Page 2 of Power Play

“Wrong.”

“Golf?”

“Seriously?” Did I look like a golfer?

“Liam, I’m kidding,” she said and put a hand on my arm. A quick glancing touch that rippled through me. I wanted to shimmy in reaction. I wanted to grab that hand and put it back on my arm. All over my body. “I know who you are.”

“You do?” I asked. I wasn’t used to being recognized. I’d just finished my rookie year with the Bruisers. I’d done well, but I fell short of my goal of being rookie of the year.

“Liam Locke. First round draft pick by the Bruisers. Left-handed center with a brutal slap shot. Also, your dimple is a dead giveaway. Everyone in this room knows who you are.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” I said, pretending to be modest. She shot me a half smile like she knew it. “Okay. Fair is fair. You have to tell me your name.”

“Kit Barrington,” she said. “My Dad is Bill Barrington.”

“Oh yeah, the investment guy,” I said. “Dillon Le Coeur is a friend of mine. He’s been helping me and a bunch of other guys get through our rookie years. I’m pretty sure he’s mentioned your dad.”

“Dillon is a great guy and if he’s helping you out, then you’re lucky.”

She took a big sip of her wine. Really big. A gulp, actually. And then she coughed, her hand coming up over her mouth. She coughed again and wine sprayed between her fingers all over me.

Horror dawned on her face, her pretty gray eyes panicked.

We stood there staring at each other, wine dripping down my nose. My chin. Wine dripping from her fingers.

It was freakinghilarious.

“Oh my God,” she gasped. “I’m so…” she choked. Coughed again. I pretended to duck and she started to laugh. “Sorry!” She grabbed napkins from the bar and patted my chest.

Still laughing, I grabbed her hands and pulled the napkins from her fingers.

“It’s okay,” I said.

I wiped up my own face, aware every second that I was holding her hand in mine and she wasn’t pulling away. Her fingers were long and thin and the nails were short. So different from the dagger like manicures on the fingers of most of the women at the party.

It looked like she’d been biting her thumb nail.

Look, I wanted to say, and show her mine. I do the same thing. A bad habit from a nervous childhood.

“You missed…” she whispered, standing so close I could feel the exhale of her breath across my face. White wine and toothpaste. Something sweet under that. Her fingers reached for me and I let go of her hand so she could brush some wine from my cheek. I grinned at her, putting the dimple Mom gave me to good use.

“I’m really sorry,” she said and pulled her hand back. “Once again I’m a walking embarrassment.”

A blush climbed across her collarbones, up her lovely neck and across her even more lovely face. She was blushing and embarrassed and dressed like a goddamn siren. The most beautiful woman here. By miles.

“Are you for real?” I asked. The words, like half the shit I said, just popped out. My brother was always on me to think beforeI said stuff, but I figured why? It hadn’t hurt me yet and people always knew where they stood with me.

I touched the flushed skin of her cheek and she blushed harder, turning away slightly, and I could see that shit was moving too far, too fast.

“Sorry,” I said, taking a tiny step back, giving her some space. I was a big guy and I was aware of it, I knew how to crowd someone and how to back off. “So tell me more. Your dad is an investment guy. Is he here tonight?”

She looked around the room. “He’s supposed to be, but as usual he’s running late. He asks me to come to these charity events with him so I can point out everyone in the room. He’s terrible with names.”

“And you’re obviously not,” I pointed out. “You knew me, and I’m a nobody.”

“Hardly a nobody,” she said. “You were in contention for the Calder Trophy, you just dropped off those last few games.”

A lingering groin strain. Something I wasn’t going to let happen again next season. Conditioning would be my ultimate priority. “So tell me more about your dad’s investment stuff.”

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