Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
He’s never spoken to me until today, but from everything I’ve heard, he’s a nice guy. He has longish blond hair with loose curls and warm brown eyes.
“Hi, Lucas, how’s it going?”
“It’s good. Always gotta be on our toes in Seattle.”
I approach to pack my laptop and cord into my bag. “They have a really nice arena here.”
“Yeah, it’s one of the best.” He clears his throat. “So I heard you get sick on the plane. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m good. I actually slept for most of the flight last night.”
He clears his throat again. “That’s good. You look, you know, well rested.”
“Lucas fucking Robinson!” someone yells from the locker room.
He glances in that direction and gives me a sheepish grin. “Duty calls. I’ll catch you later.”
“Yeah, have a good game.”
“Thanks.”
He leaves the room and I finish packing my things. Gina gives me a knowing smile.
“What?” I ask.
“He’s really shy. So sweet, though. He likes you.”
“What? No.”
She laughs. “You’re blind if you didn’t notice. He didn’t need anything from me. He only came in here to see you.”
I’m pretty sure Lucas was just being nice. Trying to make me feel welcome. Which is nice, but doesn’t mean he’s interested in me.
“I’m going to find my seat,” I say.
Gina sighs dramatically. “Enjoy the buffet up there. Eat some crab legs for me. I’ll be having a soggy sub sandwich.”
Tonight, I’m sitting with the team owner, Arnold. Before every game, someone from the Mammoths’ PR department texts me to tell me where I’ll be sitting. I haven’t eaten since I wolfed down a little food before catching the bus this morning, so a buffet sounds great.
“You get a better view of the game, though,” I say.
“True. I have to smell the stank hockey gear, though.”
I want to ask her if she knows what Tim and Dane were talking about earlier. If Dane has a beef with someone from the Seattle team, I need to know about it. It could lead to negative headlines.
It’s too late, though. Interns and equipment people are coming in and out of the room. I’ll have to ask her another time.
“See you later,” I tell Gina.
“Later, Josie.”
Arnold walks into the VIP box just before puck drop, shaking hands and chatting with his invited guests. I’m glad to be sitting alone in the corner of the box, because it allows me to focus on the game.
I had no idea how exciting hockey was until I started this assignment. It’s fast paced, the energy of it unlike any sport I’ve ever watched.
From my seat, I can see all the action. Dane came out charging tonight, playing more aggressively than anyone else on the ice. It pays off when he slides a puck into the net, colliding with another player while scoring a goal.
The celebration in the box is low key, most people immediately going back to their conversations. I return my attention to the game, following the players and the puck up and down the ice over and over. There are a few close shots, but no other goals are scored before the end of the first period.
Arnold approaches me during the break, extending his hand for me to shake.
“How are you, Josie?”
“Hi, Arnold, I’m great,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Is Dane treating you okay?”
I smile. “I can handle myself when he’s temperamental.”
He grins. “Jane said you’ve got the backbone to handle him. I’ve learned over the years to trust her judgment.”
My aunt said that about me? I’m flattered but also stunned. All my performance reviews focus on what I need to improve on. There are never compliments.
“I hear Dane is trending on social media for something other than bad behavior,” Arnold says. “So you’re doing a great job.”
I’m not doing much, but I don’t argue with Arnold. I’ve endured too much air sickness and lack of sleep to tell him it was nothing.
“Oh, the law student who wants a date with him?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“I think he should do it.”
“Sure, our PR people could even set everything up,” he says.
The players return to the ice, the crowd roaring as music booms.
“We need this win,” Arnold says. “It’s crunch time.”
I squint at one of the screens in the arena, making out the words on the cardboard sign a fan is holding up.
It says Marry Me Lucas. Sweet. I read another one.
Shaw doesn’t need a penalty to get in my box.
WTF? The camera quickly pans to another set of fans. Shaw must be a Seattle player. Looks like Dane isn’t the only one with thirsty female fans.
The game resumes and Arnold sits down in the open seat next to me. We watch the game in silence for a couple of minutes, but when Dane gets shoved by a Seattle player between plays, Arnold groans.
Dane immediately throws his gloves off. My heart pounds hard as he throws a punch at another player. Fans jump to their feet, yelling as the two men fight.