Chapter 1

GRACE

Are you still in the office?

I glanced at the text from my best friend Kelly Wright and rolled my eyes. Kelly was obsessed with hockey, and she’d burst my eardrums squealing when she’d heard I’d gotten an internship with the LA Blades.

Because you should go find some hockey players already, was Kelly’s follow-up message.

I typed back that I was still busy working and that she should maybe finish her work, too. I could just see Kelly scoffing and telling me I was boring as fuck, but in a good-natured way.

I had a lot to prove with getting this internship. Everyone assumed that I’d gotten it because my dad coached the Blades. Sure, nobody had said that to my face, but I felt it in the air when I’d first come into the office a week ago.

My supervisor, Julia, had also seemed hesitant to give me any real work. Where the other marketing interns were being given assignments and coffee runs, I was relegated to liking positive comments on Facebook.

“Only likes,” Julia had reminded me for the millionth time. “No sad or angry reactions. And no replies. Got it?”

I’d nodded, annoyed but knowing I couldn’t complain. I’d done the assignment within a half hour and then had tried my best to find something to occupy my time.

Now I was the last one in the office. Even Julia had gone home, considering it was a Friday. She’d told me to lock up when I was done.

She might not trust me with the work, but I guess she’s not worried about security, I thought wryly.

I’d decided to write up a few different social media posts and present them to Julia on Monday. Maybe she’d see that I was serious about giving this internship my all.

My phone sang again, and I stuffed it into my bag. But it kept ringing, and ringing, and ringing.

I finally picked up, exasperated. “Kelly, seriously? What is it?”

“You have to tell me everything,” she said.

“Tell you what ? I’m going home. There’s nothing exciting to report.”

“You’re telling me you were in the stadium all day and didn’t run into one hockey player? Your dad is the coach. Come on, now.”

Kelly was about to start grad school, so she told me she needed the 411 on my internship before she got too busy to demand daily updates.

“My dad might be the coach, but that doesn’t mean he has anything to do with marketing or PR,” I pointed out.

“Ugh, you’re boring. At least tell me you’ll go to the rink tomorrow and watch them practice.”

“If I have time, maybe.”

Kelly just sighed like I’d told her I was about to die of an incurable disease. “You really need to have more fun. When’s the last time you went out on a date?”

“I told you about Will, right?” Will and I had just started dating. We’d only gone on two dates, but he was a nice guy.

“That guy? Has he even tried to kiss you yet?”

“No,” I spoke over Kelly’s interjection, adding, “Because he’s a gentleman.”

“Or he’s just not that into you.”

Okay, Will wasn’t the most exciting guy ever. I knew that. He tended to talk about Minecraft a lot, and the one time I’d tried to hug him, he’d acted like I’d tried to put a bug in his shirt.

“I need to finish up here and head home,” I said before saying goodbye.

At the end of the day, I didn’t need Kelly distracting me—or tempting me with finding some of those hockey players she was obsessed with.

Because I was all too aware that there were sexy hockey players not far from me. The offices were within the stadium, and I’d heard the guys practicing when I’d gone to the bathroom. It’d taken every ounce of my self-control not to go watch.

Not that anyone would care. I’d been around hockey my entire life. But I also hadn’t been around much in the past four years since I’d been away at college.

I wasn’t that naive little teenager who’d left. I was a woman now. And I knew that I had to grab life by the horns if I wanted to achieve anything of value.

I yawned, closed my laptop, and decided to call it a day. It was already past five o’clock. But I needed to take a few photos first before I went home.

One of my ideas had been to give an inside look at the team’s locker room. Okay, yes, it didn’t sound that exciting, but die-hard fans like Kelly loved that kind of stuff.

I went downstairs to where the locker rooms were and listened. I didn’t hear any voices, so everyone had likely already gone home. I knocked on the locker room door, then called, “Anyone inside?”

No answer. Shrugging, I pushed the door wide open and started taking pictures.

I was so immersed in taking photos that when a man stepped into the view of my phone, I nearly threw it straight at his head.

That was when I realized the man was naked. Wet, dripping, and naked.

I froze. And then I wanted to die right then and there because the man was none other than Brady Carmichael.

LA Blades defenseman. Playboy. Sex magnet. And my childhood crush, whom I’d never actually gotten over.

“What the hell?” Brady exclaimed. Then his eyes widened, recognition filling his expression. “Holy shit, Grace? Is that you?”

