*Here is my latest story and I hope you all enjoy! As always, i always appreciate your feedback!

Chapter One

"Hey Bree, where's my grey suit?" I call out, as I poke my head into her bedroom. Damn, I wish she had her shirt on. That is not going to help me make it through the day. I watch, with my mouth hanging open like a dog, as she pulls her sweater over her head then over her bra and flat perfect stomach. I need to stop starring…

"Which grey suit? You have several…" She brushes off my request and continues to get ready. 'Please don't reach for the hair brush, please don't reach for the hair brush', I plead in my head. Fuck, the hair brush… I can't think when she brushes her hair. It's like hypnosis, watching her move in fluid motions through her smooth silky hair. All I can think about is how much I want to run my hands through it, preferably while she is naked and lying satisfied in my bed. I really need to think about something else…

"The grey suit I wore to that lunch thing the other day…"

"I sent it to the cleaners," She explained. "You spilt something on it, remember?"

"What? Nooo… I really wanted to wear it to the Classic presser today!"

"Well, you can't. You could wear a different grey suit. You have several. That might be a crazy thought, I know," Bree laughs and rolls her eyes at me as she pulls her hair back into her standard ponytail. I wish she would leave it down, she looks really amazing with her hair down. "Or how about a brown suit? That new one looks good on you…"

"Can I wear black shoes with a brown suit? I already pulled out black shoes…" I don't think black shoes would look good.

"Oh my god! You are worse then a sixteen year old girl!" Bree turns toward me. Good cleavage today. Damnit.

"It's a fair question," I shrug, forcing myself to look away from her chest and up to her eyes. I re-evaluate that plan and look back down. Cleavage is probably safer, as her deep blue eyes are gorgeous and I always think that when we make eye contact she can see through the act that I put on whenever I am around her.

"Go get dressed Sid!" She practically yelled at me as she pushed me out to the hall and pointed towards my room.

"But now I don't know what to wear…" I realize after I said it, just how whiny I sound.

"You could wear a garbage bag for all I care! Go put something on and be ready to go in ten minutes," She snapped. I know I can't push it anymore. After knowing her for a couple years now, I know when she is annoyed. It took me a while to figure it out but I learnt. A pissed off Bree can make your life a living hell. Like my schedule isn't hellish enough, she'll add the most ridiculous meetings and media functions until she feels that I have suffered enough… or am too tired to piss her off anymore.

I head back down to my room and stare blankly into my closet. I reach for my new brown suit since Bree said she liked the brown suit. Not that I think wearing the suit she likes is going to make her fall in love with me, but it can't hurt. Ugh… I'll have to find new shoes.

-.-

He really does look better in that grey suit. But stomping his foot like a three year old wasn't going to make it appear any quicker. Sometimes I am surprised how similar him and his fourteen year old sister act. They certainly come by it naturally! Troy is no picnic! In all the years I worked for the Crosby's back home, I always tried to imagine what he would have been like at 23, if he had made even a fraction of money that Sid makes now. Sid has had humility beat into him by his mother but I wonder if she would have done the same thing to Troy or just been like all the stupid star struck sluts that seem to surround the Penguin players now and let Troy act like a spoiled brat, just happy to be with a professional hockey player.

I watch from the back row as Sid handles the media's question with ease. A couple of the familiar faces from the locker room smile and do the quintessential head bob but for the most part I go un noticed, which I suppose is the way it is suppose to be. One reporter begs me for a time slot on Sid's schedule for an 'exclusive'. I make no promises but if Sid says another word about his grey suit, I will add him. Exercise my little bit of power.

Some of the player's girlfriends, mostly just those of the call-ups, give me the stare down. I just laugh because their boys don't seem to understand that those girls are only with them to get closer to the rich hockey players. Each and every one of them is secretly hoping that Sid will fall head over heels in love with them, so they can leave their current beau and move up in the world. If life with an NHLer is hard, life with an AHLer is flat out hell – with no perks, no fame and a very limited chance that they will ever get it.

Sid moves off the stage and shakes hands and signs autographs before being ushered to the next room by his security.

"What's next boss?" He asks when I finally make it to the player's lounge where I know he will be waiting.

I quickly open my calendar which is attached to my hip. "You have a call-in interview waiting and that's it for today. Nathalie wanted you to come for dinner and I told her that I would see how your schedule looked. What should I tell her?"

"Yeah we can go… I am guessing you didn't want to cook?" He asks with a smile. I nod. I know it's my job and all, and I really do love cooking but Sid's diet is so boring that I don't get to cook anything good anymore – or at least good by my standards. Sid is a creature of habit so tonight, being a non-game day Tuesday, would have been baked fish, steamed veggies and rice. I could have pan fried mine in butter – real butter – but then I'd have to listen to him complain that I shouldn't be eating that in front of him. I'm not a pro athlete, I should be able to have butter if I want. At least I know that dinner tonight will be good. Nathalie seems to be able to get away with feeding Sid anything and he never complains. If I made roast beef on chicken night, I would never hear the end of it.

"I'll call and let her know," I tell him as I pull out my phone and hit speed dial four. I never thought that this would be my life – having Mario Lemieux's wife on speed dial. It's a bit surreal at times.

