Overnight Sensation(26)

“It’s peanut butter and strawberry jam,” says another player from the doorway. There’s a line forming now. “Has to be strawberry. This one is superstitious.”

“Good to know,” I say, taking a quick look inside the bag. Aside from the sandwich, there’s a set of rosary beads, and a paperback book. A Tale of Two Cities. Castro has fancy taste in literature.

You could learn a lot about a guy doing this job. What if his bag was full of jock-itch powder? Or GasX?

I close the bag hastily.

“Check the pockets,” grunts Dunston.

“You’re right, sir,” I say grumpily. “Mr. Castro looks like a very dangerous man.”

The players lined up behind Jason all give hoots of laughter, but Castro just frowns down at me. I unzip the outer pocket at one end of his bag, and then immediately wish I hadn’t, because there are a handful of loose condoms in there. The only small mercy is that I don’t pull them out for everyone else to see.

I do, however, look up into Jason’s eyes with an expression approximating that of a kicked puppy.

His face is unreadable.

Hastily, I unzip the other pocket. When I plunge my hand inside, I only find a square object. I pull it halfway out to identify it.

It’s a silver picture frame the size of my palm. And the photo is of a laughing teenaged girl. A senior portrait, maybe. She has strawberry-blond hair and daring eyes.

Once more I glance involuntarily at Jason, who’s scowling up a storm now. “All good!” I say with forced cheer.

“Twenty-seven seconds,” Dunston announces.

“Seems like plenty,” Jason mumbles.

“Body check,” the boss says.

“Oh, fuck me,” Jason says on a sigh.

If only.

“Sir, please unbutton your jacket.”

But he’s raised his arms already. So I unbutton them, just to hurry things along. The tip of my thumb grazes his abs as I work. “Wowzers,” I whisper. “Someone keeps up with the core exercises.”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away as I spend about one second patting his pockets the way they taught me during my thirty minutes of training.

The last step is to check for an ankle holster. Because whoever directs these procedures watches a lot of TV. So I sink down onto my knees and quickly pat down the muscular lower legs inside Jason’s suit pants.

“All set,” I say, which I’m sure is a relief to both of us. I raise my eyes from my kneeling position, ready to offer my favorite hockey player an apologetic smile.

But that’s not what happens. First, my gaze snags on the bulge in his trouser pants that wasn’t there a minute ago. And it is a bulge. At close range.

I feel my jaw flop open. And then when I manage to raise my chin, my gaze finds a set of lust-darkened eyes staring down at me over a jaw that’s locked tightly.

We regard each other for one more fractional second as I realize the position we’re in. And then we both come to our senses at the same moment. I leap to my feet while he takes a quick step backward, buttoning his suit jacket with hasty fingers.

“Good game!” I say in a shrill voice. “Knock ’em dead! Make ’em cry!”

“Will do.” He takes one eager step away from me.

But he only gets a few feet toward the hallway when Bayer calls after him from the line. “Wait up, Castro!”

Jason stops, but he’s gritting his teeth. As usual, he’s eager to get away from me. But I don’t mind half as much as usual, because it’s dawning on me that Jason Castro is still attracted to me. No matter that I puked when we were supposed to be hooking up, and no matter that my daddy wants to kill him.

That bulge, though. And the lust in his eyes when I looked up at him? It’s the only good news I’ve had today.

Bayer puts his gym bag down on the table and unzips it. I poke inside, mindful of the forty-five seconds I’m supposed to use up. There’s a pair of sneakers.

“I wouldn’t get too close to those if I were you.” He says.

“They could be a security risk, sir,” I say. “Stench weaponry?”

Bayer chuckles.

Dunston moves closer to hover like the grumpy barnacle that he is. “Oof,” he says as his foot finds something I’ve hidden underneath the table. “What’s this?” He bends over, where he’ll be treated to an eyeful of my giant rolling suitcase. “Hold on! Unidentified luggage? That’s a security risk.”

“It’s mine,” I say quickly, zipping Bayer’s gym bag. “Don’t worry about that.”

But Dunston has already rolled the bag out of its hiding place. “This can’t stay here. It’s against security regs.”

“Sir, there’s no place secure for me to put it. Can I lock it in your office?”

“You may not bring personal effects to work. It has to go.”

I swear the whole flipping team is lined up to get in now. And they’re all listening to this little humiliation. “I’m on the clock, though. What would you have me do?”

“There’s always the incinerator,” he says darkly. “That’ll learn you the rules.”

“What?” I squeak. “My Manolos are in there.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jason snarls. “I’ll take the bag. Can we just get a move on here?” He leans forward, grabs the handle, and jerks it toward his body. “This will go with me.”