The Hockey Playboy's Plus Size Obsession

Chapter 4

JAX POV

I'm more fired than anyone in the history of fired people.

That's all I can think as my arm drops back to my side, the empty cup still in my hand, and I watch the iced coffee splatter across the Florida fan's stupid face.

My next thought: it's going to be hard to wash coffee out of that expensive-looking jersey.

And then: the fan deserved it.

"What the hell, man?" the Florida fan yells at me, wiping his face with his sleeve.

My heart is thumping wildly. That just spiraled out of control.

It gets worse fast.

Rick bursts through the arena doors. From the top of the steps, his eyes scan over me and Mila facing each other, the Florida fan, and the remnants of her iced coffee all over the sidewalk.

"You two!" Rick bellows. "Back inside, NOW."

I keep my face stony. I don't look at Mila as I shrug, then follow Rick back inside. I hear her footsteps behind me, hurried and sharp in those yellow heels.

Adrenaline and dread course through me as we follow Rick through the arena hallways. My dark hair is still loose from the shower, and I push it back impatiently, wishing I'd tied it up.

Rick is ranting and raving as he walks: he got a flood of messages from coworkers that some sports blogger fan was livestreaming Jax Kingston getting into an argument on the street, but that wasn't possible because Rick knew for a fact Jax Kingston was in a meeting with his best junior agent.

He finally takes a breath when we reach an empty office. "Wait here. Both of you. Do not cause any more trouble. I mean it."

"I'm so sorry, Rick," Mila begins. "I should've shut the situation down sooner...."

But Rick is already slamming the door shut behind him and barreling away, probably to get ahead of the story with the Bay Blades' front office. The same front office that's already at the end of its tether with me.

Alone in the little office room, I look at Mila.

She looks back at me.

Silence fills the air. Ice-cold, tense silence.

Her phone dings. Then dings again. And again.

She silences it without even checking. I can imagine the sports media headlines already. Jax Kingston and Junior-Agent-Nobody-Who-Will-Never-Be-a-Real-Agent-Now Spar Outside Arena; Kingston Throws Perfectly Good Iced Coffee All Over Douchebag.

I drag one chair out from the desk and sit down. She doesn't take the one next to me. Instead, she paces the small length of the room, her hips swaying, the hem of her pencil skirt brushing her thighs.

I try not to watch.

"Why, Jax?" She stops pacing and faces me. Her expression is cold, but there's heat underneath. "You're already in trouble with the team. A viral clip of you nailing a fan with a large iced coffee is not going to help anything."

"He was being disrespectful." I look up at her. "Why should a fan get to speak to me that way, like speak about you that way and not expect any consequences?"

She stops moving. Her pale blue eyes widen.

Did I just admit I was bothered by what that fan said about her? Specifically, something gross and s****l and demeaning?

"Sure," she says, her voice softer, "but throwing my iced coffee wasn't the best response. I was supposed to handle this for Rick, and now I'm going to be in so much trouble. We both are."

I can see the fear underneath her professional mask. The same fear I've seen in rookies before their first big game. The fear of f*****g up when everything is on the line.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't intend to get you into any trouble." My mouth hardens. "But what's done is done."

"Gee, thanks a lot for the heartfelt apology."

She sinks down onto the chair, crossing her arms under her chest. The movement draws my attention to the curve of her breasts under her blouse, and I force my eyes back to her face.

The worst part is, I can't stop noticing her. The softness of her curves, the way her blouse stretches across her shoulders, the fact that she's built like a woman and not some starved model. There's something real about her. Something warm.

And I'm a complete asshole for noticing any of it right now.

An anxious blur of minutes goes by. Then Rick's loud footsteps approach. He bursts in through the office door, a stormy expression on his face.

"All right," Rick says darkly, taking a seat across the desk from us. "Listen up, you two."

I take a deep breath. Great. Now I'm really going to ruin everything.

"That was a goddamn shitshow. What were you thinking, Jax? Throwing a drink at a fan?"

