“What’s up, Maksim?” I ask.
“I just left your girl’s office.”
“She’s not my girl,” I say, checking my blind spot before changing lanes.
“She’s not Joran’s either. You know that, right?”
“The reason for your call?”
“Did you hear what happened?” he asks, as though he has a piece of juicy gossip the paparazzi would be eavesdropping to overhear.
“What?”
“Maverick Sanders isn’t using her anymore.”
“I didn’t even know he was.” I haven’t looked into Saige’s business—mostly because I don’t care one iota about social media. I think it’s great if she enjoys it, but I have no reason to see what her business is all about.
“He’s her main guy. The one who is pictured everywhere. Spokesperson for her entire company. I guess he was her first client or something.”
“And he quit using her?” I frown.
Maksim laughs. “Get a hold of this.” He’s silent for a second. “This was on his Instagram this morning. It’s a picture of Maverick and his fiancée in bed with a tray of fruit and bagels with a caption that says, ‘Lazy Friday mornings with my girl.’”
“I don’t see the big deal with that.” I slow as I approach a red light.
“The problem is you see more of her than him, and having girls on your social media is a no-no. Everyone knows female fans don’t want to be reminded that you’re living happily ever after with someone else.”
“Maybe, but it shouldn’t be a big deal. She’s a part of his life. His real life, not the persona people put on for social media.” I’m happy to pass the time talking to Maksim, if only so I don’t have to stress about what I’m gonna do if she’s no longer at her office.
“They need to think you’re unattainable. Come on, Shamrock, use your head.”
I guess I see his point.
“Anyway, I just thought maybe you’d want to know since last I checked, you hadn’t had a drink thrown in your face yet.”
“What, are you keeping tabs on me?”
He laughs. “You’re my guy.”
“Bullshit.” I make a left turn then change lanes.
“Okay, okay, you are my guy, but I wanted to make sure she wasn’t mad at you for your Neanderthal move the other night.”
“I can make up for my mistakes and idiocy on my own, but thank you.” I turn into the parking lot where her office is.
“Well, now you have some leverage.”
I think for a moment. Maksim is right. If her biggest client left, she’s probably desperate to replace him. Not to be an arrogant ass, but I’d be a good replacement. Then again, I don’t want to subject myself to the bullshit on social media.
“Why don’t you be her main guy?” I park in a spot and wonder which car is hers.
“Because I’m not Aiden Drake and because I don’t need anything from her. You can’t expect her to give up her life and follow your schedule for nothing. Come on, use your head.”
I do not need this speech from Maksim. “Thanks. I can handle this.”
“See you at the arena, and you better have white wine all over that pretty face of yours.”
I hang up without saying goodbye and stare at the building. I’m out of my fucking mind to entertain his suggestion. I could go to the game tonight and take my chances that my game will be fine. She’s dating Joran and my feelings for her aren’t platonic. I’m only asking for trouble. Not that I want to marry her or anything, but I’m definitely not about developing a friendship with her, if you catch my drift.
Yeah, I don’t need to jeopardize my career even more by fucking up my relationship with my agent.
I leave the parking lot, driving straight to the Fury stadium. There’s no way my career can really rest in the hands of a gorgeous blonde’s ability to throw a drink in my face.
My teammates all eye me when I enter the locker room, but I’m not in the mood to be their entertainment. I’m sure they all want to make sure that I got wine thrown in my face today. I take off my jacket, hang it up, and sit on the bench in front of my locker, loosening my tie.
“So?” Maksim sits next to me wearing nothing more than his jockstrap.
“Don’t worry about it.” I unbutton my dress shirt.
He runs his hand over the front of my shirt. “It’s not soaked. I don’t like this.”
“Maybe I changed.” I shrug.
“Maybe you’re lying. I don’t understand why you’d be so stubborn to not make the deal. I gave you the golden ticket.”
“Because it means being on social media again.” My mind drifts back to the incident, but I quickly steer my thoughts away. I don’t want that on my mind when I step out onto the ice tonight.
His big hand lands on my shoulder and a deep look of sympathy leaks from his blue eyes. “That’s in the past. Things are good now, right?”
“Right now, but who knows what could happen if I open all my accounts back up?”
I have no time to even think about it, because Joran busts into the locker room as if he’s the head coach. “Gentlemen, have a killer game tonight.”
Maksim stands and continues to get dressed, at least covering himself up.
When Joran comes over to me, I ask, “What are you doing in here?”
“I’m here because when I went to pick up Saige for our date, she said she had somewhere else to be.” His stance widens and he shoves his hands in his pockets, looking at me. “Then she asked me if I could get her in to see you before the game. Care to explain?”
I stare at him. “Didn’t she tell you?”
“She said it’s about the superstition thing we started talking about after the last game.”
Maksim hums beside me while Ford turns up the volume on his speaker. I stand and tug Joran out into the hallway away from everyone, but I stop short when I find Saige leaning against the opposite wall, looking gorgeous.
She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a jacket over it. Her blonde hair is down in waves, and her lip gloss highlights her delectable lips. Fuck me, I swear I just went half chub.
She pulls a small bottle of wine from her purse and dangles it in the air. “Did you forget?”
“I’m starting to feel out of the loop here, guys.” Joran pulls me out of our bubble.
“That’s the superstition—she throws wine at my face. She did it on New Year’s Eve, before I knew you two were…” I don’t finish the sentence because I can’t for the life of me get myself to say the words. It’s hard to admit that I lost out on the one girl who’s made me feel something in years.
“Shut up?” Joran laughs dramatically, bending forward and clapping. “You hit on my date?”
A few trainers walk down the hallway, fist-bumping me and staring at the spectacle named Joran.
“That’s awesome,” Joran says when he finally calms.
I’m glad one of us thinks so.
To Saige, I say, “I didn’t think you wanted to do it, so I was going to play without it.”
Something crosses Saige’s face—maybe regret or sadness, I’m not sure. I try not to look too hard so Joran isn’t tipped off that I’m pining away for his date.