OFF LIMITS

CHAPTER ONE - A Bad Idea

MACK

In retrospect, I'm aware that being at a bar the day before I start training with my new team is a bad idea. I was sitting alone at home, and I couldn't stop thinking about all the possible scenarios of my first day as a Grizzly. Getting traded isn't fun. But staying on a team full of people who hate me is way less fun.

I feel like a teenager the day before his first day of High School. Will they like me? I mean, I've met some of the guys already. They are nice. I think I can win them over. Hopefully, I will.

Honestly, the guys on the team are not what worries me. My main worry and the reason I'm losing sleep right now is William Hartley. The head coach for the Vancouver Grizzlies is not my biggest fan. I heard he utterly opposed the trade and is not eager to work with me.

And honestly, what the fuck? I'm one of the best players in the league right now. Who wouldn't be keen to have me on their team? Sure, the circumstances of my trade don't put me in a positive light right now, but Hartley's primary concern should be that I'm a good player, which I am. And I'm not being cocky; I just am good, and I know it.

Regardless, I'll change Hartley's mind about me. He'll see. We'll be best buddies in a month. I'll be the player of his dreams—the son he never had. He'll regret ever thinking I was a bad idea. I'm a fantastic idea.

Staying at this bar and drinking more, on the other hand, is not a good idea. I must have all my senses in check tomorrow to impress William Hartley.

I down the liquid that is still in my glass and look for the bartender so I can close my tab. It's late, and most of the people who were at the bar when I arrived have left, including the guys who were sitting right next to me when I sat down. So now, when I look to my left, instead of finding the big guy that was formerly sitting next to me, I spot a beautiful brunette few stools down.

She's nursing a fruity drink and looking at the plate of barbeque chicken wings the bartender just put in front of her like they're the love of her life.

Was she always sitting there? How the fuck didn't I notice her when I first came in? Granted, there was this guy I can only assume is a WWE wrestler sitting next to me, but still. She's gorgeous. All long legs that look amazing on those skin-tight black leggings, and God–

Don't even think about it.

I need to go home. Tomorrow is my first day with the Grizzlies. This is important. I can't let a pair of delicious long legs distract me from my goal: win over William Hartley. I can't win over Hartley if I show up all tired tomorrow.

Yes, this is a bad idea.

It is a bad idea. I know it's a bad idea, but who doesn't think it's a bad idea? My cock. He thinks it's a fantastic idea and solidifies his claim when the pretty brunette eats a chicken wing. The thing goes inside her mouth and comes out completely clean. My dick jumps in attention, and I silently scold him. Who knew eating chicken wings was erotic? I don't actually think it is, but this woman is so utterly sexy that she can make anything look erotic. This may be a good idea.

My phone pings. A message.

RHETT: Ready for tomorrow, McKenzie?

Okay, what is Mr. Right doing awake? If Rhett is awake, then I'm allowed to be awake. After all, I should strive to be like him.

Rhett Myers is the NHL's golden boy: all-star player, the angel face of hockey, and captain of the Vancouver Grizzlies. AKA my new captain and, I guess, my only friendly face here in Vancouver.

I met Rhett during my brief time in college. We were together on the hockey team. We became best friends pretty fast and then managed to stay that way with him playing in Vancouver and me playing in New York. We are the same age, went into the draft together, and started on our respective NHL teams simultaneously. But where Rhett has been thriving on the Grizzlies enough for his team to appoint him captain, my team just traded me because they hate my guts. We're different people, yet he might be my only real friend.

ME: Never been more ready, Myers.

I subtly look back towards the pretty girl's seat, but she's not there anymore. Where did she go?

That's my cue to leave. Myers is the angel that sits on my right shoulder, telling me to go home, have a good night's sleep, and be ready to impress my head coach tomorrow. And I should listen to him, but the devil on my left shoulder has other ideas. The devil on my left shoulder looks like a beautiful brunette with legs for days.

She's coming back from the bathroom, I assume, and now that she's standing up, I can see her more clearly. She's fucking beautiful. Big brown doe eyes with long lashes and freckles dotting her button nose.

She goes back to her seat. Her plate of wings now empty, as well as her drink. But she's not leaving. She orders another drink, and the bartender is more than happy to oblige—anything to keep her here longer.

I'm shamelessly staring like a creep, but it's difficult not to. Pretty girls are my kryptonite and this pretty girl? She's on a whole different level.

This is a good idea. I need to get my groove going. Vancouver is my new home. Let's start my new life here the right way with a beautiful girl in my bed.

Yes. This is a good idea.

Ping. Message.

RHETT: Go to sleep, fucker.

Go to hell, guardian angel. I had already decided, and he just had to point me in the right direction.

Yes. This is a bad idea. I need to go home and sleep. William Hartley won't impress himself. I have a plan and need to execute it well if it will work. I need this team to like me. It's not an option.

ME: On it.

Yes. This is a bad idea. I'm going home. It's decided.

I lift my gaze to look for the bartender so I can flag him and close my tab. He's obviously standing next to my pretty devil, but she doesn't seem interested in the slightest. I look at her one more time to commit her to my memory and remind myself to approach her if I see her here again. But this time, when I turn my gaze to her, we lock eyes for a solid five seconds. I give her my signature smirk that has done wonders for me in the past, but instead of reacting to it as I wished, she remains stoic, turns her gaze, and goes back to nursing her fruity drink.

She ignored me.

That wasn't a nervous or shy act. She just simply ignored me. She turned her pretty little eyes away from me without giving me a second glance.

Now, most guys would take this as rejection. But I saw it in her pretty eyes. I saw the subtle blush on her cheeks. She's interested. She's definitely crushing on me big time. So, I take her indifference as a challenge.

"Were you flagging me for something?" The bartender asks, now standing in front of me.

A wiser man would go home. I hear Rhett's voice in my ear, begging me to tell the bartender I'm ready to close my tab so I can head home. Tomorrow's a big day.

"Get me another one of these, please," I smirk, pointing at my glass. "And another one of those fruity drinks for her."

The bad idea just turned into a fantastic idea. Because my pretty devil is challenging me to earn her attention.

And I love a good challenge.