Off the Record Read online

  "If you don't like it, why do you drink it?"

  "Because my personal trainer tells me to. And I pay him a lot of money to make sure I'm playing at peak performance."

  "So, is that my only chance at breakfast? Or do you at least have some cereal I can beg?"

  "Nope. I'm going to make us egg white omelets. Will that work?"

  "Sounds delicious. Can I help?"

  "I'm good. You can just perch over on that stool and watch me work. I'm a master in the kitchen."

  I smile as he dramatically cracks his knuckles before pulling the ingredients out of the fridge. It's easy to get lulled back in by his charm and I have to caution myself that he may be hamming it up a bit so that I write a great article about him. I'll need to clean off the rose color on my glasses to make sure that I truly see the real Linc Caldwell. And if he is hamming it up, he won't be able to keep that act up the entire six weeks. I'll catch the truth eventually.

  "You look hot in those glasses, by the way."

  My eyes snap to his, looking for a lie in there. He's staring at me with warm honesty and my heart stutters, like a race horse's hooves on a muddy track. "Pardon me?"

  "I said you look hot in those glasses. You look sexy-smart. A killer combination."

  "Don't fuck around with me, Linc. I'm not falling for your lines." I'm pissed at myself that his words affected me and I'm pissed at him for trying to affect me.

  He shrugs his shoulders at me as he separates the eggs. "It's not a line because I don't expect anything in return. It's the truth of what I'm thinking right now. I tend to say what's on my mind."

  His compliment should warm me, particularly because I'm sure I look less than stellar right now. Instead, all I can think is that he probably uses similar lines on all the women he comes in contact with. Unfortunately, I tend to say what's on my mind too.

  "Did you say something sweet like that to the woman that gave you a blow job Friday night?"

  Linc looks up from the eggs and his eyes are hard. I swallow nervously.

  "I told you that I did not get a blow job from one of those women Friday night." He steps around the counter and walks up to me, leaning his face down close to mine so he can look directly in my eyes. His voice is low and deliberate. "But I did fuck that woman you saw me with in my bedroom, and I fucked her hard and more than once. That's after I got her off with my hand. You remember that part, don't you? Now, that's the truth."

  He stares at me for just a few seconds then walks back to his eggs. But he's not finished with me.

  His voice is no less deliberate but the physical distance that is back between us makes the words sound colder. "And you can look at me all you want with contempt, but I don't apologize for who I am. You have no right to judge me or my sex life. I will share this with you now, and then I'm done talking about it. I do not randomly hook up with a lot of women, but I do hook up with some. I'm a single guy. It's what we do. But I'm safe, and I'm cautious as to who I'm with, and I'm damn selective. If you have a problem with that, fine...write about it. But don't paint a picture of me that's inaccurate."

  He finishes and stares at me to ensure that I am comprehending what he is saying. I'm stunned by his speech. I don't know if it's his words, or his tone of voice, or hell, maybe it's the fact that he admitted to fucking that woman...hard, but for some reason I believe he is being completely transparent with me now. Linc isn't trying to make me believe he's a saint. He's admitting to me that he's not.

  I'm starting to think I may have judged him too harshly. Reluctantly, I have to admit it's becoming clear to me that the one woman who claimed she gave him a blow job was lying. It's also clear to me that the woman I saw him with probably had the time of her life and there's a small part of me that wonders what it would be like to be on the receiving end of Linc Caldwell's hands.

  It's now my turn for a bit of honesty...and humility.

  "I'm sorry. It's just...Friday night, you had asked me out, but then within a few hours of me turning you down, I was under the mistaken impression that you were sexually involved with two other women that same night. It made me think the worst of you."

  Linc doesn't say anything at first, whisking the eggs with a fork. When he finishes, he sets the fork aside and looks at me. "Just so you know, had you accepted my dinner invitation, I would not have hooked up with that woman. I'm pretty singular in my pursuits. But that's something we'll never know, will we?"

