Across the Line (In The Zone) (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

The wedding was held at Elliott Fleming’s estate. Fleming was the sole and original owner of the Barracudas, and even though Tim Hollander was one of the newest members of the organization, Fleming had graciously offered the use of his home for the ceremony and reception. Calder hadn’t found this surprising. Fleming was universally loved and respected as an owner. The man cared about the people who worked for him. He loved his team. He regularly eschewed his private box at the arena in favor of sitting amongst the fans. When Calder had asked him why once, he’d replied it was the only way he could accurately judge what fans experienced.

“It’s like I’m a secret shopper. I talk to the people sitting near me to find out if they’re having fun or not. I observe.” Then Fleming had laughed. “A navy man once called it my recon mission, so that’s what the staff calls it now.”

Calder liked that about the guy. He didn’t see himself as above everyone else just because he was a gazillionaire, something that made an impression on Calder when he signed with the club and something he tried to emulate.

Because of Fleming’s generous spirit, this wasn’t the first time Calder had been to the estate, but he’d never attended a wedding there. And he thoroughly enjoyed the slack-jawed looks on the valets’ faces when Becca got out of his car. He couldn’t help walking taller with her at his side.

They found a typical wedding setup on the lawn in the back with two banks of seats flanking a center aisle. The only difference was at the end of the aisle they’d depicted the midnight-and-sky-blue Barracuda logo using only flower petals. Calder tugged Becca toward the side to get a closer look, but she held him back.

“Not that side. We’re friends of the groom, so we sit on the right.”

He looked at her, surprised. “There are sides at a wedding?”

She shrugged. “It’s a tradition.”

They chose seats on the “correct” side and he introduced her to people he knew. As she shook hands, he noticed her red fingernails again. She’d gone the distance getting completely girlified with a manicure and pedicure, and he loved it. He liked looking at her when she wore her work uniform or a tee and shorts, but tonight he had a difficult time taking his eyes off her.

The ceremony went off without a hitch. Tim and Erin said their vows. Erin looked happy and beautiful. Tim had a goofy grin on his face that Calder didn’t think a high-speed puck could have slapped off. Directly afterward, everyone headed for the reception area, a huge white tent illuminated with warm lights and sculptured foliage in giant pots. He and Becca were seated at a table with other unmarried Barracudas. Alex Sullivan came alone, which was strange. Alex usually had at least one babe in tow. Otherwise, there were three women at the table, total. The other females wore black and as the only person at the table in a color, Becca stood out like a rare ruby.

As expected, the booze flowed like a river, the appetizers were excellent, the music only marginal. Orchestral stuff so far. He hoped they planned to liven things up a little later.

Shortly before dinner was served, Alex rose and tapped a fork on his glass of wine. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I might have your attention,” he said into a wireless microphone. “Since it’s the off-season, I haven’t played in a game for over a month and my attention tank is running on empty.”

Calder chuckled and called out, “Welcome to my world, Sully!”

Those who knew about Calder’s injury and rehab laughed.

“Hey, shut the hell up, Griffin. I’m trying to give a toast.” He walked between tables to stand in the center of the dance floor. “As I was saying, Tim and I have been through a lot together. We’ve been good friends for a long time, but strangely, he didn’t consult me when he decided to get married. Go figure.”

People laughed because Alex was infamous for being a player. He lived life in the fast lane, enjoying every benefit there was to be had from being a star in the NHL.

“If he
had
consulted me, I would have reminded him of exactly what he was giving up and how his life was going to change forever. Like from now on, buddy, while the rest of us are closing down the clubs in Chi-Town, tossing back shots of forty-year-old scotch and deciding which lovely lady we’d like to take back to the hotel, you’ll be snug in your room, alone, checking in with the little woman on the phone.”

“Don’t care, bro,” Tim called out, putting his arm around his bride.

“When the team wins at home and we head to Moe’s to celebrate long into the night, where will you be?”

“He’ll be right there with you, Alex,” the bride answered. “And I will be, too, if I’m not on duty!”

