Page 6 of Worth the Risk

“I’m such a big fan of yours!” she says breathily as she pushes her tits into my body. Normally I would slide my arm around her and give her a big smile, but I’m not in the mood.

“Hey, thanks. Glad to have you as a fan,” I say as I gently step away from her and pull my arm from her grasp. She doesn’t get the memo and steps into me again.

“I’d love to ask you some questions about hockey, Luke. You wanna grab some breakfast?” she asks huskily as her eyes dart toward my building. What the fuck? This chick knows where I live? This means she’s either a crazed fan, or she’s with the news or a paparazzo.

“Did you really just sit and wait here for me?” I ask her bluntly. Her eyes widen as she stammers a response.

“Well, umm, not exactly, but…”

“Which station are you with?” I ask. Bet this is an intern fresh out of college, trying to get her big break for one of the local channels.

She opens her mouth to speak, and I can see the denial coming. I subtly shake my head, and she giggles, before straightening and pushing her shoulders back. “I’m with NBC here. If you could just let me ask you a couple of questions —”

“Yeah, no. You need to leave. I’m calling security.”

I swivel and march into the lobby of my building. The security guard is already approaching me with his phone out.

“See that woman? She’s not allowed in. She just cornered me, and knew this was my building. Said she’s with NBC,” I tell him.

“On it, Mr. Santo.”

As he walks outside to see if he can talk to her, I watch as she quickly crosses the street and talks to a man holding a telephoto lens camera. Fucking great. I was just set up. Is she really with NBC, or is she really working for a gossip site that makes up stories to go with photographs? Wouldn’t be the first time I experienced that, and it probably won’t be the last.

Shooting off a quick text to Max, I sigh as I board the elevator going up to my fifteenth floor apartment. My apartment isn’t massive. I have some teammates that live in palatial apartments, or even larger homes on the outskirts of Denver. But I like living close to the arena and near all the nightlife. Well, I used to. Now it’s all become grating. Thirty-year-olds should not be out at bars trolling for chicks. I’ve begun asking to see their ID’s because some don’t look legal, and I’ll be damned if I get arrested for statutory rape.

I keep my three bedroom apartment tidy. My mom and my nonna helped me pick out all the furniture and decorate it. I come from a huge Italian family. I have six siblings: three brothers and three sisters. I’m the third youngest. My oldest two brothers, Alex and Dominic, were both married with a slew of kids. Dom is divorced, and Alex’s wife passed away in a car accident a while ago. He was deployed at the time and didn’t find out about her death until a week later. Neither have remarried, and both claim they’ll never have another relationship.

The twins, Leonardo and Gianna, who go by Leo and Gia, are a couple of years older than me. Leo is in the Army, and Gia works with my family. Gia is the only happily married one. Leo is a tech wiz, and set up our hotel website. When he’s here, he enjoys helping out wherever he can, but especially likes to help with the grounds crew. Hell, most of my family works for the same hotel that has been in my family for ages here in our hometown. Everlasting Inn and Spa.

My sisters Isabella and Ariana are both single. My mother cries often about her poor little unmarried daughters. My sisters are not amused. Isabella owns a bakery in town, and supplies all the fresh pastries and desserts for the hotel. Arianna runs the hotel spa and hot springs.

When I think back to my childhood, I have more memories at the hotel than I do from our actual home. Everyone in our family, even distant cousins, has helped out there in one way or another. Folding towels when a stomach flu took out half the housekeeping staff. Emptying dishwashers after an unexpectedly busy Fourth of July buffet dinner. Answering phones for the concierge … which Arianna and I were not asked to do again once our mom realized we were speaking only in pig Latin and answered every question with a question. While it wasn’t expected that we all would end up working there, it was implied.

Honestly, had I not found my passion for hockey, I’d undoubtedly be puttering around there in some aspect. As soon as my parents saw how much I loved hockey, however, they knew I was destined for different things. I know I’m fucking lucky. Not only do I love hockey, but I play it well enough to survive in the NHL. Only about one in every one thousand boys who start playing hockey as kids make it into the NHL. The fact that I’ve been here, successfully, for ten years? I know I’m lucky. Even luckier that I get to do it for the Denver Wolves, the team I grew up rooting for, and I’m an hour away from my hometown.

