ny Man of Mine:

Has Human-Sized Ego

Sam turned and looked behind him. It had been so long since he’d seen the corners of Autumn’s pink lips turn upward into a pleasant little smile, he knew she couldn’t be smiling at him.

No one else was in the room. He turned back and tilted his head to one side in an effort to gauge her temperament. “Hi, Autumn.”

Her smile slipped a little. “Sam.”

“It’s been a while.”

“About two years.”

He looked into her dark green eyes for any sign of trouble. “A little longer, I think.” He didn’t see a storm brewing in there and didn’t feel the need to cover his crotch. Thank God. “I saw you earlier and thought I’d say hey, so you’d know I was here.” He’d wanted to talk to her, gauge her reaction, and avoid any potential problems.

“I knew. You’re on the guest list.”

“Oh. Of course.” He bent down and picked up the notebook. “Are you pouring yourself a drink,” he joked as he straightened.

“It’s pear cider, and it’s not for me.”

He wouldn’t have mistaken any of the other guests for teetotalers. At least not the guests he knew. “What’s Conner doing tonight?”

“Hanging out with Vince.”

Vince. The male version of Autumn. Only bigger. Meaner and trained to kill. Sam hated Autumn’s brother, Vince. “How have you been?”

“Good.” She glanced at the big silver watch strapped to her wrist, the round face resting above her pulse, and he wondered if she still had his name inked there or if she’d had it removed. “I’d love to stay and chat with you all night, but I’m working,” she said through that smile that didn’t fool Sam for a second. She lifted her elbow away from her side, and he slid the leather folder beneath her arm. “Thanks. Have a good time tonight.” She moved around him and walked from the room. Sam turned and watched her go. That went well. Too well, but he didn’t trust her not to blindside him or spike his food with arsenic or MiraLAX. Maybe both to make his death really uncomfortable.

His gaze slid from her red ponytail and down her slim back to the nice curves of her waist. The flaps of two back pockets drew his attention to her rounded behind. Autumn was a pretty woman. No doubt, but she wasn’t gorgeous. She had soft curves in all the right places. Slim hips and nice breasts, and he didn’t believe that made him a perv to think it either. He’d seen her naked, but her body really wasn’t anything special. Wasn’t his type. He liked tall, thin women with large breasts. Always had been drawn to the overblown. So why, for those few days in Vegas, had he found an average woman so damn fascinating?

Sam walked out of the room and stood at the edge of the crowd drinking champagne and toasting the bride and groom. He could blame that odd fascination with Autumn on the city. Nothing ever seemed real in Vegas. He could blame it on the booze. There’d been plenty of that. He could blame the month of June. He always went a little insane in June, but he wasn’t sure it was any of those things.

He grabbed a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray and replaced the empty. The only thing that was real clear, that he was very sure about, was that he’d met a redheaded girl in a bar and married her a few days later, and the next morning he’d left her behind at Caesars like a used bath towel. He understood why Autumn hated him. He got it, and he didn’t blame her. His behavior hadn’t been his finest moment. Sadly, it hadn’t even been his worst.

Through the crowd gathered around Ty and Faith, he caught a glimpse of a red ponytail. The guests parted for a brief second, and he watched her hand the bride and groom flutes of cider. There could only be one reason why Ty and Faith weren’t drinking champagne at their own wedding. And it wasn’t because they’d found religion.

Autumn moved to the edges, and Sam lost sight of her. He imagined that Ty and Faith were happy about having a child. They looked happy.

Sam took a drink from the crystal flute. Six years ago, he hadn’t exactly been happy to hear he was going to be a daddy, but once he’d held his son, all that changed.

“Hey, Sam.”

He looked over his shoulder at the team’s newest assistant coach, Mark Bressler. “Hammer.” Up until about a year ago, Mark had been an elite hockey player and captain of the Chinooks. But last winter he’d been in a horrible car wreck that had ended his career and put Ty Savage in Mark’s jersey. “It appears the captain knocked up the owner.” He pointed his glass at the happy couple. “That has to be a hockey first.”