  My jaw drops just a little. He sounds so genuine and coming on the heels of his honest confession just a few minutes ago, I want to believe him. However, my internal instincts--the ones that are used to me getting screwed over by men--are yelling at me to be wary of his words.

  I'm going to play it safe and choose to listen to my gut right now.

  After we finish breakfast, Ever insists on cleaning the kitchen and that's fine by me. It's the same deal I had with Nix when he lived with me. While she's cleaning, I go over my workout schedule with her.

  "I try to run five miles at least four to five times a week. I usually will go first thing in the morning when I wake up or early evening before it gets dark. Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I work out at the gym, and I'm usually there two to three hours. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I'll do something different like inline skating or mountain biking, just to get some activity but not necessarily for a hard workout."

  Ever turns to me from the sink where she is scrubbing the omelet pan. "What do you expect me to do while you're working out, which apparently seems to be a good chunk of your day?"

  "I expect you to be by my side every step of the way. You're going to get a bird's eye view of what it's like to be a professional athlete. I figure you can drive my car behind me while I run, and you can count my repetitions at the gym for me."

  I expect her to balk at this. She's going to be bored to tears watching me work out every day, and the small part of me that's still a tiny bit angry with her stands up and claps over my deviousness.

  Instead, she surprises me. "Do you mind if I run with you?"

  "Not at all."

  "And can I use the gym facilities where you work out?"

  "Sure. I'll get you a membership. There's a training facility in Tarrytown, New York the players can use but I prefer just going to a local gym here for convenience. I only go to Tarrytown once I'm ready to get back on the ice and that won't be for a few weeks."

  She goes back to scrubbing the pan and I just watch her movements. I wasn't lying when I said she looked hot in her glasses. There is something about a smart woman that does me in. I mean, I know Ever is smart. She went to Duke and Columbia. But with those glasses, let's just say she could be my teacher anytime. I snicker to myself even thinking along those lines. Ever wouldn't give me the time of day, knowing what she does about my bachelor lifestyle. Particularly the way I threw it in her face about fucking Brenda that night...hard. I have no clue what possessed me to say that, but I didn't miss the way her nostrils flared when I said it. I have no clue whether that was disgust or desire, but it was certainly a reaction.

  After she finishes cleaning, we both decide to get the run out of the way. She's changed into a pair of shorts and a sports top that molds nicely to her curves. I can tell by the quality of her shoes that she's not a novice runner. Her hair is braided down her back and I hate to admit that she looks beautiful even getting ready to get her sweat on.

  We take off and run companionably through an older neighborhood near my condo. I have to shorten my strides up a bit so she can keep up but I don't mind. It's nice having company, even if it's quiet. I point out a few things to her as we run but I don't waste precious oxygen on talk.

  Just as we are starting our fourth mile, Ever stumbles beside me and starts to limp.

  "Ouch...ouch...ouch..."

  "What's wrong?" I keep running in place to keep my heart rate up.

  "I have a charley horse." She limps around in a circle, bending intermittently to massage her calf. "I'm sorry...go finish your run and I'll meet
you back at the condo."

  I think about finishing on my own but she looks to be in some serious pain. Instead, I walk over to her and sweep her up in my arms. She gives a half startled yelp but then moans as her calf muscle hardens again.

  Laying her on the grass of someone's front yard, I kneel down and take her leg in my hands. I'm embarrassed that my first thought isn't about her injury but rather that her skin is as soft as it looks. She lays back and drapes her arm across her forehead. I can see the muscle knotted and start to gently massage it.

  "Damn, that hurts," she groans.

  "I know. Just bear with me and we'll get it worked out."

  "I can't believe this happened. I've never cramped up like that before."

  I can feel the knot loosening but I continue to work at it, going a little harder the more pliable it becomes. There's no way she'll be able to finish the run though.

  "How often to do you normally run?"

  She leans up on her elbows to watch me working her leg. Those aqua eyes are watching me with interest. "I usually run five times a week but only about three miles. But I know I can do five. I used to run cross country in high school."

  "Maybe you're a little dehydrated. Do you think you can stand and stretch it out a bit?"

