Cara
Late April
The private charter terminal at Brisbane Airport was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It was opulent. Floor-to-ceiling windows enhanced the airy, open feel of the place. The early morning sunrise streamed in, glittering off the white marble adorning the soaring three-storey walls. The floors were the same white-and-grey stone, interspersed with plushly carpeted areas on which dark leather recliners sat in different groupings. Tables surrounded by bucket chairs were gathered in other spaces, too, and a handful of people were scattered here and there, some working, others sipping coffee.
Paintings of Queensland’s most beautiful places—the crystalline aquamarine sea and the white sandy beaches of the Coral Coast, lush green millennia-old rainforests, the towering buildings along the glitter strip, the Storey Bridge spanning theexpanse of the serpentine Brisbane River in the city, and the rich red dirt and endless horizon of the outback—hung on the walls.
It was luxurious and quiet, and I didn’t miss the hustle and bustle of the thousands of passengers who were always in the main terminals. I was waiting for the Seals to disembark their flight. I’d greet them with a fancy sign so that I could direct them through their baggage collection, customs, and onto the team bus.
My nerves were playing havoc with me, and my hands were shaking as I waited. The bar in the centre of the concourse tempted me to perch there and down a Cocksucking Cowboy. Zali had introduced me them to me one night, and we’d gotten horribly tipsy, giggling like schoolgirls until we’d fallen asleep in front of the TV while watching a movie. I’d revealed far more about myself to her than I’d ever done before. But I loved having someone to talk to. She was the best friend I’d had in a long time.
Zali treated me like I was someone important to her. Our differences—her confidence and control and my bumbling along—had brought us together. We’d clicked, and I think we both gave each other what we needed.
And her dad…. I fanned myself. He was so very handsome and sweet. Gentlemanly, too, but I hadn’t missed the way he’d pulled back his hips when we’d been dancing. He’d gotten hard, and I’d almost melted. I’ve wondered ever since—obsessed, actually—about what it would be like to be with someone so… huge. He was long and thick and, oh my goodness, that thing was a weapon. Was there advanced level training you needed to take something like that?
I shivered. We’d been texting endlessly, silly things like jokes, but he was very sweet too. He always said good morning and asked me how my day was in the afternoons. He’d had fluffy socks delivered to my house when I complained that my feet were cold, and he’d had a box of cupcakes sent over when I toldhim I wanted dessert but had nothing sweet in my kitchen. He hadn’t pushed it further, never asking to meet up, but we had progressed to telephone calls. His voice was warm and deep, and I loved talking to him. It was easier, too—I didn’t get as nervous when we weren’t face to face, but I still got the giggles when he told me stories of his rebellious younger days. I hadn’t believed him until he’d admitted to sneaking into a Hoodoo Gurus concert at a nightclub well before he was eighteen and borrowing his nextdoor neighbour’s work uniform—without permission—so that he and a friend could watch Wally Lewis play in a sold-out Broncos game while they pretended to clean the stadium. He was building our friendship brick by brick, and I appreciated it.
The knowledge that I’d see him again very soon ramped up my excitement and nerves to never-before-seen levels. But that only served to skyrocket the guilt too. He’d been friendly, doing nice things for me so that I would feel comfortable going away with him for two weeks, and there I was, lusting after my bestie’s father. I mean, what sort of lousy friend did that?
At least I hadn’t been drinking the night I met him, nor had I been drinking much since. If I’d been as tipsy as I had been during my night in with Zali, I might have climbed Monroe like a tree and ruined my friendship with his daughter. I still wanted to do that sober, but I had a touch more restraint.
Maybe drinking now wasn’t the best idea either.
Sighing, I looked at the coffee shop next to the bar in the charter terminal. I’d arrived an hour ago and had already finished my second tea of the day. It was soothing and delicious, but I’d already peed too many times to count, and I was so jumpy that if I risked any more caffeine, I might just vibrate out of myself. It wasn’t just nerves at meeting the team, though.
There was now some kind of media storm surrounding Alec Huxley. I’d turned the radio off the moment they’d said the word controversy, and I’d so far managed to resist looking online.I didn’t want to know. If I kept my head buried in the sand, I wouldn’t have to deal with it on top of the most important fourteen days of my career so far—even if it was a job I despised with the heat of a thousand suns—as well as nerves at meeting the entire team and seeing Monroe again. The team’s PR person, Keeley Fisher, his agent, and if it affected us, Dad’s PR team, would look after it.
It didn’t matter anyway. I didn’t care what scoop TMZ had; I didn’t do gossip. Well, okay, I did. I normally loved it, but not this time, not when the man himself—all six foot three inches of gorgeous, tattooed perfection—was going to be standing in front of me in a matter of minutes. He deserved better than that.
I just wanted to concentrate on what I was here to do—look after the team’s needs.
But even if I’d wanted to peek at the sites, I wouldn’t have had time. I’d spent hours packing, repacking, and repacking again to even look anything up. Not knowing was probably a blessing anyway—if my number-one crush in the league was a jerk who kicked puppies for fun, I didn’t want to know about it. I was happy living in denial.
I watched as a sleek jet emblazoned with the Seals logo and splashed with purple, black, and silver landed. It taxied to the terminal before linking up with the jet bridge. The jitters in my hands had spread to my whole body. I was vibrating with anticipation, butterflies taking flight and performing loop-de-loops in my belly.
When the doors to the jetway were opened, my stomach flip-flopped, and I pressed down on it, hoping I didn’t puke everywhere. I couldn’t believe that this was really happening. This was it. I was actually going to meet NHL players for real. Not only that, but I was going to see Jacques, my old friend, and meet Alec Huxley.
At least I hoped he was on board.
What if he’d been pulled because of the scandal?
What if the team had washed their hands of him and pulled him from the roster? Was he even still part of the team? My heart hammered in my chest, my stomach vaulting through a round of somersaults that would have made an Olympic gymnast proud.
My breaths came out faster and my hands shook harder. I squeezed the sign until I heard it crack.
Jiminy Cricket. I needed to get myself under control.
If Alec had been pulled, he was probably grateful for the break. The season had been a long and gruelling one. He would be having a well-deserved vacation, probably lying on the sand somewhere, soaking up the sun. After their wickedly cold winter, he was likely defrosting somewhere in the Caribbean. Or Mexico somewhere. Hawaii, maybe.
He wouldn’t be disappointed that he didn’t get to meet me, that was for sure.
I exhaled slowly and let the stress drain away. I wanted to meet Hux more than anyone else on the team, but I had to be both realistic and a professional.
But, oh my goodness, the reality was setting in. I was actually going to be spending time with the team. My feet bounced as I stood on my tiptoes, practically dancing in my chucks. My flowy dress billowed out every time I moved.
I wanted to squeal, jump up and down, and go hide all at the same time.
After an eternity, the staff started filing through the doors—a few older people and a bunch of young ones too. They were dressed in what appeared to be the team uniform—black chinos, white polo shirts, and purple suit jackets.
