"I probably won't show up half the time you're expecting me and the other half I'll be a prick."

"At least you've given me a heads-up."

Christ. Didn't this woman know when to be daunted by something?

Sighing loudly, I lean back in my chair and cross my hands over my stomach. Searching her face, I look for some sign of weakness that I can exploit. A trigger...an insecurity...something I can do to get under her skin the way she is apparently getting under mine.

I get nothing but a pleasant smile and an unbelievable pair of green-gold eyes that pop because they're surrounded by a mass of copper-colored hair.

Fuck. I'm crankier than normal because I'm attracted to this woman, in a way I don't quite recall being attracted to anyone in a very long time. That puzzles me, intrigues me slightly but, yup, mainly it pisses me off.

Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out an envelope and pass it across the desk to her. "This is from Walt Prestonwoodageneral manager of the Cold Fury."

She takes it from me with curiosity and I watch as she takes a letter opener and breaks the seal. I don't know what's inside, but I have a very good idea. I watch her face carefully as she pulls out a single sheet of paper. I can see the Fury's logo on the front and typed words, but past that the content is a mystery.

Her eyes fly back and forth across the page as she reads, her eyebrows tilting inward. When she gets done, she surprises the shit out of me and hands the paper across the desk. Grabbing it from her hand, I read it quickly and it's as I thought it would be. A letter to her explaining that the team is hoping this outreach opportunity can be used to help clean up my image, that I am here under protest and that the team would like Miss Price to report weekly on my behavior. It's basically their secret way to keep their thumb on top of me, and I am absolutely stunned that she would let me read it. Particularly because the last line says, I would ask that you keep this letter private and not share it with Mr. Crossman.

"I'm not happy to have to be your babysitter," she says and my eyes snap up to hers.

"I'm not exactly thrilled about it either," I tell her honestly.

Then she looks at me, with her head tilted to the side. "So, what's your deal? Are you the team's bad boy or something?"

"Something like that," I mutter, not willing to expound on the millions of reasons I'm sitting here. "Apparently I have a bit of an attitude problem."

Then Sutton does something that I don't think I'll ever forget as long as I live. She smiles at me, in a mischievous way, her eyes going more gold than green. She's so fucking beautiful in this very moment, my breath actually catches.

"I can deal with attitude," she says with a wink. "Makes things interesting."

I start to open my mouthato say what, I don't knowabut then she says, "But seriously, Mr. Crossmana"

"Alex," I say.

"Alex," she says with a nod of her head. "If you truly don't want to do this, I think you'll only do more harm than good. We'll be speaking to kids about drug addiction. They'll spot a phony a mile away. They need to believe us. They need to trust us."

For the first time in yearsamany yearsaI feel something close to shame creep up the back of my neck. I've been an ass, a prick and an overall schmuck to many, many people in my life, because I act out my anger and daddy issues toward others. But never once did I feel shame or even the slightest bit of guilt for my actions.

Yet, here I am now, and Sutton Price is making me feel pretty fucking small.

The Alex Crossman who lives in Asshole Land would have come back at her with a snide remark, followed up with a punch to her self-esteem.

Instead, I say, "I'm here under protest because they're making me do this. But given the opportunity to volunteer for a project like this, I would have done it in a heartbeat. I may have an attitude problem, Miss Pricea"

"Sutton," she says with a smile.

"Sutton," I acknowledge, "but I do think this is a worthy cause. If I have to do it, you need to know that I'll put the effort into it and it will be sincere. I wouldn't do anything to fuck a kid overaever."

I watch in amazement as her eyes go warm and soft, and she gives me a humongous smile, causing my heart to start a mad tripping beat.

That's an odd sensation.

"Awesome," she says enthusiastically. "Because I have to tell you, I was so excited to get this project. It's been my dream to be involved in an outreach program for at-risk youth, and to be able to do this at such a young age, and with the power of a professional hockey team behind mea"

I tune her out, not hearing a damn thing she says after that. Instead, I stare at her, enthralled as I take in her words thrown at me so quickly, because she's excited like a kid at Christmas, which makes me focus on her mouth and how fucking sexy her lips are.

