15. The Panty Melter

FIFTEEN

THE PANTY MELTER

KRIS

A fter my first practice with the team, I shower and change, talking with some guys in the locker room. Practice went better than I could have hoped for, setting my mind at ease for the game on Friday. I blended well with the team so quickly, and considering the Glaciers have had a crappy few games, Coach Nicholson wants to switch things up. He’s trying me out on the first line, testing me to see what I can do.

The pressure is on. I’ll work my ass off to prove I belong there and stay there.

It helps to know I have the most beautiful woman in the world waiting for me when I get home. We’re going to watch a movie and chill later. I doubt Bailey is ready for how I like to chill, though, which involves her naked and me doing what I want to her on the couch.She can watch whatever romantic feel good flick she wants, as long as I get to watch her come.

“Good practice today. I think our line is even stronger now with you in it,” Flynn says. He’s one of the best left wingers I know. We walk out of the locker room together and down the hall, where his wife and a kid are waiting for him at the arena exit. I know they have an older daughter, should be a teenager by now. I’m surprised at the younger child standing by his wife’s side.

“Thanks. Feels good to be here. You and your wife have another?” I ask.

“We adopted. Steph wanted more kids, but we had a hard time conceiving our first daughter, having to use IVF. We didn’t want to go through that again. Hey honey, look who it is.”

“Hi, Kris. Too bad you didn’t come back to ski with us over the weekend,” Stephanie says, patting the little dark-haired girl on her head until Flynn leans down and lifts her up on his hip.

“Another time, maybe,” I say and make a goofy grin at the child. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“This is Marley, my little hotshot.” Flynn boasts. Her dimples deepen at his praise. “Don’t let her good looks fool you. She’s a tough girl. Gonna play hockey when you get older, aren’t you, baby?”

“Yeah,” she cheers, her chubby little fist pumping the air.

“You get her started on hockey skates or toe picks?” I jab at him.

He scoffs. “There’s no room for figure skates in our world. It’s hockey all the way, right?”

“Yeah, Dad. I’m going for the Olympics.” What a cutie.

“Nice. Can’t wait to watch you some day, kid. Which reminds me, Flynn. In Denver, I partnered with Eli Lewis on the start of his foundation. Do you know him?”

“Yeah, we actually came up through college hockey together back east.”

“We started up the Wishes Granted Hockey Program, a foundation making sure underserved kids get the equipment and lessons to get involved in hockey. Is there anything like that around here?”

“Not that I know of. Although I’ve heard about what he’s doing and it sounds great. Why don’t you start it up here? You know we all like to do our part, use our sports talents to do some good in the world.”

“Great. I’ll phone him up and see how we can get it going. We can have a big kickoff event here and invite some of our friends from around the league?—”

“That’s perfect.” A woman’s voice comes up behind us, interrupting. It’s Kerry, the team PR manager. I brace myself for whatever she’s going to test me with this time. “And just what this team needs. It could do wonders to boost your image as well, Kringer.”

“I think my image is fine, a perfect ten, in fact.” I cockily sneer. Flynn laughs, and Stephanie shakes her head. Maybe it’s time I retire that joke and put my ego in check.

“Considering you’re known as the man who broke America’s Sweetheart’s heart, it wouldn’t hurt for you to show the public you actually have a heart.” My scowling mug should tell her exactly how I feel about bringing up my past with Tia. “Your foundation’s opening event could be just the ticket.”

“Look, I don’t do it for the publicity. I do it to help get kids into the sport, to support them and hope they find a passion for it.”

She buries her nose in her phone, her fingers tapping feverishly. Then she holds it up to me, showing a photo on the screen. It’s of me and Bailey kissing in the middle of the ice rink at the lodge. We both appear so happy together, and she’s radiant. I wouldn’t mind a copy. But it pisses me the hell of that this has come into Kerry’s possession. Am I being followed? Is this L.A. allover again?

“Flynn, Steph, will you excuse us, please?” I can barely contain myself, my pulse racing as they nod and leave.

“How did you get that, Kerry?” I grit through my teeth with a warning in my eyes.

“A random fan posted it on our team's social media page, calling you the heartbreaker again. It caused a flurry of comments, including one woman dubbing you with a new name. The Panty Melter.”

I snort and hold in an evil grin.

“Is this funny to you? It isn’t for me. Unfortunately, it also caused a surge in ticket sales. Good, on one hand, while on the other, I’ve worked damn hard to build sales on the back of our good family name. Don’t worry, though, I took the photo down. What I want to know is, what part of our previous conversation you didn’t understand?”

“It’s not what you think. Bailey isn’t just some puck bunny I’m screwing. She means more to me than that. We’re actually into each other and I think it could last.”

