Page 27 of Offside Attraction

“No, I know.” His brow furrowed.

She pursed her lips, then did a final scan of the bed. “Okay. I’ll—” She pointed to the door and escaped to the hall.

Like a coward.

Rhonda gathered her things, measuring time in her head by how fast she thought Jordan could clothe himself. She figured she had about twenty seconds left by the time she swung her laptop bag over her shoulder and ran to the front door.

She didn’t hesitate. She swung it open and rushed out, striding down the hallway, her cheeks flushed and her hair a mess.

She reached the elevator and pressed the button, her breath coming in short gasps. After what felt like ten minutes but was probably one and a half, she pressed the button again, glancing down the hall and willing Jordan’s door to stay shut.

When the doors finally slid open with a ding, she took a step forward and nearly ran into a man exiting the elevator. Rhonda jumped back and looked up.

She froze, both of them staring at each other.

Darcy McClellan.

Her chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. Darcy was on the Snowballs. He'd taken a year off last season, but he was back on the roster and standing in front of her with his blond faux hawk.

His brow twitched. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Nothing.” She clutched her bag tighter. “Just a meeting.”

Darcy’s throat bobbed, and he stepped out of her way. “Mmm. Nice.”

Rhonda hurried into the elevator and gave a small wave, then dropped her eyes to the floor, praying the doors would close. Or that the elevator would plummet to the main floor and offer her a quick and painless death.

Because she was still holding her tights.

Chapter

Eight

Jordan

Jordan’s headwas spinning as he geared up in the locker room. He had the whole day off, which was terrible. He hadn’t been able to get to sleep Thursday night after Rhonda left, and after tossing and turning all night, he had a day of laundry and grocery shopping. Neither of which produced an eighth of the serotonin needed to compete with what had happened the evening before.

His head was filled with Rhonda. The scent of her on his sheets. The image of her in his apartment, in his hallway—his bed—seared into his brain like a brand.

He sifted through each moment, trying to diagnose Rhonda hurrying out like a patient at the hospital. Something he’d said about his sister had struck a chord. She’d been emotional, and it was the first time he'd seen that side of her. The first time he’d seen her raw and unguarded. That look in her eyes haunted him, and the curiosity over what had been behind it gnawed at his insides.

What had happened? One moment they’d been standing in the hall, and the next? He didn’t know who moved first. Since they’d pressed against her side of the wall, he guessed it was probably him.

But that look.Sadness. Desire. It was the same one she’d given him in his hotel room that first night. Like she was trapped, begging him to reach out and pull her free. It hijacked all his rational thought.

It wasn’t that different from the looks he’d been given his whole life, though, was it? He grunted as he tied his skates. Hell, the end result was the same. Women looked at him like that, then got what they wanted, and then they left. They always left.

Jordan stood. The arena felt sharp and intrusive as he taped his stick. He should've been used to the fluorescent lights and the cold air permeating the locker room, but tonight, everything seemed brighter, louder, more intense. Chubs and Cam were halfway through gearing up while Steele and Nate were jawing.

"It’s starting to look like pubic hair." Nate's voice echoed in the enclosed space.

Steele stroked his beard. "You’re just jealous.”

"Damn right I am," Nate shot back. "I've got patchy stubble, and you've got a Chia Pet. It's not fair."

Jordan finished his tape job, smoothing out the rough edges with the flat of his thumb. He looked up just in time to see Chubs yank up his hockey pants. "I told you, man, it’s all about the oil. You want a glorious beard, you’ve got to use Squalene to hydrate."

Cam snorted. "Squalene? Is that what you’re calling it now?"

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