Breakout (A Dallas Demons Hockey Romance) Page 10

  And I’m blessed beyond measure that she became my mom.

  “Someday a man will make you split holidays with me,” Mom says gently, stroking a hand through my hair. “And while I’ll be happy for you, I can’t help but know I’ll miss you terribly.”

  An image of Niko flashes through my mind, and I pray with all my heart that will be true. That I’ll spend my next holiday with him, working around the Demons schedule, fitting in both our families when we can.

  I wrinkle my nose. If his family will even allow me into their house, that is, because I’m not Greek.

  Then I’m horrified by my own thoughts. Shit, shit, shit, how can I have these irrational thoughts? We haven’t been on a date. He hasn’t come close to kissing me.

  And here I am worried about what his parents could think of me?

  I need a therapist.

  Or a stiff drink.

  Or both.

  My phone rings, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Excuse me,” I say, moving over to pick it up. “Oh, Mom, it’s CiCi. I had called her and asked what I could bring for dinner next week. Let me take this really quick.”

  “I advise wine,” Mom quips. “One for her as a hostess gift, another for you to help you get through the evening and her dramatic monologues.”

  “Mom, CiCi is fun,” I say, smiling. “And she’s not my mom, so I can handle it.” Then I press the answer key on my phone. “Hello?” I say, moving out of the bedroom and down the hall for some privacy.

  “Lexi, it’s CiCi,” she says excitedly. “I’m so happy you are joining us for Thanksgiving. Now it’s truly a family holiday.”

  I can’t help but smile. Despite what my mom thinks about CiCi, I love her like a second mother. And she’s more of a mother to me than my biological mother has ever wanted to be, so I embrace it with all my heart.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” I say honestly, strolling down the hallway and gazing out the windows that overlook the grounds and swimming pool below.

  “I’m going to have a full house,” CiCi says, excitement filling her voice. “Ryan and Amanda and the girls will be joining us, and Nate is coming with Kenley, and you. I’m ecstatic!”

  “Thank you so much for inviting me to join you,” I say. “With my new work schedule, going to Aspen was out of the equation. And speaking of Thanksgiving, what can I bring, CiCi?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. The Greek One.”

  I freeze. “What?”

  “Darling, you must invite The Greek One. He’s not going home for the holidays. Amanda said so. I had Ryan do some fishing on my part since the man says nothing on social media. But he can’t spend Thanksgiving alone. So he absolutely must be your date.”

  Panic fills me. Of course I want to invite Niko. I want that more than anything. But is it too much? Will it freak him out? It’s a holiday, and people put meaning on those invitations. But do I want him to know my meaning? Do I—

  “And if you don’t invite him, I’ll have Ryan do it, but this is an opportunity I’m giving you to make a move. So are you going to be a woman who takes matters into her own hands? Will you be inviting The Greek One to Thanksgiving dinner?”

  I try to focus on editing the Demons open for tomorrow’s game but I can’t. I’m going to lunch with Niko in ten minutes, and I’m going to invite him to Thanksgiving dinner.

  Which makes me want to throw up.

  I add some shadows to Harrison Flynn’s image, hoping to distract myself from the nerves attacking my stomach.

  “Hey, Lexi, how’s it going?”

  I swivel in my seat and see John Wyatt, the studio director, smiling at me.

  “Hi John, it’s going well. I’m finishing up this open for the Demons game tomorrow against Miami.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Do you have a second?”

  I furrow my brow. Crap, does he not like my opens?

  “Of course.”

  John grabs a chair and wheels it next to me. He sits down, takes a moment, and clears his throat.

  “I’m going to take you off the Demons opens for the time being.”

  My heart stops. I feel the blood rush to my head.

  “It’s nothing you’ve done wrong,” John says quickly, as he must see the upset expression I know is on my face. “It’s that we want to give Chip a shot at them. He’s staff, you know, and expressed an interest in it, so we’re going to flip your assignments. You’re going to work on opens for high school sports, and he’ll do Demons.”

  I nod, but inside I’m reeling. John just took away something I love doing, and I can’t stop it from happening. All I can do is be a team player and agree to it, even though I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut.

  “That’s fine, I’m happy to do whatever you need me to do,” I say, forcing a smile.

  And as my dad has told me a million times, the workplace isn’t always fair. Shitty things happen due to position or politics, and right now I know exactly what Dad was talking about.

  “Great. You can finish your current open, and I’ll give you your new assignments after lunch.”

  He gets up to leave, and as soon as he does, my face falls. I stare at Harrison’s image on the screen, and I swallow down the lump in my throat. I know I can do this better than Chip. It’s not ego talking because if he was good, he’d be doing them already. My instinct tells me he didn’t want to do high school, and when he saw me come in and get a pro hockey team, he complained.

  I take a deep breath. I’m going to show my professionalism here. I put my head down and finish putting the final touches on the open, trying not to fixate that it’s the last one I’ll get to do.

  I finish with a few minutes before I’m supposed to meet Niko for lunch. I tug off my fingerless gloves and head out of the edit bay. I move down the hall, to the offices, and see that Niko is at his desk. I stop at my cubicle, put my gloves on my desk, and pick up my purse. Then I head over to Niko’s office and rap on his doorframe.

