Alex (Cold Fury Hockey #1)(5)

Minnie steps past me and heads toward the door. "Be back in a flash."

"Take your time. My next appointment isn't until four."



       
         
       
        

She calls out a "toodles," which makes me smile because that's so Minnie, and I sit down at her desk to review the file that I grabbed. It's a run-of-the-mill case, which sadly I see all too often. While my job at the center is to provide counseling to anyone affected by drug or alcohol addiction, my chosen path is to work with at-risk youth and children whose parents have addiction issues. While I can't pick and choose my cases, my boss, Ken Silver, understands my interest and tends to throw those types of cases my way when he can.

This particular case file is for a young girl … a senior in high school, who got into her parents' stash of meth and decided to give it a try. She overdosed on her first attempt, and while she swears she hasn't tried it again, the temptation is still there since her parents are still very much using. Her name is Mara and she's coming in to see me this afternoon for our third session together. Our services are free, paid for by the good taxpayers of Wake County, and the best thing going for Mara right now is that it scared the shit out of her when she woke up in the hospital hooked up to an IV.

Since then, she's diligently come to each appointment, on time and eager to talk me.

Which is more than I can say for my two o'clock who didn't show, which disappoints me to no end. Not because it was a compelling case, but because it was a career opportunity that shouldn't have been passed my way at such a young age. Ken had told me earlier in the week that he was giving me a very special project, knowing it would be near and dear to my heart. Apparently the Carolina Cold Fury hockey team wants to start an anti-drug campaign that they can build locally and possibly take to a national level.

The part that is near and dear to me? Well, they want to target at-risk youth, and I was all over that.

Ken told me that they were assigning their top player, Alexander Crossman, as the spokesman and that I would be working personally with him to create and implement the program. The hallmark would be an outreach plan to use with all of the local area schools where Mr. Crossman and I would be talking to the students.

Yay, me!

I'm terribly excited because while I love counseling-wouldn't trade it for the world-I want to make a bigger impact, and the way to do it is to reach the masses. Now, I have no idea who this Alexander Crossman is, because frankly, I know nothing about hockey. I mean … I know we have a professional team here in Raleigh, but besides knowing that they're called Cold Fury, I don't know a damn thing else about them. But if he can help me achieve my goals to target larger groups of youth, then he's going to become my new best friend.

So the fact that their shining star of a player didn't show up for his appointment has indeed left a bad taste in my mouth. However, that could be par for the course. I've never met a celebrity or sports star, but I'm guessing arrogance and entitlement might be part of the makeup involved. In fact, this may be something I'll need to learn to deal with as we are trying to set boundaries in our new working relationship. I may be a young woman but I'm not without moxie-that would be Minnie's terminology-and I'm not without a pair of figurative cojones-my terminology-when I need them. 

The bell over the front door chimes, indicating a visitor. We don't have much foot traffic with most appointments being scheduled, but none of the other counselors are showing any appointments at this time so it's unusual for someone to be stopping by.

When I look up, I'm momentarily stunned speechless by what may possibly be a mirage. It has to be, because seriously … it's beyond belief.

He's beyond belief.

In fact, he's beyond my imagination.

A man walks in, the early afternoon sun outlining a massive body. He has to be at least six-five, six-six with a solid chest, narrow waist and pretty big guns hanging from his shoulders. For a man so large, I'm surprised to note he moves with a natural grace. Charcoal gray dress slacks and a lightweight black sweater are molded to his body, showcasing dips and valleys of muscles that you see only in men's health magazines.

If I thought his body was incredible, I almost pass out once I take full stock of his face. It's enough to make angels weep, and I consciously close my mouth as I realize my jaw has flopped open in disbelief.

Dark, dark hair … almost black, but most definitely the deepest mahogany, is worn midlength, chopped in helter-skelter layers around his face. The front portion of bangs sweeps left to right across his forehead, while chunks stick up this way and that around his entire head. His face, if cast in marble, would be sought after by all of the world's finest art galleries. Strong jaw covered in dark stubble, high cheekbones, straight-as-an-arrow nose, and even from fifteen feet away and with the sun at his back, I can see the most crystalline blue eyes I've ever beheld on a human being.