Eternity Springs is a small town west of Denver, full of personality, touristy spots, well-known hot springs, and my entire family. It’s not just my immediate family. The Santo clan rolls deep in Eternity. In fact, if at least one of my family members hasn’t been featured on the town gossip site, The Eagle Has Landed, then I know something major must have happened. Us Santo kids tend to be featured pretty often. We’re all pretty dramatic like that.

After a quick shower, I settle down on my couch to watch a movie. I should be watching tapes. I know there are rookies gunning for my spot. But at this moment, I’m just so fucking drained. Ten years may not seem like a lot in normal careers, but hockey is ridiculously physical. Maybe a hockey career is like dog years, or Hollywood marriages. Ten years in hockey is like thirty in a normal job. And frankly, I know my time is coming. Hell, it’s probably already passed. But I don’t have a fucking clue what I want to do with the rest of my life, and that scares the shit outta me. So I put on a mindless action movie and drown out the voices in my head screaming at me to be a better man. Because at this moment, I don’t have the ability to be better for anyone.

Not surprisingly, the woman who approached me in front of my building did set me up. Pictures appear online within a few hours and show me in a horrible light. It blows my mind how a paparazzo can take an innocent situation and paint it in a completely different manner. The photos make it look like the woman and I are having an intimate conversation. There’s even a shot of me looking back at my building, as if I’m suggesting she come inside. The woman went on record saying that I rocked her world, and then forced her to leave because I had another woman coming over. She legit just made up a fucking story.

I text Max the link and ask if we can sue. He texts back that he’ll contact the site and ask for a retraction and correction. The woman was “unnamed” in the article, so it would be difficult to sue her. And, he tells me, it’s a he said-she said situation, which never pans out well for the celebrity. He also added that, since I’m the “celebrity” here, I’ll be guilty until proven not guilty, and even then, most won’t believe the truth. The public no longer thinks I’m a good guy. They just assume that I’m the devil. I fucking hate this.

I’m thirty fucking years old. Yeah, I’ve had a bunch of transgressions on my record. I’m not perfect. I’ve done stupid shit, and thanks to social media, I get butchered for everything. But people just straight up lying about me? That makes me want to quit hockey and become a hermit. Move up into the mountains and never come back. Just get groceries delivered, and never see another human being again. I don’t even think I could move home to Eternity Springs, because the paparazzi would just follow me, and I can’t bring that on my family.

I take a long pull of my beer as I contemplate what I want to watch while I eat dinner. The lobby just called, saying my Chinese food delivery was on its way up. I’m in no mood for public interaction, and Max advised me to lay low for a few days anyway. I hear the soft knock letting me know the delivery has been left at the door, and I grab my food at the same time the elevator is opening. Pixie steps out and our eyes meet. My mouth salivates as I see her. Fuck she’s gorgeous. She has on sky-high fuck me red heels and her trousers accentuate that amazing ass. I’d comment on that, but one look at her face has me stopping in my tracks. Pure hatred pours off of her as she glares at me.

I don’t say a word as she walks to her door and unlocks it. I take one last look at her ass before sliding my gaze up to her face and see that she’s watching me. Her glare has changed slightly, and I now see heat. Lust. Confusion. She hesitates for one second, and I open my mouth, ready to invite her in for dinner. But she shakes her head before I can speak and slams the door.

Fuck.

I stand there for a couple minutes, flustered at my reaction to her. I don’t even know her fucking name. She obviously hates me. Hell, I hate myself, so I don’t blame her. But, damn. I hate how my body is reacting to this woman. That’ll only make me hate myself more, because I’m thinking about getting off to the image of someone who may, or may not, be related to one of my coaches.

The elevator dings again, jarring me from my thoughts. My other neighbor is a seventy-three-year-old widow named Edith. Edith and I do not get along. She thinks, assuredly so, that I’m a man-whore with no morals. I haven’t given her any indication of being otherwise. Pretty good thing she didn’t see the three women leaving early this morning, or Edith would probably try to get me kicked out of the building.

My mind is not operating at one hundred percent, or I would have thought to enter my apartment quickly as soon as I saw Edith in the elevator. Instead, since all the blood has inconveniently rushed straight to my cock at the sight of Pixie’s ass, I stand in my door and stare at Edith.

“Young man! Have you no shame?” Edith yells out, clutching at her pearl necklace. Yep, she literally wears pearls, and she clutches them often. I furrow my brow in confusion. What the hell is the old bat spouting off about?

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