Chapter 2

You stole my parking space.

I'm face-to-face with a beautiful woman—one I've thought about more than once since I first met her a few months ago—and that's the first thing that comes out of my mouth.

You. stole. my. parking. space.

I drop my duffel onto the floor in front of my locker and sit down, my head falling into my hands. I have never been a man of many words, but when I try, I can usually do better than that.

"What's wrong with you?"

I look up to see Felix shrugging out of his coat and hanging it in his locker.

"Did you know Summer was working for the Appies?"

Felix frowns, probably because I barked my words more than said them, sounding accusatory.

I clear my throat to try again. "Sorry. Just wondering if you know anything."

"Well, yeah," he answers like it's a given. "Gracie and Summer have been talking about it since before Christmas. Remember on Sunday when I asked if you could help out with something?"

"My sister was in town with her kids."

Felix waves his hand dismissively. "Not the point. We had enough help. But that's what we were doing. We were helping Summer move in."

My stomach tightens. "She's living here?" But that's a stupid thing to ask because of course she's living here. She's working here.

Felix props his hands on his hips, his massive form looming over me in a way that might be intimidating if it were anyone but him. At six foot five, he's the only guy on the team who's taller than I am, but I know him too well to find him menacing in any situation—even on the ice. He's the goalie, so he's not usually in a position to pick fights, but even if he wasn't, Felix is the kind of player who relies on his brain more than his muscle.

"In one of those condos that just went up next to the river," Felix says. "That's close to your place, isn't it?"

"Yeah. A mile or so down the road." I lift a hand and run it across the back of my neck, which suddenly feels itchy and hot.

Summer Callahan lives a mile away from me.

The first time we met a few months ago, Summer was pretty flirty, even suggesting she'd be open to hanging out sometime. I made some excuse, fully expecting her to move on to one of my much more interesting teammates.

That's usually how it goes. It only takes women about ten minutes to decide I'm too quiet or disengaged for them to waste their efforts when there are guys like Van or Alec around—guys who are quick to smile and even quicker to pay a compliment. Which is fine with me. They're better at talking to women than I am, and I'm just fine keeping to myself.

Few things irritate me more than small talk. I don't like inane questions, and small talk is almost always inane, and I don't like the pressure to…I don't know. Impress? Convince someone they want to get to know me more? It's just easier to…not.

But Summer—she was not deterred by my one-word answers. She rolled her eyes at my grunted responses, then made a game out of creating a fictional life for me.

She made up a favorite food, a favorite cocktail. She gave me a favorite Appies teammate and invented six sisters I decidedly do not have, labeling me as the brooding older brother. She even invented a dad who was a former NHL star—the only piece of my life she actually guessed correctly.

Except, in her version, my father was doting and proud instead of bitter and dead.

If only I could trade my version for hers. My life probably would have been a lot less complicated.

I reach up and finger Dad's Stanley Cup ring. I've been wearing it on a chain around my neck since the hospital returned it to Mom three weeks after my sixteenth birthday, the day after my father died. I haven't taken it off in almost ten years.

Just not for the reasons people think.

"Is there a reason why you're so curious about Summer?" Felix asks. "Had I thought it mattered, I would have mentioned it. But…you only met her the one time, right?"

"No, yeah. And it's fine. There's no reason you would have told me. I just…saw her this morning on my way in. She caught me by surprise."

And likely thinks I'm the biggest jerk on the team. No big deal.

Felix nods, but I get the sense he doesn't fully believe me. "Malik will probably introduce her at the team meeting," he says. "You ready to walk up?"

I barely stifle my groan. The meeting is no surprise—we always have team meetings on Monday mornings—but I'd rather not see Summer again so soon after I acted like a complete idiot. Should I apologize? Try to explain? Ignore her and act like it never happened?

I follow Felix toward the door, wishing we were headed to the ice instead of upstairs to the conference room. I don't mind the meetings—though I liked them more when all we did was watch game tape and call it good. But here lately, we've been spending as much time on social media as anything else.

Our social media manager, Parker, has basically turned us into internet stars. I don't understand how or why what she shares works, but I know better than to question. Thanks to her, we're getting a lot more attention than your typical minor league team. Attention means endorsements and deals and licensing agreements, not to mention sold-out games, whether we're home or away.

My contract renewed this year, and when the Appies offered me a solo standard contract, meaning I'll only play for the Appies without the possibility of getting called up to the Hurricanes, our NHL affiliate, I didn't hesitate before signing.

