2. Hank

2

HANK

" D amn, are you okay?"

Denny stood shakily, dusting the seat of his jeans as he cast a curious gaze around the room. "Yup."

No, he was not okay.

I should have been thrilled that after weeks of plotting and strategizing, the rookie was here…in my hotel room. My golden opportunity to chat with the star forward one-on-one had literally fallen at my feet. But Houston, we had a problem.

The dude was drunk. There was a good chance he wouldn't remember anything I said tomorrow, and I might not get another convenient shot at reaching him on his own for a while.

Denny had been almost impossible to reach. His agent hadn't returned my phone calls, so I'd been forced to go into bounty-hunter mode and track him down. I thought that would be easy enough to do in Denver. RM Mill owned Condors season tickets, and arranging a post-game meeting seemed like a logical option.

My dad's CEO, Carl, had invited employees and their kids to a home game and meet-and-greet afterward last month. It was a cool event. Except Denny hadn't shown. Any direct inquiries about him through the Condors organization had been ignored or funneled back to his agent, which left me at square one…in Elmwood…doing a very poor imitation of the Mandalorian.

I'd stopped by the bar after another frustrating day at the mill where a shipment hadn't arrived, no one had reported damage to a new piece of machinery that had apparently been out of commission for a week, and my new secretary had dropped three important calls in succession. I was fucking exhausted. I had a lot to relearn about the business, and it wasn't leaving me much time to wrangle a hockey player into submission.

Poor choice of words, but you know what I mean.

Now he was here…swaying like a tree in hurricane winds. I couldn't decide if this was an amazing stroke of good luck or a sure sign that I should never have accepted my dad's offer.

"Here. Have some water."

I picked up one of the complimentary bottles on the dresser across from the king-sized bed, unscrewed the cap, and pushed it into Denny's hands. He nodded his thanks, downing half the contents in record time.

"Much better," Denny said.

"Good. My number is on the card I gave you. If I could get your number too, that would be?—"

"I think we stayed in this same room on prom night. It was supposed to be MK and me, but it ended up being a huge group. I slept on that sofa."

Okay…

"That must have been uncomfortable." I took my hat off and set it on the desk, perching on the edge with my arms crossed to settle in for a rambling chat with a drunk. Whatever. I just needed his phone number.

"Probably, but I can sleep anywhere." Denny cast his gaze around the standard hotel room as if it were incredibly interesting.

It was nice but basic—mahogany furniture, white duvet, and plain walls decorated with tasteful photographs of the surrounding forest. The real draw was the view of the virtual sea of evergreens from the balcony. It was pitch-dark now, and he was lost in thought anyway, perhaps reliving a long-ago wild party with his peers.

Fine by me. It gave me a chance to size him up.

Denny Mellon was maybe an inch taller than me with a wiry toned frame, wavy raven hair, and tawny hazel eyes. Even drunk, he emanated a startling intensity, as if he were constantly measuring danger. Like a spy or an assassin. I'd seen him play and knew he was as savage, quick, and cunning on the ice as the good folks of Elmwood had claimed at the bar.

At the moment, he just seemed kind of sweet and a little out of his depth. Oh…and off his rocker. Had he really thought I'd tracked him down in the parking lot to proposition him for sex?

That was just… Wow. Nope. Couldn't touch that one.

However, this might be the only opportunity I'd get to convince him to work with me.

"I'm a hockey fan, by the way. It's an honor to meet Colorado's hotshot rookie."

Denny grimaced. "Please don't call me that. It's embarrassing."

"But accurate. I've been to a couple of games this season. You're a rising star."

"I don't know about that."

"Don't be so modest. According to the bartender, you're the next Great One." I chuckled at his eye roll, slyly adding, "I hear there's a gold mine of talent in this little town. I'd love to talk to you about it some more. Are you free tomorrow?"

He sipped his water and squinted. "You want to talk about…Elmwood?"

"Something like that," I hedged. "Give me your num?—"

"Now is good. Trust me, I won't want to do this again. By this, I mean…talk. And I have questions too."

"Oh. Okay." I opened my arms. "You go first."

"Why'd you buy the mill?" he asked before continuing in a manic rush. "Are you a logger or a cowboy? Why is there a horse on your business card? Are you going for a western vibe, or is that a sales technique? If so…why? And what do you want with me? If it's a proposition, please proposition away and make it a good one. I've never been propositioned, and I'm all for it. Just keep the innuendo down. I'm new to the bi thing, and I don't know all the lingo. If you're straight, ignore me. I drank tequila. Remember that. Very tipsy."

Whoa.