  Niko turns in his chair. His face lights up as soon as he sees me.

  “Are you ready? I hope so, because I’m starving.”

  Starving is the last thing I am after that conversation with Wyatt, and now I need to tell Niko that I’m no longer doing his open.

  “I finished your open,” I say, nervously tugging on the scarf I’m wearing over my sweater.

  “I’m sure it’s perfect. Which Flynn goal did you go with?”

  “I got that sick wrist shot goal from the other night.”

  Niko’s smile broadens, revealing the dimple in his cheek. “You instinctively feature what I would have done if I was building it.”

  I nod, thinking of how unfair it is that I know hockey, better than any other editor, and it’s being taken away from me. I clear my throat, knowing I need to be professional about this.

  “Just so you know,” I say slowly, “that’s the last open I’ll be doing for the Demons.”

  Niko’s face instantly shifts to one of concern.

  “What? Why?” he asks, standing up.

  I swallow hard. I glance over my shoulder and seeing that nobody is lingering outside his door, I speak.

  “Wyatt pulled me off Demons opens.”

  Niko furrows his brow.

  “Come again?”

  “Chip has the assignment now. I’m on high school events.”

  Niko stares at me, confusion etched on his face.

  “Why?”

  “Chip wanted the opportunity, so Wyatt gave it to him.”

  “Hold on.”

  Niko gets up, strides past me, and shuts his door. He turns to me, and I see nothing but fury is his blue eyes.

  “Fucking unbelievable,” Niko says angrily. “Είναι ένας ηλίθιος!�
��

  “What?”

  “Wyatt’s an idiot,” Niko spits in translation. “I’m going to talk to him.”

  “No!” I cry, panic filling me. “Please don’t!”

  “No. This impacts my show, and I don’t want Chip doing my opens. He’s done them before, and he sucks. I’m not giving you up. You showed you’re the best one for hockey, and you deserve this chance. I’ll go to Tony Esposito before I let that dumbass do my opens.”

  “You can’t,” I say firmly. “This is my battle to fight.”

  “Not when it impacts my show.”

  “Niko, I know I can’t stop you if you are hellbent on going to Tony, but I’m begging you not to do this. I need to let Chip do some shit opens, and then I can go to Wyatt and ask for him to reconsider. But this can’t be based on you complaining, or it will look like you’re doing this because you’re my friend and not because my work is better.”

  “Lexi, that’s crap and you know it.”

  “But this is how the workplace is, and I have to play the game if I want a job here.”

  “Do you want a job doing high school opens or hockey?”

  “I still have the Demons Magazine,” I say firmly.

  Probably because no sane editor wants to deal with Kimberlee, I muse.

  Niko stares at me, and I can tell he’s not buying it.

  “I’ll get the opens back,” I say. “But I have to do this on my terms.”

  “I don’t like your terms.”

  I can’t help but smile at how much he wants to fight for me.

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “Oh, I do, but I’ll defer to you. For now.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

  I laugh. “So are you.”

  “So are we going to dig in on different ideas of what to eat for lunch today?” Niko asks, flashing me a smile. “I have my car so I can drive today. Unless you want to argue about that, too.”

  “No, I don’t. You can drive.”

  “So final question then: where are we eating?”

  I’m so wrecked by this conversation with Wyatt and the question looming over my head about Thanksgiving that I feel nauseous. Food doesn’t sound appealing at all.

  Ask him about Thanksgiving and get it over with, I will myself. Otherwise, you’ll be sick at lunch while you try to determine the exact moment to ask him.

  “Can I ask you something first?” I blurt out.

  “Anything, you know that.”

  I gather up every inch of courage I have and move forward.

  “Are you staying in town for Thanksgiving?”

  Niko slowly rubs his hand over his facial stubble shadow. “Yeah, it’s too hard to get back East for a day.”

  I nod. “My parents always go out of town, but I’m staying home this year so I can work. So I, um, I’m going to Ryan’s mother-in-law’s for Thanksgiving, and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me. If you don’t have plans. Or if you want to. Don’t feel like you have to. Just if you’d like.”

  My heart is pounding hard against my ribs. I feel sick. Niko shows no expression on his face, which is probably because I gave him the most awkward invitation in history.

  Niko’s cell phone goes off. “Excuse me,” he says, picking the cell up off his desk. He glances at it and then puts it down. “It’s Kimberlee. I’ll call her back later.”

  Jealousy floods me. It’s all I can do not to ask him how his meeting went with her yesterday, but since I’ve already sounded like a freak with my invitation, I’ll refrain from asking about her.

  And if he likes her.

  And if he texts her and calls her like he does me, oh no, please don’t let that be the case.

  Niko can’t like her.

  He can’t.

  “So you’re inviting me to Thanksgiving dinner?” Niko says slowly, going back to the topic at hand.

  Since there’s no going back, I nod.

  “What time?” Niko says, moving past me to go to his computer. I watch as he saves the file he was in by clicking on the save tab.

