Hip Check (New York Blades) (15 page)

Much to her surprise, they both pulled away at the same time. “I know what you’re going to say: that wasn’t smart,” said Esa with a small, rueful smile.

“No, it wasn’t,” Michelle agreed, her pulse still twittering. “But in this case, you’re not the only one to blame. I mean, I did respond,” she admitted reluctantly.

“You did. Very nicely, I might add.”

Blushing, Michelle covered her face with her hands. “Now you’re embarrassing me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Goddamn, why did he have to be so good-looking? It would be so much easier to say what now needed to be said if he weren’t quite so handsome, or such a good kisser. If he weren’t her boss. She reminded herself of all the things he was: arrogant, a womanizer, a man terrified of his own feelings and emotions.

Michelle took her hands from her face. “Look.” She wanted to extricate herself from this as soon as possible. She wasn’t good at this, whatever “this” was, exactly, and she never had been. “I don’t have any problem putting this down to your current situation.”

Esa knit his brows together, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“You’re upset and I’m the only woman who’s here—”

“You value your attractiveness so little?” Esa cut in.

The heat in Michelle’s cheeks deepened. “No, it’s just that you and I both know I’m not your type.”

Esa shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“What?”

“You telling me how
I
feel.”

“Look,” Michelle said again. She had a habit of always starting sentences with “Look” when she knew she had to reason with someone whose views or opinions were different from hers. “You and I both know that whatever the reason for that kiss, it’s irrelevant. We can’t play house, Esa. We’re just going to have to ignore the pink elephant in the room. Either that, or I’m going to have to—”

“Don’t even say it.” He sounded so angry Michelle was taken aback. “I would never do that to Nell, and neither would you.”

Shame forced Michelle’s eyes down again. “I know.”

“All right.” Esa wiped the salt on his fingers off on the front of his jeans. “So we’re going to pretend this didn’t happen.”

Michelle nodded.

“I just wanted to make sure I’m clear on this.” He grabbed Nell’s soda and took a slug. “You don’t have to help me out tomorrow if it’s a hassle for you. Seriously.”

“It’s not a hassle,” Michelle assured him. “I already told you: I feel sorry for you.”

“Perhaps I should play the pity card more often with the ladies,” Esa said sardonically. “It seems to have its rewards.”

Michelle opened her mouth, closed it, and quickly erased what she wanted to say to him which was: once an asshole, always an asshole.

She stood. “I’m really tired.”

“As am I.”

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yes. Good night, Michelle.”

“Good night, Esa.”

She heard him flip the TV back on as she headed for her room. She knew she was going to lie awake all night, dissecting, replaying, second-guessing herself. She should have listened to her original instinct about working for him when she was thinking about taking the job. But always, always, it came back to Nell for her. And from here on out, that needed to be her sole focus.

20

“How’s it going,
Esa?”

Esa thought the answer was pretty self-evident as he sat down gingerly in his agent’s office. It was going badly. It was going like shit. It wasn’t going at all.

Esa gestured at his left leg. “Bone bruise on my left ankle. I’m out for a week.”

Russell seemed unfazed. “Minor injury. Happens to everyone.”

“Yeah, I know that, Russ, but no athlete likes to be out, especially for a week. I’m going to miss three goddamn games.”

“You have my sympathy.”

Esa frowned. “Thanks.”

Russell planted his palms on the desk in front of him, leaning forward in his chair. “I talked to Kidco management. Unsurprisingly, they have no interest in contract talks sooner rather than later. They want to see how the season goes.”

“I figured.” Typical, Esa thought disgustedly. Team management always played it this way with players whose contracts were running out. Why had he thought they’d treat him any differently? “Good, not great.” He’d heard that was Kidco’s current assessment of him. They said they’d paid for “great.” There was every possibility that if “great” Esa didn’t make a triumphant return, he was going to find himself with a crappy contract offer, if any.

Russell leaned back in his chair. “We do have another option.”

“Yeah, I know: talk to other teams, create some competition.”

“That’ll definitely put a fire under their asses,” Russell pointed out. “The thing is: are you willing to seriously entertain offers? I doubt it’ll come to that, but I need to know.”

Esa frowned. “I don’t really have much of a choice, do I?”

“Not unless you want to take the gamble of seeing what happens with Blades management.”

“Nussia.”
Right then, his ankle began to throb. Psychosomatic. Unbelievable. He rubbed his chin, the gristle there bristling against his fingers. He’d woken up late and hadn’t had a chance to shave.

“Yeah, I’ll entertain other offers,” he told Russell miserably.

“Okay. I’ll put some feelers out, but I don’t think you have to worry about that: they’ll all be champing at the bit to get you.”

“Glad you think so.” Two years ago, Esa’s response would have been an unabashed, “No kidding.” Now he was doubting his market value.

“C’mon, Esa. How long have I been in this goddamn business? No worries, okay?”

“Right.” He wished his agent’s words chased off some of his gloom, but they didn’t. Perhaps he’d feel better about using this trump card if he wasn’t sitting here in a walking boot. And of course, there was Nell. What if he did have to accept an offer somewhere else, and they had to move? That meant uprooting her—again. Maybe Michelle would move with them, he mused. Keep on being Nell’s nanny. As if that was going to happen. Although you never knew; she
was
pretty dedicated to Nell.