She's beautiful, no doubt, but not in a classic way. More like in an earthy, casual way. She doesn't wear a lot of makeup, but then she doesn't need to. Her skin is clear and soft looking, her eyes and hair her best features by far. When she smiles, I notice right away that she has one tooth that is slightly crooked, but for some reason it adds to her overall allure. The fact that she's not exquisitely perfect makes her almost perfect. She also has a small scar just below her left eyebrowayet again, that somehow adds to her overall unique charm.

Not gonna lieaher body is slammin'. When I walked behind her on the way back to her office, yeah, my eyes were pinned to her curvy ass that was molded by her narrow, gray skirt that just brushed the backs of her knees and her toned calves. Along with her flat stomach, it's a no- brainer she works out. The only thing I couldn't get a good read on was her breasts, but that's because the silky cream blouse she's wearing has ruffles down the front that don't give much definition. They don't look overly large but I'm betting they are a handful, which really, really makes me regret that she won't be coming home with me tonight.

"...so, I think if we work hard, we could probably have something ready to launch in a few months, don't you think?"

I tune her back in and nod my head up and down, having no fucking idea what she just said. "Sounds good to me."

"So, how often do you want to meet? I meanayour schedule has got to be a lot more complex than mine, but I'm pretty flexible. I can do nights or weekends if you need."

"My schedule varies week to week, depending if our games are home or away. We'll have to play a lot of it by ear."

"Sure," she says brightly, but I can see that she is like a racehorse chomping at the bit to get out of the gate. Her enthusiasm is slightly infectious, and I find myself pulling my iPhone out of my pocket. "Tell me what days you have free over the next week and I'll see what we can set up."

She turns to her laptop, and with a few taps of her fingers, she starts to tell me her schedule. Within a few minutes, we have a meeting arranged for the following Monday morning.

Reaching down into a desk drawer, Sutton pulls out a thick binder and hands it to me.

"What's this?" I ask suspiciously.

"Homework," she grins. "It's actually an outreach program they do out in California that I've been studying. I think it's a good model and will save us a ton of work."

Looking at the binder like it's a bug in my hand, I can't help the way my nose wrinkles up. "Why don't you read it and give me the Cliff Notes version?"

Sutton laughs and my stomach clenches over the pure honeyed sound that pours out. Her eyes crinkle, her teeth show bright, even that little crooked tooth, and her voice is like music to my ears.

And what the fuck? When did I start noticing shit like that about women? I'm a titsaandaass man. Although apparently I'm now an eyes, hair and voice man too.

With Sutton's laughter still ringing, I shake my head and grumble, "I didn't say that to be funny."

"No, I'm sure you didn't," she says while still chuckling, "but I'm not doing your homework for you."

Sitting up in my chair, I lean forward, placing my elbows at my knees and clasping my hands together. I pin her with a direct look, all kidding aside. "You're not going to cut me any slack, are you?"

"Nope."

"Even though I'm a hotshot professional hockey player?"

"Especially not for that," she says, glaring at me with mock disapproval. "Besides, I don't know anything about hockey."

"You should cut me some slackaI'll be less of a prick."

"Didn't you know you catch more flies with sugar?"

"So, if I'm nice you'll cut me slack?"

"Nope. Not even then," she says with a smirk.

I stare at her a moment, then before I even know what the fuck is happening, my head tilts back and I start laughing.

Hard.

And it feels natural, and fun, and...right.

"So, you really know nothing about hockey?" I ask, chuckling.

"It's played on ice, right?"

"Last I checked," I tell her with a snort.

"Then that's the extent of my knowledge."

"Tell you whataI'll get you tickets for tomorrow night's game and you can start learning about it."

"Oh, that's really nice but I have plans tomorrow night," she says, her cheeks turning slightly red.

"I can get you four tickets, so if you're going out with friends or somethinga"

"Actually, it's a date, so I'm not sure what our plans are."