She harrumphs and squints at me, one hand on her hip, menacing, like a total girl-bully at best. “You better be telling the truth. I have my eyes on you. I don’t like players like you coming in here destroying everything my father built.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I have one job to do. I’m here to play and help this team make a run at the cup. But I can’t help it if people see me on an innocent date out in public. What am I supposed to do, become a hermit with my new girlfriend and go nowhere?”

“I don’t know, but figure it out. Meanwhile, make this foundation happen. Tell me when you want to do the opening event, and I’ll make sure we have more than adequate coverage by the press. This would go a long way toward showing the team you can be a thriving part of our organization. I’ll be in touch soon.”

She huffs away and someone comes up behind me.

“Damn, why can’t she touch me instead? You think I can get in on this foundation, too?” Sean Springer, our goalie, asks, walking up in time to ogle the sway of her hips as she stomps away.

“I was counting on it. We’ll need a couple of goalies on hand. There are always kids who love to be in the net. But listen, what the hell is Kerry’s problem? Does she hate all men or just me?”

“You do know she’s the owner’s daughter from a previous marriage, right? After her own marriage failed, she threw herself into her work here. Mr. Frasier is getting pretty old, and his younger wife and daughter only care about the money. Kerry will inherit the team or takeover when he retires. So she cares a little too much, and a little too controlling.”

All of this is news I wish my agent had mentioned. I smack my forehead. “Team owner’s daughter? Great. She’ll be bullying all of us then.”

“And she’ll look sexy as hell doing it, too.” Sean wiggles his brows.

“You got a thing for her? You know owner’s daughters are off-limits, right?”

“That assumes I can even catch her attention. What can I say? I’ve always gone for women I shouldn’t have, especially those with domineering qualities.” He winks.

“You must love to live dangerously. Good luck with that.” I rush out of the building. The drive home through traffic gives time for the entire situation to build anxiety in my system. So much so, I’m tempted to call Brad and beg him to find a new trade for me. Although I’m not ready to leave Bailey behind.

My past with Tia will haunt me forever. It’s always going to follow me wherever I go, and Bailey is caught up in it, too. I can see it now, our future where photos of us crop up everywhere, the heartbreaker name always in the comments from people who just can’t let it go. But what can we do about it? It is part of being a hockey player, and this is my chosen profession.

When I pull into the parking garage of our building, I take the spot next to her red SUV, and find she’s there in her driver’s seat, sinking her teeth into something she’s holding in her hands. When she spots me, whatever it is spills down her shirt.

I run around to her passenger side and get in. The car smells of yummy tacos. “Hey, Irish. I see you’re making yourself at home in your car again. What are those?” Her mouth is too full to answer.

I read the bag. “Tacoholics? Cool name. I’m starving. Smells good. Got one for me? Practice took a lot out of me today.”

My mouth waters. I reach for the bag but she grabs it away, a wild look in her eyes like she’d roar at me if I dared join her feast.

“No. I’m mad at you. There was a picture that surfaced of us at the ice rink…”

Oh shit. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in. I didn’t think about the photo getting out beyond the team social media page. Of course Bailey would have seen it, being in the occupation of entertainment news.

“Imagine me at work, suddenly getting a barrage of emails and texts and calls. Some from my family wondering if I’m serious about you and inviting us to dinner for a formal sit-down meeting. You know I’m thrilled about that.” Her sarcasm reappears.

“Irish, it’s not a big deal.”

“To you maybe. Other messages were from fans cheering us on. And plenty more from a select population of women who I learned call themselves puck bunnies, threatening me to keep my hands off of you. In their comments, they sure loved to body shame me for not being a size zero. Not to mention the jokes going around the office about me falling for the newest hockey player. So excuse me if I hideaway and binge on the Tacoholics Wednesday four-taco special.”

I grind my teeth hearing she had to go through that.

She takes a huge bite of a crunchy taco with a tear at the corner of her eye, not the slightest bit worried about the crumbs tumbling down her shirt this time. My stomach growls.

“The team PR director showed me the photo. They took it down from the page, but with people sharing it, it’s out there now. There’s nothing we can do about it.” Tia had loved the media attention, while I was always indifferent. Totally opposite, Bailey values her privacy. “There are going to be things like this we cannot control. I’m a well-known hockey player. People get star struck, and think they may take photos of me, which extends to anyone I’m with. You date me, deal with it.”

“Here, I’m stuffed after two. You can have the others, because apparently my weight is too much,” she says in a quiet, sad tone and sniffles. Since we decided Sunday to keep seeing each other, I’ve enjoyed hearing a happier Bailey’s voice. Now we’re back to this.

“Don’t you dare change a thing? I am happy to enjoy your body very much. Looking at it, caressing every inch, and…oh yeah. Fucking it. But beyond that, I like getting to know your caring, crazy heart and your passionate soul. And frankly, my opinion is the only one that matters. So don’t listen to those other bitches. Okay?”

