Page 14 of Anatomy of a Player

Hudson glanced back at the building like he’d never thought about it before. Big surprise, he took the state-of-the-art facility for granted. Probably thought he deserved nicer.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said. “It is a really nice facility—nicer than any I thought I’d ever play in—but once in a while I miss the old and simple. And I definitely miss pick-up games, where there weren’t so many rules.”

Crap. That was actually kind of a great answer. I swore he was analyzing me as much as I was analyzing him, though, like he was wondering if I liked his response. Which made me wonder if it was even genuine. Plus he’d admitted to not liking rules, which was a red flag. He’d called me Reporter Girl, too. I bet he didn’t even remember my name.

Be tough, Whitney. No falling for his charming answers.

Hudson looped his thumb through the strap of his bag. “So, you said you came from the newspaper office? What made you want to go into journalism?”

“The desire to see through bullshit.” I flashed him an over-the-top grin. There. Let him analyze that. No matter what I said, I’d probably never get in good with this particular hockey player. There was something about him that prickled my defenses.

Probably because I knew if I dropped them—even a little—I’d start thinking about how his brown eyes had a way of sucking me in. Or how he was only a few inches taller than me but twice as wide, the T-shirt stretched tight across his chest making it clear that it was all muscle.

“I like that straightforwardness,” he said, and for a frantic second I thought he meant my staring. “But you look a little stressed. After I hit the weights I usually go soak in the hot tub.”

“Cool story,” I said, and I was glad that my voice came out calm, because my internal alarm was flashing red. Hot tub? Partial nakedness? Bad idea all around.

Amusement flickered across his features. “I thought you might want to join me. It’d help with that stress.”

“Somehow I don’t think you’re that worried about my stress. In fact, I’d guess you’re more interested in my bikini.”

His eyebrows show up.

That’s right. I’m not the girl who falls for smooth lines anymore.Point one to me for breaking his casual demeanor, too. I wanted someone else around, just so I could high five her, and I wasn’t usually the type to participate in hand-slapping gestures.

“I’m actually surprised you own one,” he said. “I assumed you were more of a repressed, one-piece swimsuit girl.”

I gritted my teeth. That stung more than I liked, especially since it only meant that my make-under was a success. “You know what they say about assuming. It makes an ass out of you.”

“And me,” he added.

“Yes. And you again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Chapter Ten

Hudson

What the hell? Not that I thought every girl would fall at my feet, but with most girls all I had to do was ask a few questions and get her talking about herself, and after that I was in. I’d thought we’d had a little moment while talking about the Conte Forum. Then I’d asked her about her degree and somehow we’d gone from that to Whitney insulting me.

I probably shouldn’t have made the jab about the swimsuit, but she’d clearly thought she’d gotten one over on me, and I couldn’t have that. No girl slept with a guy she thought of as weak, unless it was a pity fuck, and I definitely didn’t want that.

As I watched her storm away, though, I thought I might’ve bitten off more than I could chew. But that’d never stopped me before, and I wasn’t going to let it stop me now. Not with my prize jersey and my pride on the line. Not to mention that thinking of my next run-in with the girl was doing exactly what I’d hoped it would—keeping me nice and distracted from thinking about everything else.

I might need a new strategy, though. No flirting or innuendo, and lots of killing with kindness. Once I got closer to her, then I’d come on slower—she’d checked me out, I’d seen it, so the interest was there, and I could work with that.

As I started toward my truck, I rehashed the tug of war of emotions that’d played across her face during our conversation. No doubt she was the rule-follower-type, and she’d probably decided flirting with a player crossed ethical boundaries.

But boundaries were made to be broken¸ and I didn’t mind putting a little work into making her cross lines, not when the girl was so entertaining.

…

I wandered into the bathroom, blinking at the bright light that I was sure I hadn’t left on—I liked it dark, and often didn’t bother turning the lights on until after my shower, when I was more awake. The name and number written in lipstick across the mirror solved the mystery.

I’d stayed on track most of the week—no more drinking and lots of studying. We didn’t have a game until Sunday, though, and the allure of a Friday night out had been too tempting to resist. I’d needed a distraction, and the pretty blonde I’d met at the bar had seemed like the perfect one at the time.

Man, I barely remember her leaving last night.I only had one beer, so I’d passed out from exhaustion, not alcohol. I did remember being relieved that she hadn’t tried to stay or unearth personal details. But now there was her number, so maybe the implication of it being a simple one-night stand hadn’t been strong enough.

I grabbed a wad of tissue paper, but hesitated over theSin Samantha. Maybe the number was more for continuing the no-strings-attached fun than a hope for something deeper…

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