The Slot: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance (7 page)

“Not that well. I think I pissed him off.”

Kylie’s eyes appeared to spin in disbelief. “Pissed…? Now, why would you do a crazy thing like that?”

Eloise tossed her brunette mane behind her shoulders but didn’t confess. It would be too easy to say that his smooth and fluid movements were so sexy she thought she might explode from wanting him. But instead, she’d ran scared. “Just because he’s gorgeous doesn’t make him compatible.” She rubbed her wrists, a dry, itchy feeling coming over her, and reached for a squirt of lotion from the bottle on her desk.

“Two can play at that game,” Kylie said. “Maybe it’s you who’s not compatible. Give the guy a chance. Or at least
some
guy a chance.”

“I thought you told me to find a poet or painter. Or a barista.”

“Oh, forget what I said. Call him… apologize… talk dirty to him… whatever it takes.”

“I don’t have his number,” Eloise commented dryly. That wasn’t quite true. As a director, she had access to everyone’s contact information if she needed it.

Kylie sputtered and turned on her pink Nike-clad heel. “For heaven’s sake, Eloise.
I’ve
got his number. I’ll get it for you!”

Eloise pressed her lips together, suppressing a huge smile. She’d keep the barista part secret from her for a while. As she settled into her high-backed, leather executive chair, her phone beeped with Kylie’s text. She looked at the highlighted mobile number displayed on the screen. Two time zones away, Cole would likely be on the ice now for practice before the Kings game later tonight. She began to type out a text.

Eloise
: Gd morning mr fiorino… pardon the intrusion… how r things in LA… apologies 4 my behavior at dinner… forgive me?

She set the device down on her desktop and carried on with her work, not expecting a reply. To her surprise, a response beeped a few minutes later.

Cole
: LA all good… even donut ldys deserve 2
nd
chance… gonna kick ass tonite now that ur not mad at me


Eloise
: Lol not mad… just a heads up… town hall mtg scheduled next Tues 8pm… keep it dl…need just a few players…can u be there?

Minutes ticked by that seemed like hours. Eloise chafed at the waiting… and the anxiety she felt while doing it. Because it was a ruse. She really just wanted to see him again, and this would force the issue. Knowing his feelings about
Blues & Brews
, he’d be at the town hall and pull out all the charming stops, Fiorino style. Still, she felt like she couldn’t breathe until she heard from him.
Ridiculous. Stop it
. Beep. She grabbed at the screen.

Cole
: Be there w donuts on


She exhaled a lungful of air she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Wearing donuts? A naughty picture appeared in her head. That alone would be worth the price of admission. Beep. Eloise jumped.

Cole
: Drinks afterward?

Eloise
: Absolutely… c u then… kick some LA ass


Cole
: I’d rather look at yours

Eloise smiled at the frank statement and did not mind one bit. She felt a little thaw of her icy chill course through her torso and land straight between her legs.

Chapter Eight

A few hours before the Town Hall began, Eloise and Kylie readied the training room, setting up chairs and arranging for the refreshments to be catered in. Kylie had photocopied handouts for the
Riot for Rochester
campaign and had the comp tickets in hand for the next home game to be raffled off as a goodwill gesture. Security people waited at the main entrance to direct the guests upstairs to the meeting room.

“I think we’re ready,” Kylie said, glancing around at all their handiwork. “It looks polished and professional. Hopefully, no one will go ballistic.”

“I doubt it,” Eloise agreed. “But it does look good. I’m bagged already, and we haven’t even started.”

Kylie chuckled. “Let’s relax for a few minutes. Doors open in fifteen.” She took a chair behind the registration desk set up near the entrance.

“Good idea,” Eloise said, settling onto a director’s style chair near the mike up front. Movement near the door caught her eye, and Eloise looked up to see Cole enter the room, dressed casually in a sleeveless Nike training shirt and jeans. Kylie glanced over as well, and with eyes wide, threw Eloise a “holy cow” look. Her heart pounded a steady rhythm coursing the blood through her veins.

“Hi, Cole,” Kylie said with a flirty wave and excused herself from the room.

Obvious much?

Once Eloise got past the delicious-looking muscles of his biceps and deltoids, she noticed the sinuous tribal tattoos inked into his arms and shoulders, and her stomach did a flip-flop. Though they had no formal relationship as yet, it struck Eloise how much she’d missed Cole while he’d been away. The vision of him advancing toward her in all his masculine glory, his tatted arms and powerful thighs on full display sent a jolt of possessiveness through her.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, yourself,” she replied with a smile, rising from her chair. “Nine points in four games. Pretty good road trip, I’d say.”

“Yup.” He nodded, the usual careful grooming of his thick head of black hair a bit more casual this evening. “But it’s good to be home,” he said, stepping in close to her. “I guess it’s home now, even though I haven’t been here long.”

