When Aria Monroe lands her dream job as the new photographer for Los Angeles's professional hockey team, the last thing she expects is to work with the cocky, arrogant center Connor Holden who rocked her world five years ago during a one-night stand...
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Climbing the steps to the private jet for yet another away game, the luxury of it all surprises me less and less. I was in awe the first time I saw this plane, but with this being my third time flying this month, I'm realizing how celebrities can become so accustomed to it all.
Plus, it doesn't help that I sprained my elbow from my fall at the coffee shop last week. I made it back to Connor's for breakfast, where we sat at his kitchen island and scarfed the food down after a ravenous night of sex. I held it together each time I brought a pastry to my mouth, the radiating pain in my elbow overpowering all my senses. At first, I figured it was bruised from the fall, but after five days, the pain seemed to get worse, and a trip to the doctor yesterday resulted in me being in a sling for the next two weeks.
Brian reassured me I could take some time away. He said he could get a replacement for me to sub in until I was feeling better. No way in hell will anyone take this job away from me. It's sprained, not broken. I can take my elbow out of the sling and deal with the pain for two hours to take photos. I'll be fine.
The players seem to keep to themselves as I walk down the aisle. I loathe the fact that I'm heading for the back strictly because I know who will be there. My heart seems to seek him out even when my brain screams for it not to, but after the fall last week, I'm mentally exhausted. The nightmares have been worse than ever, and all I can focus on is sleeping in his comfortable bed beside him, waking nightmare-free for the first time in months.
Connor glances up from the book he's reading, some sort of mystery before his eyes grow wide as saucers when they land on the sling. "What the hell happened?" He shoots up from his chair as if that will physically heal me, but what Connor doesn't understand is all my pain is mental. The dull throb in my elbow is nothing compared to the guilt festering in my heart.
I had to reschedule my dinner date with Esme because of it. How could I allow myself to go out with her and have fun after I let yet another young girl down? I haven't been able to forget Monique's disappointment since I left her in that bakery. We met briefly, but that disappointment on her face threatened to reopen a wound that hadn't started healing in the first place.
"I fell," I say, keeping it short.
"You fell," he repeats. "Wait, was this because I took you ice skating? You hurt your elbow when you fell?"
"What? No. It happened after that. It's not from the fall on the ice."
Connor stares at me as if he's waiting for me to give him more details. When he realizes I'm not, he gives a quick shake of his head, reaching over to strip the bags hanging off my good arm. "You shouldn't be carrying anything. Is it broken?"
"Sprained."
He moves aside in the aisle to allow me access to the window seat, and the slight pang I feel in my chest is horrifying. I don't like that he remembers I prefer the window seat. I don't like that he's getting to know me. He's becoming too close.
