The Slot: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance Read online

  Visions of Cole Fiorino’s twinkling eyes and ripped body had haunted her dreams – the crazy kind of dream that woke you every hour yet somehow led you back to a different version of it each time you dozed off. Eloise found herself blushing as she recalled different bits of the dream. Her and Cole in a bubble bath, then getting it on in the executive washroom while Sheehan Murphy spied on them. Ugh! Cole finding her lost in the dark woods, ripping her shirt, pushing her up against a tree… that one made her heart palpitate even now.

  She parked in the ramp and hurried to her office, though there was no need to at this early hour. But she had to admit, running toward the building helped calm her. As if the motion itself could chase away the haunting fantasies of someone she had no right to be so obsessed with after a couple of brief interludes.

  She brewed herself a coffee and sat down to read Inside Sports while devouring her secret stash of treats. A few minutes before eight, Kylie arrived. She’d barely said good morning to her when Eloise’s desk phone shrilled.

  “Eloise Rob–”

  Sheehan’s voice cut her greeting short. “We don’t need a fucking Town Hall meeting.”

  Eloise’s mouth hung open a second or two. If nothing else, her boss was certainly direct. “Excuse me, Mr. Murphy, but I think it’s important to understand the community’s point of view and for them to understand ours.”

  “I don’t pay you to understand. I pay you to deal with the public and get them to shut their redneck, trailer park pie holes.”

  Eloise’s temperature bypassed simmering to land at boiling. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to remain professional. “That’s true and I’ve been handling community relations for the organization for nearly five years. I know the best way to deal with the public, so please let me handle this.”

  She could hear Murphy breathing heavily over the line. “Five years, huh. Well, young lady, if you want to be around for six, you’d better find a way to get those hayseeds off my job site today, not host a tea party for them. Do I make myself clear?”

  Murphy hung up before Eloise could answer. Not that she had a choice – the boss was the boss whether she agreed with him or not. She looked at the half-eaten package of doughnuts on her desk, then tossed them into the wastebasket in disgust. The only other idea she had would involve a trip to the Sales & Marketing office down the hall, where more unpleasantness had hidden itself under a rock. In addition to powdered doughnuts, working at KwikTrip had given her another unhealthy legacy in the form of Kristoff Helios, the dreaded ex.

  As a young, grad student, she was no match for a slick, head office exec like Kristoff when he’d flirted with her on his visits to the local stores. He’d totally swept her off her feet, but when they both vied for her current job with the Riot, Eloise had landed it instead of him.

  The Riot had eventually hired Kristoff too, but as the Sales & Promotions Manager, which made him her subordinate. Resentment was a soft word to describe his attitude toward her, and a trip to his office was something she avoided whenever possible.

  She forced herself out of her chair and through the reception area. “I’m heading over to sales,” she told Kylie as she exited to the hallway.

  “Good luck,” Kylie murmured as she watched her leave, giving her a victory sign to boost her nerve.

  Kristoff leaned against a desk, talking to one of the junior reps as Eloise marched into the sales bullpen. His expensive suit, good looks, and charming demeanor could win over almost any client and drop any naïve woman’s panties, but Eloise knew better. His Greek heritage had blessed him with olive skin and handsome features, but underneath he was slippery. Like an eel. He sensed her approach, and for a minute looked almost pleased to see her until he tamped it down and neutralized his expression.

  “El, my dear. What brings you here?”

  The junior rep had the good grace to look embarrassed and confused so he retreated to his desk to leave the two of them alone.

  “I need some killer graphics done, ASAP,” she said, dispensing with any pleasantries and going straight into boss mode. “Can you get some signage produced for the construction site by tomorrow?”

  Kristoff deployed his smooth, salesman smile. “Depends. What’s in it for me?”

  “Don’t play scratch-my-back, Kristoff. Just do your job, and let me do mine. I want to start a community campaign to show the locals we’re not out to destroy their livelihood… a partnership theme of some kind. Can you get your design team to draft something up?”