With their full-foot height differential, she had to look up into his face and got lost in the azure-blue bliss of his gaze. Both of them seemed at a loss for words as he smiled down at her. Eloise inhaled in an attempt to steady her rioting emotions and it just sounded as if she’d taken an angry hiss.

“Welcome home, then,” she finally whispered to recover, and in the next moment, his arms were around her, and his lips covered hers, insistent yet gentle. The softness of his mouth contrasted against the rough stubble grazing her cheeks. Eloise felt faint, her body melting against him as it relinquished all control. She could taste cinnamon as his tongue thrust into her mouth, searching, exploring. Red Hots. It suited him. All fire and tang. She couldn’t remember a more powerful kiss, and succumbed to it, not caring if repercussions lay in wait around the nearest corner.

Kylie cleared her throat loudly. “Ahem, they’re coming in,” she said from her position in the doorway.

Cole broke their kiss but let one hand trail down her back to rest on the round globe of her behind. “Later, pretty lady. Hang on to your doughnuts.” He gave her rump a gentle squeeze and stepped away.

People filtered into the room, some looking apprehensive, some angry, others just curious.

“Welcome,” Eloise said, recovering her professional poise, thankful she’d opted to forgo lipstick. Power red. If she’d stuck with her usual routine of an armor of make-up, both she and Cole would be wearing it over their entire faces.

He’d
kissed
her.

“Thank you for coming, can you sign in please?” She directed the incoming citizens to a table near the entrance and began distributing the handouts as they scribbled their names on a clipboard. Kylie stood nearby, issuing raffle tickets.

Eloise introduced herself and started the discussion, noticing Cole seated in the audience, talking casually to another man she didn’t recognize. He wasn’t one of the players and seemed to be about Cole’s height but less brawny, his jaw covered in a thick ginger beard. Must be his friend Trey, she reasoned, owner of
Blues & Brews
.

She faced front and addressed the crowd. “Thank you all for coming out this evening and taking part in the kickoff for the
Riot for Rochester
campaign. On behalf of the Rochester Riot Hockey Club, I want to say we are proud to be part of your community and wish to see it continue to thrive and remain the unique cultural center that it is. I want to assure you that our new owner, Sheehan Murphy, has no desire to take business away from the hard working residents of this neighborhood.
Murphy’s Finest
Whiskey Pub and Event Center
will enhance the viability, diversity, and prosperity of the Arena District by drawing new customers to this part of the city, and in turn, will have the opportunity to explore and experience all the fine establishments, food, and entertainment the area has to offer. Including the successful ones already in existence.”

“What about price controls?” one onlooker said. “Can you guarantee the pub won’t undercut us?”

“I’m not in charge of pricing,” Eloise said, “but customers wanting a vintage, high-end Irish whiskey will expect to pay fair market value. It would be a bad business owner who gave their product away too cheaply, wouldn’t it?”

“What about the noise and traffic?” asked another, his voice heightened in anger and frustration. “You won’t even be able to drive into the neighborhood when the parking tower and pedestrian skyway goes in. How will our customers even get to us? They’ll just find other places to go because no one wants to deal with gridlock.”

“The parking will be open to the public,” Eloise said, keeping her tone neutral and kind, her eyes empathetic. After all, she totally understood where the local business owners were coming from here. “It can be used 24/7 for anyone wishing to explore the area, not just
Murphy’s Finest
.”

So far, she seemed to be hitting it out of the park. She answered all of their concerns thoughtfully and with aplomb. However, the bar was still a month or more away from opening, and several people complained that the construction itself was proving disruptive to the community.

“I have an idea,” Eloise said, venturing out onto a limb. “As part of the
Riot for Rochester
movement, prior to the opening of
Murphy’s Finest
, those of you who own bars and restaurants might consider hosting a local festival of some kind, encouraging residents to come out and sample the great food and entertainment you have to offer. Going forward, when there are hockey games or other events at the arena, you’ll have ready-made customers who can’t wait to visit you again. My office will be committed to assist in promoting any events you wish to organize.”

Rumbles of assent washed through the crowd, the attendees nodding and talking to each other. Kylie was beaming, and when Eloise glanced over at Cole, she found him smiling in approval.

The moment crashed and burned as the fire-breathing presence of Sheehan Murphy suddenly burst into the room. He rounded on Eloise, pointing a finger at her. “What the fuck is the meaning of this?” he shouted as he marched to the front of the house. “I told you we didn’t need any fucking backyard pow-wow.”

So much for keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. Sometimes, she wondered how this man stayed at the top of the Forbes list.

Eloise blanched. Murphy looked positively livid, his face red as a goal light and his voice carrying clear to the back of the high-ceilinged space.
Shit!
With his busy schedule, she honestly didn’t think he’d show up. It would be so much better if she could just report the good news to him in the morning. Her damage-control switch kicked into play. “Mr. Murphy, this is a public meeting,” she said as though happy to see him. “We’re pleased that you could join us, if you wouldn’t mind having a seat?”

