“Tonight?” I squeaked, glancing out on the ice where the guys were still practicing. “I… I wasn’t prepared for that. I need to pack. And why do I need to live in his building? My house is only twenty-five minutes away.”
“It’s an all-access, twenty-four-seven affair,” Reya reminded me. “Trust us. This will be easier on everyone. And you’ll be fully immersed. Gah. I’m actually jealous of you.”
“Same,” Camilla said on a sigh.
“I don’t even have anyone lined up to house sit or anything. My plants,” I whimpered.
Reya and Camilla cooed an aww before Reya said, “We will handle it. I have a copy of your house key from the photoshoot we did there when we announced you as the newest Babe.”
“Let us take care of everything else. You just focus on Vince Tanev, and give these hungry new followers what they’re asking for,” Camilla added.
They were making kissing noises and shooing me off the phone before I could argue, and when the call ended, I tapped the Instagram icon on my phone, and my eyes nearly bulged out of my skull.
They were right. One-hundred-and-eight-thousand followers and counting.
I’d posted that picture of Vince holding his handmade mug, that little smirk on his face while he stood there shirtless and bathed in morning light. A quick glance at the comment section showed me that I wasn’t the only woman in the world who drooled at the sight of him like that. It was impossible not to with how his abdomen rippled with muscles and lines, with how the waistband of those pajama bottoms hugged him in the most perfect way.
He was so hot it wasn’t fair, and now, the hockey world was panting and begging for more.
When I saw that ESPN had reposted the picture and tagged our account with credit, encouraging everyone to follow us, I almost squealed.
Excitement buzzed through me like an electric current.
This really was the opportunity of a lifetime.
So what, hockey wasn’t exactly what I pictured myself being known for. This was a way to get noticed, to break out as a Babe and establish myself in the eyes of our city and beyond.
Once I had their attention, I could focus on what I really wanted them to see.
Our community and the people who serve it.
My chest was still light and airy when I switched to the story mode and took a video of the guys on the ice, zooming in slowly on Vince as he ran a drill with his team. He was so calm and confident, carefree as he glided across the ice, his shoulders squared and hands gripping his stick like an expert. He wore a white practice jersey, and even under all the pads shielding his body, he moved with ease in the way only a pro can.
I held the phone steady in my hand as I framed him on the screen.
And as if I’d planned it, he shucked the puck right into the net with my camera rolling, ripping his helmet off in a victorious battle cry like it had been a game instead of practice.
His hair was drenched, and he shook it out as he shot off some smartass remarks to his teammates. They met him with a mixture of groans and insults, but a few of them clapped him on the back as they skated by.
Then, his eyes found me.
I had about fifteen seconds left in the story clip as he skated toward me, his face coming into view more and more. And with his mouth slightly parted and a grin curling on his lips, he pointed at my phone with his glove.
And the motherfucker winked.
It was so hot I nearly dropped the phone, but managed to hold my hands stable until the clip ran out.
Vince tore his attention from me just as quickly as he’d given it, slipping his helmet back on and fastening the chin strap just in time to line up for what coach had planned next. I watched the clip play back, and the intensity was even more powerful the second time around.
I debated what text to write to accompany the clip, but everything I thought of just didn’t match the energy.
He was the story.
Just him.
So, I put nothing more than a winky-face emoji with its tongue out at the lower left-hand corner of the screen, and I tapped the button that sent the story live into the social media atmosphere.
I’d just tucked my phone away and pulled out my camera for a few shots when Coach McCabe blew his whistle, and the team gathered around where he stood for a quick chat before they were all skating off the ice and toward the tunnel I was standing in.
I pressed myself against the wall, trying to be invisible, but I didn’t miss the chance to capture them all on video as they hopped the boards and took off their helmets, making their way back toward the locker room.
Each of them eyed me either curiously or like I was already annoying them as they passed. A few of them goofed off for the camera, smacking their ass as they passed or making faces so close to the lens that they fogged it up.
Vince held back, making himself the last player off the ice, and he paused right in front of where I stood, ignoring the camera and focusing on me, instead.
“Having fun, Maven King?”
“That’s one word for it,” I said. I debated recording the exchange, but tucked my phone away, instead. “Nice shot out there.”
“I did it just for you.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I did,” he insisted. “I just imagined you jumping up and down when I scored, chanting my name. It was great motivation.”
“I’m sure you would love to hear me chant your name, but I’m not one of your fan girls.”
He tilted his head, smirking like he had a comeback to that, but he kept it locked behind those curled lips of his. Then, his eyes flicked down, and his scarred eyebrow arched high.
“Let me grab you one of my jerseys from the team shop,” he said, staring a bit longer before his gaze found mine again. “Looks like you’re a little cold.”
He was already hobbling toward the locker room on his skates when I glanced down, immediately mortified to find my nipples so hard they were distinctly visible through my top.
I had dressed for a hot Florida day, not an ice rink.
Idiot.
“I’m not wearing your jersey,” I shot at him, folding my arms over my chest.
He turned, walking backward through the tunnel on his skates. “Wanna bet?”
“Only if you want to lose.”
Vince shrugged, smiling like he’d already won. “I’ll take my chances.”
And then he turned and disappeared down the tunnel, just in time for Coach McCabe to stop right in front of me and block my view.
“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself before,” he said, extending a hand.
I was still shaken up from the exchange with Vince, which was supremely annoying, and I blinked out of the daze with a smile as I took Coach’s hand in my own.
“It’s perfectly okay. You’re a busy man. I just want to thank you for agreeing to all this.”
“Well, it wasn’t my choice, if I’m being perfectly honest,” he said, withdrawing his hand.
“Oh.” My cheeks heated.
“I want you to feel welcome,” he said. “And I am happy to give you the all-access my general manager promised. However,” he amended, holding up one stern finger. “The last thing we need on this team is a distraction.”
“I understand,” I said before he could continue. “I’ll be like a fly on the wall, sir.”