It was too late to run. Besides, I was frozen to the spot.

Brady Carmichael was a magnificent specimen of a man: his entire body was delineated with muscles. From his pectorals to his biceps to his abs to his—

I forced myself to look away. Because he was naked, and his dick was right there. And it was just as impressive as the rest of him.

He laughed. Laughed!

“What, you come in here to take dirty photos and then get shy? Come on now,” he teased.

I blushed so hot that I was sure my face was on fire. “I didn’t think anyone was in here,” I squeaked out.

Brady just stood there, arms crossed, not a care in the world. And then when he started to walk toward me, I did the only thing I could: I ran.

Sprinting toward the door, Brady shouted after me. I hurried to the elevator, but to my immense annoyance, it was too slow. He caught up to me and grabbed my arm.

“Hey, wait!” Brady said.

His skin was still damp, water dripping from his hair. But now he at least had some sweatpants on, even if those pants only emphasized the delicious V-cut of his hip bones. I forced myself to look anywhere but at him.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I really didn’t think anyone was in there.”

Brady let me go—I could still feel his touch like a brand—and he chuckled. “Oh, I believe you. Everybody knows Grace Dallas follows the rules.”

I wanted to scowl. I wanted to tell him he was wrong, but he wasn’t. I was a good girl. I’d never done anything to upset the apple cart. I did as my parents wanted. I’d never even gotten drunk in college.

In other words, I’d always been too much of a Goody Two-shoes for a man like Brady.

“Hey, come on.” Brady held out his arms. “A hug for old times’ sake?”

I hesitated, but I wasn’t made of stone. I let him give me a hug even though he got my shirt damp in the process.

“I didn’t know you were back,” he said.

“I got an internship with the team.”

His eyes widened. “Since when?”

Was he surprised? Or worse, annoyed? I couldn’t tell. “Uh, I just started.”

Brady looked like he was going to say something but then thought better of it. He just asked instead, “So you’re back in LA for good?”

“At least for the time being.”

Silence fell. I could tell Brady felt awkward around me.

And why shouldn’t he? I’d been the girl who’d thrown herself at him back in high school, and he’d rejected me. After that, he’d kept his distance. I hadn’t seen him since I’d moved away for college.

Brady cleared his throat. “You look different.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Says the man running around without shoes or a shirt on.”

“Sorry, I mean, you look—” Brady hesitated. “Older.”

“I mean, I am older than when you last saw me. So that tracks.”

He grinned, and that stupid grin went straight to my heart like an arrow. “You always were a little spicy.”

“I thought you just said I was boring?”

“Boring? You? No.” Something crossed his expression, but I didn’t know what it was. “No, you’ve never bored me.”

I wanted him to explain that comment, but unfortunately for us both, my dad interrupted.

“Carmichael! Go put on a goddamn shirt!” Dad barked as he approached us.

Brady grimaced. “Yessir,” he said, saluting ironically. He winked at me and returned to the locker room.

My dad had always been a big, gruff man, but inside was a gooey marshmallow center. He’d only ever shown that side with his family, though, and with me especially. I’d known since I was a kid that I had my dad wrapped around my little finger.

“What the hell was that about?” Dad barked.

I forced myself to stop gazing at where Brady had disappeared to. “What? Brady? We were just saying hi.”

“Why was he shirtless?”

I wasn’t about to explain that one, so I just shrugged. “Maybe a dog ate his shirt and shoes.”

Dad narrowed his eyes at me and then sighed. “Come on. Your mother texted me to say we better be home in time for dinner tonight.”

Dad and I both knew how much Mom hated when anyone was late for dinner. Although Dad had assured Mom that she didn’t need to cook every night, she’d done it since before I could remember.

When Brady had joined our family as a foster kid, he’d been confused that we’d always eaten together in the dining room.

“You guys don’t watch TV?” he’d asked.

My older brother, Ben, had just laughed. “Don’t say that out loud, or our mom will tell you off.”

Brady, though, had asked our mom point-blank why we never ate in front of the TV. Our mom, who wasn’t the type to get ruffled by a fourteen-year-old boy, had simply informed Brady that those were the house rules, and he could either follow them or see what happened if he didn’t.

“Cat got your tongue?” Dad asked me, forcing me back to the present.

I hadn’t even remembered walking out of the stadium with him. We were almost to my car, which I’d parked next to Dad’s.

“Uh, sorry,” I hedged, feeling a blush crawl up my cheeks. “Just a lot on my mind.”

