’s net.

  Not the best position for viewing the gam
e.

  But perfect for watching his wife kill it, as she did on most nights.

  “I—” she whispered. “You think so?”

  “Yes, I do.” With that, he patted her shoulder again and decided to take advantage of her befuddlement by calling out his goodbyes and hightailing it out of the locker room.

  Babies.

  They shouldn’t be the obvious conversational topic for big, tough hockey players, but they were common subjects of banter in the Gold’s locker room because the kids were folded right into the rest of the team. They were family, too, along with the coaches, with the equipment managers and trainers and support staff. Wives and girlfriends, too. Brothers and sisters, moms and dads.

  All were commonly seen.

  And the team played the better for it.

  It was just . . . today, he was missing that he didn’t have more to add to the group. Sure, his parents came to some games, but they were busy, they had their own lives, and those lives didn’t revolve around his any longer.

  Which was fine.

  He was a thirty-year-old man, not a child who needed a ride to early-morning practices and away games.

  Not anymore, anyway.

  Smiling as he walked to his car thinking of what his mom would say if he called her and teasingly asked her to drive him to the rink, he didn’t see the flurry of silken brown hair, the lush, curvy body.

  Not until it was too late.

  And for the second time in one night, he collided with the woman he’d been dreaming about for months.

  Chapter Three

  Dani

  The universe hated her.

  That was the only explanation she had for why she was plastered against Ethan’s chest for a second time that evening.

  He smelled good, all spicy and male, his hair still damp from the shower.

  It was funny, though, for as long as his beard was—a bushy gathering on his jaw—his hair was neatly trimmed, as it always was.

  “Are you growing it out?” she blurted, still in his arms, her fingers lifting to trace the bristles, finding they were softer than she expected. Also, such an inappropriate thing to do, paired with an unsuitable question for a workplace, where she liked to at least pretend she was professional, even though she spent many of her waking—and sleeping—hours fantasizing about this man. Dani could also add that it was remarkably tactless to be stroking his jaw, since she’d just turned the man down when he’d asked her out.