He wrapped things up with Russell, but rather than hail a cab right away, he sat down on one of the benches in the marble-pillared lobby. He knew he should go home and rest his leg. But it was Monday, and Michelle would probably be there, doing whatever nanny tasks she did during the day.

He was really grateful to her for being willing to shift her schedule around to help him and his bum ankle out. It hadn’t been too weird when they’d hung out on Saturday, because Nell had been there to focus on. But he could imagine how awkward it was going to be for the next few days around the apartment with just the two of them there: there’d be some big-time avoidance going on.

He thought about the kiss. It had felt inevitable somehow, the most natural thing in the world. Her statement that he’d only kissed her because he was upset and she happened to be there had shocked him. She was so confident of herself in every other area; how could she dismiss her own attractiveness?

Granted, she was right that she wasn’t his “type,” but more and more, his type was starting to grate on him. He loved sleeping with gorgeous women, and being photographed with them rocked. But the conversation wasn’t exactly riveting. And once you stripped away the fucking and ego boost, there wasn’t much there. Michelle was smart and funny; he could actually talk with her. She was a good person, too. He had no idea if the women he dated were good people; conversation never got that deep. For all he knew, they went home and smacked their folks around or poked neighborhood dogs with sticks.

He shifted his weight uncomfortably, his eyes following a young, red-haired woman in a business suit walking by. Good-looking women always turned his head. Always would, probably.

Michelle was in that category now: good-looking.

He hated to admit that he was starting to like her—as in,
like
her like her, as that douchebag Swede Ulfie would put it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually felt that way. Obviously he was shallow. Or maybe guarded was a more accurate term. Real relationships meant vulnerability, and if there was one thing in his life he despised, it was being vulnerable. It opened you up to all kinds of complications, which was the last thing he needed right now.

Michelle was right: great as the kiss was, it couldn’t lead to anything, and there was no use pretending otherwise.

He decided he’d go to Met Gar for a bit, ice his ankle in the whirlpool. See if he could get treatment from a trainer. The faster he healed, the better. Maybe he’d be able to make practice on Thursday. Not only that, but the more time out of the apartment, the better.

21

“What a nice
surprise.”

Michelle rolled her eyes at her father’s teasing, kissing him on his whiskery cheek as she entered his apartment. Once a week, usually on one of her weekend days off, she headed out to Queens to see her dad. Today, however, she’d checked if it was okay to visit him on a weekday after she’d gotten Nell off to school. She wanted to be out of the apartment as much as possible while Esa was laid up. Thankfully, her dad was home. So here she was, Monday morning, complete with a bag of his favorite crullers from V & V.

He rattled the wax paper bag Michelle handed to him. “My favorite, I hope.”

“Have you ever known me to bring you any different?”

“You know what? I haven’t. C’mon, follow me into the kitchen.”

Same old words, same old routine, and she liked that. There was comfort in it, especially when her life had taken quite the unexpected turn on Friday night.

“How’s it going?” her father asked, putting up the water for coffee.

“Same old, same old.”

Her dad glanced at her over his shoulder. “You look tired.”

“Taking care of a kid is tiring!” Michelle said, even though her weariness had nothing to do with Nell and everything to do with sleeping like hell since the kiss. “You of all people should know that.”

“You were no problem. Your brother on the other hand . . .”

Michelle laughed. “He sleeping?”

“No. Morning shift, thank God. You know what it’s like when someone is pulling doubles night after night: it’s like living with a vampire.”

“I remember.”

Her dad finished at the sink, giving a small series of coughs as he moved to the coffeemaker on the blue linoleum countertop opposite. That was Jamie’s latest fixation: their father’s cough. Michelle pointed out that he’d been coughing since they were kids. But Jamie insisted it had gotten worse, even though Michelle was there every week and it sounded the same to her.

“How’s the kiddo doing?”

Michelle broke into a big smile at her favorite topic. “She’s doing great.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“She’s thriving in school, she’s coming out of her shell more . . .”

“When are you going to bring her over again? I could use a little girl to spoil.”

“Let me see what my schedule is like in the next week, and I’ll get back to you.”

“My, that sounds very official,” said Michelle’s father, moving to the fridge to pull out the can of coffee.

“Well, you know, her uncle’s schedule changes from week to week, which means my schedule does, too.”

“Uncle Esa.” The disdain in her father’s voice made Michelle bristle.”I saw he got injured Friday night. Can’t say I’m sorry.”

“It’s not nice to wish injury on someone.”

“I wasn’t wishing injury on him, Michelle. I was just saying that the fact he’s injured doesn’t make me sad.” Her father narrowed his eyes accusingly. “Why? It makes you sad?”

“Of course it does, for Nell’s sake,” Michelle replied evenly. “We were at the game when it happened and she completely wigged out.”

“Poor kid.”

“Exactly.”