That might sound like career suicide, but the paycheck the Appies offered felt like the opposite. Besides, the Summit feels like home. Hard to put a price on that—not when the list of players wanting to come play with us is getting longer by the day.

"You know," Felix says as we make our way toward the elevator, "if there was a reason you were asking about Summer, I wouldn't be mad about it."

I slam my thumb into the up button, hating the way Felix's comment makes my chest fill with heat. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means she's single, and she's pretty great," Felix says. "She'd be good for you."

I grunt as we step onto the elevator. "She talks too much."

Felix smiles. "My point exactly."

"Hey, hold the elevator!" Van and Alec round the corner at the end of the hall and start jogging toward us.

Felix holds the doors, waiting for our teammates to catch up, while I pull the elastic out of my hair and smooth it back, tying it into a knot at the back of my head. It's too long—longer than it has been in months—and I make a mental note to text my barber and schedule an appointment. My beard could also use a trim, and—why am I suddenly so concerned about my appearance?

The minute the elevator doors open, I know exactly why I'm concerned. The reason is standing at the end of the hallway outside the conference room, looking just as good as she did this morning.

Beside me, Van whistles low. "Whoa. Who's the?—"

"She's the Appies' new attorney and my girlfriend's best friend," Felix says, cutting him off, "and you'll treat her with the respect she deserves."

"When have I ever not treated women with respect?" Van stands a little taller. "She came to a game once, didn't she? I wonder if she remembers me."

I clench my jaw. Felix just told me Summer is single. It will take Van less than five minutes to ferret out the same information, which means soon, the whole team will know. I'm not much of a gambler, but if I were, I'd put money on someone making a move within a week or two.

The thought shouldn't irritate me. But by the time we reach the meeting room, I'm frowning, my jaw tight, mental images of my many teammates chatting Summer up like she's a prime rib and they're a pack of starving lions on replay in my brain.

Summer lifts her hand in a wave, banishing my distracting thoughts and making my heart rate spike the slightest bit, but then I realize she's waving at Felix.

Because of course she is. The last conversation she had with me doesn't exactly warrant a wave.

She meets my eye for a moment, then her eyebrows arch upward in a way that almost feels like a challenge.

That's definitely more in line with what I deserve, and I have to respect her for giving it to me.

I duck my head and head into the conference room just as Van steps in front of Summer, leaning into the wall beside her with an easy confidence.

One down, fifteen more to go.Give or take the few guys who are already in committed relationships and will have the decency to not hit on the team's new legal counsel.

The door is at the front of the room, with chairs set up in rows that extend into the back. There's a whiteboard near the door, directly beside an enormous television screen that we use to watch game tapes. Coach Davis, the Appies' head coach, is already sitting in the front row next to Malik, the team's general manager. It looks like most of the team is already seated, so I move to the second row to sit down. But someone taps me on the shoulder before I can.

I spin around to see Summer standing directly in front of me.

"Sorry," she says. "I just wanted to let you know I'm sitting here." She points at a chair in the front row. A gray folder with the Appies' blue and black logo stamped on the cover is resting on top of the seat. "Since there aren't signs or anything, I didn't want you to inadvertently steal my seat." Her blue eyes blaze, and her lips lift into a smirk that sends a bolt of heat coursing through me.

There's something about her confidence, about the way she doesn't cower.

I probably shouldn't be proud of the fact, but most people do cower. My dad taught me when I was young how to throw my weight around on the ice. I'm not the guy starting fights just to piss people off, but if someone plays dirty, I'll remind them how much they don't want to mess with me. Off the ice, people tend to treat me the same way, like they're afraid I'm one wrong word away from punching someone. I've never gotten in a fight off the ice, but I don't mind the reputation. It keeps people at a distance, which is generally where I want them.

Summer meets my frown with a confident smile.

"I deserved that," I say.

"Glad we're on the same page," she says.

Malik stands up while Summer moves back to her seat, and I drop into a chair in between Felix and Alec.

"Who are we missing?" Malik asks. "Where's Logan?"

"Right here," Logan says as he ducks into the room, Parker on his heels. They choose two open chairs in the front row, right beside Summer. Parker leans over and pulls her into a quick hug, and Summer smiles wide, making a twinge of guilt prick my conscience.

This is Summer's first day. New job. New city. She was probably nervous this morning, happy to see a familiar face when she saw me. And I didn't do anything to make her feel welcome.

I've been dealing with some family stuff the past couple of weeks, and it's making me particularly grumpy, but still. This might be a new low.