  She nods at me and I help her up. She gingerly puts some weight on it and seems to do okay. She takes a moment and stretches the calf, and I use the opportunity to admire her movements. She's so much shorter than I am but she's got a natural grace about her. I would actually peg her as some sort of dancer. Her actions are fluid and timeless, supporting that sort of ethereal beauty that I've come to recently appreciate.

  "I'm good," she says as she steps out onto the road. "I think we can head back. I can probably even run it."

  "No way. Not taking a chance of you cramping again. We'll just walk it."

  We're silent for several minutes as we walk back to my condo. I let her set the pace. My mind is actually going through the various exercises I'll be doing today at the gym when her soft voice cuts in.

  "I'm not a prude, you know."

  I look at her startled. "Excuse me?"

  "I'm not a prude. I don't want you to think I was judging your lifestyle because I have antiquated views about sex."

  Well, hell. That is exactly what I had thought after I read that article, but I have no clue what to say in response. So I ask instead, "Then why were you judging me so harshly?"

  She shrugs her shoulders, as if her answer is silly. But then she stops walking and looks at me. Her eyes are serious. "Let's just say I've had some betrayal issues in my past that tend to make me a little bit sensitive to things like loyalty and commitment. I must have seen your actions as some sort of betrayal."

  "I don't understand why? I owed you nothing. You owed me nothing."

  Ever throws her hands up in frustration and resumes walking. "I know. It's crazy. The only thing I can fathom is that maybe your invitation to dinner seemed like a serious effort on your part to get to know me. And your meaningless sex was, well...meaningless. It just rubbed me the wrong way...that you could want both things."

  Now things are starting to make sense to me. Reaching out, I grab hold of Ever's wrist. She stops and looks at me with curiosity.

  "Did someone cheat on you?" I ask.

  Her face goes even paler than normal and her irises eyes actually darken a bit. I have my answer without even needing her to say it. But she provides it to me anyway.

  "Yes. My ex-fiance," she says quietly.

  I curse under my breath. Now I feel like such an asshole for making the comment yesterday about her driving her fiance off.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" I rub the inside of her wrist as I ask, trying to sooth her.

  Ever glances down to my hand. It's large around her tiny wrist and my skin is dark compared to her paleness. She pulls back slightly and I release her.

  "There's nothing to talk about," she says as she resumes walking. "It's over and done with. I never even think about it."

  Yeah, right. "Never?"

  "Nope. I'm pretty resilient, Caldwell. You trample on me, I know how to pick myself up, brush myself off, and get on with my life."

  I don't say anything but I think to myself, But at what cost?

  A change in subject is definitely in order. It's not for me to try to figure out her emotional man-trauma. It has nothing to do with me as long as she can keep those feelings out of her next article.

  "So, how did you end up at Columbia from Duke?"

  "I made a mistake and followed my heart."

  Definitely a touch of bitter laced inside her sweet accent. "Let me guess...the ex-fiance?"

  She nods. "Yup. Marc. We met at Duke. He graduated a year before me and got a job in New York. He asked me to transfer so I could be with him and I said yes."

  I can't help but note the bitterness seemed to increase when she mentioned transferring schools. In fact, there is way more sharpness to her tone than when she was talking about her ex-fiance. "You didn't want to leave Duke." It's a statement I'm making, not a question.

  A wistful smile slides into place and her cerulean eyes are dreamy. "To graduate from Duke is all I ever wanted growing up. My mom and dad both went there."

  "You're close to your parents, huh?"

  "My mom...yes. Very close. My dad, not so much."

  It wasn't hard to hear the sweet and reverent tone when she talked about her mom. With her dad, I heard something close to loathing.

  "I'm really close to my dad. You'll get to meet him this weekend as we're getting together for dinner at his house with Nix and Emily."

  "What about your mom?"

  "She died of ovarian cancer when I was eight. I don't have a lot of memories of her, but the ones I do have are good."

  "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "That must of have been tough."