  “Ah, yes, I heard the villagers are waving their flaming torches high.” He clucked his tongue in mock sympathy. “The job’s not all stars and spotlight, is it? Careful, if you don’t watch out, the fire might singe your gorgeous, silky hair. The perfect mane for a man to yank.”

  Eloise ignored his inappropriate sarcasm. “So you’ll get on it today?”

  “Sure,” he conceded with a cocky smirk. “Great idea, really. Throw the mongrels a bone. Make them think you’re their friend before you stab them in the back. You’re good at that.”

  She stared him down, incredulous he could be so petty for so long. “Look, Kristoff. I’m not going there with you for the millionth time. Get over it.”

  He held up one hand in a gesture of cease-fire. “I’m only making a suggestion. Barbara said she saw you outside talking with the locals yesterday and said that they seemed to respect you. A clever promotion on your part could make you the darling of the neighborhood. Then after you’ve accomplished your goal…” Kristoff paused and made a slow slashing motion across his throat.

  “I would never do that, go back on my word,” Eloise said. “That’s more your style, Kristoff. I don’t need to stoop to your level to accomplish my goals.”

  “Such a little hypocrite. You practically climbed over me to get this job.”

  Eloise trembled with anger but would never let it show. Not to Kristoff. Not to anybody. “I earned my job through hard work, intelligence, and perseverance, and I do it well,” she said coldly. “I suggest you do yours to the best of your ability. If you have any. I’ll email my ideas to your creative team.”

  ***

  Ryder stepped into the Riot’s training room and inhaled a big breath, taking in the smells of vinyl gym mats and sweat that pervaded the space. The whir of spanking-new high-tech workout machines sounded like music to his ears – the tune familiar yet distant. As part of the operations staff, he was allowed to use the equipment, but it wasn’t the same as being one of the players. He shook off the gnawing feelings of jealousy and grabbed a towel from the stack near the door.

  He headed to the spin station for his warm up and spotted a friend there. “Hey, man, how’ve you been? Welcome to Rochester.”

  Cole looked over as Ryder spoke, his forehead already dripping in sweat. He smiled and slowed his pedaling. “Hey, Ryder. I heard you were out here in Minnesota. Been great, how about you? Haven’t seen you since Junior All-Stars.”

  “I know,” Ryder said, flipping his towel around his neck and mounting the spin cycle next to him. “Those days are long gone, my friend. And it sucks.”

  “Not necessarily. You traded in the pads and blades for a suit, huh? Good call – much safer and a lot more job security. Look at what just happened to me. Uprooted again.”

  Ryder detected a hint of patronism in Cole’s comments but shrugged it off. Things were as they were and time didn’t run backwards. He laughed appropriately as he set the tension and began to pedal. “Yeah, I’ve been with the Riot for a couple years now.”

  Cole resumed his pace. “Nice. You married or what?”

  “Shit, no. Who needs that hassle? More pussy around here than at an ASPCA, all looking to come in from the cold and get warm,” Ryder snickered.

  Cole mopped his forehead with the edge of his towel and pedaled faster. “Well, it does get cold around here,” he agreed. “Nothing like a little fur to keep you warm.”

  “Even fur doesn’t melt ice,” Ryder said, a frown creasing his brow
.

  Cole gave him a sidelong glance and slowed down from his sprint. “Sounds like you’ve got someone on your mind,” he said between heavy breaths. “Say, do you know that Eloise chick? Works in corporate? Poised and charming, curvy in all the right places.”

  Ryder flinched inwardly but kept pedaling. Christ, what fucking timing. “El Robertson?” he asked nonchalantly. “Yeah. See her every day. What about her?”

  “She seems nice,” Cole said.

  Ryder scoffed, not really wanting to discuss Eloise now that Cole had expressed interest. Ryder could see right through the seemingly innocent question. In a few words, the centerman had already painted Eloise with a giant bullseye that said next to fuck.

  “Appearances can be deceiving. Haven’t they sent you the catalog yet?” he asked, changing the subject. Ryder had an axe to grind with Eloise, and he wanted Cole to move on to someone else before he fucked up Ryder’s plan.