Oh, yeahano way she is going to have dinner at my apartment tonight. I don't know much about Sutton Price but I can tell she's not the type to play the field. I'm oddly disappointed she has a date tomorrow, but no clue why. Past the disappointment that she won't be writhing around on my bed, I shouldn't have any feelings for her one way or the other.

"Well, tickets are available any time you'd like to give it a try," I tell her with a smile.

Sutton watches me, her face full of interest. "I'm not sure why you were labeled the team prick. I'm just not seeing it."

My laughter has completely faded and I'm sort of teasing, sort of serious when I say, "Get me closer to the ice and my jackass attitude will start shining through."

"What? Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"You mean, you get grouchy when you play hockey?"

"I mean I fucking hate playing hockey, so yeah...I get a little grouchy."

What. In. The. Hell?

Why I just told her that, I have no clue. I've never admitted that out loud to anyone in my entire life, although it's a mantra I repeat silently to myself on almost a daily basis. If the press ever got hold of that, if the fans ever found that out, I'd be finishedarun out of town faster than my very own slap shot, and every team's door would be closed to me.

And yet, I can't find it within me to care that I just told a complete stranger that little secret.

I expect her to scoff at me, because frankly, it has to be unbelievable that a professional hockey player hates playing hockey. I think we are a rare breed.

Hell, the more I think about it, I bet I'm the only one of the breed. I'm like the dodo bird, on the verge of extinction.

Rather than scoff at or dismiss my assertion, Sutton's eyes go sad and she says, "I'm sorry....That really has to suck."

I can't fucking stand to see that look on her face.

Pity.

You can give me your ire, your hate or your disgust, but don't ever fucking give me your pity. The pleasantly warm feeling that I held in the bottom of my belly just moments before has completely dissipated, and has been replaced by cold concrete.

Standing up from my chair, I toss the binder on her desk with a resounding thwack. She flinches backward and her eyes widen with surprise.

"Sorry, gorgeous, I don't do ahomework,'a" I tell her with a sneer while pointing at the binder. "But my offer still stands: If you want to come over for dinner tonight, you can give me a summary of that monstrosity. Or we could do other things."

I expect my barb to strike deep and offend her, maybe causing a little tremble to her lip that will help orient me back to my true self. She disappoints yet again, instead narrowing her eyes and curling her upper lip in disdain. "Ahh...there's the prick you were telling me about."

"Get used to it, Miss Price," I tell her with a mock bow. "You'll be seeing quite a bit of him."

Turning around, I open her door and walk out of her office, feeling her eyes burn into my back until I turn the corner and head down the depressing gray hallway.

Chapter 4.

Sutton

"You seriously met Alex Crossman? And you're going to be working with him?"

"Yes," I say for the thirdamaybe fourthatime as I set the lasagna in the middle of the table.

"Holy shit. That is just so cool," Glenn says, his eyes filled with excitement and yearning.

"Watch your mouth," my mom says sternly but I see my stepdad Jim turn away from the table because he's about ready to bust out laughing. I catch his eye and shoot him a wink but try to keep my features bland so my little brother doesn't know we think he's freakin' adorable when he cusses.

Glenn's eyes cast downward for a second in shame over his curse word but then they pop right back up to me, filled with hope. "Do you think you can get me an autograph, Sutton? It doesn't have to be much...just on a piece of paper or something."

My heart tumbles, seizes and then melts over Glenn's simple request. He's an amazing kid, eleven years my junior and he never asks for anything. My mom and stepdad don't make a lot of money but they have managed to give Glenn and me a damn good life. We may have grown up wearing thrift store clothing and having lean Christmases, but we never lacked for our basic necessities, and we were given so much love and devotion from our parents that we never missed the things we did without.

At eleven, Glenn is old enough to know the bounds of our parents' abilities, even as he watches his friends sporting expensive clothing and carrying the very best of iPhones, iPads, gaming devices and toys. He doesn't ask for these things because he knows our parents can't afford them, and he never pouts, whines or tries to lay a guilt trip on them about it. But as he sits here staring at me with bright, shining eyes, he knows the cost of an autograph is nothing more than a simple request for me to make to Alex, and I'm not going to deny him that.