Talk Hockey to Me (Bears Hockey #3) - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,4
Images swirl through my mind, images of Hunter…deep-set hazel eyes, brown hair with coppery glints, square jaw…his lean, muscled body and thick thighs…his big smile as he laughed with me. When I first met him, that smile had been non-existent, but gradually it had become more frequent and he’d become more at ease. More fun. Then images from those days in Cancun after the Frozen Four championship our last year in college flood into my head…sun, surf, lots of tequila…also lots of bare skin and horny hormones.
I give my head a sharp shake. “Wow. Hunter. What a surprise.”
We haven’t talked in nearly four years.
“I know.” I picture him shoving his hand into the thick curls that used to aggravate him. “Uh, how have you been?”
My eyebrows lift. “I’ve been great, thanks. And you?”
“Eh. Doing okay. I guess you heard we’re out of the playoffs.”
“I did hear that, yes.” My tone is dry. I didn’t “hear it”; it’s my job to know what’s going on in the NHL. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. It was disappointing.” He pauses. “Did you also hear about Vern?”
I frown. “Vern?” Then it clicks. “Vern Tayhan?” Hunter’s agent. “Oh my God, yes. How is he doing?”
“He’s doing okay. He had to have major surgery. There were some complications…it’s been a rough ride for him.”
I hear the strain in his voice.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too. It sucks.”
Why is he calling to tell me this? Ohhhh…I jerk back, my eyes wide.
“I need a new agent,” Hunter says, confirming my hunch. “I’m a UFA at the end of June.”
I nod. I haven’t talked to Hunter for years, but I’ve followed his career.
It’s my job.
He’s followed mine, too. At least, superficially. He apparently knows I’m working as an agent now.
“Yeah,” I say slowly.
My mind is racing, and it should be thinking of numbers—Hunter’s stats, dollars, cap space, and my potential commission. But instead I’m thinking about Cancun and Hunter’s mouth and soft laughter beneath moonlight and rustling palm trees…
Oh God. Heat washes down through me and I wave a hand in front of my burning face.
“I held off for as long as I could,” Hunter continues. “We kept hoping he’d make a quick recovery and be back to work but looks like he’s not going to be able to work for a long time. I’m hoping you can take me on as a client.”
Me?
I might as well be on the floor comatose for how well I’m dealing with this unexpected call. One thing I’ve learned in this business, though, is not to show any weakness or lack of confidence, no matter what I’m feeling inside. On the outside, I am as cool as the ice my clients skate on. Usually, I am confident. Right now, I’m a shamble of uncertainty, self-doubt, and, frankly, disbelief. My hockey-ice cool is melting rapidly.
Me?
“I’m not getting a good vibe,” Hunter says dryly. “You don’t seem to be jumping at the chance.”
“Jesus.” I blow out a breath. “I’m surprised, Hunter.”
“Yeah, I get it. How about I take you out for lunch tomorrow and we can talk about it?”
My lips twitch. Usually, I’m the one wining and dining prospective clients.
Then my stomach clutches. Lunch with Hunter? God.
I press a hand to my forehead. Both are sweaty.
“Okay,” I say, attempting a casual tone. “We can do that.”
“Great. What’s convenient for you? I’m in New Jersey.”
I swallow. “How about we meet somewhere in Soho?”
“Sure.”
I give him the name of a casual place just off Seventh Avenue. “I don’t think we’ll need a reservation.”
“Is one o’clock okay?” he asks.
“Perfect.”
“Great. Thanks, Kate. I really appreciate it.”
I tilt my head back and make a face. I still don’t know what to say. “Well. See you tomorrow.”
I end the call and stare across the room. Holy shit. What just happened?
I jump out of my chair and walk around the room. My apartment is slightly bigger than a postcard. My office is in the living room. The kitchen is also basically in the living room. I have a small island from IKEA that acts to separate that space and give a bit more storage and counter space, but this one room is definitely multi-purpose. I feel lucky to have an actual bedroom.
I pause at one of the windows that looks down onto the street. Trees outside soften the view of the brick buildings opposite me. Right now, I’m not really seeing them. I’m…flummoxed.
I press my hands to my still-hot cheeks.
Hunter Morrissette.
I turn and shuffle over to my couch. I sink down onto it and lean back.