First Chapter: Big Stick Energy
Chapter One: Big Stick Energy
Eric
May
The bus rumbles to a stop outside our Fort Lauderdale hotel, and the collective groan tells me everything I need to know about the team’s energy level. We’re deep in the playoffs, and nobody has slept a full night in weeks.
“My legs are trashed,” DeLuca announces from the seat behind me. “I might need to be carried off this bus.”
“I’ll grab your head, the rookie can take your feet,” Patterson offers, already standing and stretching dramatically.
“I’m not touching anyone’s feet,” Weber grouses. “That’s not in the handbook.”
I clap my hands together. “Less whining, more walking. I’m hungry.”
“They’re feeding us again, right?” DeLuca asks.
“I’m sure. Get your asses off the bus, and then I’ll check.” Captain’s duty.
I watch as they file toward the front, a procession of exhausted millionaires griping like toddlers before nap time. Petrov has his sleep mask still pushed up on his forehead, Weber is limping slightly from a blocked shot that found the one unpadded spot on his ankle, and Larkin is already on his phone, probably checking in with his pregnant wife.
I’m always the last one off the bus. Captain goes down with the ship, or in this case, makes sure nobody leaves their phone chargers or lucky socks behind. I do a quick scan of the seats, picking up a water bottle Emerson left behind and a granola bar wrapper that somehow missed the trash.
That’s when I notice a flash of ginger up front. As I get closer, I realize that Darcy—the GM’s assistant—is still in the first seat, her head resting against the window, completely dead to the world.
For a second, I just stare. I’ve never seen Darcy Kendrick anything less than alert and efficient. She’s always three steps ahead of everyone else, anticipating problems before they happen, notebook in hand and a sharp comeback ready. But here she is, mouth slightly open, completely oblivious to the fact that we’ve arrived.
I reach for her shoulder but then hesitate. I don’t want to startle her. “Darcy. Hey there, Darcy?” I say softly instead. “We’re back at the hotel.”
But she doesn’t move. Her pretty face is slack.
“Darcy?”
Once again, nothing.
I’m going to have to be more assertive, but I’m not looking forward to it. Darcy is a fantastic asset to the team, but she’s always been a little prickly to me. And only to me. When everyone else is around, she smiles more. I irritate her, though, and I’ve never been able to figure out why.
Honestly, it bugs me.
None of that matters right now, though. We need to get off this damn bus, so I reach down and give her shoulder a gentle nudge. “Buddy, we’re back at the hotel. I don’t think you want to stay on this bus.”
Her eyes snap open with the suddenness of someone who’s been yanked out of a dream. When she looks up, her gaze meets mine, and for a brief second, there’s a flash of something almost dreamy in her expression before it’s quickly replaced by irritation.
“Damn it.” She leaps to her feet, her face flushing nearly as red as her hair. “I never fall asleep. Did anyone draw on my face?” Her hands fly to her cheeks.
“Nope. You’re clear,” I say quickly. Although it’s a legitimate fear. Last month, on a flight to Dallas, Johnson fell asleep with his mouth hanging open and DeLuca drew a handlebar mustache on him with a Sharpie, which didn’t fully wash off until three games later. The TV commentary was rough.
She scrubs at her face with her hands anyway, then gives me a furious look. “Don’t stare. It’s impolite.”
“I’m not. I’m waiting for you. Like a gentleman,” I insist. Then I change the subject. “Dinner is probably soon, right? That’ll perk us up.”
She hoists her bag onto her shoulder and gives me another frown. “I’m on it, okay? I’ll check with the kitchen before I go up to my room.” Then she marches off the bus as if I’ve offended her.
Which is fine, right? I don’t need everyone to like me.
They usually do, but whatever.
I thank the driver for his service and drag my tired ass into the hotel.
* * *
Chapter Two
Darcy
The Florida humidity sticks to me even after I’ve staggered into the air-conditioned hotel lobby. But the heat makes sense, because I’m suddenly in hell. I can’t believe that Eric Tremaine just found me drooling on myself. So mortifying.
I’d been floating along in a dream state when I’d heard a low, sexy voice. “Darcy. Hey there, Darcy?”
My first reaction had been: Oh yes, baby. Say more. But when I’d eventually opened my eyes, I’d been filled with horror. Out of two dozen players, it had to be Eric Tremaine who found me? I let out a groan, and a bellhop gives me a quizzical look.
You’d groan too, buddy. My working relationship with Eric Tremaine is already complicated. He’s at the tippy top of the Legends food chain, and I’m on the bottom. Since he’s the captain of the team, I interact with him more than with other players.
Unfortunately, he’s also the only one who makes my stomach flip every time I look at him. It’s not just his Hollywood face, either. Or those long eyelashes. And don’t even get me started on that jaw.
I’ve met pretty men before. But Tremaine just has that X factor. It’s like someone took Michelangelo’s David, put him in a suit that costs more than my monthly rent, giving him the ability to make my knees weak just by saying good morning. I’ve seen him break up locker room arguments with nothing but a raised eyebrow—an eyebrow that probably has more authority than my entire résumé.
The worst part? He’s genuinely nice. Like, rescues-kittens nice. I’ve seen him slam guys into the boards during games and then politely apologize afterward. Who does that?
Honestly, before I met Eric, I would’ve told you that I’m not even into nice guys. But he’s changed me. I’d die of embarrassment if he knew how often I think about him. Or, fine, dream about him.
And now he knows that I sleep with my mouth open like a pit bull in a sun patch, tongue lolling…