  “What?” Cole’s head snapped toward Ryder, droplets of perspiration flicking off the end of his nose. He looked confused.

  “You know… the line-up,” Ryder said, amping up the tension on his cycle. “The list of trophy-wife contestants. Kinda like a pageant. Take your pick any time during the swimsuit competition.”

  Cole laughed aloud. “Ryder, you’re so fulla shit it’s no wonder your eyes are brown. I get it, I’ve seen the show; the stereotypical hockey wife. Big hair and an even bigger spending habit. Not interested.”

  “You? Not interested in hot pussy? Since when?”

  “Didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” Cole said, going into hill-mode on his cycle, his powerful thighs pumping into standing position. “But none of those bimbo-brains appeal to me. I’m not saying I’m the marrying type, but I’d want a woman with a head on her shoulders, not just a football field between the legs, thanks. And some career interests.”

  “Reality check, dude. Career women aren’t going to follow you around the continent with your game schedule tattooed to their ass.”

  Cole pedaled hard, inhaling and exhaling with a fervor that bordered on hostility. “All I’m saying is that there’s more than one kind of woman. And you of all people should know it since you turned corporate.”

  “Sure there are,” Ryder conceded, pushing hard on his pedals, feeling the sweat begin to trickle down his neck and between his shoulder blades. Not all of it from exercise. “That’s why they send you the catalog – blondes, brunettes, redheads. All of them pre-tested, pre-approved and pre-screened for fitness, fertility, flexibility, and fuckworthiness. The four Fs.”

  Cole exhaled and settled back onto the saddle, dialing down to rest phase. “I don’t need a fucking catalog,” he said, annoyance in his voice. “I’d like to get to know Eloise a little better. She’s a career woman, and hot as hell. We had an interlude outside the other day. She yanked my chain. Some ladies can be both, you know.”

  “Forget it, man. El’s an ice arena chiller unit on black platform stilettos. Stay away from her unless you want frostbite on your dick.” Cole threw him a look as cold as the statement he’d just made. Ryder smiled to himself. Not too keen on sloppy seconds are you, Fiorino. Even though he hadn’t actually made it with Tastee-Freez Eloise, he didn’t mind his friend and former rival thinking he’d already licked that Popsicle.

  Chapter Five

  Even though lunch hour approached, Eloise didn’t feel hungry. Her encounter with Kristoff had ruined her appetite, as usual. Any contact with the man made her feel nauseous, and not just in her stomach. Their whole sordid history evoked some kind of sordid mental illness, and at times, El felt unable to believe she’d ever taken up with the likes of him. Nearly six years had passed since they were together, but certain elements of their relationship still rang clear as a bell in her mind.

  Firstly, their eight-year age difference. A few of her co-workers had cautioned her about dating older men, but one look at Kristoff in his executive-style suit and tie had melted her faster than a KwikTrip slush in a cup on a hot day. She’d been so wrapped up in her studies she barely noticed men, did nothing to attract them by way of makeup or fancy clothing, but somehow Kristoff looked past all that and directed the full force of his practiced charm on her. And boy, had it worked. She never stood a chance against his attentions. He was everything she could have dreamed of in a suitor, the kind she would have brought home to meet the family. Handsome and successful. At least until the Rochester Riot came calling.

  Secondly, their bedroom relationship became strained after a time, with Kristoff wanting to be a bit more experimental than Eloise was comfortable with. She’d been in love and wanted to please him, but the little past experience she’d had with men up to that time had not been pleasant. It left her self-conscious and afraid of anything but the most basic acts – not nearly enough to satisfy Kristoff’s appetite. Outwardly, they made a handsome couple, but toward the end, Eloise couldn’t help feeling something was amiss. That Kristoff might be exploring his more libertine tastes elsewhere than in their bed.

  The final nail in the coffin hammered home when the executive recruiters hand-picked Eloise for her job with the Riot. She’d been so excited she couldn’t wait to tell Kristoff, but when she got home with her news, he basically pissed all over it. She had no idea he’d been up for the same role, and his attitude only stiffened her resolve to move on. When she told him she shouldn’t date her subordinates anyway, he got so mad she thought he’d burst into flames. She walked out the very same night.