I shrug. "Lost my temper."

Rick huffs, clearly unmoved. "Fans chirp at players all the time. You ignore them, you move on." He pauses. "The old Jax would never have given that fan the time of day."

The old Jax. I can't help but tense at that.

"And you," Rick says, turning to Mila. "It was your job to take a quick meeting with Jax about improving his public image. Not to douse his image in gasoline and set it on fire."

I see her flinch. It feels awful watching her get blamed for my mistake.

"I'm really sorry, Rick....." she begins, but Rick raises a hand.

"The damage is done, and this time it's serious. Jax, I just met with Coach Reed and the GM. The higher-ups aren't happy." He pauses, voice lowering. "I hoped it wouldn't come to this, but... the front office is seriously threatening to trade you."

The air gets sucked from the room.

"You're one of the league's very best goalies and no one's denying that, but management is nearly at its breaking point. They want a team who can pull together and make the playoffs without causing a shitstorm of bad PR every other week. Plus, your contract ends this season. They'd rather trade you away and get assets for you now than let you walk in free agency."

My jaw clenches, voice tight and low. "f**k no. I've been with New England since I was drafted. I'm not going anywhere else."

"Unfortunately for you, you're an athlete. If they decide to trade you, you're gone. You'll be shipped off to some cellar-dweller team in the middle of a rebuild with no real chance at a cup."

Cold, tense silence fills the room.

Rick pauses. "Unless."

"Unless?" I echo.

"Unless you get your s**t together. Clean up your act. Make it to this season's trade deadline without causing any more drama. And that is where you come in..." Rick swivels in his chair to face Mila, and my stomach drops. "You break it, you fix it. This is your job now, Mila. I've got enough work to do without cleaning up the mess caused by my junior agents."

She swallows. "What can I possibly do to stop the Bay Blades trading Jax?"

"You ever have a job back in high school?" Rick asks.

She blinks. "Um, sure... I worked in a frozen yogurt shop in the mall. I washed dishes in a restaurant. Oh, and sometimes I'd babysit the kids in our apartment building."

"Bingo." Rick grins, but it's all teeth.

I see the realization hit her face.

"This woman is now your handler," Rick tells me. "Your liaison. Your supervisor. Whatever the hell you want to call it. Point is, wherever you go, she goes too. Whatever bullshit you feel like causing, she keeps you in line."

I rise to my feet, leaning over the desk. "I don't need a babysitter, Rick. This is ridiculous."

"You should've thought about that before you threw an iced coffee at a fan right outside your team's arena."

"Why me?" Mila blurts out. "I mean, with all due respect, Rick... I'm not sure Jax and I are the best fit to work together, given what happened today."

Rick barks out a humorless laugh. "If you want to be a top agent, you're going to have to work with people you actively want to murder. That's the job, Mila. Do you want a chance at a promotion or not?"

She nods slowly. "Yes, I want the job. More than anything."

"Then you do this assignment damn well, because that's the only way you're going to be in with even half a shot at getting the promotion."

She pushes aside whatever nerves she's feeling and puts on a bright smile. It takes visible effort. "I won't let you down again, Rick."

I grit my teeth. "She agrees to it, but I'm not agreeing to it."

"Then you get traded." Rick shrugs. "I'm on your team here, Jax. I want you to stay with New England, win a cup, and get a big, fat contract extension. I'm handing over one of my most talented junior agents just to make sure that happens."

Mila holds out her hand to me, forcing her smile wider. "Deal?"

My eyes drop to her outstretched hand. Her fingers are short, nails painted a soft pink, a small silver ring on her middle finger. I take it, my hand enclosing hers. There's a soft, hot jolt at the feeling of just how small her hand is compared to mine. I catch her scent, something sweet like vanilla and brown sugar.

She was baking this morning. Of course.

Her stare holds mine. I look into those pale blue eyes, and something in my chest cracks open.

"Deal," I say, eyes fixed on her face. My voice is rough as gravel. "Sounds like you and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other, Mila Santiago."