Page 89 of The Wildest One
“Excellent.”
As I approached the door, I paused and said, “Out of curiosity, what happens when you get back to Boston? Are you going to give up those season tickets?”
He stared at me blankly for several moments, and then he leaned even further onto his desk. “Are you telling me you have a buyer?”
“Nah, nothing like that. But you’ve got to be feeling a bit torn between the team you grew up rooting for and the team you now own.”
“Ah, yes.” He shifted his gaze to the puck in his hand. “If I’m being honest, it’s going to be challenging to attend those games without my daughter. She must have told you it’s something we’ve done together since she was a little one?”
Fuck.
Had Jolie mentioned that during her speech to the team? I couldn’t remember the details; my head had been all over the place at the time.
But he knew that she was meeting with us individually, so I figured it was safe to say, “Jolie spoke really highly about the games she went to with you.”
A smile grew across Mark’s face. “I bet she did.”
I gave him a nod and closed his door behind me, and as I was walking to Jolie’s office, Kirk, one of my defensemen, was just coming out of it.
The motherfucker’s grin was far too large for my liking.
And I knew—I fucking knew—it had something to do with her.
My patience was gone.
I slowed as I got closer to him. “What the hell are you smiling about?”
“Jolene.” His approval came out in a hum. “I just spent the last fifteen minutes mentally stripping off the blue suit she’s wearing, and I couldn’t stop envisioning myself fucking her on her desk.” He whistled. “Jesus, Beck, someone needs to get in her pants and get a sample so we know what she tastes like.”
I was fucking done. I’d had it.
My fingers clenched. My jaw immediately tightened.
“Hopefully, you have better luck than me?—”
“Dude, fucking stop.” My voice wasn’t as loud as I wanted it to be, but my tone was sharp. “I’m trying to go to a goddamn meeting. I don’t want to walk into a fucking room where you’ve just been mentally beating off and sit in a chair that’s wet from your ass sweat.”
He was lucky I wasn’t slamming him against the wall and cutting off his air so he couldn’t say another word.
He halted directly in front of me. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
“Motherfucker,” I groaned. “Get your dick out of your hand and focus on some fucking hockey.”
I continued past him and pounded my fist on Jolie’s door, waiting for her to tell me to come in before I walked inside. Once I shut the door, I put my back up against it.
I’d been in this office plenty of times, but not since Jolie had taken it over.
It wasn’t the pillows and plants and girlie shit that caught my attention.
It was the three framed posters on the wall. One of the entire team. One of Landon during the final game of last season.
And one of me, holding the Stanley Cup in the air over my head.
“Beck …” She studied my face with concern etched across hers. “I can’t tell if you’re about to strangle someone or tear these clothes off my body.”
The anger instantly started to dissolve. “If I told you it was the latter … would you stop me?”
TWENTY-FOUR