His face grew even redder as he glared at her, then cast his bulging eyes over the hundred or so people in the room. “I’ve no intention of joining you,” he said, his voice lowering a notch or two. It wasn’t enough. “If these yokels,” he swept an arm across the room, “had any decent food or entertainment to offer, they wouldn’t need to whine about the King of Irish Whiskey putting them out of business.”

“Fuck you,” came a shout from the back.

“Yeah, King, come a little closer and we’ll crown you,” cried another.

The room erupted in ugly threats so vicious, Eloise cringed. She wanted to grab her ears to drown out the buzz of menace. Eloise looked at Kylie, who sat rigid in her chair, her face white against the multiple shades of red in her outfit. Turning back to the crowd, she saw Cole leave his seat and stride quickly to the front of the room.

“And you,” Murphy said, returning his attention to Eloise, “are going against my direct orders, holding this meeting. Shut it down, and watch your back from now on. The only thing keeping me from escorting you from the building is the HR nightmare such an act would cause me. Let alone the bad publicity.”

“Sheehan!” Cole shouted as he practically stepped in between them. “Calm the fuck down, will you? Don’t talk to her like that. Eloise is paving the way for your pet project, don’t you see? You should take advantage of her experience and let her handle things her way.”

“Eloise?” Murphy questioned. “You and this fucking little princess are on a first name basis, frat boy? Listen, I paid good money for you, a lot of money, so you better sit down when I tell you, shut up when I tell you, suck my dick when I tell you, and go score some fucking goals.”

Eloise could tell that Cole was about to lose it all over their boss, his mouth opening to verbally retaliate. Then, just as quickly, he clamped it shut. “Mr. Fiorino!” she said sharply, loud enough for the two men to hear but not the crowd at large. “Please sit down. Both of you. We’re in front of more than a hundred people – don’t make a scene! It could jeopardize the rest of the Riot’s season. Stop it, and stop it now!” She turned away from the two men and went to try and speak to the crowd, most of whom were already standing and preparing to leave. “My apologies,” she said to those who were still within earshot. “We have tickets to give away for the Riot’s next home game. Please stay for the draw.”

People streamed for the exit, some tossing their raffle stubs to the floor. It took a lot for Eloise to cry, but hot tears welled behind her eyes watching the disaster unfold as if she stood beside the tracks of the world’s deadliest train wreck. Eloise whirled around to address Cole and Sheehan again but found that Sheehan had disappeared. Cole stood where she’d left him, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she walked over to him.

“I’m sorry too,” he said, his voice hard. “I was trying to help you, and you brushed me off. Why didn’t you stick up for yourself? Or for me? Who does that?”

“I didn’t need your help,” Eloise hissed before she could stop the angry words, knowing they might be the final nail in the coffin that marked the death of their electric connection. “This isn’t about sticking up for myself. I have a job to do, Cole.”

He nodded slowly, his face stony. “Yeah. And I’m just Mr. Fiorino to you,” he said, then turned and walked out as he fired one final shot. The game winner. “Glad I know it sooner rather than later.”

***

Eloise felt tired right through to her bones. The meeting had been a disaster. She’d failed. Taking risks had never really worked out for her, and she should have left well enough alone. Now, one of the richest, most powerful men in business hated her guts.

Kylie collapsed into tears, so she’d sent her straight home, telling her not to worry about the cleanup. She waited while the night maintenance crew returned the training room to normal, gathering up the discarded flyers and raffle stubs herself. When she finally turned the lights out, her feet felt like lead as she trudged down to street level. She’d anticipated having a celebratory cocktail with Cole right about now, but it looked like she’d be drinking alone. She remembered the newsstand on the corner selling little single-serve wines and headed in that direction.

The store nearly deserted by this late hour, Eloise quickly found the wine shelf and decided on two servings of a domestic Merlot just for good measure. Tonight definitely called for a double shot of something. With a powdered doughnut chaser. She hoped there might still be a pack or two left at the checkout and made her way to the front of the store just in time to see the last one being sold. To none other than the Beantown Bard himself.
A rose by any other name
, she thought, paraphrased Shakespeare popping into her head at the worst possible time.

His Vuarnet shades were pressed high up on the bridge of his nose, and his Riot baseball cap backwards on his head. A few shocks of his black hair protruded through the band. She wanted to snatch it off and run her fingers through the spiky stubble, kiss every inch of his face and tell him she was sorry, so sorry. Her defense mechanisms had gone into full overdrive without her even shifting into gear. Then, she wanted to jump into his waiting car and take him back to her place to fuck him until dawn.

But she wouldn’t. Old habits died hard. And hers were zombies. Like
Night of the Living Dead
.