Hard Limit (St. Louis Mavericks 2)

Finally, I opened the thread of text messages I’d been avoiding, and my heart sank.

You fat whore. You think this hockey guy you’re fucking actually cares about you? I’m watching, Sheridan—and this isn’t going to end well for either of you.

Chapter Ten

Lars

* * *

Mavericks Group Text

Wes: Coach just told me we’ve traded Keegan and acquired Sawyer Cain. He’s legit. Should be a great addition to the team. Starts practicing with us tomorrow.

Beau: WTF! I didn’t even know they were looking for another D man…

Wes: Relax, your spot is safe.

Beau: How do you know?

Wes: Guess I don’t. Might want to pack your bags just in case.

Beau: Why, have you heard something?

Nash: I’ve heard Cain’s an arrogant asshole.

Beau: I just bought a condo and now I’m going to get traded. FML.

Wes: Quit bitching and play hard. You’ll be fine.

Lars: Which line is he playing on?

Wes: No idea. Maybe we’ll find out tomorrow.

* * *

How long would it take for Sheridan’s back to feel better? I figured at least a few days. Back injuries could be a bitch. I knew that from seeing teammates trying to push through them, usually unsuccessfully. I didn’t want to bother Sheridan when she was in pain and have her think I only wanted to sleep with her again.

She’d really impressed me at the cookout. I loved the way she fit in, and the people she engaged with were always smiling or laughing. Hadley had sent me a text after we left the cookout saying how much she liked Sheridan and hoped to see her again.

I was in the locker room changing for practice when Drew came up and held out his fist, grinning. Fist bumps were stupid and I didn’t get the point of them, but I liked Drew so I did the perfunctory knuckle-to-knuckle greeting.

“Persistence paid off, I see,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“With Sheridan. You brought her to the cookout.”

“Oh.” I nodded.

“She seems pretty great. Nina loves her.”

“Sheridan is great.”

He gave me an expectant look. “So? Did you wake up at her place this morning, or did she wake up at yours?”

“We went out for dinner after the cookout. She had back pain and we had to—”

“Dude!” Nash came over to us, cell phone in hand. “I just have to say that never, in my wildest dreams, did I ever imagine you going viral for carrying a woman out of a restaurant. Lars Jansson? Nope. I would have bet money you’d go viral for punching some guy at Subway because he forgot to put cheese on your footlong, or making somebody piss themselves for chirping at you, but this?”

I gave him an irritated glare. “What are you talking about? Why do you take so long to make a point?”

He cackled and turned his phone so Drew and I could view the screen. There was a video of me carrying Sheridan out of the restaurant last night. She’d said people were taking pictures with their phones, but why was all this stuff posted online?

“What is this?” I asked Nash. “Why?”

“Because she’s super famous, bro. She’s a celebrity.”

I bristled. “I am famous, too.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not like her. She’s famous everywhere, all over the world. And when someone like her gets carried out of a restaurant by a—” He turned his phone back toward himself and pushed a button on the screen. “—Greek god of a man who could make a nun hot…I mean, that’s overly generous. I’m not saying you’re unattractive, but—”

Drew cut in. “Wait, why were you carrying her?”

“Something with her back,” I said. “She couldn’t walk.”

“Okay, so you took her out of the restaurant, and then what?” Drew asked. “Is she in the hospital?”

“No, she had medicine at home. I took her there and she took her medicine and went to sleep.”

“Was she better this morning? Does she need anything?”

I just stared at him silently. After a few seconds, he spoke again.

“Lars. Tell me you didn’t fucking leave her like that. Was she alone?”

“I should have stayed.”

Drew and Nash gasped at the same time.

“Dude, you are un-fucking-real,” Nash said. “You left?”

“She was sleeping,” I said, even though I knew he was right.

“Get your phone out,” Drew ordered.

I complied, reaching into my locker for my phone. He pointed at me.

“You text her an apology and tell her you’ll be over right after practice. Then order some flowers to be delivered to her house that cost a minimum of two hundred dollars. Make sure it’s a big arrangement.”

“For flowers?” I balked.

“Just do it, Lars,” Nash said.

“And then,” Drew continued, “after practice, you go over to her place with some Starbucks and food. Ask her if you could bring her something she needs. If she says nothing, bring stuff anyway.”

I sighed heavily. “I am not good at this.”

“Just do what he told you,” Nash said.

There was some commotion at the door to the locker room, and Drew looked over.