Page 5 of Face Off
“Dr. Marshall,” I say, walking close to her and a young boy who’s taking off hockey gear.
“Mr. Miller,” she says, her tone curt. “I thought I made myself clear that I won’t be clearing you until you make an appointment.”
The young boy sitting next to her rolls his eyes and stands. I watch as he throws his stuff in his bag. “I was just coming to say I’ll see you tomorrow for my nine-a.m. appointment.” Her face softens a little.
She lifts her iPad, checking her schedule for tomorrow. “Good. Glad to see something got through to you. Afraid the multiple pucks to the face may have messed up that brain of yours.”
Feisty and hot. She’s a spitfire all right.
“Mom, I’m going to see Pop,” the young boy says, standing with his bag before walking away.
“Your boy?” She nods. “I was watching him today. He’s good—” I say just before Coach interrupts me.
“Hayley. Miller,” he says with a nod and a smile, his eyes never leaving her. “Are you gonna stop giving my top player here a hard time and clear him?” he teases, placing his hand on her arm.
She fakes a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Doug.” She moves out of his touch. “I’ll stop giving him a hard time when he follows the rules and standards set forth in the policies of the team.”
He smiles at her. “Yeah. Yeah, you told me that on the ice earlier; I just didn’t want to believe it. So, how have you been? What’s it been, three years since I’ve last seen you?”
“Four—” she begins before Doug is being called from across the room.
He looks back at her. “Sorry.I gotta run. But please tell me you and Camden will be at the staff dinner next Friday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. After all, I’m obligated to go,” she says as he turns to walk away from her. “Saved by the bell,” she mumbles, turning back to me. “And you’re still here. Great.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her. “I was saying your boy… Camden, was it? Has talent. Where did he learn to play like that?”
She picks up her bag off the floor, swinging it over her shoulder. “Well, considering his father’s been MIA his entire life. I and well, my father.” She lets out a breath. “Now, if you excuse me. I’ll see you at nine a.m. sharp and don’t be late.”
I salute to her as she turns and walks away. Really a fucking salute like I’m in the Army. “It’s a date,” I yell before she gets too far away from me.
“In your dreams, Miller,” she shouts over her shoulder, flipping me the bird.
A smirk tilts at the corner of my lips as I watch her walk away. I slap myself on the back of the head and scold myself for acting like a complete dumbass.
???
I walk into my empty penthouse, tossing my keys and cell on the kitchen island before grabbing a beer and flicking on Sports Center. I plop down on the couch, taking a long draw of my beer as they rerun highlights from this past season in preparation for the upcoming pre-season.
I bought the place a week after being traded to Seattle, a little over eight years ago now. It’s large with an open floor plan and floor-to-ceiling windows, which give an amazing view of downtown. Downfall, you ask? Too damn big for one person. At the time, I thought I would be okay with it and eventually I’d find someone to settle down with. But my reputation precedes me as the player I am. And no woman’s been worthy of stepping foot, yet alone spending a night in my home.
It’s not that I haven’t wanted it to happen. Especially after what happened in Chicago. But I refuse to let someone who may be another puck bunny in again. Which is why I can’t seem to get Dr. Marshall off my mind. Most hockey moms, married or not, would have thrown themselves at me when I mentioned their kid’s potential. But not her. She stood her ground and flashed that hot as hell, sassy mouth of hers off at me.
The sound of my cell ringing breaks me out of my trance. My sister’s name flashes on the screen, and I can’t help but scoff. “Like clockwork,” I say before answering. “Yellow.”
“Really, Brooks. Yellow? What are you, five?” she scolds as if I offended her. “Anywho, how are you? How’s the knee healing?”
“Fine,” I groan out.
“Just fine?” she draws out. “Well then, I guess you’ve been cleared to go back on the ice in a couple of weeks.”
I wish. “Not exactly,” I say, taking another long draw of my beer. “Monroe fucked up the paperwork.” Liar, you never went and got cleared. “And now I have to get re-cleared by the new team physician, who is busting my balls.”
“Finally, a man who’s not afraid of the big bad Brooks Miller.” She laughs. “Is he single? Sounds like my type of man.”
I can help but chuckle. “Not sure he’s your type.”
“And why would you say that?” she snaps back.