  “Three o’clock.”

  Niko turns around. “I don’t know. Ryan has told me some crazy stuff about his mother-in-law.”

  But he’s grinning at me as he says it.

  My heart fills with hope at the sight of his smile.

  “She’s entertaining,” I say, smiling back.

  “So I get a Thanksgiving meal and entertainment if I say yes.”

  I laugh. “Guaranteed.”

  “There’s a more important variable in play here, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I get to spend the day with you.”

  I can’t breathe. Butterflies dance in my stomach. I can hardly believe what Niko is saying.

  “So my answer is yes,” Niko says, his eyes locked on mine. “I’d love to spend Thanksgiving with you.”

  Chapter 14

  The One Online Dating Service Profile Question: You are bringing a date to a family dinner. What are your expectations?

  My write-in answer: I’m keeping my fingers crossed that some holiday magic might result in our first kiss . . .

  Niko eases his car through the security gates of CiCi’s exclusive neighborhood, raising his eyebrows as he does.

  “Wow, this is like a player’s neighborhood,” Niko says, glancing at the huge custom homes that line the perfectly manicured streets. “Serious money here.”

  It’s Thanksgiving Day, and we’re headed over to CiCi’s house for dinner. It’s a beautiful autumn afternoon, with bright sunshine and temps in the mid-fifties. And of course, since CiCi won the house in the divorce of her wealthy attorney husband, she lives in a very exclusive Frisco community.

  “And I can’t believe I was told how to specifically dress for dinner,” Niko says, shaking his head.

  I smile at him. Per CiCi’s invitation, we’re both dressed in ‘Ralph Lauren Style Country Estate Weekend’ clothing.

  I study him, and Niko’s played his part by wearing a navy V-neck Polo sweater, layered over a white oxford shirt, with jeans and rugged boots. I selected a fitted, brown-tweed blazer over a plum silky top and jeans, with riding boots as my Ralph Lauren inspired look.

  “Thank you for going along with it,” I say as we drive. “Make a left at the next stop light,” I add.

  “Okay. But nah, it was easy enough,” Niko insists.

  “Right,” I say, laughing. “You must think this is insane. I bet your family didn’t have a dress code.”

  Niko laughs. “Yes, we did. But it was called an apron. We always worked Thanksgiving Day. Big bakery day. I was making pumpkin pies and rolls starting in the wee hours of the morning. It was all hands on deck until we closed at two o’clock. We didn’t even start cooking our own meal until after that. Those days were exhausting, I’ll tell you that. I don’t know how my parents still do it at their age.”

  I think about how different our Thanksgivings were. My first memories of Thanksgiving have always been of skiing in Aspen, followed by Thanksgiving lunch in our Colorado home. And here Niko was, working his ass off and not enjoying it as a day off from work.

  “So dressing like this,” Niko says, interrupting my thoughts, “was easy to do.”

  I smile at him. “A little more work than tossing on an apron, but the rest of your day will be leisurely.”

  “No.”

  I furrow my brow. Niko slows to a stop as we approach a stop sign.

  “This was easy to do,” Niko says, facing me, “because it was for you.”

  Oh! My pulse leaps from his admission.

  “Thank you,” I say softly.

  “You’re wel
come.”

  Niko turns and I guide him toward CiCi’s house, which sits at the very end of a cul-de-sac.

  Of course, it’s not hard to miss, because the whole family is outside, decked out in Ralph Lauren clothing, and having their picture taken by a photographer.

  “Are you freaking serious?” Niko says, pulling his car up behind Nate’s Bentley. “She’s having a photo shoot today?”

  Oh no. That’s why she had everyone dress in Ralph Lauren style. Then it hits me. She asked me to make sure Niko and I were both dressed in Ralph Lauren so we must be—

  Gah! Gah! CiCi’s going to put us in the picture! I glance at Niko, who is staring at the scene in front of us as if he’s spotted a group of aliens dancing on her front lawn.

  Shit. This could totally freak him out, because we’re just coworkers. God. No. Help.

  “Um, I’m sure they’re almost finished,” I blurt out.

  Please let them be finished.

  When I get out of the car, I see that the photographer is taking pictures of Amanda, Ryan, Claire, and Bella. They look like the perfect family, blond and gorgeous and immaculately dressed. Ryan is wearing a Fair Isle sweater vest with a shirt and tie underneath and jeans, Amanda has a matching sweater, jeans, and riding boots, and the girls have coordinating dresses and beret hats.

  Suddenly I have a vision of CiCi wheeling out a rolling rack with our assigned matching outfits.

  No.

  Surely not.

  I mean, she’s knows we’re just friends. We’re not family. Niko doesn’t even know these people and please no.

  “Shit, this looks like an ad for Ralph Lauren,” Niko says, coming around to me.

  I swallow nervously. “CiCi likes for her family to coordinate,” I say breezily, although I’m hitting complete panic. I clear my throat. “Let me get the gift and my overnight bag.”

  “I’ll help,” Niko says, opening the door to the back seat. “I still think it’s funny you’re spending the night here.”