I didn't know where the hell to begin. Usually, I'd take it from the top, but I was stuck on "the bi thing."

Denny Mellon was bi?

And coming on to me. Not well, but it was there.

Christ, was that why he'd followed me to my room?

I pinched the bridge of my nose and met Denny's gaze, noting the hint of vulnerability the proud tilt of his chin didn't quite mask.

"Uh…that's a lot to unpack there," I stalled. "Let's start with the mill. I didn't buy it from the Larsons, my father did. They say it was a great purchase and beneficial to both parties. This area is growing and frankly, the Larsons weren't equipped to handle a large-scale ecologically sustainable production. That's what the RM Mill does best. It's on our website, so it must be true."

He didn't crack a smile. "You bought the Hamilton place."

"My father did. He intended to live here part time, but he's not able to now. I can see why he liked the property, though. It's a nice bit of land. I'm just staying at the inn till the remodel is complete."

"Why does a logger need a cowboy hat? I don't get it, but I like cowboy hats."

"Good to know. I'm not a logger or a cowboy. I'm just helping out my dad while he's recuperating." I pointed at my wavy mop. "I was having a bad hair day, so I threw it on at the last second."

He flopped onto the bench at the foot of the bed. "You're not a cowboy? Bummer. Do you have horses?"

I nodded. "One of my own, anyway. I'm an equine assisted therapist."

"Oh! How do horses and therapy mix? Are you a PT? That's almost as cool as being a cowboy. Not quite, but almost." Denny flashed a beguiling, cocky smile that went straight to my dick.

Damn, he had to go.

"I do some physical therapy, yes…and developmental therapy. A horse's gait mimics the normal movement of a human pelvis while walking. We can measure sensory stimulation and integrate movement in therapy sessions. That's useful for pelvic injuries. And spending time with a horse is great for promoting physical and emotional growth for anyone who suffers from severe anxiety, cerebral palsy, autism, dementia, or depression."

He considered me for a long moment. "Did my therapist call you? Or my coach? I went to my session last week and I thought it went okay, but it's always quiet 'cause I'm quiet. I'm working on that, but it's not easy and?—"

"No." I raised my right hand like a stop sign. "I have nothing to do with your therapist. I didn't know you had one. And please take this the right way, but you're not quiet at all. I've barely been able to get a word in."

Denny shot a lopsided grin my way. "That never happens. Must be?—"

"Tequila," I finished. "Got it."

"Yeah, I rarely drink, but the signs are easy to read. First I talk, then I slur, and eventually, I pash out."

Fan-fucking-tabulous.

"We can do this another time. Can I get your number?"

"No, no." Denny waved his arms and winked—an honest-to-God, sexy, sassy, teasing wink. "Proposition me first. Make it good, please."

The dude was using my lines on me. Lines I would have used if he wasn't high as a kite. And if he wasn't a potential client.

Fuck. All right.

"We'd like to hire you as a spokesperson."

He pointed at his chest incredulously. And yeah, I had to bite back a laugh at his comical WTF expression. "A spokespershon?"

"To put it plainly, we could use some positive publicity. We're new in town, and when a new company takes over a century-old family-owned business, there's bound to be a measure of mistrust. We've participated in a few community outreach programs and agreed to sponsor Wood Hollow's football team, but we're having hiring issues."

" Uh… "

"Recruiting employees from other parts of the state is an option," I continued, warming up to my spiel. This could be a practice run for our next meeting. "Not a great one, though. Wood Hollow is the poorest of the four towns in the Four Forest area. They need us, we need them, but there's a lot of animosity—surly employees, graffiti. I won't go into all that, but there's a problem that needs fixing…fast. We need to build decades' worth of goodwill within weeks if we're going to meet the demands of the builder, and the best way to do that is through marketing. We want to hire a local celebrity as a spokesman of sorts, and you'd be perfect."

"Me?"

"Yes, it wouldn't take much of your time, and we could film at the rink or—" I stopped midsentence, narrowing my gaze. "You just turned gray. Are you going to be sick?"

"No, I'm fine. But I'm not the guy you want. Jake Milligan has been in the league longer. Ask him. Or ask Vinnie Kiminski, Riley Thoreau, Court Henderson, Smitty Paluchek. They're all better options."

"They're not you. We want a rookie, and the fact that you're originally from Colorado like us is a nice selling point."

Denny frowned so hard his eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead. "Wait. That's your proposition?"

"It's actually more of an offer than a propo?—"

"Worst propzishun ever. Complete fail." He jumped to his feet. "I wanted sex and a cowboy. Not a job offer. Thanks for nothin'."

