Mister Hockey (Hellions Angels #1)(2)
“There’s a story behind that frown.” Neve batted a lemon slice around her glass. “Should we start there?”
“I have resting bitch face.” He refused to back down from her narrow-eyed scrutiny. Counted to ten. Four . . . five . . . six . . .
“Nope. Normally you’re grinning like a monkey with a new banana,” she shot back.
“Never got into bananas.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “More of a berry fan.”
“Fine. Have it your way.” Neve ran out the clock with her usual tenacity. “Stay mysterious.”
“Hey now. I’m serious.” He raked a hand through his hair, a subtle way to show off his championship ring. “Everything’s good in my world. Great even.”
Yup. Except for the fact that he’d spent the morning in the Hellions screening room, poring over tapes from the final minutes of game seven. He’d taken a lead pass and skated into the Detroit zone. Score tied, adrenaline was high. Must have been the reason the Red Wings D-man sent the business end of his stick into Jed’s right eye socket.
Jed had watched himself up on the flat screen push himself off the ice and wave away medical attention. It was surreal, like watching a movie about someone else’s life. He couldn’t remember a damn thing about those few minutes, but it appeared that even his lizard brain had an aversion to getting benched.
The hit hadn’t been enough to fuck him though, right?
“All right, all right. Enough monkeying around, now you really are on record.” Neve clicked the red record button. Her voice dropped a half octave and took on a more formal affectation, as if she had morphed into a National Public Radio host. “Hello and welcome to another edition of Sports Heaven, with me, Neve, Denver’s favorite Angel,” she purred. “Today I’m lucky enough to be sitting down with Jed West, captain of the Denver Hellions. Thanks for chatting, Westy.”
“Pleasure’s mine.” He drawled, lifting his empty pint glass in cheers, shoving the tapes to the hamper in the back of his mind.
“Since getting traded from the Sharks, you’ve taken the Hellions all the way twice. Broken one of the longest losing streaks in NHL history and—”
The raucous chorus to the song “All I Do is Win,” emanated from inside her blouse. “Shoot. Hang on.” She hit Pause and fished her phone from the gap in her shirt.
“That’s one hell of a phone holder,” he deadpanned.
“Hush.” Her small mouth went mulish. “A bra is a modern gal’s Swiss army knife. Now. Where was I?” She hit Play and steepled her fingers. “Ah, yes, the Westy magic. What’s your secret?”
“I don’t know. The usual.” He grabbed a napkin shred from the pile in front of him and rolled the thin paper into a neat ball. “It’s like this, see . . . on full moons I lure a goat onto the ice, preferably a young one. Too old and they get ornery. There’s chanting. Followed by a naked drum circle. Then the ritual sacrifice complete with a—”
“All I Do is Win” blared again.
Neve ripped the phone from her cleavage and frowned at the screen. “It’s my sister. Breezy never calls during a workday. I’ve got to take this.” She clicked off the recorder and slammed the phone to her ear. “What’s wrong?” Two lines dented the skin between her brows. “Okay. Stop. Slow down, way, way down. Breathe. No. That’s hysterical laughter bordering on tears. I want breaths, deep ones from your diaphragm. Warmer. Warmer . . . better.” She gave a grim nod. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Yep. No, he didn’t! I don’t care a fig if it is the weather. I’ve always said he’s asshat. Me? Hmm.” She drummed her fingers, shooting him a considered look. “Got plans for the afternoon?”
“Dunno.” Jed shrugged, not loving the gleam in her eye. “Getting interviewed by you, then going to lift at the gym.” Or commencing an online search for a discreet neurologist. “Why?”
“Tor Gunnar was booked to headline a kiddie literacy event at the Rosedale Branch Library.” She pronounced the Hellion coach’s name the same way a Harry Potter character might curse Voldemort. Taking a swig of ice tea, as if to cleanse the name from her palate, she continued. “He had a charity golf event in Scottsdale and there’s been a weather delay with the airlines. The same crappy system dumping all the rain here is causing flash floods there. His flight’s canceled and that leaves my little sis stuck as a Head Children’s Librarian with no special guest and a community room filling with starry-eyed young hockey fans—”
“Your sister’s name is Breezy?”
“Briana.” Neve smirked. “But I couldn’t pronounce it when I was little and my version stuck. Anyway, she’s asking me to step in as the surprise special guest, but seeing as you’re here . . .”
He got the hint. “You need a volunteer?”
“Why, I declare! What a wonderful, generous offer.” Her exaggerated coo faded back to her usual brisk tone. “Here’s the deal. I love two things in this world: my job and my family. I’m telling you, Breezy performs bona fide miracles at that library. Letting down those rug rats would kill her. And besides . . .” She drummed her nails on the table’s veneer again with a smug look.
“What?” He crossed his arms, as if the gesture could hide the jealous flame that flared every time he was presented with evidence of other people’s normal, happy family lives.