"Okay, we've got a lot to talk about, and Coach Davis assures me you have hours of tape to watch, so I'll make this quick," Malik says. "But first, let's say hello to Summer Callahan, who has joined the Appies' staff as in-house legal counsel."

Summer turns in her chair and waves at the room at large. When her gaze skates over me, she gives me that same challenging look. It's not quite like she has it in for me, but it does seem like she has my number, and I can't figure out how to feel about that.

"Summer knows a bit about contract law," Malik continues, "which will be useful for obvious reasons. She also spent a few years working in the district attorney's office, but let's not make that experience useful, hmm? I'd rather not see any of your sorry faces in a criminal courtroom even if I do trust that the newest member of your team could take care of you."

"Yeah, I bet she could take care of me," Dominik, one of the newest players on the team mutters behind me, and the guys around him start to chuckle.

Summer's lips press into a tight line, and her entire body stiffens. Dominik's words weren't loud, but clearly, they were loud enough.

Undeterred by Summer's obvious displeasure, Dominik smiles, his eyebrows dancing as he kisses the air in her direction. The gesture is suggestive and cocky, and it immediately sets my blood boiling.

Without thinking, I stand up and turn around, catching the attention of the second-line left-winger. As arrogant as he is, you'd think he was starting for the Bruins, not riding the pine in the minor leagues. He's young yet—only nineteen—and Coach has told us we need to teach him how to be an Appie, so…fine. I'll teach him a lesson right now.

His joking quickly sobers under the weight of my stare, but there's still a challenge in his expression when he finally lifts his eyes to meet mine. I frown, my hands tightening into fists as I shake my head. "No," I say in a tone that even surprises me for how menacing it sounds.

Dominik doesn't respond, his steely gaze holding mine, and I debate my next move. I'd rather rough him up on the ice than deal with him here—that's easier to justify to the coaches—but if he doesn't apologize in the next five seconds, he's getting a fist to his nose, consequences be damned.

Finally, he lifts his hands in a placating gesture and mutters an insincere "sorry" in Summer's direction.

Oh, he's definitely getting it at practice later.

I turn and sit down, making quick eye contact with Coach Davis, who nods in approval, before letting my gaze swivel to Summer.

She's watching me, and when our eyes meet, her lips curve into a small smile and she nods her head in a way that feels like a thank you.

Beside me, Felix leans toward me. "What was it you said?" he whispers. "She talks too much?"

"Shut up," I grumble back, and he lifts a hand to cover his grin.

"Okay. Parker, you're up. What do you have for us?" Malik says.

Parker stands, clipboard in hand. "Okay. Dumbo, Tucker, Logan and Felix. I need you on the ice twenty minutes before practice tomorrow, wearing your game jerseys. We've got five players from the Junior Appies coming over to film a promo for the scholarship program. You'll shoot around a little bit, smile for some photos, do a little bit of coaching. We'll keep it short and sweet."

"Before practice?" Dumbo asks. "Is there a reason we can't do it after?"

Parker looks up, her eyebrows lifted. "Have you seen what you look like after practice?"

"Okay, that's fair," Dumbo says.

"Not to mention the smell," Tucker says. He elbows Dumbo. "You, especially."

"What? I do not stink…more than anyone else does."

"Yeah, you do," Alec says.

"It's pretty bad, man," Van adds.

Felix leans up and claps Dumbo on the back. "Listen, someone has to smell the worst. Wear the badge proudly."

A chuckle sounds across the room as Dumbo turns and punches Felix in the arm.

"Helmets will be off for the shoot," Parker adds, talking over the sudden commotion, "so trim the beards, brush the hair. Let's do our best not to look scary."

"Better leave your helmet on then, Logan," Tucker says.

Logan leans forward, grabs the pen off Parker's clipboard, and tosses it at Tucker.

"Okay, children," Parker says. "That's enough." She retrieves her pen from Tucker, then looks at me. "Nathan. I need you for two minutes at the end of practice today for a broody photo of you inside the penalty box."

"Aww, you're capturing him in his natural habitat," Alec says, elbowing me, and I elbow him right back.

"I'm serious though, Nathan," Parker teases. "No smiling this time. Don't make me ask you twice."

