Chapter Eight

The next few weeks were a world-wind for Payton. She was busy with photo sessions, hockey games and Sid when he was in town. Today was her first day to just relax the whole week. Now the kitchen sink was clogged. It was always something. Payton was pretty handy, but she hated messing with the plumbing. It was just disgusting. She was busy under the counte,r tinkering with the u-bend when Sid came in.


“What are you doing?”

“The sink’s clogged.”

“Did you call a plumber?”

“What for? I can fix it.”

“You can?” he asked incredulously.

“I think so. It’s just a clogged drain.” The u-bend that she’d been struggling with finally let go and the sink drained into a dishpan she had placed below. She got up from under the sink drying her hands and gave Sid a peck on the cheek.

“That’s gross. Don’t touch me with those hands until you wash,” he said, backing away from her with his hands up.

“You’re such a baby,” she laughed at him, grabbing the sanitizer from the countertop.

“I can’t believe you fixed that. New career for you, huh?” he grinned.

“Shut up,” she said wrapping her arms around him.

“What? I have to say I’d rather see this ass,” he said grasping her rear in both palms, “poking out at me from under the counter, than most plumbers I’ve seen.”

She rolled her eyes at him and pushed his hands away. She returned to her work while he fixed himself something to eat. He noticed her day planner sitting on the kitchen table.

“I thought you were taking today off,” he said.

“That was from yesterday. I got another shoot coming up.”

“You’re shooting Alex Ovechkin?” he said, incredulously, thumbing through the calendar.

“Yeah,” she said exclaimed. “His agent called, said he liked the spread in Vanity Fair. He wanted me to do some of Alex for a spread they're doing in The Hockey News."

He snorted. She was clearly excited about it. And he didn’t like the way she said Alex. Ovechkin was a jackass. He was naturally dynamic, but irreverent, on and off the ice. And women fawned all over him. He didn’t want her to be on a first name basis with him.

“What?” she responded to the frown on his face.

“Have you even been watching my games? He practically made me a permanent part of the dasher boards on Thursday,” he exclaimed. The rivalry between them had been really heating up this season. Ovechkin had been even more physical than usual. He’d seemed to be making a point of coming after him, almost as if things had gotten personal. Sidney at the end of his patience.

“Of course, I know that. I was screaming at him through the TV, but what’s that got to do with this?” She hadn’t expected this reaction from him. It always seemed that he and Alex were friendly off the ice. Sid always left it on the ice. He knew it was a game and that was the way the game was played. She never imagined he would have any objections. She’d been so excited. The Vanity Fair spread was bringing in so much business. Her career had really started moving forward in a way she hadn’t expected. Ovechkin’s wasn’t the only sports agent calling her.

He looked away from her. His jaw was flexing and she knew he was grinding his teeth. He couldn’t possibly be jealous. She took a step forward and ran her hands up his strong chest. He grabbed her hands.

“I’m sure he’ll be more than willing to take his shirt off for you,” he said sarcastically.

“What? You can’t be serious. I take whatever shots the magazine wants. I really don’t have any control over it this time. The magazine sent over some strict guidelines.”

“Translation - he will have his shirt off and who knows what else!” He stepped away from her. Anger was building up in the pit of his stomach.

“Sidney, what is wrong with you?” She couldn’t believe he was acting this way. Didn’t he trust her at all?

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he cried venting his frustration. “I’m not the one who takes whatever he wants, whenever he wants it without regard for anyone else! Ovechkin’s a dick and if you think I’m going to let him come in here and take advantage of you, you’re dead wrong. I’m going to be here.”

“The hell you are,” she was getting upset now. “I don’t have any issues where Alex is concerned. I’m not going to be manipulated by him or anyone else. You cannot be here. I can’t do my job with you here scowling and making everyone uncomfortable.”

He winced as she called Ovechkin by his first name again. That made him absolutely crazy. “Alex is very charming and persuasive. Before you even realize what’s happening, he’ll have you manipulated over the back of the couch!”

Her jaw dropped and she just stood there. It felt like he’d slapped her. “Do you really think you mean that little to me?” she finally said in a quiet voice. She had a knot in the pit of her stomach. She brushed passed him and shook off his hand as he tried to grab her arm. “I don’t want to talk to you about this anymore.”

“Payton,” he called after her. But she refused to stop and hurried up the stairs to the bedroom. “FUCK,” he yelled and punched the studio wall putting a large hole in the delicate drywall. He knew she was crying. She’d managed to get to the bedroom before the tears came, but he knew it anyway. She thought he didn’t trust her. How could he make her understand? He did trust her. He knew she loved him. But Ovechkin was a player and he was damn good at it too. He didn’t want her to have to put up with crap like that. She was his. He was supposed to protect her from the likes of Alexander Ovechkin. He looked at the hole in the wall, frowned and grabbed his keys. Now he had to go off to the hardware store to find out how to fix the wall. Fucking Ovechkin.