  Enough reminiscing. It was giving her a migraine so painful it felt like the Minnesota Gophers marching band tromped on her brain, cymbals clanging. Eloise thought it best to get out of the office for some fresh air and a bite to eat. It occurred to her there were several cafés and snack bars along the streets where the protesters ran their businesses, and what better way to get a feel for their situation than to experience it firsthand.

  She pulled on her coat and donned a pair of flat-heeled boots from the formidable arsenal of shoes under her desk. Her shoe fetish was one of the only splurges she allowed herself and with her salary, she could afford the ones she wanted.

  As she left the office to walk downtown, she found the streets in question a delightful, eclectic mix of brick, concrete, and wood-fronted buildings. The quaint shop windows sported awnings and leftover Christmas lights. She eyed a smoothie bar and went inside. Giving her order at the counter, she asked the man behind it if he was the owner.

  “Sure am,” he said with a nod as he moved to gather ingredients for the healthy concoction.

  “What do you think of the new whiskey pub going up alongside the arena?” she asked.

  The man eyed her with a shouldn’t I know you look but shook his head as he added the various ingredients of her smoothie to the blender. “I’m just not sure the local clientele is interested in a snooty venue like that. We like things simple around here. Real and down-to-earth. Dependable. Like the fruit in this smoothie,” he said, switching on the machine. Eloise watched the brilliant colors of pineapple, wheatgrass and cranberry whirl around inside. He poured it into a tall cup and handed it to her with a smile and a flourish.

  “I can’t see anybody from around here buying fancy, overpriced liquor. Especially when they’ve already spent their hard-earned money on tickets just to see the games. We’re not worried about our own folks, but we are worried about what kind of people the bar will attract, and the fact the main street into the area will be blocked.”

  She thanked the man and slurped her smoothie through the oversized neon straw before moving farther down the street. A few doors down she found Blues & Brews. A vintage, hand-carved wooden sign hung over the entrance, and soft pendant lights glowed through the mullioned windows. She dumped her empty smoothie cup in a sidewalk trash bin and stepped inside.

  The rich, aromatic flavors of exotic coffees infiltrated her nostrils. Delicious. The café was deceptively large inside compared to its exterior. Antique wall sconces lit the perimeter of the room and
reflected across the low, tin-paneled ceiling. Bistro-style tables and chairs filled most of the floor space and beyond them stood a long bar hosting several complex-looking coffee machines. Soft guitar music emanated from a tiny stage area in the corner.

  Eloise strode toward the haunting melody and started when a wave of recognition hit her. Cole Fiorino sat on a tall stool in the corner, plucking out a tune on an acoustic guitar. She moved closer, listening to him play, fascinated by yet another side of this man that she didn’t know about. His foot tapped against the footrest of the stool as he concentrated on his song, repeating riffs here and there to get them right.

  Strumming my pain with his gorgeous, long fingers and all that.

  Killing me none too softly.

  When he stopped, Eloise fluttered her hands together in a soft clap. His head with that thick, black spiky hair snapped up in surprise.

  “Hey,” he said, his trademark smile blossoming across his chiseled features. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

  She held her hands out, palms up. “You said ‘check it out’ so here I am. Besides, I thought it might be wise to go where the natives go since they’re getting restless. Where’d you learn to play guitar?”

  He set the instrument on a nearby metal stand and walked toward her. Towering over her. Imposing.

  Electrifying.

  “High school. I mostly just play by ear, though. Hey, Spud,” he called in the direction of the bar. A stocky, good-natured looking man with muttonchops and a Gatsby cap popped up from behind the bar, a cleaning cloth in his hand.

  “Yeah?” the man said in a gritty voice, perfectly matched to the venue.

  “Meet a friend of mine, Eloise Robertson. She works for the Riot, in the swanky front office. She’s a suit. Eloise, this is Spud Davies.”