Prologue 1
Rhonda
March 25, 2023
Rhonda tappedthe elevator call button and glanced over her shoulder at the still-packed bar. She could’ve used the washroom there, but she’d binged the first season of Germ Squad while at a hospital event the month prior and preferred not to contract Hep C. Yes, as a pharmaceutical professional, she understood that wasn’t possible. No, this fact didn’t matter to her slightly buzzed lizard brain.
“Come on.” She jabbed the button again, like prodding the elevator would make it move faster. She wanted to cross her ankles and bounce on the balls of her feet like a three-year-old.
She should’ve returned to her room an hour ago, but the Jets game was in overtime, and missing a tie-breaker goal was a sin basically equal to dipping her hand in a bowl full of holy water. Waiting had paid off. In the last seconds, Nikolaj Ehlers slipped the puck right through the Preds’ defence and fed it to Scheifele, who slapped it home, top corner. The crowd went insane, and so did the entire hotel bar—probably the whole city of Medicine Hat. Tina and her migraine had missed out big time.
The elevator dinged, and Rhonda straightened. As the doors slid open, she gave a small nod to the woman in her overcoat and scarf stepping out, then moved inside, pressing the button for her floor. She turned and shoved her hands into the pockets of her wide-legged slacks as the doors slid closed.
As the elevator crawled upward, she inspected the faux wood panelling on the walls. The buttons ringed with a dull shade of brass. At least the mattresses were firm, because this hotel looked like it hadn’t been updated since the seventies.
Rhonda stepped out when the doors finally opened and walked briskly down the hall, her mind replaying the night's events. Perfection. A Jets win, along with the Snowballs securing a spot in the semi-finals for the Rose Cup. The only thing that could’ve been better was if they’d beaten Pucks Deep to do it. There was always next year.
Rhonda reached the room she shared with Tina and pulled out her keycard, swiping it over the panel above the door handle. All she got was a red light. She tried again with no luck. "Ugh, come on." She swiped it twice more before giving up and pounding on the door. "Tina! Sorry, my key’s not working." Now, she crossed her ankles, the urge to relieve herself becoming more emergent. "Tina, I don’t care if you’re naked, babe. Just open the?—”
The door swung open, and Rhonda started to push in when she froze. Standing in the doorway wasnotTina. The guy was tall, well past six feet. He was built, athletic, with a tattoo sleeve that was wholly visible since he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His dark hair was wet and messy, clinging to his forehead, and he wore a pair of grey sweatpants that looked soft enough to rub your face against. Thick enough to be well made. Thin enough to leave nothing to the imagination. Her eyes snapped up, and the smug grin on his face told her he knew exactly why she was suddenly experiencing cottonmouth.
Rhonda cleared her throat. "Sorry. Tina didn’t tell me she had company.”
The guy raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. She doesn’t. Yet. But if you can tell me who she is and where I can find her naked?—"
Rhonda stumbled back into the hall and stared at the room number. 306. That was her number. She was?—
She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled. “Damn it. Wrong room.” Six-oh-three. Her room was?—
“Or is it the right room?” He grinned at her.
She rolled her eyes. “Ah, nice. Seizing your moment.”
He pointed down to her popped hip and crossed legs. “Yeah, no. It just looks like you might piss your pants in the hallway.”
Rhonda cursed under her breath, her cheeks flushing. She was vaguely aware that she intended to walk into a perfect stranger’s hotel room to use his toilet, but rational thought was drowned out by her screaming bladder. “Can I?—?”
He nodded and opened the door wide so she could come in, the grin never slipping from his face. Her arm brushed his chest, and her breath hitched. He smelled like sandalwood body wash, her personal kryptonite. His hockey bag with a big Grande Prairie logo, skates, and stick lay in a pile next to the half-open closet. Not a surprise. There were at least four hockey teams, including the Snowballs, there in the hotel.
She didn’t have time to ponder any of it. Rhonda lunged into the washroom, closing the door behind her. It was humid, the mirror still fogged from his apparently quite recent shower. She quickly pulled down her pants and sat on the toilet, relief washing over her as she finally released.
Her eyes scanned the counter. A name-brand electric toothbrush, a bottle of clear mouthwash, a stick of deodorant with black recyclable packaging—why was that hot?—and a comb. You could tell a lot from someone’s toiletries. This guy was simple. Probably someone who preferred to spend more and buy one good item instead of wasting time with the cheap versions. He knew what he liked.He knew what he wanted.
Rhonda shivered and finished up, thanking the heavens that there was toilet paper because shealwayschecked after being stuck in a staff washroom in Taber for over an hour last summer but had forgotten in her rush.
She pulled up and buttoned her pants, then turned on the faucet and washed her hands, noting the water was already turned to warm. Rhonda drew a deep breath, then dried her hands on the towel that sat next to the sink.
His towel.Hishotel room. She didn’t even know this guy’s name, and now she had to go back out there and face him when he was highly aware she just dropped her pants and peed in his toilet. And inspected his personal hygiene items. She’d had plenty of experience exiting a man’s washroom, but the peeing usually came after he’d seen more than her cringing in the hallway.
Rhonda exhaled and opened the door. Tall Dark and Smug was leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone. Still shirtless. That seemed purposeful.
He glanced up as she stepped out, his eyes moving lazily up to her face. There was something boyish about him. How his cheek almost dimpled when he smiled, but not quite, or how his left eyebrow had a little nick out of it. Like he knew both how to get in trouble and talk his way out of it.
A flush of heat crept up her neck. "Thanks for that." Rhonda motioned to the washroom with a stiff thumb, like she was trying to hitchhike.
"Anytime." He pushed off the wall, his grin widening. That dimple wanted to happen, and Rhonda wanted to watch until it did.
She swallowed hard. "Well, I should . . . get back to my roommate.”