“You
think our GM got himself an assistant?”
I
follow his gaze to the front of the room. Standing at the desk with her back to
us, arranging papers, is a woman with wavy chestnut hair that nearly reaches
her waist. “Maybe an intern?”
She’s
wearing a navy dress that conforms to her very feminine form. I trace the dip
of her waist and the curve of her hip, skimming down to where the hem of her
dress hits the bend in her knee. Her calves are bare, athletic, and toned, and
her heels boast a little bow on the back. Classy, yet sexy. “Possibly.”
“I
hope the eye candy is gonna be permanent,” someone at the table behind us says,
loud enough for everyone close by to hear.
“I
wouldn’t mind if she helped me with my jockstrap,” one of the other guys chimes
in, eliciting a loud chuckle from the rest of the table.
I
glance over my shoulder and pin them with an unimpressed glare. I recognize
Foley from Tampa, and Dickerson is an LA trade. They’re notorious womanizers.
“Watch your mouth and have some respect. That’s someone’s daughter.”
“Take
it easy, King. It’s not like we’d actually say that to her face,” Foley says.
I
don’t have an opportunity to reprimand him further because the GM, Jake
Masterson, and our head coach, Alex Waters, enter the room through the side
door. The GM crosses over to the woman, whose back is still turned to us, and
he gives her a smile that seems . . . overly warm. He leans in and squeezes her
shoulder as he says something with his mouth close to her ear.
“Maybe
she’s not his assistant. Maybe she’s his new girlfriend, ’cause that looks
pretty damn friendly to me.” Bishop jams a sausage link into his mouth.
“Maybe,”
I agree.
She
turns slightly, giving me a glimpse of her profile. Her cheeks are flushed
pink. I blink a couple of times, because she seems incredibly familiar.
“I
think I know her,” I mumble, more to myself than to Bishop.
“Not
as well as our GM does, by the look of things.”
It
hits me like a puck in the chest without pads on. I do know her. Queenie. My one-night stand who bailed the
next morning and left a Post-it and panties hanging from my doorknob. Destroyed panties. “Oh God.”
Did I sleep with the GM’s girlfriend? Memories come barreling into my brain, and
I want to sink into the floor. My behavior that night was highly atypical. Everything about that night was. I
chalked it up to the alcohol, the family drama, and the fact that she seemed to
be a very eager and willing participant in our adventures. Do not think about the things you did to her.
I’d be
lying if I said I haven’t thought about Queenie and our night together. I’ve
even considered driving by the bar where we met, but I don’t know if she’s
likely to show up there. And it’s not as if I can ask the bartender about her
without looking like a creep. Besides, if she wanted me to have her number, she
would’ve left it.
“Are
you okay? You look like you’re about to hurl,” Bishop asks.
I
cover my mouth with my palm, not because I’m going to be ill but to hide the
fact that it’s hanging open and I can’t seem to close it. Although my stomach
is starting to do those awful somersaults that will soon turn into full-on
nausea. The kind I used to get when I’d first hit the ice for a game.
This
is bad. Really bad. I’ve never had a one-night stand before. I’ve always been
in committed relationships, and I prefer to get to know my bed partners before
they actually get into bed with me. Teen pregnancy was pretty common where I
grew up in Tennessee, because there wasn’t much else to do apart from playing
sports or getting into trouble with drugs and alcohol—my brother, Gerald, went
the latter route. I obviously fit into the sports category. By the time I
became a teenager, my parents had finally learned their lesson. It was drilled
into me to never become that kind of statistic, or to turn my girlfriend into a
mom before she was ready to take on more than senior-level algebra.
Ironic
how my actual mother would’ve been one of those girls had my grandparents not
made the choices they had.
“King?”
Bishop nudges me. “You’re staring, man.”
Jake
whistles with his fingers, causing the woman beside him to cringe but then
quickly school her expression into an uncertain smile. “Who’s ready for a new
season?”
He’s
rewarded with a chorus of cheers from the players. Waters stands off to the
side, clapping enthusiastically. He generally runs all team meetings, but Jake
is a hands-on GM, so he always manages first meeting intros before he hands it
over to our coach.
Jake
waits for everyone to settle down and take their seats before he continues.
“Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to my personal assistant, Queenie.” He
throws his arm over her shoulder and pulls her into his side.
A hot
spike of anger rushes down my spine—it’s a foreign feeling. I’m usually very
level headed. But not right now. It’s obvious by the way Jake and Queenie
interact that there’s a relationship there. Is
she a cheater? Did she make me one? There’s a definite age gap. He’s young
for a GM, but he’s in his forties, and I’m pretty sure she’s in her mid
twenties.
“She
also happens to be my daughter, so don’t get any ideas, boys.” He somehow
manages to wink and glare at the same time.
And it
just went from bad to worse.
My
one-night stand isn’t my GM’s girlfriend; she’s his daughter.