"You are needed in the call-in room," I instruct him as I listen to the phone ring on the other end.

Sid lifts himself from the couch and heads towards the small room with nothing in it but a phone and a chair – potentially the only quiet place in this building. I take the moment, as he is walking away, to get my daily dose of his butt. I take my opportunities when I can get them. He has a really nice ass but I have to be careful and not get caught looking at it. I would never live it down but it's irresistible. I quickly avert my eyes as he turns back to me.

"Oh, Bree… any chance my grey suit will be ready for tomorrow?" He asks innocently and I can't help but reach down and pick up a roll of stick tape and whip it at him. "What? Is that a 'no'?" He laughs which tells me that he was just doing it to piss me off. I make a mental note to call that reporter and schedule his interview for a really busy day.

-.-

I couldn't help it. I know I am going to get punished but it was too easy. There she is sitting on the edge of the couch, her sexy-as-fuck legs crossed and her high black heels dangling from her toes, forcing me to imagine how great it would be if those shoes were all she was wearing… well those and maybe a pair of thigh high pantyhose, the kind with the little bow at the top… yeah that would be good…

I have to take a couple of deep breaths before I enter the call-in room. I know a lot of the guys use this room to beat one off or take advantage of a precious minute alone with their girlfriends after a big game. It's actually kinda gross…especially considering there is literally nothing in this room except a chair, a phone and an awkward Kleenex box. I have never had to succumb to that but being locked in this little space with a boner right now may not be conducive to maintaining that record.

'Concentrate Sid,' I tell myself as I step into the small room. If anything, knowing what other guys do in here, will make the boner disappear quickly.

The interview was no problem, nothing even a little bit off the spectrum. Sometimes I wish the reporters would ask a question that comes from left field just so I have to think and not just go into drone mode. The media complains that I have no personality but they don't exactly inspire passion.

I step out of the little room and head back to the players lounge. Bree is sitting in the same spot I left her but now she is surrounded by some of my horny teammates. I swear they have a beacon for when I have left her unprotected. Max is the worst but at least I don't have to worry because she seems to know that he is a dirty dog. Tanger only dates models but says Bree could qualify if he wanted to 'slum it'. He loves to flirt and uses his disgusting 'look at me, I'm a shy little French guy' act to his advantage. Again, I don't think Bree buys it… so I think I am safe. I also may have mentioned the model thing which seemed to piss her off, so that should help. TK is ugly as fuck, so he stands no chance and Jordan is a grumpy bitch most of the time, especially now with his injury, so no threat there. The guy I need to worry about is the guy that I don't know… the new guy… Martin. He seems nice enough but that's the problem. It would be easy if I could just walk up to him and tell him not to talk to her but then I would have to answer questions about why and I certainly don't want to answer those… So instead I watch like a pussy as he laughs and puts his hand on her knee.

"So, are you ready to go?" I ask as I walk towards the group. "Dinner time?"

Bree excuses herself from the group and gathers her bag up while the guys continued their banter. Several of them glance over when she bends to pick up a sheet of paper she dropped. I clear my throat to remind them that I am there. They all bring their eyes back to centre, some happier than others.

"Oh come on!" Max complains, pointing towards her ass.

"No, Max!" I hiss quietly. "Show some respect… she works for me…"

"Yeah that's right… she works for you. You get to see that fine ass whenever you want. We, on the other hand, have limited opportunities and must capitalize whenever we can," He explains with a wink and a nudge to TK who nods in agreement.

"Ready?" Bree comes to my side and places her hand on my shoulder.

"You guys are sick," I can't help but add as I follow her out of the room. They certainly don't need to know that I agree.

-.-

"Holy fuck, I am so full," Bree declares as she slumps into the couch cushions in the family room off the kitchen. I can't help but laugh at her rare moment of non-censorship which clearly indicates just how much wine she has had. She is normally the epitome of self control, so I wonder if something is going on. I plop down on the couch beside her.

"Dinner was amazing… why can't you cook like that?" I ask her, totally joking. I know Bree can cook and I know she hates cooking for me.

"Seriously? Did you just say that?" She grabs a pillow from beside her and whips me in the head. Now I am laughing like a six year old girl while she climbs to her knees and hits me repeatedly with the pillow. I raise my hands to protect my face and try and grab her wrists to stop the onslaught of pillow blows. I finally get my hands around her wrists and wiggle the pillow free but now I am in a really awkward position with her basically in my lap and her at my whim. It would be too easy to pull her down to me and kiss her or throw her down to the couch and climb on top of her and kiss her like that. Instead I just stare up at her and watch her chew her bottom lip. I wonder if she is thinking the same thing I am. I wonder if she wants me to kiss her. I wish I could read her mind.

"I should head to bed…" She breaks the tension and climbs to her feet. I give myself a mental kick over not acting on the opportunity. I need to grow a pair already!

"See you in the morning…" I offer, watching her walk away. She mutters goodnight and now I am left sitting on the couch alone – again. If I was Max, I would get up and follow her, not take no for an answer and take her to my bed and not let her leave until she was satisfied and her legs were mush. Who am I kidding? If I was Max, I would have told her how I felt years ago. Instead I sit here and reach for the remote control, flipping to sports highlights. How pathetic am I?