“Jesus, LeClaire. Watch your language.”

“What language?” Had he sworn and not known it?

“There are women present.”

All he’d said was knocked up. Since when was knocked up “language” and “Jesus” wasn’t? And since when did Bressler care? Sam lowered his gaze to the blond woman by Mark’s side, Bressler’s hand in the middle of her back. Ah. “Hi, Short Boss.”

“Hi, Sam,” Chelsea said, her attention riveted on the bride. “Faith’s pregnant? Are you sure?”

He shrugged. “I can’t think of another reason why she and Ty are drinking crappy cider instead of the good stuff?”

“Oh my God!” Her blue eyes lit up, and she pushed her hair behind her ears. “I know something before my sister does.”

The ring on her left finger about blinded him. “That’s some ring?”

She held up her hand and smiled. “You noticed it?”

“Hard not to.” He was pretty sure the moody man at her side had given it to her. “Honey, don’t break my heart and tell me you’re off-limits now.”

She grinned. “Sorry.”

He took her hand in his and looked at the huge diamond. “Is it real, or did some joker get you a cubic zirconia?”

“Of course it’s real, numb-nuts.”

“Language,” he reminded Mark, and dropped Chelsea’s hand. “There are women present.” He looked around for Chelsea’s twin. “Is your sister still here? She’s not as nice as you, but…”

“She’s kind of taken now, too.”

“Damn.” He smiled and stuck out his hand to his former teammate and friend. “Congratulations. You’re a lucky man.”

Mark shook Sam’s hand as he slid his arm around his fiancée and pulled her against his side. “Yeah, lucky me.” Chelsea looked up at Mark, the two smiling at each other as if they shared an inside joke. The kind that people in love shared.

Sam raised his glass. The kind he’d never shared with anyone and found sappy and annoying. Never in his life would he have ever figured the Hammer for one of those sappy annoying guys. “See you two,” he said, and moved away before they started making out or something.

He cut through the crowd and approached the bride and groom. “Congratulations, Ty,” he said, and shook the groom’s hand. He didn’t know if the bun in the oven was common knowledge yet, so he decided not to mention it.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Sam.” The bride reached out and gave him a big hug. She was beautiful and soft and smelled great. She’d make Ty a good wife. Hell, any man a good wife. Any man but Sam. Sam wasn’t the marrying kind of guy. Obviously.

“You’re a beautiful bride,” he said, and pulled back to look into her face.

“Thank you.” She smiled. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that conversation we had in St. Paul.”

They’d had a conversation? She was smiling, so he must have kept it clean.

“I couldn’t get you all invited to a party at the mansion, but I did invite a few Playmates here tonight.”

Oh, that conversation. She’d promised him and the guys an invitation to the Playboy mansion if they won the Stanley Cup. “I noticed.”

“I’m not surprised.” She laughed. “I had the wedding planner make sure she sat you at their dinner table.”

Under normal circumstances, that would have been welcome news. He pushed up the corners of his mouth. “Fabulous. Thanks.”

“I hope that makes up for my broken promise.”

“We’re square.” He took a step back, and general manager, Darby Hogue, and his wife stepped forward to offer the bride and groom their congratulations.

Sam took a drink, and over the top of his glass, he spotted the Playmates. They weren’t hard to pick out in a crowd. They were the four girls with big hair and bigger breasts, surrounded by Blake, Andre, and Vlad. Four on three was an uneven play. He figured it was his duty to even things out. He lowered his glass but didn’t move.

Autumn. He just couldn’t work up the proper enthusiasm required to chat it up with women in short skirts and low-cut blouses. Not while his baby-mama circled, looking for a reason to hate him even more than she already did. If that was even possible.

Instead, he struck up a conversation with Walker and Smithie and their wives. He smiled and nodded as the women talked about their own weddings and the births of all their children. Thank God Walker interrupted his wife just as she was warming up to a poop story.

