7. Spencer

CHAPTER 7

SPENCER

I could feel Izzy's tension like a third passenger in my truck. An unfriendly presence, big and sharp-elbowed. She was sitting so straight she was making my back hurt, her jaw so tight I thought she'd crack a molar.

"I get it," I said. "Losing out is the worst."

She made a heh sound, not quite a laugh.

"What? You've seen me lose. You know I've been there."

She unclenched her fists, then clenched them again. Shook her head tightly, side to side. "It's not the same," she said.

"How is it not, except more people see it? I lose on live TV. You get that, right?"

"That's it exactly. You lose on live TV. You're in the NHL already. At the top of your game. Even when you don't win, the game's still high-level. I'm in the minor leagues. Hell, I'm on the bench. I can't even get in the game, let alone lose it."

I knew how that felt too, being benched for long stretches, feeling like my game would never get started. But now wasn't the time to get into all that. Not with Izzy beside me kneading her fists, kicking the floor mat, a ball of frustration.

"You need to work out that rage," I said. "Slam your way through it."

"And how do I do that?" She kicked the floor mat again. "Where are we going?"

"Right here," I said. I pulled up in front of my athletic club. "We're going to play squash. Trust me. It works."

Izzy's mouth turned down. "I've never played squash."

"Good. You'll get angrier when I kick your ass. You'll start to fight back, and when you do, you'll feel better."

Izzy looked doubtful, but she unhooked her seat belt. "I don't have gym clothes," she said.

"Yeah, you do. I brought them." I pulled out her gym bag from under her seat. She snatched it away from me and hopped out of the truck. I thought she'd slam the door, too, but she shut it gently. She stood in the parking lot breathing hard through her nose.

"Come on," I said. "You'll see. You'll love it."

She followed me in, and I got her a guest pass. We split up to get changed and met again on the court. Izzy was standing there swinging her racquet.

"How do you play?"

"It's pretty simple. You hit the ball at the front wall, between the tin and the out line. It can hit the side and the back walls and bounce once off the floor. Then I hit it, then you hit it, then I hit it back, till one of us misses, and that's a point. First one to eleven points wins the game."

Izzy frowned. "What's the tin?"

"That bottom line there."

"And those are all the rules, hit between those two lines?"

"Well, there are others, but let's ignore them for now. Let's just get you hitting that ball." I tossed her the ball. "You can serve first."

"So I just hit it?"

I nudged her into the service box, my hands on her hips. "Now you can hit it. Hard as you can."

She tossed the ball in the air, swung her racquet, and missed. "Shit! What does that mean? Do I lose a point?"

"You don't have any points, and let's just ignore that. Go on, try again. Pretend it's your boss."

Izzy swung again, and this time she nailed it. The ball whizzed through the air and smacked off the wall, and I whacked it back to her. She dove for it, shrieked, then spun away, ducking as it ricocheted off the wall.

"It nearly hit me!"

"You've got to hit it first."

Izzy stood for a moment, shoulders raised, scowling. Then she tossed me the ball. "Okay. Your serve."

I lobbed her an easy one, and this time she hit it. She flung her arms up and cheered, and missed my return.

"Damn it, okay. Okay, let's get serious."

I served again, and Izzy went for the ball. She slapped it back hard and it almost flew by me. She was picking up the game faster than I'd expected. Faster than I had, or any newbie I'd seen. Her sharp eyes and focus made her a natural. Her long legs were perfect for chasing the ball. Seven serves in, and she scored her first point off me. I'd expected to sweep her our first game at least, probably our first several, but she scored three more points for an eleven-four finish. She stood panting, and I grinned at her.

"Having fun?"

Izzy looked up at me. "Let's go again."

We went again, and Izzy let loose. She went after the ball with all she had, shoes squeaking, hair flying, racquet singing through the air. I got distracted watching her, the force of her fury, and she scored the first three points in as many minutes.

"Are you letting me win?"

"No! You're just?—"

"What?"

"I'm just glad it's not my face you're picturing on that ball."

She laughed, tossed the ball, and served hard. I got my head in the game and beat her again, but this time the score ended up six to five. We both wound up breathless, reeling together, and I got my arm around Izzy to steady her on her feet. She was shaking with laughter, her dark eyes sparkling, and she tossed her head back to shake her hair off her face. I tucked it behind her ears.

"Pretty good, huh?"

"Yeah, that was awesome." Izzy's smile was wide, genuine, and it felt good to see. "I started out like you said, picturing their heads as the ball. Which, yeah, that felt great, but then I got into it, and I was just having fun." She pulled me down and kissed me, then pressed our foreheads together. "Thank you," she whispered. "I didn't think anything could make this day better, but right here, right now, I feel amazing."

