Behind the Net (Vancouver Storm, #1)

by Stephanie Archer

Pippa Hartley is standing in my living room, playing with the dog, and I can’t breathe. When I opened the door, I thought I was hallucinating. Her hair is longer. Same shy smile, same sparkling blue-gray eyes that make me forget my own name. Same soft, musical voice that I’d strain to hear back in high school while she was talking and laughing with the other band kids. Grown up, though, she’s fucking gorgeous. A knockout.

I’m Pippa, she said at the door, like she didn’t remember me. I don’t know why that made me so disappointed.

I can’t fucking think around Pippa Hartley. It’s always been like this.

I wonder if she still sings. I wonder if she’s still with him, and my nostrils flare.

I can’t move. If I go inside, she’ll stop singing.

“Fine,” I say instead, and her eyes widen at my sharp tone. Fuck. See? This is why this isn’t going to work. I care too much about what she thinks.

I’m trying to nap, but I can’t stop thinking about my pretty assistant. Ex-assistant. Fuck.

Her eyebrows pinch together and she blinks rapidly, looking like a kicked puppy. Oh, fuck. My heart sinks. I hate this feeling. I hate her feeling like this, and I especially hate knowing that I did that.

There’s no way I can tell her the truth—that she’s the girl I was obsessed with for two years in high school.

The way Pippa’s looking at me now, with a mix of determination and worry, her head held high like that? It gets me right in the middle of my chest.

I like this girl. She’s scrappy. It took a lot of guts for her to show up and call me a dickhead. No one talks to me like that.

“I wish you knew you were the fucking best.” She says it quietly. A muscle in her jaw ticks. “I wish you knew how talented you are. You’d be unstoppable.”

Whether I want to be or not, I’m still so attracted to this girl.

In the video, he smiles at her the way he used to smile at me, and my chest aches. My eyes well up again, a tear falls, and I wipe it away fast. He never asked me to come out on stage with him. Not once. This sucks.

I’m being an intimidating jackass, but I need to know why she’s crying so I can fix it.

A fresh wave of tears spills over. I want to kill that guy for making her feel like this.

I hate that guy. I hate him so fucking much. He has a soft, squishy, punchable face. Goalies almost never get into fights, but if that guy were on the ice at my game tomorrow, I wouldn’t hesitate.

“Vancouver’s expensive. I want to find something close to your place so I can get over there quickly if you need me.” In the back of my mind, I like the way she says if you need me. A funny prickle moves over my skin, and I frown harder.

I hate everything about this. Every protective instinct in my body surges with the need to make things better for her. “Move in with me.”

The idea of her living in my apartment eases something in my chest.

I remember her singing when I got home, and my heart thumps harder. If she’s living with me, maybe I’ll hear her sing again.

My pulse is picking up. I picture her in my apartment, lying on the couch, reading a book with Daisy at her feet. Playing her guitar like she used to with her friends back in high school. My chest warms. I like that image. I don’t care if this is a bad idea. I can’t let it go.

Again, my voice comes out sharp and stern. Jackass.

Something sparks down my spine. I like the way she says my name, sweet like that. I like the way she’s looking at me right now, like she likes me.

“How are you settling into your new place?” she asks. I feel the weird urge to tell her about Pippa. What would I even say? My assistant is a drop-dead gorgeous songbird who I had a crush on in high school. Who’s incredible with my dog. Who stocked the fridge with all the foods I like even though I barked “stuff” at her as a grocery list. And now she’s going to be living with me, sleeping on the other side of the wall.

“Is she pretty?” I rake a hand through my hair. “I don’t know.” “I mean, you have eyes, don’t you?” She asks it so innocently, like she doesn’t know the answer. I blow out a long breath, frustrated with my mom but also with myself, because I shouldn’t have this inconvenient crush. And I sure as shit shouldn’t have demanded she move in with me. “Yes, okay?” I rush out. “She’s very pretty and she has a beautiful singing voice and Daisy loves her.” My mom rolls her lips to hide a smile, but her eyes are bright. “What?” I demand. She bursts out laughing. I groan. She has a way of getting things out of me.

My stomach flutters. I know he put it together.

I wish I didn’t have this reaction to him. To him, I’m probably like a gnat—tiny, insignificant, and slightly annoying. The way he frowns every time I’m around tells me everything I need to know.

“Andrew.” He says the word like it tastes bad. I meet his piercing gaze, blinking in confusion. “Yeah. He’s young. Probably my age. He’s a personal trainer.” Jamie’s gaze turns cold before he prowls to the door. “I’m coming with you.”

“I’d never bring Daisy somewhere unsafe.” His scowl softens. “I know. I trust you.” The corner of his mouth twitches, and his eyes almost look… amused? “I wouldn’t have asked you to move in if I didn’t trust you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches again, and his eyes almost look soft. I like this look on him.