“Did you hear the front office is looking to trade Richardson?” Walker asked.

Yeah, he’d heard. He liked Richardson. He was a good, solid wingman, but with Ty retiring, they needed a more versatile guy. One who could kill penalties as well as play the wings. “Do you know who they’re looking at?”

“Bergen, for one.”

“The Islander? Huh.” The last he’d heard, Bergen was still in a slump.

“And then,” Walker’s wife said through a laugh, “he called out, ‘I poo in the potty, Mommy.’ ”

Screw it. “See you around,” Sam said, and headed for the playmates. He didn’t care what Autumn thought. She was an uptight ball-buster, and there was nothing wrong with a little conversation with four beautiful women.

Autumn knelt between the bride’s and groom’s chairs and went through the rest of the schedule. Autumn was a list maker, both in business and in life. When it came to weddings, she knew the list by heart. Just in case, though, she had every detail written in her folio.

It was after eight, and the dinner and toasts were just about over. Faith looked exhausted, but she only had to get through the cake cutting and first dance before the groom could take her home.

Autumn herself might get home at midnight. If she was lucky.

“Thank you,” Faith said. “You’ve kept everything running smooth.”

“And on time,” Ty added, who’d never made an effort to hide his desire for a very small wedding. But like most grooms, he’d caved to the desires of the bride.

“You’re welcome.” She looked at her watch. “In about five minutes, Shiloh will invite everyone to meet you in the Rainier Room.”

“Could you do it now?” Ty asked, but it was more of a demand than a question.

“Not everyone is through eating,” Faith protested.

“I don’t care. You’re tired.”

“You can’t expect everyone to just get up and leave.”

“Mention the open bar,” Ty suggested to Autumn. “They’ll trample over each other to get to the free liquor.”

Autumn laughed as she rose. She buzzed her assistant and told her to mention the open bar when she invited the guests to join Faith and Ty in the other room. As she moved from behind the bride and groom’s table, her gaze landed on Sam, where he sat charming the pants, or more appropriately, the thongs, off the Playmates. They laughed and touched his shoulder and looked at him like he was a god.

There had been a time when the sight of Sam with a beautiful woman or two would have carved out her heart. When she would have wanted to curl into a ball, but those days were long past. He could do what he wanted. As long as he didn’t do it in front of her son. Which she suspected he did because he was an irresponsible horn dog with jock itch on the brain.

She moved from the room as Shiloh picked up the microphone and made the announcement. She checked and rechecked her list. The cake was ready to be cut, the band ready to play, and the two bartenders ready to sling drinks. She had a few moments and ducked into the ladies’ room. As she washed her hands, she looked at her face in the soft lighting. Growing up, she’d hated her red hair and green eyes. All that color against her pale skin had been too much, but she liked it now. She’d grown into her looks, and she liked the woman she’d become. She was thirty years old, had an event-planning business that allowed her to pay her bills and raise her son. The child support she got from Sam more than covered the expense of raising a child. It allowed her to pay cash for her home and vehicles and take vacations. But at the same time, she knew that if she had to, she was financially able to take care of Conner on her own.

She dried her hands and opened the door. The economy always affected her business, which was why she’d expanded it to encompass a variety of events instead of just limiting herself to weddings. She was currently planning a Willy Wonka birthday party for twenty ten-year-olds for next month. Getting all the props and vendors for the party had been a challenge, but fun. Not as much fun as weddings. Planning weddings was what she loved best, ironic given her past.

She moved down the hall through clumps of wedding guests making their way to the Rainier Room. There were a lot of beautiful and wealthy people at that night’s event. There was nothing wrong with that. Autumn made her living catering to beautiful, wealthy people, as well as those on tight budgets. She enjoyed both, and as she knew all too well, wealthier didn’t always mean easier. Or that the bill was paid on time.

As she passed Sam, he separated himself from a group of his teammates and a few of the Playmates.