I tilted her chin up and kissed her again. A shiver ran through her, and she raked her fingers through my hair. She pressed up against me and I walked her backward, crowded her up against the back wall. Her kisses grew fiery, sharp nips to my lip. I lost myself in the feel of her, her closeness, her scent. Her sweat-damp hair stuck to my face. I could feel her fast heartbeat, her pulse in her veins, the gust of her breath against my dry lips. It made me want all of her, and I pulled back, gasping.

"We can't do this here. I'll get banned from the club."

Izzy jerked my head down and kissed me again, the tug on my hair making my cock throb. I bucked up against her and gripped her hard by her shoulders, pulling her to me then pushing her away.

"Don't get me wrong. You're worth it. You are."

"Let's go home," she said, and reached down to tease me, palming my bulge through the front of my shorts. I slapped her hand off and groaned.

"How's this supposed to look when I'm back in the locker room?"

"Like you really love squash?"

"Like I'm some pervert." I shoved her off, laughing, and breathed deep to calm down. "You know if Leon's home?"

"No, he's working late."

"Then this isn't over. Meet you out front in twenty." I stole one last kiss and we both hit the showers.

Izzy was waiting when I finished in ten, and we practically raced each other out to my truck. I ran every yellow all the way home, and we chased each other inside and straight to my bedroom. Half an hour later, she lay in my arms, naked and sated, her hair in my face. A runnel of sweat ran between her breasts, down her ribcage, and I followed its path with the pad of my thumb.

"You need a strategy," I said.

She blinked. "What, for sex?"

I chuckled. "No, stupid. For work. You're stuck with those douchebags, working on their project, so you need a strategy to come out ahead."

"Come out ahead? I've already lost." She blew out a loud breath, harsh through her nose. I peeled her hair off my face and wound it around my fingers.

"You haven't lost," I said. "You just lost the first face-off. They've got the puck, but they haven't scored yet. It's still anyone's game."

Izzy rolled her eyes. "Architecture's not hockey."

"But it's still a game. There's still winners and losers, bad calls from the ref. And you're a triple-A player in line for the majors. You need to make sure the scouts catch your A-game."

She laughed, but she'd turned to study my face. "How do I do that, get the partners' attention? Get them to see what I bring to the table?"

I twirled her hair and let it slide down my wrist. "Well, I don't know. I've never worked in an office. But if I did, for my first move, I'd scout my competition. What are their weaknesses? What are their strengths? Are they the types who'd take credit for my best ideas?"

" Yes ," Izzy said. "They're that type for sure."

"Then your first step needs to be, save your best ideas. Save them for when the partners are listening. Don't let the douchebros trot them out first."

She groaned. "Then they'll tell me I'm not a team player."

"Then be one. Be the biggest one, but make sure they see you. Whatever they say, whatever they're needing, make sure it's you who's there showing your mettle. And if they don't see your value—" I rose on my elbow.

"What?"

"If they don't see your value, then you keep a record. Keep records of all you do, what makes you awesome. That way, when you take your awesomeness somewhere better, you'll have a kickass highlights reel ready to go. Or, y'know, portfolio. Whatever you call it."

"Somewhere better…" Izzy bit her lip. "I've put so much time in that place, but you might be right. It might be getting about time to move on." Her expression went distant, and I pulled her closer.

"Hey."

"Mm?"

"Don't get sad on me. Don't get in your head." I kissed her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. "You ever see my pictures, when I was a kid?"

Izzy laughed. "What?"

"My pictures from middle school, the first half of high school. It feels too good holding you to grab 'em right now, but I was a shrimpy kid. A total pipsqueak."

"I don't believe you," said Izzy. "What are you, six five?"

"Six-six." I smirked. "And it's the truth. I was this weedy-ass kid, thin as a straw, about five foot even till I hit my growth spurt. And it came late, halfway through high school. Before that, oh man, I couldn't catch a break. I'd sign up for hockey and go straight to the bench, entire seasons just sitting there watching the game. The worst part was, I was good , at least my technique. But I had no power, short strides, no reach with the stick. No one wanted to play me till I filled out."

Izzy slid her hand up the back of my neck. She pulled me close gently and pressed her lips to mine. I smiled.

"What was that for?"

"For today. Because you get it." She cuddled in closer and I pulled up the covers. I found a hank of her hair and made the curls go boing, wrapped it round my finger and let it spring free. Her breathing got slow and deep, and she went loose against me. I stroked her back to relax her some more. I'd heard her up late the last week or three, working on that model, rehearsing her pitch. She'd put in the work and it hadn't paid off, and I hated that for her. Hated those dicks. Izzy was the real deal. She deserved better.

I felt when she went to sleep, but I didn't wake her. We'd said no sleepovers, but tonight felt different. Like maybe she needed it, and what could one night hurt? One night to rest and not think about work?

I kissed her one more time on the top of her head, and breathed in the scent of her, and soon I dozed off as well.