Spiral (Off the Ice, #2)
Bal Khabra
ONE
ELIAS
TORONTO THUNDER’S GOLDEN BOY KEEPS THE ICE COLD AND THE WOMEN HOT!
Being a rookie in the NHL is as bad as you expect it to be. But being a rookie in the NHL who’s constantly in the media and hasn’t scored his first career goal is even worse.
The hotel lobby has a selection of magazines to choose from, but the one on the coffee table has my name on the cover. It’s a blurry picture of a woman leaving the nightclub, with me right behind her. The rare time I could be persuaded to celebrate a win is when they catch me with a woman. If they bothered to do some research, they’d know the woman is Brandy, our team photographer. I had offered her a ride home, and didn’t expect someone to snap pictures.
Avoiding parties and outings isn’t something I do intentionally, but it’s difficult to celebrate something you had no part in. I prefer going over the games and analyzing my mistakes to find what’s preventing me from getting that first goal. So that’s exactly what I have planned for tonight.
Except we’re in Dallas, and I’m still waiting in the hotel lobby for my room to be ready. Despite knowing not to, I take a closer look at the magazine, and read the smaller headlines.
IS WESTBROOK LOSING HIMSELF TO FAME? ANOTHER BAD MOVE FOR TORONTO?
“Mr. Westbrook?”
I drop the magazine as if I’d been caught reading something illicit and head to the front desk. When I thank the concierge for the key, he shoots me a not-so-discreet wink that confuses me. Ignoring the weird interaction, I head up in the elevator to my room. Sliding my key card in the door, I waste no time heading straight for the shower.
The hot water unravels the tense muscles in my back and the thoughts of the stupid magazine. Steam wafts out of the shower behind me as I wrap a towel around my waist and run another through my hair. I’ve been dying to get into bed and turn on the game highlights, but I stop dead in my tracks when I see what’s in my bed. Or rather who is in my bed.
What the fuck?
Clutching my towel, I take several steps back. “Sorry, did I get the wrong room key?”
I didn’t. I’m sure of that since my luggage is only two feet away from me. Suddenly, the concierge’s wink makes sense. The woman’s long blond hair falls in waves around her face, red lips and perfect teeth forming a smile. She’s lying on the king-size bed in one of the hotel-provided robes with half-eaten snack wrappers from the minibar strewn across the covers.
“The key seems perfect to me.” Her mischievous smile as she sits up makes me uneasy.
“I’m not sure who you’re looking for, but it’s definitely not me.”
“Trust me”—her eyes map every inch of my torso, lingering on the wet droplets slipping down my abdomen—“it’s definitely you, Eli.”
If this is a prank, I’m killing my teammates.
“I thought you’d want to celebrate tonight’s win,” she purrs, taking a step toward me.
The only reason I’d celebrate is if I scored, and that hasn’t happened yet. I take several steps back and toward the door. “I’m sure you can find someone else who’s interested.”
Her brows jump so high I can tell she’s never been turned down.
My refusal doesn’t have her putting her clothes back on and leaving as I’d hoped. So I turn and walk out. In the hall, naked except for a towel, I head straight for a neighboring room. Aiden and I are only a few rooms apart since the rookies are paired together, and I’m hoping he’s still awake.
Aiden Crawford, my best friend and teammate, isn’t like me. He got his first career goal the moment he stepped onto the ice in our very first game. His second goal came that next night with an assist by me. Since he’s joined the Toronto Thunder, he’s been nothing short of stellar, and I couldn’t be more proud. But Aiden’s not one to throw a party for each goal. His ambitions extend beyond a single game, a drive he’s had since he led us as captain at Dalton University.
So right now I’m hoping he’s also bailed on celebrating, because hotel guests are walking in the corridor, and one has taken a particular interest in my half-naked state. If they recognize me, I’m sure cameras will start clicking.
“Aiden!” I knock harder than I should, earning even more looks when the elevator opens to a new batch of hotel guests. Fantastic.
Mid-knock, the door swings open, and Aiden eyes me with curiosity. “What’s wrong?”
Before I can explain, the reason for my escape strolls out of the room, scanning the hallway for me. “That is.” I gesture to the girl and barrel my way inside his hotel room.
“Again?” Aiden chuckles, closing the door. I see the phone in his hand, with his girlfriend, Summer, on a video call.
“Hey, Brooksy.” She waves at me through the screen, and I wave back, clutching my towel a little tighter. Although, Summer’s probably immune, since she’s seen way more than she signed up for when she and Aiden started dating earlier this year. We’ve become great friends, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
“You need security, man,” Aiden says. “I’m pretty sure those people in the hall took a picture of you.”
I sit on his bed and drop my head back against the headboard in defeat. All I ever wanted was to play professional hockey, but now it feels like the dream is slipping through my fingers. The extra attention and opinions wouldn’t bother me if I could shake off the pressure to perform. It’s a weight that conveniently snatches my ability to do the one thing I’ve always been good at.