“Autumn. Do you have a minute?”

She stopped a few feet in front of him. “No. I’ve got thirty seconds.” They had a son, but she couldn’t imagine what they had to talk about. “What do you need?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but the cell phone clipped to her belt rang, and she held up one finger. There was only one person in her phone with that “Anchors Aweigh” ring tone, her brother, Vince. And Vince wouldn’t call unless there was a problem.

“Hey, Carly just phoned,” he said. “She’s sick and can’t watch Conner. I have to be at work in half an hour.”

It was still too early for Autumn to leave. She moved to a quieter spot in the hall and said, “I’ll call Tara.”

“I did. She didn’t answer.”

Autumn ran through a metal list of options. “I’ll call his day care and see if they’ll take him… Crap, they closed a few hours ago.”

“What about Dina?”

“Dina moved.”

“I guess I can call in sick.”

“No.” Vince had only had this latest job a week. “I’ll think of something.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. Sitter problems were difficult for every single mother. The odd hours of an event planner turned those hours into a nightmare. “I don’t know. I guess you’re going to have to bring Conner here, and I’ll have one of my workers entertain him for a few hours.”

“I’ll get him.”

Autumn looked up over her shoulder. She’d forgotten about Sam. “Hang on.” She lowered the phone. “What?”

“I’ll get Conner.”

“You’ve been drinking.”

He frowned. “Obviously, I’ll have Natalie pick him up.”

Natalie. The “personal assistant.” Autumn didn’t have anything against Sam’s latest “assistant” other than she thought it was ridiculous that he called his girlfriends “assistants.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Is this really something to fight about?”

Conner could either go to his dad’s with the “assistant,” a place he knew, or he could come to the Rainier Club and hang out until she could take him home. On the surface, the decision appeared to be a no-brainer, but she liked Conner with her at night. She slept better knowing he slept safe and sound in the room across from hers.

“Forget it.” He shook his head and turned away.

But being a good parent wasn’t always about her. She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Wait.” His blue eyes met hers, and, through the wool blazer, his body heat warmed her palm. His biceps turned hard beneath her touch, and she dropped her hand. There had been a time when the heat would have leaped to her chest and burned her up. These days, she was immune and returned the phone to her mouth. “Sam’s going to take him.”

“What’s that idiot doing there?”

She bit the side of her lip to keep from smiling. “He’s at the wedding.”

“Tell Vince hi,” Sam said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. He pushed a few numbers, then spoke into the receiver. “Hey, Nat. I know it’s your night off, but can you go pick up Conner for me?” He smiled and gave Autumn a thumbs-up. “Yeah, just take him to my place. I should be there in a couple of hours.”

Autumn hung up her phone and looked down as she hooked it to her belt. “Thanks, Sam.”

“What?”

She looked up at the smile on Sam’s face. “You heard me.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I did. It’s just been a while since you’ve had a nice word for me.”

With Sam, it had never been so much what he said as they way he said it. All oozing with nice-guy charm. Good thing she was immune to him, or she might actually mistake him for a nice guy. “I’ll have Vince pick Conner up in the morning.”

His laugher stopped, and his smile disappeared. “Vince is an idiot.”

Which was a lot like the pot calling the kettle black.

“I’ll have Nat drop him off home.” A few of Sam’s hockey buddies walked down the hall. Handsome, rich, beautiful women on their arms. This was Sam’s life. Beautiful women and designer clothes. Invitations to weddings at the Rainier Club. Adoration and fan worship.

“Thanks again,” she said, and moved around him. She’d been his wife and had given him a son, but she’d never really known him. Never would have fit into his big, over-the-top, life. She didn’t shop at Neiman Marcus or Nordstrom or Saks. She haunted vintage shops, or, when she bought new, she shopped at Old Navy or the Gap or Target.

She walked into the Rainier Room and toward the four-tier red velvet cake. She had her own life, and except for Conner, her life had nothing to do with Sam LeClaire.