I was stunned speechless for a moment, but I sprang into action when he moved to the door.

"Hold up." I grabbed his elbow, unthinking. "I don't even know you. Did you really think this was about sex?"

"Yes. Sex, sex, sex! That's what makes propzishuns interesting," Denny insisted indignantly.

"This is—you're joking, right?" I sputtered.

"I'm not sayin' I woulda been into it, but it makes for a mush better story, ya know? Mush mush better."

Uh…I had nothing.

"I hate to disappoint you, but I'm not in the habit of propositioning men for sex."

He cocked his head curiously. "'Cause you're shtraight?"

"No, because I'm not a creep," I retorted, wondering why I was sparring with a drunk.

"Are you straight? Or gay or bi or somefin else?"

"That's none of your business," I snapped.

Denny huffed in mock dismay. " You propositioned me, remember? I should know what I'm getting into."

I was officially unsure where I'd gone wrong.

I should have introduced myself in the bar pre-tequila. That was on me. I hadn't been able to figure out how to get him alone at first, but I hadn't been overly concerned 'cause I'd learned more about Denny Mellon than I'd bargained on from the bartender and the locals over a couple of beers.

They'd said Denny was intense, smart, competitive, and that he had an instinct for hockey that couldn't be taught.

It was nothing I hadn't heard from rabid fans and sports analysts who were cautiously optimistic that the rookie was the one to watch. He was special. The media was already swarming and big endorsements would surely follow. We wouldn't be able to afford him this time next year.

The locals had also said he was painfully quiet, but this guy hadn't shut up since I'd tracked him down in the parking lot and now, I had to admit, Denny Mellon was throwing me off my game. He shouldn't be here, and we definitely shouldn't be talking about indecent proposals.

Sure, he was sexy as hell, but this was not a one-night stand in the making, damn it. This was business.

I scowled. "How drunk are you?"

"Very." Denny's eyes twinkled merrily as he reclaimed his water, gulping the rest till the screech and crinkle of plastic echoed off the walls. He smashed the bottle in one hand and tossed it into the trash before flopping onto the sofa. "I told you…tequila. It hits funny, you know. One minute, you're fine and the next, you're hot and horny. Tired, too. Or maybe just hot. I'm kinda hot. Are you hot?"

"No, I'm fine, and I—what are you doing?"

Denny jumped up again, unzipping his leather jacket as he strode to the sliding glass door.

"Need fresh air," he announced, pulling the curtain aside and unlatching the lock.

I grabbed another water bottle and hurried after him to the balcony. "Are you going to be sick?"

"No, I never felt better. 'Cept my skin is like an oven." Denny yanked his tee over his head in a whoosh, stuffed the fabric into his back pocket, and thrust an arm toward me. "Feel it. Seriously."

I set my hand on his forearm and yes, he was warm to the touch. He also happened to have the body of a god. No kidding.

Every dip and valley from his pecs to his torso and abs was defined as if he'd been sculpted by a master. He was all lean muscle, not an ounce of extra fat anywhere. I was no stranger to exercise and I liked to think I was in decent shape, but I couldn't begin to compare to an athletic specimen like Denny.

My gaze stalled on his tapered waist and the hint of a happy trail under his exposed belly button. Keep it together, Cunningham.

I swallowed hard, thrusting the water at him with more force than necessary. "Drink this."

Denny tipped his chin in thanks and guzzled the whole thing, dragging his wrist across his full lips before letting out a monster belch. "Did ya hear that?"

"Yes, I heard that. Please don't smash the plastic. It's—" Crunch. I snatched the empty bottle from him with an exasperated growl. "Okay, this was a mistake. You need to go home."

"You're right, but MK has my ride."

"You're in no shape to drive anyway. Do you have Uber here?"

Denny giggled. Yeah, a real live giggle. "In Elmwood? No, sir. We do not. We have a taxi…one taxi. I don't know who's driving tonight. Sometimes it's Darren. He's nice. Sometimes it's Sal. He's a ashwipe, but 's okay. I'm gonna walk anyway."

No, no, no.

I wasn't sure why or how he'd become my problem, but I couldn't in good conscience let Denny Mellon drunkenly stumble home in the pitch-dark on a country road leading to a sleepy town.

"Do you live nearby?"

He furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "I live in Denver."

"I meant here in Elmwood."

"Oh, yeah. I live here too. I have a house."

"Great. Where is it, Denny? Concentrate."

He nodded hard enough to give himself whiplash. "First I gotta walk up the hill into town and go to Main Street and three more blocks to Spruce and one more block to?—"

"I'll drive you," I intercepted. "C'mon."

