Page 11 of Crossing the Top Line

I take another long pull from my beer. So that explains the use of my college nickname, then. I almost regret not bantering more that night. But my time with the Wardens and their strict player social media policy stopped me before I could. I’d have to ask my agent to review my contract to see what I’m allowed to do.

“She’s good,reallygood at her job. Kala still can’t go out without getting stopped by people wanting to shake his hand over that shutout against Carolina last season,” Caleb continues.

We all share a chuckle over that. But the wheels in my brain are turning at top speed, trying to remember anything she might have said that would have clued me in to her ambitions or her talents. But in my defense, there hadn’t been a lot of “get to know you” during our time together.

Owen chuckles and I rip my gaze off Tori’s face to look at him with a questioning wrinkle of my brow.

“You aren’t the first newbie to look at Tori like that, bud. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Tori doesn’t mess with players,” he says, still chuckling under his breath as he takes another drink.

Well, she messed with this one.

IcanfeelSpencer’socean eyes on my skin like a touch all afternoon. A warm, too-familiar touch that my mind remembers all too well, despite my considerable efforts to forget. I make a point of not looking at him and talking to everyone else, but it doesn’t stop his staring. I know he’s trying to goad me into calling him out, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

Thankfully, talking with the team keeps me plenty distracted. Dallas and Henrik spend most of their time by the grill and stray often into speculation over who’s going to make it through the rest of training camp to play in the first preseason game two weeks from now. I have to constantly remind myself to keep my PR-brain turned off. Even if there’s a nagging voice in the back of my brain that reminds me there are journalists across North America who would pay a small fortune to get their hands on these types of soundbites. But that’s not the kind of operation Dee runs. We don’t feed the rumor mill any more than is necessary.

And as the afternoon rolls by, I have to actually shut off my phone to prevent any accidents. Because once the boys exhaust themselves of hockey talk, they move on to personal topics like relationships and plans for the future. If journalists would pay a king’s ransom for hockey news, gossip rags would sell their souls for insights into the personal lives of professional athletes.

“I don’t know what he sees in her, but if they’re happy, then I wish them all the best,” Caleb is saying when I walk into the conversation circle that’s formed around the mixer table.

“But he’s your linemate, dude. If he’s too busy trying to corral that trumped-up puck bunny, then he can’t focus on the game,” Owen replies.

I sigh, shaking my head. Caleb’s linemate, Max Pettersson, was spotted with a new girlfriend at the end of the last season. My coworkers and I have been monitoring the situation, and we’d been preparing to approach him about how he wanted the team to handle his publicity after locker cleanout, but then a national gossip magazine caught the two of them out at a bar on Bourbon Street and shit hit the fan.

“I doubt Max could keep her under control if he tried,” I grumble, taking a sip of my vodka soda.

Owen and Caleb laugh, shaking their heads. “I’m sure she’s making your job so much easier, Tor,” Owen teases, nudging me with his shoulder.

I snort and roll my eyes. Emily, the name we managed to attach to the face plastered across the magazine covers, has been living it up all summer with Max. The two of them took a trip to Cancun, which she documented heavily on her Instagram. Thankfully, it wasn’t anything more than cutesy couple photos alongside the aesthetic shots of her meals and the sunsets. I’m about to reply when Elijah slides into the loose circle next to me, grinning.

“What are we gossiping about? Did someone get caught banging an escort or something?” he teases.

The boys laugh, and I can’t help but join them. Elijah has been flitting around the party all day, and laughter follows him like a mist. He’s only a few inches taller than me, which is a welcome change of pace from the small army of giants that play on the Mystic, and his smile is so genuine despite the missing incisor. Now that I’ve spent time around him, I recognize him from previous training camps, though he usually got sent down to the Krewe in the first round of cuts. Coach McQueen must see something in him that the previous coach didn’t.

“Nah, just a puck bunny enjoying her fifteen minutes of fame,” Caleb replies, smiling even as he shakes his head.

Elijah makes a pitying noise. “I’m sure they’re desperately in love and will be waltzing down the aisle any day now,” he says, words dripping with mock sincerity.

“God, I fucking hope not,” I scoff.

Elijah turns his gaze on me, and not for the first time today, I find myself frozen in the palest blue stare I’ve ever seen. His eyes are ice on the lakes of my hometown, and his scent drifts to my nose, strong with spruce and cranberries. He leans toward me, throwing a friendly arm around my shoulders before leaning on me hard. There’s still a gap between us, but I can almost feel the body heat radiating off his skin like a furnace.

“Aw, not a romantic, Miss. Strauss?” Elijah teases.

I roll my eyes, mentally shaking myself free of his spell. “More of a realist. Girls like Max’s fling don’t last. At least not once they realize that the object of their attention will put their career before them every time,” I snark, leaning away.

Owen and Caleb snort their laughs into their drinks, but it’s not the first time they’ve heard me express my views on this subject.

“But look at Ashley and Dallas. They got their happily ever after and he’s still in the prime of his game,” Elijah challenges, tightening his grip on my shoulders ever so slightly.

“They’re the exception that proves the rule,” I reply coolly, avoiding eye contact.

“Eli, leave the lady be,” a deep, smooth voice admonishes, pulling both mine and Elijah’s attention.

Oliver, Elijah and Spencer’s other roommate, joins the small group, leaning past us to scoop his cup full of ice. Without a second’s hesitation, Elijah’s arm falls away, and he takes a half step back from me. Oliver gives me a sly wink as he straightens, and I realize then that I must have had too much to drink today as I feel my cheeks grow hot.

The conversation turns, and I slide away from the group, heading toward the house. I should switch to water if I’m going to be in any shape to drive home tonight. Pouring what’s left of my drink down the kitchen sink, I turn on the tap to replace the liquid in my cup. I take a long, deep drink, putting it back under the water stream once I’ve drained it.

“Thirsty, Tori?”

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