At the beginning of the season, Parker started a trend talking about all the different places I can look brooding, hence her request for the penalty box photo. I didn't know what she meant the first time she explained it to me, but basically, I just sit wherever she tells me, look off into the distance, and frown. She's taken videos of me on the ice, sitting in the stands, leaning against my car, holding a puppy Eli's wife, Bailey, brought over from the animal shelter. Over Christmas, when a group of us all headed into the mountains to hike Mt. Pisgah, she even made me stop so she could record a few seconds of me gazing into the trees, the smoky blues and greens of the Blue Ridge Mountains extending into the distance behind me. It's stupid, and I don't know why people care or want pictures of me frowning at stuff, but if it means no dancing in videos—I'm fine with it.

I nod, my eyes darting over to Summer to see if she's watching this whole exchange.

She's watching all right, and the realization sends a low buzz of energy shooting across my skin.

"Fair warning, Nathan," Parker adds. "I'm also noticing some trending patterns around the hashtag #TameTheBroodingBeast, so you might notice some increased activity from your female fans."

Several of the guys start to laugh, reaching up and punching my shoulders.

"What does that even mean?" I ask through a frown. "What kind of activity?"

"It's just a trend I'm seeing," Parker says. "And nothing you truly need to worry about. Just be on your guard when you're interacting with fans because they might be a little overzealous. And definitely let me know if it starts to feel like too much."

I nod and slouch into my chair. I understand the value of what Parker has brought to the Appies, but I don't love the idea of women talking about me like I'm some kind of challenge. I don't love the idea of women talking about me at all.

Parker moves on to a series of videos she's doing with the rookies, something involving a dance, and…did she just say they would be dressed up like fruit?

I chuckle and shake my head. Malik and Coach Davis have pretty much given Parker free rein to do whatever she needs to keep the team's presence growing, and we've been instructed to do the same.

If she wants us to learn a dance and perform it on the ice? We'd better say yes.

If she wants us to do it while wearing pink tights and fluffy tutus?

We will hate it.

We will also say yes.

Parker has hinted a few times that I could create my own social media accounts and take advantage of the momentum, but it's not a requirement, and I can't think of anything I would rather do less.

Besides wear a tutu.

"Okay, next up," Malik says once Parker finishes. "Alec and Nathan. There's a new athleisure clothing company called Flex that's looking for an endorsement. They've requested the two of you specifically. The company checks out, so if you're interested, Summer will be traveling to Chicago with the team at the end of this month. The three of you will stay in the city an extra night after your game on Thursday, and she'll accompany you to the meeting on Friday morning, then you'll fly out that afternoon and catch up with the team in Cleveland in time for Saturday's afternoon game."

I force myself to nod in agreement like this isn't a big deal. Technically, it's not. Stuff like this happens all the time, and there's always a team representative with us, especially for those of us who don't have agents.

But this feels like a big deal anyway. An hour ago, I wasn't even sure I would see Summer again. Now she's here, living a mile down the road, working at the Summit, negotiating on my behalf in brand meetings.

"Is that a problem for either of you?" Malik asks. "If not, we'll get your travel plans sorted and emailed over."

"Sounds good," I say as Alec mumbles something similar. I keep my eyes on Malik, but I sense Summer looking at me, and I wonder what she's thinking.

Normally, I only tolerate brand meetings because the extra cash is nice and the exposure is good for the Appies. It's part of the job—part of doing what I have to do so I can play hockey and get paid to do it.

But knowing Summer will be there adds a new layer. I'm not quite looking forward to it, but I am possibly less annoyed that I have to go in the first place.

Which bugs me. Why am I reacting to this woman?

I don't date. I'm not looking to date. And a pretty face doesn't change that.

My schedule during the season is terrible. I spend three out of every five weeks on the road, and I spend ninety percent of my waking hours either playing hockey or thinking about hockey—or wishing I was either playing or thinking about hockey.

I can appreciate my teammates who have, miraculously, managed to form relationships despite said schedule. But it just wouldn't fit in the life I've built for myself.

If the trainwreck ending to my dad's life taught me anything, it's how easily people can become collateral damage.

Across the room, Summer and Parker and the rest of the Appies' administrative staff stand to leave. I ought to apologize. Stop Summer and tell her I'm sorry I was a jerk and she can park wherever she wants.

Instead, I let her go, watching as she greets a few more players on her way to the door.

Her smile is warm and easy, and she gives it generously as she shakes hands and repeats names and jots down little notes in the notebook she's carrying.

When she talks to Alec, he must say something funny because she tilts her head back and laughs.

I pull out my phone and stare at the screen, mindlessly scrolling through news headlines I don't read until Summer finally makes it out of the room.

I'm not sure why.

But I don't manage to take a full breath until she's gone.