Wheeler (Seattle Sharks 8)

It took a second to realize that he wasn’t talking about his sister. Holy shit I had it bad.

“What’s that?” I asked, removing my gear.

“The Charleston arena,” he answered, unstrapping his pads. He’d been cleared last week to get back on the ice, but only in a recreational capacity. He was coming back slow and steady, just like his doc recommended.

“He might be crazy, but that rink is a thing of beauty,” Gage added with a whistle. “Guess that’s what you get when a tech billionaire has a hand in the design.”

“There’s no saying he’s even going to get the bid,” Bentley said, his voice muffled as he pulled his chest protector over his head.

The league had opened the window for ownership groups to bid for expansion teams before last season, and two cities had jumped at the chance: Charleston, South Carolina, and Bismark, North Dakota.

“Decision is in what? Two weeks?” I asked. Usually, I would know without blinking, but the Adrenaline launch occupied ninety-five percent of my brain lately.

“Three,” Gage answered.

The dozen or so of us quieted. Expansion teams meant expansion drafts. NHL teams could only protect certain numbers on their rosters, and after that, it was open season for the new team to draft.

I was a Shark. I wanted to stay a Shark. It was that simple.

But if the team didn’t put my name as one of those protected players, I had zero assurance I’d stay in Seattle, new house or no new house.

“Whatever happens, happens,” Porter commented with a shrug. “There’s zero point stressing over shit we have no control over.”

“Speak for yourself,” Noble scoffed as he wrapped a towel around his waist, prepping for the shower. “You’ll be on the protected list.”

“With his salary? Shit, we could get two first-round draft picks.” Gage’s jest was met with laughter, even from Porter.

“Come on, Noble, just think of all those sweet southern belles waiting south of the Mason Dixon for you,” Rory teased.

“Didn’t you know Noble leaves the manwhoring to his brother?” Bentley teased.

“My brother is nothing compared to Porter’s,” Noble tossed back.

“Hey, how the fuck did I get brought into this?” Porter questioned.

“Both your brothers are manwhores,” I chimed in. Between the Porter playing in the baseball major leagues and Noble’s brother in the NFL, the genes were strong in this locker room.

“Hello, pot. Meet kettle!” Connor’s laugh howled through the locker room as he walked to the showers, and then it echoed against the tile in there.

I didn’t know what the fuck tea had to do with anything. Kettles?

“Don’t worry,” Gentry said, smacking my bare shoulder as he walked by. “One day a girl will catch your eye, and you’ll settle down like the rest of us.”

“Again, speak for yourself!” Noble called out, following Connor.

Porter met my gaze and gave me a wry smile. He knew exactly how I felt about Faith. Hell, he’d been there, telling me to pull my head out of my ass, that I had to keep my dick in my pants if I wanted a shot with Faith.

That had been over nine months ago.

Hence the longest dry spell in my life.

I showered, changed, and was halfway to my car, gear slung over my shoulder, when Langley caught up to me.

“Lukas!” she called out.

I looked over my shoulder and paused as she walked briskly toward me.

“I called your name four times! Damn, give a girl a break. I’m in five-inch heels!” She smacked my chest with the back of her hand, her chest heaving.

“Sorry, that was the first time I heard you. Little distracted, I guess.”

“Apparently. Come on. I’ll walk with you.”

“What’s up, Langley?” I slowed my pace so she could comfortably keep up.

“I wanted to ask how things were going with Faith?” She looked up at me, all expectant and hopeful.

Horribly. I’m in a permanent state of blue balls. She knows I want her, but doesn’t believe me. I promised myself I wouldn’t touch her until she was ready. Then I hired her. Now I’m fucked. Not fucked. It’s complicated.

“Fine,” I answered, cutting off my babbling internal monologue.

“Really?” she questioned, propping her hand above her eyes to block the sun. “I know how important this launch is to you, and how many plates you’re spinning.”

“I assure you, I’m not spinning any plates.” My forehead puckered. Between the kettles and the plates, Americans were obsessed with their kitchen references.

