The Slot: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance Page 7

  “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, a
nd 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.

  He looked up as she neared the till, catching her gaze for a split second, his azure orbs filled with censure. The hope rising in her chest plummeted to earth like a wounded sparrow when he simply paid for his purchase and turned away. Left her. She watched him hop into his limo without acknowledging her or even casting a backward glance.

  Ironically, it seemed their relationship was to both begin and end over a dollar’s worth of doughnuts.

  Chapter Nine

  “Sophia!” Eloise screamed, her throat hurting from calling out for hours. “Sophia!”

  Cold. Wet. Inconsolable.

  Twigs snapped beneath her feet. A nefarious howl in the distance – splitting her ears in half. Only the wind, she told herself. Scared, so scared. She couldn’t see the path in the darkness, couldn’t see the naked branches that reached out to scrape her bare arms like witches’ claws. Hannah bawled her head off as Eloise dragged her in tow.

  “Sophia, where are you?”

  Her foot struck something solid, and she stumbled forward, falling against the cold stones of the bridge footings.

  “Ellie,” a tiny voice whimpered.

  Sophia. The name popped up in stark white on the phone’s tiny screen as Eloise rolled over and grabbed it off her nightstand. She was thankful to have been wakened from the awful dream and equally grateful that it was Saturday morning. A respite from the residuals after her fall from grace.

  “Hey, Soph,” she croaked in her morning voice. Hoping her sister wouldn’t see right through her happy weekend charade and start demanding answers. Because she had none to give. She hated herself even more than Sheehan Murphy or Cole Fiorino hated her.

  “Did I wake you?” Sophie’s smooth voice floated over her, coating her frayed nerves in sisterly solidarity. No questions asked.

  Eloise rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “Yeah, but I’m glad. I was dreaming about that night you got lost in the woods behind our old house. Freaky that you called.”

  Sophia fell silent for a moment. “Maybe you were dreaming about me for a reason,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “What’s wrong?” Eloise asked immediately, fully awake now and in take-charge mode. She’d always been the one to look after her sisters and could tell when they were upset.

  “It’s Phil,” she said, a sob forming in her throat. “We broke up yesterday.”

  “Oh no, honey. I’m so sorry. You guys were together forever. I thought he’d proposed to you ages ago. What happened?”

  “He said he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to be married. We were driving around in that new subdivision, looking at the Parade of Homes just for fun, you know. I started noticing all the kids’ rooms and nurseries and said how nice to have a room like that for our kids someday. He didn’t say anything then, but when the salesman started talking to us, assuming we were a married couple and talking mortgages and financing, he just snapped. He sulked in the car all the way home, and when I asked what’s wrong, he said he doesn’t want to get married. Ever.”

  Eloise let out a long sigh. “That’s harsh. I’m sorry, Soph. I wish I could help, but I’ve given up trying to understand men. They just seem to do what they do, no rhyme or reason.”

  Sophia sniffed back tears. “That’s not all,” she squeaked.

  “It’s not?” A feeling of dread crept up Eloise’s neck, the hairs at her nape beginning to stand on end. “Tell me.”

  “Oh, El, I’m so scared.”

  As scared as you were when you got lost in the woods and hid under the stone bridge? As scared as I was, hunting in the dark for you, dragging Hannah behind me? As scared as I was, waking up abandoned and alone there with half my clothes off and pain so severe between my legs I puked up the remnants of half a bottle of liquor?

  “The reason I was so hyper focused on the nurseries was, well…”

  “Oh no, honey.” Eloise closed her eyes, fearing the words that might come next. Anticipating. Knowing.

  Sophia audibly sobbed, trying to collect her voice. “I think I might be pregnant.”

  Eloise felt a golf ball sized knot form in her throat. No. She did not just hear that. She swallowed hard. “You think? You’re not sure?”

  “Not yet. I’m afraid to go to our family doctor, in case it gets back to Mom and Dad. I don’t want to break their hearts. I’m not married.”

  “There’s patient confidentiality, Soph. That won’t happen. You should go. You’ll feel better once you know either way.”

  “I know, I know. I don’t suppose you could come home for a few days?” her sister’s voice rose with every plea she made. “I miss you, and I could really use your company, your advice. You’ve always been the strong one, El. You always know what to do. Could you come?”

  Eloise�
��s heart thumped in her ears, threatening to split and burst. She loved her sisters more than anything, but she couldn’t get away right now. The strong one. Always knowing what to do. Yeah, right. She didn’t feel so strong at the moment. And what she’d just done. Well… it was wrong on so many damn levels.

  “I’ll see. Let me work on it. In the meantime, go get one of the drugstore test kits. Maybe it’ll be negative. Don’t get upset until you know, but do it quickly. How long since your last period?”

  “I’ve only missed one. I’m a week late.”

  Praise be to God. “Okay then, don’t worry. Get the test and call me back.”

  “Okay. Okay, I…I will.” Sophia took a big breath in, her sniffles lessening. “Thanks, El. I’m sorry, I’m being selfish burdening you with all my problems. What about you, how are things going in Minnesota? Are you dating anyone?”

  Eloise rolled over on her side, burrowing into the soft warmth of her duvet with the imported silk cover. Here comes the barrage of reasonable questions that seem completely unreasonable. “No. Yes. Sort of. No, I guess not.”

  “Uh-oh, tell me what’s going on.” Sophie’s question rifled through the phone connection. El never could hide anything from this sister.

  “There’s this guy… a player on the team.”

  “You? Dating a professional hockey player? I don’t believe it.”

  “We’re not dating, exactly,” Eloise said. “We’re not anything right now. He’s mad at me.”

  “Go on, what’s his name?”

  “Cole Fiorino. Oh, Soph, he’s so talented. He has a degree in philosophy; he plays guitar; he makes these fabulous coffee creations out of beans from all over the world. And he’s our top scorer and team captain, and OMG the most fabulous kisser. Well, maybe I’m not sure about that last part. It’s only happened once and as they say, once is luck and twice is skill.”

  “You’ve kissed him? Cole Fiorino!” Sophia squealed. “He’s gorgeous. A pantie melter for sure.”