Killian (On the Line #1) - Brenda Rothert Page 0,13

Keri said. “But you missed the introductions.”

“How was the locker room?” Nicole asked. “Did you get to see any of the guys naked?”

“Of course not. I’m not a voyeur. I just talked to them for a bit.”

As we waited for the game to start I went through my mental to-do list, sure I’d forgotten something. Relocating to Fenway, Indiana from New York City had me feeling out of the loop. I could no longer take part in the day-to-day operational meetings of Stahl Investments, my real estate company, and I hoped I hadn’t missed anything.

“Did the final contracts on the North Point deal get notarized and sent off?” I asked Nicole.

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “You’ll need to ask Barb.”

Nicole had only been my assistant for a few months, and we still hadn’t fallen into a groove. I still missed my first assistant, Andrea. But she’d been overqualified for the job and I’d hired her to close deals for Stahl Investments instead. She was rocking the new job. But Nicole often acted as if she was my paid friend instead of my paid assistant. She was the daughter of close family friends and I was beginning to have second thoughts about hiring her.

I texted Barb about the contracts.

“God, he’s hot,” Nicole said softly as she stared out at the ice.

I followed her gaze to Killian, who was hovering and waiting for the puck drop. When the ref let it fall, Killian lunged forward and hooked his stick around it, sliding it to Liam.

Though I’d been watching hockey games my whole life, this was the most exciting one I’d ever seen. This was my team. For me, the action was faster and the crowd was louder. Killian was on fire, his line executing every play just right. When Bennett slapped the puck into the net and the deep horn sounded to signify a goal, I jumped up from my seat, throwing my arms in the air.

The new second line wasn’t bad. Not as good as the first line, but better than what we’d had a few weeks before. I was on the edge of my seat, following every play, and it wasn’t just knowing Killian was out there that got me all excited.

“Where’s the puck?” Nicole asked for the third time since the game had started.

“Right by the net,” I said. “Ashford’s trying to get it.”

She looked down at her nails, not interested in the game.

“I need to find a good manicure place here,” she said.

I ignored her, too engrossed in the game to think about her nails.

Our goaltender was named David Shuck, but everyone called him Shuck. And I said a silent prayer that Shuck would block the puck as the clock counted down its final seconds. We were up 3–2 and I didn’t think my heart could take overtime.

“Come on, Shuck.” I pressed my knuckles to my lips nervously. “Block. Oh, crap . . . no.”

I cringed. The puck had sailed toward the net and I assumed the worst. But when it fell from Shuck’s glove, I jumped up from my chair.

“He got it! We won!”

The guys were all on the ice, sticks in the air. My eyes scanned the game sweaters, landing on the one that said Bosch. His wide, happy grin reached straight to my heart.

“That was fun,” Keri said. “I wouldn’t mind watching a game from closer to the ice sometime, just to see the difference.”

“Sure, we can do that,” I said, my attention still focused on Killian.

He looked up at the box and even though I couldn’t be sure, I felt like he was looking at me. He raised his stick back up in the air and pointed it at the owner’s box. My box.

My attempt at a cool smile came out as a giddy grin. This guy was sex on skates, and he wasn’t the least bit intimidated by me. It was a powerful combination. I needed to keep my guard up and remember the big picture.

Giving in to my attraction to Killian would probably lead to a night of incredible sex, but then what? The fallout would be damaging to both of us, personally and professionally. As the team’s owner, it was my job to set a high standard. I couldn’t do that by screwing a player, no matter how good he made me feel.

Killian

That night the locker room wasn’t just full of guys who were happy, it was full of guys who were hopeful. And, damn, that felt good. We were