Puck Me Secretly (A Vancouver Wolves Hockey Romance Book 1)
Puck Me Secretly: Chapter 11

THREE WEEKS DRAGGED by without me talking to Max again. My job comprised of shadowing Dad on everything he did and learning everything I could about our players. I sat in meetings with Dad. I met with the media market team who explained their strategy for the year. I didn’t contribute. My sole job was to learn. And learn I did. I listened, made notes, and asked hundreds of questions.

I was developing a greater respect for Dad. He had built his business with talent, business acumen and a lot of guts. Even if this was not something I wanted, it was teaching me what he wanted and what he had done to achieve it. Dad was not afraid of hard work.

The best part of my workday was when we sat together and watched the daily practice. He talked about how the game had changed. And we discussed various players, their strengths and weaknesses.

When Max was on the ice, it was difficult to not give him my undivided attention. Although, my father couldn’t fault me if I did, because he was everything we wanted in a player. Max was the fastest player on the team. He had incredible accuracy when he shot and he was a phenomenal team player. You could see how he reacted during plays, that he could think on his feet. No matter what scenario the coaches ran him through, he excelled.

My dad talked about everyone, but he rarely spoke about Max.

We watched Max make an exceptional shot at the net, during a drill, placing the puck where no one else could. I felt pride for how well he was shooting. Dreaming of other times. Dreaming of when he had looked up at me from between my spread legs with that intense, I’m-going-to-blow-your-mind look. I had delicious daydreams about him. I wanted him to come to my office late at night after everyone had gone home. I would wear a skirt, without panties and he would push that skirt above my hips, spin me around against the wall and then I would hear the zip of his pants come down. I would spread my legs farther and then he would trace his fingers over my…

“How’s it going with 33?” Dad’s question ripped me out of my daydream.

Oh my god.

Mortified, I worked to gather my thoughts.

“According to Katrina, from the media team, he’s attended three media meetings.”

Dad nodded. “Katrina knows her stuff.”

Katrina was stunningly beautiful with dark hair and a tall, model-thin body. The best part about Katrina is that she was a married woman.

“Max requested to change his volunteer duties.”

He glanced at me. “To what?”

“He loves kids. So, with my approval, most of his volunteer work is with disadvantaged kids in the form of hockey camps and mentorships.”

My dad failed to keep the surprise off his face. “And he’s been doing his hours?”

“Yes. According to Katrina both the kids and the parents love him.”

“How’s the media behaving?”

“Seventeen calls this week alone. Everyone wants to discuss Max and his past.”

My dad made a short noise in his throat.

“Do you have any reservations?” I asked, dreading his answer.

My dad crossed his arms and watched as Max made a remarkable shot on the net during the drill. He was thinking. “I don’t know. There’s something about him.”

I could feel my heart pound in my throat. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “He reminds me of someone.”

“Who?”

His eyes followed Max down the ice. “Someone I didn’t like.”

“Dad, you can’t dismiss Max because he reminds you of someone.”

“Yes, I can. It’s called intuition.”

I rolled my eyes at Dad’s back. “He’s doing what we’ve asked him to do.”

“We’ll see.”

Those two words terrified me. My dad ruthlessly protected his team. I made a mental note to remind Katrina to follow up with Max before our first pre-season game about Max avoiding the media.

IT WAS the first game of the preseason and Dad had filled our executive viewing box with his friends and colleagues. It was a boisterous affair with plenty of food and booze. I wasn’t in the mood. Before the game started, I glad-handed with his guests before slipping down to the family seats we always had reserved at ice level.

I’d never admit this to anyone, but I wanted to watch the game in peace. I didn’t want to make small talk with business executives while trying to concentrate on the game.

This was a big night for our players. We still hadn’t cut the roster, and a lot was riding on the game for several of the players. Not that I cared about most of those players. I was only worried about one.

Max.

It shocked me that Katrina was sitting in one of our eight private family seats that were off limits to everyone, including staff.

“Hi.” I sat down beside her.

Her delicate features were marred with shock at my arrival. Her beauty always stunned me.

At least she was a married woman.

She gave me a cold glance but didn’t say a word. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why Katrina didn’t like me, but from day one, she had remained reserved around me. Perhaps this was an opportunity to warm up our professional relationship.

I waved over one of the personal attendants that stood off to the side.

“Could you please bring me a lager beer,” I glanced at Katrina. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

She didn’t glance at me. “I’ll have a white wine.”

The attendant disappeared.

“So, fresh new season, hey?”

She ignored me.

Perhaps she had trouble hearing.

I waited until the attendant returned with our drinks. I passed Katrina her wine and then signed off on the receipt, leaving the attendant a generous tip.

Katrina didn’t thank me for her drink, nor did she thank the attendant which I found rude. Mom had ingrained impeccable manners into me from a young age. You always say thank you.

I gave her one last shot. “Your husband is always welcome to come to the games. You know we can get you some good seats.”

“My husband and I separated this summer.”

Instant retribution. Mom was always warning me you never knew what someone else was going through. Perhaps this is why Katrina seemed so distant.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Glad the dick is gone.”

Or perhaps Katrina was simply an unpleasant person.

Music thundered around the stadium. Players spilled onto the ice for their pre-game warmup. I hadn’t seen Max close up in weeks and now I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off him. His skates and helmet added inches to his 6’4” frame, making him look like an ice warrior. He talked to another player, took a few shots on goal and appeared at home and relaxed on the ice.

So why was I so damn nervous for him and his first game?

The entire arena stood for the Canadian and American anthems.

