1
Gigi
“I’m pregnant.”
“Jillian, you’re not pregnant. Don’t say such things,” I said, shifting my heavy bag from one shoulder to the other. Inwardly I cursed not bringing my roller bag. They hadn’t given us our uniforms yet, so I’d only brought the essentials.
Obviously, I’d forgotten how much my skates, pads, and helmet weighed. The stifling heat of the Las Vegas afternoon wasn’t exactly helping any. Neither was the sheer, crippling nervousness I felt deep within my stomach.
Being asked to serve as captain of your team was an honor I’d held many times.
This time was different.
This time, it was for a brand-new start up team in Las Vegas. Family friends of ours had invested in not one but two teams. A women’s—and a men’s.
It had always been a dream of Angelique’s to do this and now she was finally getting the chance to do just that.
Marcel had insisted on naming the teams, the Las Vegas Angels after his wife, of course—Angelique. They were rich and eccentric and still so in love after all these years it was goofy.
But cute.
They were also my godparents and I loved them both to bits. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint them.
Jillian turned to me, her long, blonde, beach waves floating around her face and shoulders like she was posing for a shampoo commercial. “Oh, I’m pretty sure I am after walking passed Beau in the entryway.”
Just the mention of his name created a crazy amount of butterflies in my stomach. For weeks I’d been practicing what I’d do when I finally saw him—and I hoped it wouldn’t be to spontaneously throw up and faint like I felt like doing right now.
“Speak of the devil,” she whispered, nudging me in the ribs.
I gazed up to where her eyes were permanently fixed. Jillian might be correct. Beau exuded such a strong, masculine aura, every woman in a three block vicinity was likely spontaneously ovulating at the moment.
Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t come close to describing Beauregard Moreau. His coloring told of his family’s French heritage—which I already knew. The lean, muscled body he wasn’t hiding underneath his Team Canada T-shirt was definitely drool worthy. I wiped at my mouth in case there was actual drool escaping.
Once he’d turned the corner, I grabbed Jillian. “Oh my gosh, he’s insanely hot,” I whispered, hoping the other girls couldn’t hear me. “If I let go of you, I think my knees might give out.”
She laughed at me, then gave me a hug. “You’ll be fine. I’m sure the novelty will wear off once you have to see him everyday.”
My eyes widened. “Oh no, I have to see him every day.” The thought of seeing him daily constricted my lung capacity to almost nil.
“Yo, Captain,” someone called behind me.
Reluctantly, I spun my head around. It was Anna, walking toward me. “Yeah?”
“You’re supposed to ask for the locker room key. Assistant coaches won’t be here for a while. I guess they’re in a meeting,” she said, crossing her arms, looking a bit pissed. I couldn’t blame her. Calling both teams in for pictures on the same day we were moving into our new digs seemed a bit cruel.
How long could pictures take? I thought a half hour. Hour tops. We knew the drill. Gear on, new uniforms sorted, and handed out. Then out on the ice to line up.
No biggie.
I smiled at Anna briefly. “Thanks, which way?”
She pointed in the same direction Beau had just walked.
“Gigi, hurry up. I have to get on the ice before my makeup melts off my face,” Jillian said, patting at her cheeks. For a hockey player, she really did wear a lot of makeup.
“I’m going, I’m going. You guys watch my stuff.” I gratefully left my bag on the black, rubber floor before strolling off.
This complex was huge. One wrong turn and backtracking would suck.