The way he says it makes me think that he just likes seeing her happy.

He slides a glance at me, studying my face. “I liked those enchiladas you made, too.” Pride fills my chest at a job well done. “Great. I’ll make them again.”

“On the ice, it’s like nothing else exists.” My heart squeezes. That’s how I feel when I’m writing songs. Or when I used to. Like everything fell away.

“Do you like your new team?” “I’ve played against them before, but I’m not friends with any of them.” “What about those cupcakes?” His gaze shoots to mine in confusion. “The container was empty. You gave them to your teammates, right?” He freezes, a guilty look crossing his handsome face, and my jaw drops. “Oh my god. You threw them out.” He shifts, glancing around the park. The guilty look intensifies. “Jamie.” I’m giving him an appalled look, and when I say his name, he turns and gives me his full attention. It’s intoxicating. “Did you dump those cupcakes in the garbage?” I cross my arms, but I can feel the smile twisting on my mouth. “They were terrible, weren’t they?” Our eyes are locked, and the side of his mouth isn’t even twitching; it’s curving up. God, his eyes are pretty. The way he’s looking at me, amused and intense, it’s making my stomach flutter like crazy. Are we flirting right now? I can’t look away from him. “They were incredible.” His gaze drops to my mouth, and my eyes widen a fraction. We are so flirting right now. What? I blink about twelve times, memorizing this moment so I can analyze it with Hazel later. “So you didn’t dump them.” He shakes his head, still giving me that smirky half smile. “I ate every last one.” I’m melting. That’s the only explanation for what’s happening to my insides right now. “Oh.”

I hate being the girl who got dumped. I hate that Zach left an ugly mark on me. The breakup is like a weight holding me down.

“You have a nice voice.”

“You have a great voice,” he tells me again. “You know you do.”

“Your ex is a fucking loser to let you go,” he bites out.

I realize Jamie’s watching me watch the guitar, wearing a curious expression. “Sorry,” I chirp, turning away from the guitar. “Let’s go.”

That evening, I’m lying in bed, thinking about the conversation we had at the dog park. I replay Jamie’s facial expressions, the amused spark in his eyes as he listened to me talk, the piercing gleam as he talked about hockey and why he loves it. I wish I could see him smile. I picture it, and my stomach flutters.

Zach didn’t break me. That girl I used to be is still in there. I just have to find a way to get her out. I think about Jamie again, and I wonder if it has anything to do with him.

I wonder if Pippa knows about this place.

Jamie’s in the net, blocking pucks that players shoot at him. He’s fast as lightning. I don’t even see the puck and he’s already caught it. Between drills, he gets on his knees and does these hip-thrusty moves to stretch. In my head, I hear seventies porn music and hide my smile behind my hand.

“Streicher didn’t say anything about a pretty assistant.”

“Pippa.” At the sound of Jamie’s voice, my stomach fizzes. Jamie strides toward us with an expression like a storm cloud. His hair is also damp with sweat, which should be gross, but it’s weirdly hot on him. He stops between the blond guy and me like he’s trying to shield me. My face heats even more. I hope he doesn’t think I’m here to scope out players or something. “You forgot your keys,” I tell him, holding them out. “I didn’t want you to get locked out while I’m walking Daisy.” “Thanks.” He takes them before shooting the blond guy a weird look. A lock of dark hair falls into Jamie’s eyes, but he doesn’t notice. The blond guy smiles even wider at me. For a hockey player, he has surprisingly nice teeth. “I’m Hayden Owens.” “Pippa.”

“Pippa, do me a favor, okay?” He jerks a nod at Jamie. “Make this guy come out with us after a game. Half the team is afraid of him because he doesn’t talk.” A laugh bursts out of me, and Jamie turns his glare to me. “I can see it,” I tell him. “You glare a lot.” Hayden chuckles.

So I had a crush on him in high school. That was years ago. I’ve learned so much since then—mainly to never, ever date one of these superstar guys who has everything at their fingertips. Nothing will ever happen with Jamie Streicher. Knowing this bolsters my confidence.

“Hold on a sec.” Jamie rubs the back of his neck, and I’m curious. His throat works. It’s like I’m seeing a hidden layer, one where he’s nervous.

Is she grumpy like you?” I blurt it out without thinking. The more Jamie and I hang out, the easier it is to tease him like this. This is a hell of a lot better than the tense, awkward silences. He arches an eyebrow, and something bubbles up inside me. It feels like delight. “No.” Even though he isn’t smiling, his eyes glitter, encouraging me. I make an overexaggerated face of relief. “Good. That would be a long night.”