“Oh, it’s a thing where a guy spins plates on sticks and then keeps them all going,” Langley started then shook her head. “You know what? Never mind. It basically means you have a lot going on right now.”

Who the fuck put plates on a stick and then made them rotate? That was the most absurd thing I’d ever heard.

“Yes, that’s true,” I agreed. “But Faith seems to have it well in hand.” She just didn’t have me in her hands, which was completely fucking frustrating. But the job? She was passing every test with flying colors. She was brilliant at it.

“Even the Sweden trip?” She cocked her head to the side.

“Well,” I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck. “There’s a lot going on there, and she’s not experienced. But I think she’ll get it all sorted out.”

Langley’s eyes narrowed in that calculating way she had when her brain kicked into high gear.

“What?” I asked, popping the trunk on my Aston Martin.

“Are you saying that because you like her, or because you think she’s actually on top of everything?”

Everything but me.

I swung my bag into the trunk and then closed the cherry red hatch. Damn, I loved this car. I loved living in a climate where I could drive it three hundred and fifty-five days a year.

“Lukas?” Langley urged.

“Of course I like Faith. What’s not to like?” I leaned back against the car, folding my arms over my chest. “But that has nothing to do with the launch. Do I think she’s over her head? Maybe. Hell, maybe I am, too. But we’re figuring it out together.”

Langley nodded, having come to some decision. “Okay, how about I tag along to Sweden? Just to make sure everything goes off without a hitch? If you need me, then I’m there, and if you don’t, then I’ll treat it like a vacation.”

She had a point. There would be times I’d need my publicist, too, and since I hadn’t hired one specifically for the Adrenaline line, it made perfect sense.

“You think you can get along with the retailers’ publicists?” I ruffled her feathers.

“I can get along with anyone when it comes to my job,” she countered with a huff. “It’s only when I deal with you divas on a personal level that I get testy.”

“Diva? Ouch.” I covered my wounded heart.

“You know it’s true. Okay, then I’ll prep for Sweden—”

“Sweden?” Noble asked, coming to stand next to Langley. “I want to go! When are we going?”

“It’s business, not the senior class trip,” I muttered.

“Never went on my senior trip,” he answered. “So when are we headed to Sweden?”

I rolled my eyes, then grinned. “You up for teaching a little while we’re there? I told my friend Axel I’d help him with a youth camp for a couple of days.”

“What kind of name is Axel? Is he a car?” Langley quipped.

I shot her a raised eyebrow.

She made a motion like she was zipping her mouth shut.

“Yeah, I’m always down for working with kids,” Noble answered.

No doubt. The guy had just come back from Minnesota where he’d spent a month working with underprivileged youth in his little home town. The guy had fought his way up from the minors and had zero issue with hard work.

“Okay, then you’re both in. Just make sure your passports are valid.”

“Road trip!” Noble called out, throwing his fist in the air.

“We’re flying,” Langley answered dryly.

“Why do you always ruin the fun?” Noble shook his head. “Better make sure you clear the trip with the fiancé, too.” He wiggled his empty ring finger.

Wait, did Langley pale?

“He knows my work comes first,” she countered. “Lukas, you’d better get going. If I’m not mistaken, you’re shooting the first Adrenaline ad in an hour.”

I glanced at my watch. “Damn. Yep. I’ll catch you guys later.”

I left them bickering like siblings in the parking lot over something Noble had done that involved his brother. Langley’s job wasn’t anything I envied. We were all pains in the ass in our own ways.

“Mr. Vestergaard, can I get you a bottle of water?” a young assistant asked me, batting her obviously fake eyelashes.

“That would be lovely, thank you,” I answered. “And one for my assistant, please.”

She stared up at me for another moment before Faith cleared her throat next to me. Then the girl blushed the same shade as my car and hurried off to grab water.

“It’s like you perform lobotomies with a look,” Faith muttered, scrolling through our agenda on her iPad. “See Lukas Vestergaard, automatically lose brain cells.”

I grinned down at her as she shook her head. “Do you lose brain cells?”

She startled. “Shit. I said that out loud?”

“Yes.” My smile grew even bigger.