Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(62)

His head whips around. “Today was the day?”

“So I’m told.”

“How you feeling about your chances?”

I shrug. “The lawyer seemed confident. But then Jared tried to call me tonight.”

“You didn’t answer, right?”

I shake my head. “I’m not that stupid. But I’m pretty curious to know what he would have said.” I pull the phone out of my pocket and peek at it. “He didn’t leave a message.”

“Maybe he decided he’s not that stupid, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Max would find some way to use it against him. That man could find a way to blackmail a nun.”

My heart rate doubles. I’d rather not blackmail anybody. “Dare I ask why you’re watching from the box tonight?”

“I had to get out of the house.”

“Eric.”

He laughs. And then he turns slightly to address Duff as well as me. “I had knee surgery last week.”

“Oh shit!” Duff says. “Sorry, man.”

“So am I,” I add, looking down at his knee as a reflex. But all I can see is a slight bulge in his trouser leg where the bandage must be. “How long is that going to set you back?”

“Hard to say,” he grunts.

“That’s all I get? I promise not to call ESPN.” The puck has dropped, so we both lean forward to watch the first line do battle for the puck.

“It’s not my favorite topic, Engels.”

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “Bingley would only tell me that you were out with a lower body injury.”

“You asked Bingley about me?”

Whoops. “I was upset about the loss to Ottawa.”

“Huh. I don’t think you mentioned you were a Brooklyn fan. In fact, I could swear you said you didn’t like hockey all that much.”

My shrug has as much nonchalance as I can summon. “I watch a game now and then.”

“Do you now?”

Duff snickers.

“I was upset about that loss, too,” Eric admits.

“Devastating,” I quickly agree. “That missed opportunity in the first minute of overtime? Atrocious.”

He laughs. “I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what? The net was wide open!”

He drops his voice so that only I can hear it. “I don’t get why you never returned my call. After you sent that card.”

“Oh.” I’m not really prepared for this question. “I wanted to call.”

“And?” He gives me an arch look. “You broke your thumb and couldn’t dial? Oh, wait. You have Bingley for that.”

“Eric.” Down on the ice, Brooklyn makes a series of aggressive passes. “I didn’t call, because I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

His gaze is focused on the play below us. “It’s okay. I’m used to being everybody’s bad idea.”

Ouch.

“You look great, by the way,” he says, without glancing in my direction.

“You’re just being nice. I look like I swallowed a soccer ball.”

Still watching his buddies down on the ice, he gives his head a little shake. “It looks good on you. All of it.”

“Well, thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He rubs his unshaven chin. “I get it.”

“You get what?”

“The bad ideas.” he whispers. “I have those too when I look at you.”

Heat blooms across my face, and I make a concerted effort to keep my gaze on the game below. Although I have no idea how it’s going. Because my concentration is shot.

I pick up a cheese puff and take a bite. I try to settle in and watch some hockey. But it won’t be easy. I’m sitting next to the hottest man I know, and every night when I close my eyes, his naked body rides through my dreams.

It was four months ago. But the memories are still fresh. Eric bucking against me in the bathroom. Eric hovering over me in bed. Eric kissing me inside the elevator.

“Cheese puff?” I offer in a strangled voice.

He gives me a single head shake, and a glance that tells me he can see right to the heart of me and read all my dirty thoughts.





Nate wasn’t wrong. Brooklyn looks solid tonight. Near the end of the second period we’re up two-zero. But then our defense bobbles a little, and Pittsburgh gets lucky with a goal right between Silas Kelly’s legs.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Eric mutters beside me. His hands are white knuckled on the armrests. And when Leo Trevi draws a penalty a minute later, Eric’s jaw locks up.

The period ends while we’re trying to fight our way through the power play, and Eric looks like a bomb about to blow.

I stand up. “We can rebuild it,” I insist, getting to my feet. The fact that pregnant ladies always have to pee is one cliché that’s one hundred percent true. “Need anything?” I ask Eric before I go. “Drink? Snacks? Valium?”

He shakes his grumpy head. “No thanks.”

“All right then. You hang in there.”

I head for the ladies’ room, Duff at my heels. “You never let on that you know Eric Bayer,” he says. “You think it’s okay if I ask for his autograph?”