That got some hoots of approval from the women.

Alex nodded in acknowledgment, but continued, “And gone is your complete independence from being accountable to anyone but yourself.”

Calder watched Tim turn to Erin and say something too low for anyone else to hear, but she touched her forehead to his and smiled into his eyes.

And damned if Calder wasn’t just a tiny bit jealous of what they had.

“But,” Alex said, his index finger in the air, “look what you’re getting instead. Someone to come home to after a road trip.”

A man called out “Hear, hear!”

“Someone to literally nurse you back to health when you’re banged up.”

Becca leaned close. “Is Erin a nurse?”

Calder nodded. “Pediatrics, I think. Something to do with kids. Or, wait, maybe it’s maternity. I forget.”

“A fan whose loyalty never wavers, who will love you even when you score a goal for the other team. Oh, wait. That wasn’t you. That was Locksy.”

Jason Locke’s hand rose into the air, the middle finger prominently displayed.

Alex waited for the laughter to die down before continuing. “Seriously, Tim, while it’s true you’re giving up a hell of a lot, you’re getting a lot more back in return. Erin’s quite a woman. She’s beautiful. She’s smart. She’s a hockey fan, but most importantly, she can get me penicillin when I catch the clap.”

Calder roared at that one. So did most of the crowd.

“Anyway,” Alex went on, again taking on a serious air, “it’s easy to see why you snapped her up less than a year after you met her. If you hadn’t, there are twenty-two other guys on the team who would have jumped at the chance. Myself included. So raise your glasses to the rest of us assholes.” He brought the microphone close to his mouth. “May we all be as lucky as you, bro. Congratulations. I love you, man.”

* * *

Becca sighed as she made her way to the ladies’ room. Listening to Alex’s toast had made her wistful. The closest she’d ever gotten to being on a real team was working on group projects for school, and those ended up being more of parasitic relationships than ones between equals. As a perfectionist and overachiever, she’d detested the idea that her grades could be affected by someone else. Without fail, she took over the projects and ended up doing most of the work. As a result, any camaraderie that formed was more like gratitude, or disdain because she was a sucker who’d allowed herself to be used.

She shook off her melancholy and told herself that crap like that had prepared her for owning a restaurant where the workload was enormous.

She found the restrooms inside a well-maintained trailer, the type provided for big-name stars on a movie set. These portable potties were nicer than her bathroom at home. No doubt about it, the rich lived differently. Becca hadn’t been poor by any means. Both her parents were doctors, but Fleming existed on a level of wealth far above her parents’.

The champagne was top-notch stuff. She knew this because she’d had two glasses. The appetizers were mini works of art. Her favorite was the cube of honeydew melon topped with prosciutto shaped like a rose. It was almost too beautiful to eat.

And the venue itself was the type of place that showed up on TV, on something like
The Top Ten Mindblowing Estates of Southern California.
She wondered if she could get away with “accidentally” wandering inside the house so she could see how many bedrooms were in there. Did Fleming live by himself? Maybe he needed a personal chef who specialized in lettuce cups and soup. Maybe he was a soupatarian and she could hire a manager for Cups, come out West and spend the rest of her days cooking for one person.

She giggled as she hiked up her dress, then realized she should probably not drink any more champagne until after she got something more substantial in her stomach than a couple of appetizers. She didn’t have to worry about driving home, but she didn’t want to lose her composure and do something embarrassing like vomit or pass out.

After checking her lipstick—something Savannah had made her promise to do—she started back for the main tent. The walk across the lawn in heels would have been challenging when sober, but with two glasses—or was it three?—of fine champagne under her belt, she was going to consider it a personal victory if she got back to Calder without spraining an ankle.

“You okay there?”

She looked up to see Alex Sullivan in her path. He looked dashing in all black, and sporting a perfect five o’clock shadow. His shoes had been polished to a high sheen. With his smooth, sexy, powerful demeanor, he reminded her of James Bond.

“Oh, hi, Alex. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Remembering her promise to Jill, she asked if he’d pose for a picture with her, and he agreed.