"No, no. I wanna walk. Fresh air feels good." Denny's face contorted as he stretched his arms over his head and yawned. "I'm just tired. Gimme a second to cool off. Do you have more water? I gotta dilute the tequila."

"You can't sober up here. That might take hours, and?—"

"You're right. I should rest first. I'll take a nap on the sofa."

"No."

He widened his eyes as if insulted by my lack of hospitality. "Okay, I'll stay outside."

"It's freezing, Denny. It might even snow tonight."

"Really? Good 'cause I'm hot." He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly.

"Whoa! You can't undress here," I whisper-hissed. "This is public property, for fuck's sake."

He wrinkled his nose and pointed at the trees. "No one cares. Only owls, and 'sides, you're not gonna propzishun me anyway. I guess I'll keep my boxers on. 'S like going swimming…but no pool. Totally decent. I've never done any indecent exposures. Imma genzleman. You're the one who's naughty. You got the propzishuns, not me."

"This is the slurring part." I was getting more alarmed by the second.

Denny snickered. "Told ya…so 'barrassing. Grams recorded me one night to warn me I had a blabbermouth. She said, ‘You gotta wash it, Den. If you can't hold your liquor, best put your glass down.' I don't even know what that means."

"I think it means you should know when to stop drinking."

"Oh…thas prolly it. Have you met Grams?"

"No, I have not met your grandmother," I deadpanned.

"You gotta meet her. She's funny, but unin—uninhabited? No, thas not it. Unin…the thing where you're not tryina be funny and that makes it funnier."

He wrinkled his nose as he kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his jeans.

"Unintentional," I offered weakly.

Sweet Jesus. Even his quads were a thing of beauty.

"That's it! She calls people on their shit and gets away with it. Every time." Denny slipped his thumbs under the elastic of his boxer briefs.

"No, Denny."

"'S true. Grams dresses as the Grim Reaper at Halloween and sits in the town square smoking cigarettes and telling anyone who bugs her to watch the fuck out or they're next."

"That's kind of…mean."

He chortled merrily. "Yeah, she's terrible, but like…she's awesome too."

"I'm sure she is," I agreed, clearing my throat noisily. "Stop doing what you're doing."

Denny froze. "What'd I do?"

"Your hands. Just…put 'em up."

Wrong thing to say. His eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Oh, now this is a good propzishun. You should do a citizen arrest." He raised his arms and dropped them with a frown. "No, don't do that. I can't go to jail. My coach would be pissed. I think I'm gonna have a headache tomorrow and I have to get on a plane. That's gonna suck. Do you have aspirin? Do you have a bed?"

Great.

"I have Advil. Let's go inside." I pushed him toward the open door, pausing to gather his clothes and shoes. "Put these on and— holy shit ."

He was naked.

Naked.

There was a naked hockey player standing in the middle of my hotel room, hands on his hips, his flaccid thick penis resting proudly between his sculpted thighs.

I licked my lips and swiped at the corner of my mouth in case I was drooling. Hey, I was only human and this man was a work of art. I wanted to paint him, touch him, fuck him hard and put him away wet and ready for round two, round three.

But he wasn't working with a full deck, and I wasn't a lowlife asshole. I had to deal with this situation maturely and reasonably.

Christ, this evening had utterly and officially spiraled out of control. I wasn't sure how we'd devolved to this point. It was…shocking, puzzling, absurd.

Denny set his hands on his hips and winked. "You're staring at my dick. I don't blame you. It's big, huh?"

"Denny…"

"Watch this. I can make it bigger." He swayed back and forth, then gripped his pole at the base and stroked.

"Denny…no. Stop. You need aspirin, right?"

"Aspirin?"

"Yes," I choked out. "I'll get that. Just…please, put your clothes on so I can take you home."

"'Kay." He flashed a sleepy smile and scratched his gorgeous balls.

Yeah, I looked. I couldn't help it. He was all out there—big and beautiful, not a hint of shame.

"All right. I'll…" I gestured to the bathroom. "Gimme two seconds."

"Thanks, cowboy."

My mind spun with a new game plan as I rummaged through my toiletries. I shouldn't try to take him home myself. It would be smarter to call one of his friends for help. I'm sure he'd agree…when he was sober.

So it took me closer to fifteen seconds than two to return with ibuprofen. Not enough time for anything catastrophic to occur, right?

Wrong.

Denny Mellon had passed out.

Buck-ass naked.

On my bed.

Fuck.

Me.

I set the Advil on the nightstand and tapped his arm. "Denny, wake up."

Nothing.

I tried again with a bit more force, nudging his shoulder and chest.

