Bet On It: An Age Gap Billionaire Office Romance(39)

Pierce glanced at Reed and then at me, extending his hand and smiling. "It's nice to meet you, Analyn." He patted Reed on the shoulder. "This is quite a difference, Reed. When we were playing hockey, your taste in women was always the cougar. What is it called when you're dating a woman who could practically be your daughter?"

Reed growled at him.

Pierce grinned at both of us. "I believe it's called a cliché."

"Just for that, I might have to put money against you."

Pierce laughed. "You can bet against me, old friend. But I wouldn't bet against Bo." He gave me another smile. "It was good to see you. I hope you're enjoying the game and being with this guy. He might be old, but he's a good man. I’ll head out and leave you two to your date."

Date? This couldn’t be a date. If it got back to work, I’d be viewed as the office slut. Gold digger. Catherine would probably gouge my eyes out with her long, sharp nails.

“We’ll connect after the game for my critique,” Reed said.

“Or tomorrow. Whatever.”

As Pierce left, I realized that the two of them weren’t just friends, they were close friends. Like brothers.

I arched a brow. "Cougars?"

Reed’s cheeks blushed, and it was adorable. "I'm in need of another drink to explain that one.” He went over to a bar area and poured himself something stronger than wine.

After he poured his drink, he came over and sat back in the chair next to me. While he’d been getting his drink, I made a plate of the fancy little quiches that were available.

"A lot of the women who enjoy coming to watch hockey are older. There's a time in a man's life when he isn't always very discriminating about women.”

“They’re happy to have sex with any woman?” I arched a brow.

He shrugged. “Pretty much. My life was mostly filled up with hockey, so I didn’t have time to meet women and date. I wasn’t looking for a relationship—"

"You were sowing your oats."

He took a sip of his drink and nodded. "I suppose that was it. I wanted more than anything to play hockey, but I was a young man, and I figured taking care of other urges was easily done through the women who just happened to show up and wanted to hang out with players. So I took advantage of that."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "That sounds like you've been with a lot of women?"

Again, his cheeks turned pink. "Not as many as you're thinking, I'm sure. Don't let Pierce know, but I often went home alone."

I looked at him skeptically but didn't challenge him. "Who's the Bo person?"

Another buzzer went off, and all of a sudden, the skaters were flying across the ice, hitting the puck and each other.

"Bo is number 98. And he's probably the greatest player I've ever seen."

"I thought you said somebody named Greg was the greatest?"

He made an ugh sound. "Wayne Gretzky is the greatest hockey player ever. But Bo could probably beat him if he got his shit together. The kid is fearless, but there's always a sense of him like he's running from something. Like the devil is at his back. I don't know how to explain it. But he's as reckless off the ice as he is on it. And while on the ice, it makes him a great player, but in life, it makes him dangerous."

I looked over the rink, finding number 98 and watching him as he sped across the ice, ramming into somebody and taking control of the puck, then zooming away.

"Doesn't the coach try to keep the players in line?"

Reed let out a laugh. "Pierce is the only one who tries to keep Bo in line. As it turns out, his crazy stunts make the news, but not in a negative way. He's like everyone's eight-year-old, rambunctious child. They find him charming. So when he does things like drunkenly play golf in the middle of the night with glow-in-the-dark golf balls, it's good publicity. The stands are full tonight because of Bo. And because of that, the ownership and manager give him a little bit more leeway than Pierce would like."

There was something sad about that. A young man was living his life recklessly, and the people who should be looking out for him were only paying attention to the dollar signs he could bring in. I suppose hockey was a business and Bo was a grown man. But still, how many times had I read stories about athletes or other celebrities who burned out too soon or who got in trouble because no one was there to rein in their darker parts?

"Do you know him? Maybe you could mentor him,” I suggested.

Reed cocked his head and looked at me quizzically. "I know him, although not well enough to mentor him. But you're right, he might be in need of a mentor. Knowing Bo, he wouldn't agree. You can't help somebody who doesn't want to be helped, right?"

It made me think of Betts and whether or not she would believe me when I told her what Paul had done. The fact that I hadn't told her right away could work against me. Would her enthusiasm for the marriage, her love for Paul, keep her from recognizing that he wasn't the man she should be with in the same way that Bo’s reckless behavior could ruin his career?

It didn't seem like twenty minutes when the buzzer went off again, announcing the next intermission.

"Can I get you another drink?" Reed asked.

"Sure." Again, I wondered at the wisdom of drinking too much. But we were in a public place with windows all around us. I figured I was safe from throwing myself into Reed’s arms like I had at the restaurant. Or in his kitchen.