  "It was, but my dad is amazing. He did a great job as both a mother and father to me and Nix. You'll really like him."

  "I don't want to interfere with family time. You should go alone. Besides, I'm not sure Emily wants to see me. You should hear some of the voice mails she left me after the article ran. I've been too chicken to call her."

  I chuckle. "Emily won't be mad once you explain things to her. Besides, you're writing another article about me and that includes getting to see me around my family."

  "Well, if you're sure?" She sounds shy all of a sudden.

  "I'm sure. Besides, I need you to hang out with some people that can vouch that I'm not a bad guy." I'm joking with her, but I realize with absolute certainty that I need for this woman to see that I'm not a bad guy. And I'm not sure where that is coming from. I've never really cared what a woman thought before, other than to make sure she was pleased in bed.

  I figure it must be the fact that I don't want my fans to be disappointed in the article that she writes. That has to be it, because the alternative is not something I want to give credence to. Because it spooks me to no end that I may actually like Ever just a bit and her personal opinion of me is important.

  Her next words thrill me. "I don't think you're a bad guy, Linc."

  My heart lifts up and somersaults in my chest, a reaction that disturbs me greatly.

  Fuck! I don't like what those words do to me.

  I'm sitting in a hospital room and I couldn't feel more out of place. The room itself is lovely. It's lavishly decorated with hardwood floors and ambient lighting. The furniture looks to be mahogany and even the windows have expensive treatments adorning them. It looks like a room at the Ritz...or so I would imagine. I suppose if you're married to a New York Ranger, you get star treatment.

  The chair that I've taken in the corner lets me observe everything, despite the awkwardness of the situation.

  We are here to visit Danny Burnham, who just had her baby last night. Danny looks amazingly beautiful, especially given the fact that she went through several hours of hard labor. She's watching her mother-in-law hold the baby, a dreamy look on her f
ace.

  The room is full of family and I am an outsider. Emily hasn't talked to me yet but she gave me a hard glare when I walked in. Linc quickly introduced me to everyone and explained that I was doing a follow up piece to my original article. This statement was met by polite smiles but I can tell everyone is pissed at me for what I wrote.

  I have no right to let it hurt my feelings. I deserve it.

  Linc woke me up this morning at 6:00am and we went on a run. I had no problem making the five miles, although I am a little sore. It also probably has something to do with the fact that I tried to work out with Linc at the gym yesterday afternoon. But after an hour, I had to give up and watch him...counting reps as he told me I would do.

  The man is a machine. I've never seen anyone push their body as hard as he does. I thought I'd be bored, just watching him workout, but I'd be lying if I said it was a chore. His body is unrealistically beautiful. He's all tanned skin and hard muscle...chiseled perfection. Hell, even his sweat is sexy.

  And his work ethic is beyond amazing. I'm starting to understand that there is no summer long vacation for NHL players. They work year round and have to make a lot of sacrifices, which causes my respect for him to increase a little.

  I watch Linc talking with Congressman Burnham. He is naturally at ease, his hands casually tucked in his pockets. They're talking about golf, a sport that I found Linc enjoys playing. He tells a golf joke--which I don't get--and Mr. Burnham laughs with gusto. It's a marvel to me that Linc is so poised at age twenty-four, but I guess when you are in the public eye, you learn how to handle yourself.

  Admittedly, my feelings about Linc are conflicted. On the one hand, I have accepted the fact that I misjudged the situation that had occurred last Friday. He wasn't the complete man-whore I thought him to be, but he's by no means a monogamous angel either. I have not been able to get out of my head when he told me that he had fucked that woman, and fucked her hard. My sensibilities say I should be offended. Instead, I'm a little jealous and that bugs the crap out of me. The way he said that to me--his voice low and vibrating with promise--had me imagining the dirtiest of sexual scenarios.

  On the other hand, I am still having a hard time reconciling that Linc is quite the playboy. He has every right to be but it grates on my nerves. I cannot help but wonder what would have happened had we gone out to dinner that night. If I had just said yes, rather than sensibly saying no.