“Thank you so much. Really appreciate it.”

“No problem. You’re heading back to the party, right?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the big white tent.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Well, I just wanted to warn you. I saw a bunny moving in on your man.”

A little confused by the alcohol she’d consumed, she asked, “There’s a rabbit in the party tent?”

He smiled at her and the man had a devastating smile. She could easily imagine it laying waste to the female population of every hockey-loving city in North America.

“Yes. The predatory type.”

All at once, it dawned on her and she gasped. “You’re talking about a puck bunny.” An image of that woman at the coffee place that morning popped into her head. It couldn’t be her, could it?

Alex’s dark eyebrow rose. “You know the species?”

“Only by reputation,” she said. “And you said one of them is making a move on Calder?”

“As we speak. Her name’s Remi and I’m pretty sure she’s crashing the wedding.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Becca tried to push up her sleeves, but remembered too late she didn’t have any tonight. Damn. Well, she
did
have her push-up bra and her kick-ass shoes. That would have to do.

She stalked toward the party tent, suddenly as sure-footed as a gazelle. She paused just inside the entrance and saw a woman sitting in her chair like a vampy, man-stealing Goldilocks. She was not the woman from the coffee place. This chick had lots of fluffy blond hair, the kind Becca always envied, and an impressive set of tits that were on display, much like melons at the farmer’s market. From this distance it was hard to see if they were real or not. She wore a formfitting dress that had ridden more than halfway up her thighs.

“Now hold on,” Alex said, touching Becca’s elbow as she started forward again. “Why don’t we hang back here and watch the show? I’ll even give you a play-by-play.”

Becca had to admit she was curious to see how Calder would handle this. Right now he sat, one ankle resting on his knee. He had a polite expression on his face as the Remi woman talked.

When she leaned forward and touched Calder on the forearm, Becca tensed.

“Easy,” Alex said in a low voice. “That’s just her opening gambit.”

Calder moved his arm and the woman took it in stride.

“How do you know her name?” Becca asked Alex. “Do you know her?”

Alex cocked his head and grinned. “She made a pass at me just before she saw Calder.”

“How come you didn’t take her up on it? I noticed you didn’t bring a date.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t walk around with a perpetual hard-on.” Then he sighed and dragged a hand over his face. “Sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s okay.” His reaction surprised her. It seemed to her that he went to some trouble to maintain his bad-boy rep, but he had been offended just now that she assumed he’d jump into bed with the party-crasher chick. Strange.

Alex put a casual arm over her shoulder and leaned his head down. “So, like I said, this is her opening gambit. Right now she’s just talking to him, probably complimenting him on some aspect of his play. If she studied his stats ahead of time, she’ll have something valid and specific to say. If not, she’ll just throw out something generic like, ‘I love how you give it your all, every game.’”

“Does that work?” Becca asked. This might be good intelligence to bring back to Savannah, considering how worried she was about Oliver losing his way if/when he went pro.

“Depends on the guy. And his mood. And the woman, of course. Sometimes you can just tell they’re going to be clingy afterward. Or you might get a stalker vibe from them. I caught a girl going through my wallet once.”

Becca gasped. She was about to ask Alex what he’d said to the wallet woman, when his hand tightened on her shoulder.

“Okay, here we go. God, this is hilarious. Right now she just asked him to input her phone number into his phone.”

“How do you know that?”

“She asked me the same thing. See how he just put his hand over his jacket pocket? That’s where he has his phone, I bet.”

“He’s shaking his head,” Becca observed with satisfaction.

“That won’t stop her.”

He was right. Becca watched the woman open her purse, take out a scrap of paper and a pen, and scribble something on it, talking all the while. She stood and so did Calder. A red flush was creeping up his neck and the woman leaned very close—too close—and put her mouth close to his ear. Calder started, almost knocking his chair over backward. The woman kept coming, but he stuck his arm out to stop her. Unruffled, she put the scrap of paper on the table and finally walked away with an amused “your loss” expression tweaking her features.

“What was that?” Becca asked. “What did she do?”