Dad narrowed his eyes at me, his bushy eyebrows almost coming together into one judgmental line.

“Stay away from him,” he said suddenly.

I stopped in my tracks. “Who? Brady?” I let out an incredulous laugh. “Dad, he’s practically family!”

“He’s not your brother. Never has been.” When I was about to protest, Dad put up a hand. “I’m not saying he isn’t family. He’s like a son to me and your mother. But as far as being your brother ...” Dad grimaced. “You know what I mean.”

I blushed harder. Mom and Dad had been all too aware of my unrequited crush on Brady back in the day. But I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I was an adult.

“I’m not Brady’s type,” I said, even as my own words made my stomach sink.

Dad snorted. “You’re a woman. You’re his type. Which means you need to be on your guard.”

“If he’s such a bad guy, why did you even let him on the team?” I snapped, annoyed now.

To my irritation, Dad just shook his head. “He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not the guy for you . You’re a smart girl, Gracie. I don’t want you to throw yourself away on a guy who doesn’t deserve you.”

“Well, Brady didn’t even know I was back in town, so I doubt he’s been dying to jump my bones.”

Dad scowled. “Enough of this talk. I’ll see you back home. And don’t drive too fast, and be careful merging onto the interstate—”

I held up a hand, laughing now, then gave Dad a kiss, leaving him grumbling as I drove away.

Since I’d only just moved back to LA and rent was absurdly expensive, I’d decided to move back in with my parents for a time. Although I didn’t love being under their roof—and their rules—it was better than living with five roommates in a two-bedroom apartment just to make rent.

But being back in my old room, which hadn’t changed since I’d gone to college, felt strange. I’d only been in it for about a year and a half before I’d left for college, but I’d still left a lot of stuff behind.

The walls were still a bright magenta that my mom had surprised me with. I hadn’t had the heart to tell her that that was no longer my favorite color when we’d moved in.

Worse, my bed still had the ruffled duvet set I’d begged Mom to get me when I’d been fourteen and living at the old house in Las Vegas. It’d come along to the new house, but by the time I was sixteen, I’d felt like I’d outgrown it. The overall color scheme and ruffles made the room look especially childish, and I winced a little as I took it all in.

Old makeup and hair accessories filled the vanity I’d used as a teenager; the bookcase was similarly filled with romance novels I’d inhaled at the time. I even found my old MP3 player in my nightstand and had been pleasantly surprised to discover it still worked. I’d listened to a few of my favorite songs from back then until the walk down memory lane became too much.

Thinking about my adolescence meant thinking about my older brother. And it meant thinking about Brady Carmichael.

The first time I saw Brady—I’d been twelve years old—I’d known he’d change my life. Perhaps not in the way that I’d expected, but I’d known, even at a young age, that Brady was special.

It’d helped that, even at fourteen, Brady had been handsome. When many of the other boys in his ninth-grade class had yet to go through full puberty, Brady looked older than his age. He’d been tall and muscular; he’d even had patchy facial hair, which I’d thought made him intimidating at the time. Even Ben hadn’t had much facial hair despite being older than Brady.

Oh, Ben. I wish you were here right now. You’d know what to do.

Kneeling on the rug in front of my old bed, I rummaged underneath to find a shoebox that I’d decorated in junior high. Inside was a collection of drawings, letters, sticker books, and even an old BFFs FOREVER necklace that my best friend Heather had given me in eighth grade.

The letters were all ones I’d written to Brady but had never given him. I read the first one, chuckling at the excessive use of hearts in dotting my i’s.

I even signed the letter as Yours for all eternity, through every lifetime, until the sun goes dark and the stars fall from the sky. I laughed aloud at that one. I had a flair for the dramatic, that was for sure. Then again, I tended to imagine Brady as a dashing knight who’d someday whisk me away to his castle.

I found the letter I was searching for at the bottom of the box. It was folded into a thick but tiny square that you only ever did when the information inside was top secret.

Dear Brady, I’d written, you’re probably surprised that I’m writing you a letter instead of just talking to you.

But I don’t know how to say what I need to say. Do you know how I feel about you?

Sometimes I think you do know. But other times, it’s like you don’t see me as anything other than a little sister. I’m not your sister, though.

I’m in love with you, Brady Carmichael. In LOVE. With YOU!

And I wanted to ask you something ... would you be my first?

My first ... You know what I mean, right?

Love,

Grace