Page 11 of The Prince and the Puck
“I do not want to marry you,” I assured him, ignoring the little girl inside me who had wanted exactly that.
“Then let’s talk about my idea,” he said, finishing his wine. “But first, I think I might like to get a glass of what you’ve got. Another?”
I shook my head and waited while he went back to the bar, returning with a glass of single malt.
Shit. The only thing working against him—a taste for low quality wine—had just evaporated.
I watched his throat work as he sipped the Scotch and forced myself not to react. Damn, this was going to be harder than I thought.
CHAPTER 9
DECK
LAME-O MOVIES WITH SUBTITLES
Lizzy was cute.
No, that wasn’t the right word, though the faint blush climbing her round cheeks was cute. Lizzy, as a total package, was smoking hot.
I’d heard a few of the guys discussing her in the locker room as I’d prepared for my shower, and I hadn’t disagreed with their assessments one bit. Tight, curvy body with muscles that only served to emphasize her appeal. I wasn’t a guy for skinny model types who looked like they might break if you touched them the wrong way. I wasn’t looking for a woman at all, but if I had been, it’d be a woman like this one.
Built for action. Built for speed. Built for… all the things I would very much like to do with her in various places and positions.
Shit.
Down, boy.
I shifted my weight and continued with my proposal.
“Let me help you.”
The eyebrow went up again. “Help me? What do you think I need help with?”
I was beginning to see that Lizzy was a very independent woman. She didn’t even like the suggestion that she might need help. How, I wondered, had she ended up in a job she was clearly not cut out for?
“With the PR. Let’s make a movie. Like a documentary, except good.”
Lizzy stared at me. “You want to help me do my job?”
I nodded. “I’ve watched a lot of American television and movies.”
She tilted her head and gave me a tiny smile as if she’d just caught me in a lie or something. “American? As opposed to…”
Shit. I hadn’t meant to say that. “Yeah. American. Like me.” I took a sip of my Scotch, which would be my last since we had a game the next day. “You know, regular stuff. Mainstream.”
“Uh huh.”
“Not lame-o foreign stuff with subtitles.”
“Yeah, got it.”
“So I think I’m prepared to help you make the Wombats documentary really awesome. We’ll keep the pacing fast, and do a bunch of shots where we move quick between a player talking and then him doing his thing on the ice. Lots of pounding music and then some deeper storyline running through the whole thing. I wonder if any of the guys has a three-legged cat or something…”
“That would help how?”
“By making him really sympathetic. Maybe someone has a sick hamster or something. I’ll ask around. What do you think?” I’d talked myself completely into it.
She shook her head. “I don’t think a sick hamster is going to be the difference between this PR campaign being good and this campaign getting me fired.” She made an adorable face as she said that, and I realized her job was probably really importantto her. Or maybe she had an asshole boss. I tried to be more empathetic.