With a weak smile, she shifts in her seat to face me.

“I wasn’t prepared for all this attention, that’s all. There was one call, though, from an old friend of mine who I worked with in L.A., Gianna Perez. She asked to interview us. I didn’t return her call yet because I wanted to ask you about it. The absolute worst part of today though, was when I talked to a lawyer who said I exceeded the statute of limitations, which is two years for a wrongful termination lawsuit. So I can’t even sue my editor now.”

I avoid all of that and devour half of a taco in one bite and moan. “Fuck me. This is better than sex. Almost.” I wink at her, trying to bring levity to the situation. After I finish the first in another huge bite, I reach in for the next, ignoring the crumbs down my black t-shirt. I moan through the second one, too.

“They must use extra crumbly shells. Worth it. Excellent. Wednesday Tacoholic special. Noted. Can we go get more now? I’ll bet you know all the good places to eat in Portland together. I’m the luckiest S.O.B. to have a woman like you as my personal tour guide, since I have a whole new city of food to navigate.”

“You can find all of my articles archived online if you pay for a subscription to the Post. Read them and learn all you want about Portland. Because I don’t think I’m ever leaving my apartment again. Or this car.”

“Come on, Irish. So you got a little taste of what it’s like to live in a fishbowl as a celebrity? It doesn’t always feel good to be the object of media scrutiny, does it? I’m glad you got to live in my shoes for once. But you can’t hide away. I refuse to let you. I had to learn to continue to live my life on my terms and not cower away. Now, come on. Let’s go to my place and talk properly about things.”

“Nope. Staying right here in the comfort of my car.” She pushes the button and her seat lowers.

I run a hand across the dust-free dashboard in front of me. “Seriously, what is it with you and this car? You hide away here drinking and eating. I see your laptop in the back seat. You work here, too?”

“Don’t dis my car. Its comfortable. It was my first major purchase a couple of years ago and I take great pride in it. I mean, these seats alone were worth it. They both heat or cool down depending on the weather, and when you lean them back they flatten out, perfect for naps at lunchtime, and—whatever.” Her sulking right now is adorable.

I’ll play her game, but she better not have any ideas about not seeing me anymore because of one photo. It won’t be the last, the longer we’re together, I’m sure of that.

“I have to check this out based on that review.” I find the button and ease the seat back. Once flat, I shift my hips, elongating my legs, and I close my eyes with my fingers laced behind my head. “Ah. Yeah. I see what you mean. Great place for a nap and whatever.”

It gets too quiet. I open my eyes to see her staring at my bicep where my sleeve has bunched up above the ink.

“Nice tattoo. I noticed it at the cabin this weekend. It’s a symbol for a heartbreaker, right?” Her voice registers soft, barely above a whisper.

“I got it because of you. After everything that happened, I was upset for some time, and it didn’t help that everywhere I went people called me heartbreaker. But then I finally said, fuck it, and leaned into it. If people wanted to call me a heartbreaker, then I’d live up to the name. Glad you finally get to admire it.”

“And now? Are you living up to the name?”

I reach out and press the hair back out of her eyes. “Nope. Guess you’ll have to give me a new nickname. I don’t plan on needing heartbreaker again.”

“If only we could go back and change the past, erase all my articles, erase your tattoo, and start allover. Avoid this entire mess altogether.” Her eyes, vulnerable and tender, lock with mine. “What if we had met in L.A. before any of this ridiculousness? Before you met Tia. Would we have felt attracted to each other? Started something up together?”

I play with her ponytail through my fingers, pausing to think. “We only have now, Irish. And I wouldn’t change a thing. I like that we’ve met at this particular time and space.”

“You do?” Her hand brushes some crumbs off of me, the gentle caresses on my lower torso giving my cock wild ideas about her with me in this car. She must notice the sizable, growing bulge in my gray sweats and gasps when it twitches.

“Tell me, Irish, have you ever done whatever in this seat with anyone else?” I growl, satiated by the food, but hungering for her.

“No, can’t say that christening this car with sex has been a top priority for me for the past year. And stop distracting me. I’m mad at you. Er, not you, I suppose, but the world.”

I lean over and kiss her pouty lips when she stops talking. Soft and sweet, not pushing too hard. “Bailey, tell me I didn’t lose you over this photo.”

Her shoulders drop and she shakes her head. “It only came as a shock today. And you’re right, now I know how this feels on both sides. I couldn’t imagine getting stalked every single day for a photo. But so you know, if there’s ever another of us, I might freak out then, too. It will take some getting used to.”

“Understood. So, are we going to get more tacos and bring them home for movie and chill time?”

“Yes, although we need to talk about that interview from Gianna soon, okay? But not tonight. I’m exhausted. If I fall asleep on the couch, will you just cover me with a blanket and let yourself out?”

“I’ll take good care of you. You never have to worry about that.”