6. Keke

Chapter 6

Keke

“ I suppose we will. Tell me about yourself, Luke. What’s the deal with the blue in your hair?”

“You like it?”

“It’s… different.”

He laughs easily. It’s endearing if I’m being honest with myself.

“You know, team spirit. It’s Fire Blue.”

“You mean navy?”

“Fire. Blue.”

“None of the other guys have their hair dyed. Why did you?”

“It was part of a charity fundraiser I did for the animal shelter where I volunteer. Happy Harbor. I promised if we raised enough money, I’d do the blue streaks. We doubled the goal, so I doubled the streaks.”

“Volunteering at an animal shelter? How come that’s not in your file?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “During theseason, I don’t get to do it as often as I’d like. Just a few times a month when we’re not on the road. It’s a small shelter, so maybe Whitney doesn’t think it’s worth bringing up.”

That doesn’t sound like Whitney but he knows her better than I do. “That’s great. So you’re an animal lover?”

“Dogs, mostly,” he says with a gleam in his eyes. “According to you, we have a lot in common so I guess it makes sense I’d want to take care of them.”

A dozen retorts come to mind but I keep it simple. “Indeed.”

The man is infuriatingly charming, and his flirting makes it hard for me to keep up my guard. It doesn’t help that he’s stupidly good looking, either, with that body, that easy smile, chiseled jaw, and puppy dog eyes. But I’m not going to let him get to me. No way.

I shift in my seat. “So far, all I’ve learned about you is that you’re forgiving and you like dogs. What else is there to know about Lucian Smith?”

“First things first, I go by Luke.”

“Got it.”

“Secondly, I’m sure Whitney gave you a file on me. She keeps one on all of us. So why the questions?”

I stir my sweet tea with a straw in an attempt to stall for a good answer. If I say the wrong thing, he’ll start flirting with me again, and I don’t need the distraction. “I prefer to get my knowledge from the source.”

“Alright then,” he sits back and stretches, his thin gray sweater revealing the outline of each muscle beneath it. “I’m from Los Angeles?—”

“The son of Edgar P. Smith and Lilian Welles, right?”

“So you did read my file.”

I smirk. “I also have Google, you know.”

“Right. Yes, they’re my parents. I have an older sister, Evelyn, who goes by Evie. She’s a directoranddoes a lot of acclaimed indie work. His eyes light up when he talks about her. It’s sweet.

“If she doesn’t at least get a nomination for her work in Jessica’s Flowers , I will be making myself a nuisance to the Academy.”

“You’re very proud of her, aren’t you?”

“Did you see the movie? She was amazing. Knocks everyone else out of the running, as far as I’m concerned.” He sighs.

A smile spreads across my face, unbidden. “You’re proud and protective, it seems.”

“Well, yeah, she’s my sister. I might be younger, but I’m still her brother. It’s my job to look out for her.”

The conversation was getting dangerous to the point it might convince me he’s more than just a fuckboy. “So, you left LA behind to come here and play hockey. Do you ever miss Hollywood?”

“No. Not at all. I never liked being under the microscope the way everybody is out there. It did not make for the easiest childhood, especially when my parents expected me to follow in their footsteps.”

“Why didn’t you? The glamour, the money?—”

“The stalkers, the paparazzi,” he cuts me off with a far too haunted tone. “What I get here is bad enough. Out there, being the only son of my parents, I had my first stalker before I was out of diapers.”

I cringe. “Really?”

He nods firmly. “There are parts of it I liked, but on the whole, it’s just not worth it.”

“You don’t like the spotlight, but you let them put you in front of the camera for the team interviews and on all the billboards. How come?”

“It’s for the team.” He rolls up his sleeve to reveal a phoenix tattoo on his bulging bicep, the Atlanta Fire’s logo. “This job means something to me,” he says before rolling it back down.

“I can see that. How did you get into hockey?”

He chuckles. “On set, of all places. Mom got me a job in a kid's hockey film. Underdogs vs. the bullies, the usual plot. We had to train on the ice to be able to get the shots we needed, and it just clicked. How to move, how to play the game, all of it. It was like I found the thing that had been waiting for me, what I was meant to do. You ever feel that way?”