The game started out rough. Players shoved and pushed to get control of the puck. The plexiglass shook every time someone got body checked into the boards.

I would die before I admitted it to my father, but I loved hockey. I loved the sound of skates cutting on the ice. I loved the speed and intensity of the game. I loved how blood-thirsty this sport was.

Five minutes into the game, Max got a breakaway. He skated around the opposing defense and approached the net with unfathomable speed. He slapped the stick and shot the puck so fast, my eyes couldn’t follow it. The deep goal horn reverberated throughout the stadium and then the goal song played.

A few of his teammates crowded around him, hugging and congratulating him. The crowd’s response concerned me. They cheered but didn’t go wild.

Well, it was the start of the season. Perhaps the crowd needed warming up. Regardless, it thrilled me that Max had gotten the first goal of the pre-season.

Max, breathing hard, skated toward the bench. He appeared impossibly big and sweaty. As if he could sense me, his eyes lifted to where I sat. My breath caught in my throat as he held my gaze for an extended couple of seconds before he moved to the bench. I crossed my arms over my waist, thrilled that he had noticed me.

Which was silly and so school-girlish. Still. It elated me far more than it should have.

“So, how long have you been working here?” I tried again to make conversation with Katrina.

“Look, Ro-r-y.” She used a disdainful three entire syllables to say my name. “We don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“I don’t need another ass to kiss and you don’t have enough room on your ass for another pair of lips.”

My face flamed as I stared at the ice. Her rudeness shocked me, but for all I knew, Dad set her up to test my ability to maintain professionalism in the face of extraordinary rudeness. “A professional relationship is fine with me, Katrina.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

No one could be that rude, could they?

I focused on the game, studying the various plays they made. I made a mental note about which player lineups worked and which lineups struggled. The crowd roared with every breakaway. It was a thrilling game and every time Max stepped onto the ice, I felt pride at his extraordinary speed and agility.

During the end of the first period, another player, with an assist from Max, scored. The stadium went wild. They screamed so loud, we couldn’t hear the goal song.

Heading into the back of the 3^rd period, the Wolves tied the game up. It was neck-to-neck with equal shots on goal. Max, two against one, battled his way down to the end of the ice. He needed someone to pass to, but the rest of the team lagged. He swung to one side, gave a fake shot and then slid the puck in between the goalie’s legs.

It was a brilliant goal.

The horn echoed, reverberating throughout the stadium.

People cheered, but it sounded muted, unlike when the other player had scored.

My heart sunk. The crowd didn’t like Max.

I glanced up behind me, at the family box. My dad stood on the balcony, his arms crossed, with a hard-to-read expression. He sensed it too.

I swung back to Max who skated back to the bench. His eyes were on the ice and he didn’t look up at the crowd.

Katrina seemed oblivious. She spent most of her time on her phone uninterested in the game that played out in front of us.

Two minutes later, Dad appeared and sat down beside me.

“Hi Katrina,” Dad offered a friendly smile.

“Mr. Ashford,” her voice sounded warm.

“Your name didn’t show on my list of guests approved to sit in my private seats.”

She flushed a deep red. “Rory invited me. At the last minute.”

I turned, wide-eyed to stare at Katrina. She wrapped her arm around mine. “We’ve become friends, haven’t we?”

I had no response. I didn’t want to make it awkward for her, but I refused to lie to Dad on her behalf. Especially after she had been such a bitch.

Dad saved me from answering. “That’s great. Would you mind giving us some privacy?”

She beamed a smile at him and stood up. “Of course. And thank you both for your generosity. Are we still going to talk to Max after the game, Rory?”

I worked to keep the shock off my face. “I don’t know.”

Her voice sounded patient. “You promised we’d talk about releasing his media ban.”

What was she even talking about? “Wait for me on the Concord. I’ll be right up.”

She gave Dad another inculpable smile. “Night.”

Dad watched her walk up the stairs and then turned back to me. “You didn’t invite her to sit with you, did you?”

I shrugged. “She was here when I got here.”

“Did you tell her this was off limits to staff?”

“I thought it’d be an opportunity to bond.”

“How did that go?”

I ignored him. “What did you think about tonight?”

“You tell me.”

I discussed my concerns with our second offensive line.

“Anything else?”

I sighed. “The fan’s reaction to Logan concerned me.”

“You noticed that too. What is this nonsense about lifting his media ban?”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Thoughts?”

I weighed my response. “If we lift the media ban, the media will only focus on Logan’s past. What he doesn’t need is more bad press.” I pressed my lips together. “I think we need the fans to gain an appreciation for him first before we release the hounds on him.”

“Good, I agree. Are you able to enforce that?”

I glanced up at Dad. “Yes.”

“You have any trouble, you come to me. Let no one push you around on that.”

“Another test?”

“Yes,” his dark eyes found mine. “I want to know if you can hold your own.”

The game ended. We stood as the players left the ice and the announcer called the star players. With two goals and one assist, they named Max first star.

I watched as he came back onto the ice and skated in a short circle. The crowd remained silent and didn’t cheer or clap. The deafening quiet was eerie. Max glanced up at the crowd and the fleeting expression on his face made my breath catch in my throat.

Sadness etched his features.

He dropped his eyes and stepped off the ice.

My heart was in my throat. I felt for him. What a lonely position to be in.

Why didn’t the crowd love him? He was our most valuable player. Anyone could see that.

Dad interrupted my thoughts. “I’ll be a couple hours. Do you want to ride home with me?”

I didn’t want to wait around. “Don’t worry about me.”

He nodded. “See you at home.”