inside. As he slipped the key into the ignition, Thom heard a rapping on the window. Jason stood at the passenger door, a stricken expression on his face.
Thom unlocked the door and the kid hopped inside. “I can show you where she parks. We could wait for her there. She always leaves the office at five. If she has to work late, she comes back after dinner.”
“Five,” Thom said. They had fifteen minutes to make a ten-minute drive. At least it would give him a bit of time to figure out exactly what he wanted to say.
Hell, he should have known not to trust her. She wasn’t on his side. She was the daughter of the damn owner. Of course she’d side with her father. Well, he was going to fight this trade. Why lie down and let the team walk all over him? If he wanted to, he could make things very difficult for them.
He knew there was a morals clause in his contract, a section that directly addressed bad behavior. Beyond his youthful criminal record, Thom’s “rap sheet” was long and colorful. The brawls—with fellow players, with fans, with bartenders and limo drivers and bouncers and parking attendants—were probably the most egregious.
The women followed a close second. Though they didn’t cause as much legal trouble as the brawls, they were a distraction, especially when one decided to spill her secrets to a gossip website.
Until recently, Thom had been able to keep the drinking pretty much under control. But now, there seemed to be more reasons to drink than reasons not to. It wasn’t just something he did to relax anymore. Getting drunk was the only way he could shut off the constant hum in his head, turn off all the questions rattling round in his mind.
Life used to be pretty simple for him. He played hockey and he did it better than almost everyone in the league. It provided for him and his family. But now, it seemed that with every year that passed, his life grew more complicated. What would he do when he couldn’t play hockey anymore?
Thom had vowed that he’d get out of the game gracefully. He never wanted to be one of those guys who hung around trying to recapture lost glory. He wanted to go out on top. But how could he be sure the time was right? And what would he do once hockey was over for him?
“It’s right here,” Jason said, pointing to the parking ramp.
Thom turned into the entrance and grabbed a ticket, then steered the truck up the levels. “What kind of car are we looking for?”
“She has a dark green Audi. It’s usually on the fourth level.”
Thom found the car and pulled into a spot across the aisle from it. He shut off the truck, then nervously tapped the steering wheel with his fingertips. “What time is it?”
“A few minutes before five. She should be coming along any minute.” Jason slouched down in the seat. “What are you going to say to her?”
“I don’t know,” Thom said. The drive over had been too short to untangle the knot of emotions in his gut.
“Don’t you think you’d better figure it— Wait. Someone’s coming.”
“Is it her?”
“Yeah, it is.”
They each watched in their side view mirrors as Malin strolled past. Thom reached for the door and then, at the last minute, decided to wait. “She’s gorgeous,” he murmured.
“You think so?” Jason asked.
“Don’t you?”
“Well, she’s my cousin, so I really don’t look at her that way. And I’m really more attracted to brunettes than blondes.”
Malin got into her car and slipped behind the wheel. Thom held his breath, waiting for just the right moment. When she began to back out of the parking spot, he knew the moment was at hand, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to get out of the truck.
He didn’t want their next encounter to be an argument. And he certainly didn’t want it to happen in a parking lot with Jason looking on.
“She’s driving away,” Jason said.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t get it. Everybody says you’re legendary with women,” Jason murmured.
“Most of that is just talk,” Thom said. “Most of the time I have no idea what the hell they’re thinking. Or what I’m doing.” He reached for the ignition. “You know what? I could use a drink. Let’s go to a bar.”
“I’m not supposed to—”
“Jason, if we’re going to get along, you’re going to need to learn that the rules just don’t apply to us. Got it?”
SLEEP DIDN’T COME easily that night for Malin. Her head was filled with memories of the day’s events, which led to her mind weaving tantalizing little fantasies about Thom Quinn.
She’d never been attracted to one of the hockey players before, and she couldn’t explain this sudden attraction to Quinn. By all accounts, the guy was a mess. Yet it was hard to ignore his physical perfection, the handsome features, the unruly hair, the body that had been carved out of solid muscle.
After their meeting, she’d shut herself in her office and searched the internet for any information about him that wasn’t included in his personnel file. She came across plenty of shirtless photos, both professional and candid, along with a fair number of pictures of Quinn and his women. There were even a few of him when he was younger, hockey photos that showed a sweet-looking boy with a chipped front tooth and a ragged haircut.
She knew that unlike most of the league’s star players, Thom Quinn hadn’t laced on his first pair of skates until he was twelve. He’d struggled at first but quickly learned the game. It provided a lucky alternative to the street life that he’d been drawn to.
On the ice, Quinn was confident and strong, in command of all his talents and skills. But once he stepped off, he seemed to have nothing to hide behind, and his life fractured at the slightest stress. She realized he was still that screwed-up kid from the streets. Why was she the only one who recognized that fact?
She groaned softly and pulled the pillow over her head. This was crazy. The guy would probably be on a plane out of town by next week and she was quickly turning him into her imaginary boyfriend.
The sound of her cell phone ringing was muffled by the pillow. She threw it off the bed, then sat up and grabbed her phone. Jason’s number came up on the screen, and Malin fumbled to answer.
“Hi, Jason. What’s—”
“He’s gone,” Jason said, his voice wavering slightly. “We were just hanging out, watching a Cubs game, and I—well, I kinda—lost track of him. Just for a few minutes.”
“How long?”
“Since about nine. I thought he’d be back after the bar closed, but that was an hour ago.”
“You were in a bar?”
“We just stopped