“Once.”

“Public relations, right?”

I smile and shake my head. “Go on.”

Although marking my unwillingness to elaborate, to my surprise he doesn’t pry. “It's nice on some levels. The attention on behalf of the team, I mean. I’m one of two guys with media training so I’m good in front of the camera.” He shrugs. “But it can be lonely.”

“Lonely? You're surrounded by people all the time.”

“Yeah, but most of them don't know the real me. They only know the version of me they see on the ice or in the ads. The real Luke? Few people stick around to see that.”

I feel a pang of sympathy even though I don’t want to. I know this game, the way it tends to suck women in. Be charming, admit to something vulnerable, and boom. Panty drop.

Even though I’m familiar with the game, there’s still a part of me that’s into it. Into Luke. The part of me that is still emotionally immature and willing to be hurt by a guy. The stupid part.

What’s worse, I notice a camera phone aimed our way. The woman is pretending to be casual about it, but the running shoes she’s wearing give her away. No self-respecting woman would wear those shoes with that dress. She needs sensible footwear so she can make a quick escape.

Paparazzi.

If she wants something to report, I’m going to give it to her.

I lean in slightly, feeling the heat radiating from his body. “Maybe that's because you don't let people in.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just haven't found the right girl.” His expression turns serious for a moment, eyes deeply penetrating mine. He’s good but I’ve been around enough of his type to know better.

The air between us thickens, and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. He leans in, his lips hovering just inches from mine, and my breath catches in my throat. But instead of closing the distance, I poke his nose with my finger, breaking the moment.

“What the—?” He blinks.

“I already turned you down once. How many times do I have to do it before you get the hint?”

He laughs, leaning back in his chair. “One more time.”

I roll my eyes, unable to control the small smile tugging at my lips. He really is impossible.

As the night wears on, the lone paparazzi girl is joined by a few others in the crowded bar. I also notice that Luke is starting to get a little buzzed. His movements have become looser andhis speech has slowed. He’s not drunk but it’s enough to worry me. The last thing I need is him getting behind the wheel and getting a DUI. That would be a PR nightmare, and it would be on me.

I stand, grabbing my bag. “Come on, I'm driving you home.”

“You're my chauffeur now? I thought you were my nanny.”

“Just for tonight.” I offer him my hand. “Let's go.”

He grumbles but takes my hand, letting me help him up. The drive back to his place is quiet, the tension from earlier lingering between us. When we finally get to his condo, I help him inside and guide him to his room without looking around much.

Once under the covers, he teases, “You gotta tuck me in.”

“Are you serious?”

“All my other chauffeurs do.”

“God, how much does that service cost?”

He grins, lying back. “Come on, just a platonic cuddle. I haven't had anyone to cuddle with in a very long time, and if you don't get into bed with me, I might leave and go for a drive.”

“Are you really blackmailing me with the possibility of going for a drive and getting a DUI, just so you can get a platonic cuddle?”

He holds up his hands in mock innocence. “I would never. That would be very, very wrong.”

With an exaggerated sigh, I sit down on the bed next to him. There’s a blanket between us, so I figure I’m safe enough. “Fine, but you're staying under that blanket, and I'm staying over it.”

He grins in triumph, shifting closer to me to spoon me as I lay down beside him. His body is warm, and despite my better judgment, I relax against him. His breathing slows, and after a while, I doze off. He’s deep in sleep, heavy drunken snores filling the room.

Then, I feel it. A subtle shift, the unmistakable pressure of him hardening behind me. I stiffen, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of his body pressing against mine.

Slowly, carefully, I extricate myself from his embrace, my heart racing as I slowly slide off the bed and head into his condo. His bedroom is on the other side, far away from the living areas, so I’m not too worried about making noise.

I didn’t bring much with me—just a few suitcases. I planned to have movers deliver my bed, but the spare room is set up as a guest bedroom, complete with a proper suite of dark gray furniture and a king bed. A duplicate to his bedroom.

Once I’m unpacked, I crawl into bed. I keep staring at the ceiling, unsure what to think about my situation. The trouble is, Luke is likable. And cute. No wonder the previous handler bombed the job.

I need to watch my ass around him or I’ll screw up, too.