“You should let me and Jamie bring her to an Islanders game one night so she can see how real hockey is played.”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Michelle deadpanned. “She pretends to watch a team that hasn’t been in the playoffs in a decade. You’ll stuff her full of franks until she feels sick and then bring her home to me, where she’ll spend half the night throwing up.”

“You
are
her nanny,” her father admonished playfully. “And don’t forget, we had the greatest four-year run in history.”

“You’re a pip, Dad, seriously.”

The coffee machine gurgled into action and her dad sat down at the table, covering his mouth as he gave another cough. He looked at Michelle defensively. “Before you even start, allow me to tell you, you never get the smoke out of your lungs. But try telling that to Jamie: every time I so much as clear my throat, he gives me ‘the look’—you know, his ‘Go to the doctor, I’m worried you’re gonna drop dead’ look.”

“He’s just looking out for you.”

“I’m sixty-four years old, Michelle. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. Plus he’s a goddamn firefighter himself. Just wait until he’s been on a crew for forty-five years. He’s gonna sound the same way.”

“I know.”

“If he keeps this up, he’s going to get a swift kick up his ass and two weeks’ notice from me.”

“
Ouch
,” Michelle said with a wince.

“Maybe you could tell him what I said.”

“Tell him yourself!”

“He’ll listen if it comes from you.”

Michelle snorted. “Oh, right. As if he’s ever listened to anything I’ve said.”

“There’s always a first time.”

“Dad, you know Jamie doesn’t listen to anyone, except his captain.”

“Well, he better start,” her father warned.

They made small talk for a while: the weather, her dad’s very active social life, Nell, and eventually Esa. There was no avoiding it: she did work for him. And live with him. And kiss him.
Shit
.

“Tell me about the injured Finn,” said her father, dunking a cruller in his mug of coffee. He’d been doing that for as long as Michelle remembered, dunking his crullers. It used to drive her mom nuts, especially when he’d let them break off into the coffee and then when he was done with his drink, he’d spoon out the mush from the bottom of the mug and eat it.

Michelle sipped her coffee. “What about him?”

“Is he getting on any better with the kid?”

“Her name’s Nell, remember? And yes, he’s getting better.”

“Still bedding those models?”

A frosty shiver crept up Michelle’s spine. “I wouldn’t know. He certainly doesn’t bring them home, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Big of him.” Her father shook his head disapprovingly. “Those rich, single athletes are all the same: they just want
T
and
A
. They don’t even care if the
T
is real anymore. It’s all about size.”

“No offense, Dad, but I really don’t want to get into whether my employer can spot a pair of silicone boobs at five hundred feet. And PS, you’re starting to sound like Jamie, who thinks he’s the world expert on everything.”

“I read. I know what I’m talking about.”

Michelle put her palms up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, whatever you say.” She knew better than to belabor the point, especially since it could lead directly to her dad going into protective mode, wanting to know if Esa had ever zeroed in on her boobs, which she was pretty sure he hadn’t, because she didn’t have much of a bust to speak of.

Unfortunately, she was too late: her father was peering at her across the table suspiciously. “He ever give you the eye?”

Good old Dad, going straight for the jugular today.

“Do I look like a model to you?”

“You look better than a model, sweetie. That’s what worries me.”

“Dad, you don’t have to worry, all right?” Which was true.

“Well, just remember: if he gives you any problems, Jamie and I can take care of him.”

“I appreciate that, but trust me, I know how to handle him. Plus I have a feeling I might get fired if my dad and brother roughed up my boss.”

“Didn’t think of that.”

“Clearly. Now pass me one of those crullers and fill me in on some neighborhood gossip, because I’m way out of the loop.”

* * *

Esa had been
worried a week off would cause him to get rusty; that pouring all his concentration into avoiding Michelle, rather than visualizing his ankle healing quickly, would lead to his playing like shit when he hit the ice again. But he was wrong: From the moment the game started, he picked up where he left off. It was as if there was a magnetic attraction between him and the puck. Halfway through the first period, he’d broken a scoreless tie with Philly by deflecting a shot from the point. Though they’d never admit it, he could tell by the fist bumps, as he skated by the bench after scoring, that his teammates were relieved that his injury hadn’t set him back.

He’d played okay through the second, but in the third period he’d kicked it up a notch. Up by a goal, the Blades were preparing for another nail-biter as a tight checking third period continued. With eight minutes left and Philly a man up and pressing for the equalizer, Esa found himself and Rory out on the ice killing off the penalty. He was starting to love playing shorthanded. He had skated out to press the right point when out of the corner of his eye, he saw Philly’s left defenseman break toward the slot. Taking a step to his left, Esa thrust his stick out at what turned out to be the perfect moment. He broke up the pass and the puck skittered out toward center ice.

Knowing he had at least a stride on the Philly defense, Esa rushed to pick up the loose puck. Speeding down the left wing, he sensed Rory breaking down the right wing, with a Philly defenseman in close pursuit. When he crossed the blue line, Esa pointedly looked to his right while still managing to keep one eye on the Philly goaltender. Seeing the goalie’s legs subtly move in preparation for shifting to his left, Esa snapped a wrister toward the five hole as he reached the top of the circles. The lamp flashed and the horn blasted.