Page 20 of King

Rafferty shrugs. “I have no clue. Tansy seems like a woman who’s going to do what she wants—”

“Wait!” I exclaim, cutting him off, holding up a hand. “Tansy?”

“Yeah… cute name, right?”

“Tansy Carmichael?”

Rafferty frowns. “Yeah, do you know her?”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Do you not read any of the informational emails that come to you from the organization?”

Unease flickers in my friend’s eyes. “Apparently not.”

“That’s Brienne’s cousin. She was hired this summer as the director of marketing. Worked at some major retail store out in California.”

“Brienne’s cousin,” he asks, skin tinged a little green.

“Yup. On her mom’s side. There was a picture of her and Brienne in the newsletter and I’ll agree… she’s smoking hot.”

“Jesus,” Rafferty mutters. “I can’t believe I banged the owner’s cousin.”

“And now she’s got her eyes set on you. Better play this one careful.”

“She seemed to buy mytoo busy to dateline,” he murmurs pensively. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

“I sure hope so. I’d hate to see you traded to some farm league in the middle of North Dakota because you pissed off the Titans owner.”

“Fuck off,” he chuckles and then takes a deep breath. “Okay… be quiet for a minute so I can knock these out.”

I step back and watch Rafferty complete a set of eight. He struggles on the last few but gets them done.

When he drops the weights, I say as I step up to the barbell, “Better watch out. Next thing you know, she’ll be hiding in your locker at the rink.”

Rafferty snorts.

I take a deep breath, latch my belt and proceed to knock out my set of eight.

“Nice job,” Rafferty says, and we bump knuckles. “Ready for the sauna?”

“Yup,” I reply, looking forward to the cleansing heat.

Once we’re wrapped in towels and settled onto the benches, hot steam wafting around us, Rafferty leans back and closes his eyes.

“So… I met a woman day before yesterday,” I say.

His eyes pop open and he straightens, obvious interest on his face. “Like a woman you’d go out with?”

I shrug. “Not sure. She was coaching a peewee hockey team. I went there with Drake to watch his kids, and she was the opposing coach.”

“Whoa,” Rafferty says. “A woman who knows hockey. Is she hot?”

I think about Willa Montreaux, and there’s no denying she’s stunningly beautiful with those storm-cloud eyes that looked ready to unleash lightning on that douche berating his son.

“She doesn’t know hockey.” I smile as I think about her undertaking the challenge of teaching a bunch of little kids a sport she doesn’t know. I heard him call her afigure skater hackand she had the lithe build of an ice dancer for sure. “But you should have seen the way she handled this belligerent dad who was being a total ass to his son and then to her when she tried to intervene. She was magnificent.”

“Get the fuck out of town,” Rafferty murmurs in awe.

“What?”

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