He smacked his lips together and rolled to side. " Nhgn ."

"Denny!"

The little fucker was out cold.

Shit.

I hunted in the pockets of his jeans for his cell, but of course, it was locked. I shoved the screen in front of his face, hoping facial ID would work as a password. If I could get to his contacts, one of his friends could bail me out and take over. I wasn't sure I could explain how this happened without sounding desperate, conniving, and possibly depraved, but I'd work that out later.

Unfortunately, Denny chose that moment to slide his arm under the pillow and curl into a ball like a koala. Snoring commenced shortly after. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Now what?

Sure, I was strong, but I couldn't physically move a massive professional athlete by myself.

This was what I got for agreeing to this fuckery.

You need someone in Vermont, Dad? No problem.

You need water, rookie hotshot hockey star? No problem. I'll grab you a bottle, and maybe you'll agree to do me a solid for my dad's sake.

I paced the perimeter of the bed, mulling over my predicament, and came up blank. I supposed I could go down to the bar and ask Bill for assistance. But we'd left separately over an hour ago and under the current circumstances—you know, naked drunkenness and all—that was probably just enough time to do some damage to our reputations. Not something I was willing to risk. I was new in town, and this guy was their pride and joy.

So I made an executive decision to do—wait for it…nothing. I figured it was in both of our best interests to ride out the tequila and leave this till morning.

I manhandled the duvet from underneath Denny, chanting his name in a last-ditch effort to jostle him awake. No luck. I gave up and tucked the cover over him, then grabbed one of the pillows from the other side of the bed and tossed it at the sofa.

Yeah, it was going to be a long night.

I showered, changed into sweats and an old tee, and made a little nest on the glorified love seat, watching reruns of The Office before tuning into ESPN. Basketball news gave way to hockey highlights, followed by pre-playoff speculation about who had a shot at the Stanley Cup this year.

"Denver," one analyst said.

"Absolutely. They're my pick too. Minorsk and Trinsky on offense, Jelen on D, and Petrov in goal…yeah, I can see it," his cohost agreed. "And they have Mellon."

"The rookie is phenomenal. He's persistent, fearless, inventive, and best of all, he's passionate. It's fun to watch him. The Condors drafted wisely. I've got a good feeling this kid is going to make his mark in the league in a big way."

"No doubt about it. Next up, we have preseason baseball news and…"

I glanced over at the snoozing rookie phenom across the room. This was the guy they were talking about…making his mark by drooling in my bed.

Wow .

I turned the television and lights off, and willed myself to sleep.

Four hours later, I awoke to a loud, rattling noise as if someone were trying to open a door. I sat up with a start and swung my legs around, blinking at the stream of illumination from the bathroom slicing across the carpet like a laser beam.

I reached for my cell to check the time—2:55 a.m.—and noticed a missed message from Dad.

How is it going?

A moment later, the telltale sound of retching echoed through the room.

I dropped my phone on the sofa and scrubbed my hand over my face.

"Denny?" I leaned against the doorjamb, out of his line of sight for privacy, wincing as he heaved.

I retrieved my last water bottle from the room and slipped into the bathroom.

Damn, he was a hot mess. Sweat glistened along his spine and curled his hair at the nape where his neck was bent, hovering over the toilet. No part of this was cute—even if he was a ridiculously sexy pro hockey player. I didn't want anything to do with this train wreck. Walk away, Hank. You're good at that.

I couldn't, though.

And the crazy thing was that I probably should have been angry. He was upchucking, naked, in my hotel bathroom, for fuck's sake. But I wasn't mad. I just wanted to fix this. Fix him.

"Ungh. Nnn, g'way," Denny whined, cradling his head.

I left the water on the counter and ran cold water on a washcloth before handing it over. He grunted and yes…proceeded to get sick again. I held his hair like we were best friends and when he sat on his heels, I pressed the cool cloth to his sweaty forehead.

"Can you stand up?"

Denny mumbled something unintelligible as he slowly straightened and took the washcloth. He wiped his mouth, meeting my gaze in the mirror with his eyes half-closed. "Who are you?"

"Hank."

"Oh. Hi, Hank."

"Hi, Denny. How do you feel?"

He gave a humorless snort. "Bad. Do I know you?"

"We're new friends." I tugged his wrist and guided him into the room. "Why don't you go back to bed?"

"Mm…'kay. Is this your house?"

"Sort of," I replied, pushing him onto the mattress. "Just…get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning."

Denny rolled to his side, drew his knees to his chest, and shivered. "Hope so."

I pulled the duvet over his shoulders. "Me too, big guy. Me too."