Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I lift my phone to take a pic of him at work—the approachable side of Max Lambert. The female coach is working with a group of kids on balance drills while Max is showing the kids how to keep the puck close to the stick. I capture this one and several more till a throat clears. Someone behind me shifts around, then clambers down two rows, parking next to me—a woman, dressed in a fleece, her eyes tired, but her smile kind. “Hey, I’m Becca. Just wanted to let you know we’re not supposed to take pics.”
“Oh,” I say, chastened, and setting my phone down. “I didn’t know.”
“I figured as much. That’s why I shared. Which one is yours? Mine is Hannah. The redhead. She wants to skate on a women’s pro team someday but she’s got a long way to go.”
“Don’t we all,” I say, then return to her question. “And I don’t have kids. I work with Max’s team.”
“Ah,” she says, understanding dawning. “Got it. It’s great that he does this when he’s in town. Even with Coach Gupta here at all the practices.” She nods toward the woman on the ice. She must be the regular coach. “But there’s no way we could afford this without him.”
Color me intrigued. “He pays for all this?”
“Covers the whole thing. The ice time, the gear, the training—everything. Coach Gupta’s time too.”
“Wow,” I say.
She tilts her head. “You didn’t know that?”
There’s no point playing it cool. “I didn’t.”
“You learn something new every day,” she says, seeming amused. But then her gaze is wary. “Is something changing here? Is that why they sent you?”
There’s real concern in her voice. Like I could take this away. I glance down at my outfit—a Sea Dogs fleece but also charcoal gray slacks, low heels, and a tablet in hand. Briefly I wonder what I represent to her. Corporate America? Rules? The proper public image? Whatever it is, it’s concerning to her. Somehow in her eyes, I might be the enemy that could end this lovely thing he does.
I shake my head. “He invited me,” I say, opting for the easiest answer.
Her brow scrunches then slowly, like the sun rising, her lips part. “Oh. Oh. You’re his—?” She’s waiting for me to fill in the dots.
Vociferously, I shake my head. “No. God no. We just work together. That’s all. It’s actually frowned upon, dating a player. It can go all kinds of wrong. Management wouldn’t like it. It’s a rule. Well, an unwritten rule, but those are just as powerful. Since reputation matters,” I say, and am I actually in PR? Does a professional sports organization truly pay me to craft and shape images and messages for a living, because I sound like I’ve never spoken in public before.
“Is that so?”
It’s Max’s deep, sexy voice. I snap my gaze to the edge of the rink and he’s mere feet away from me by the boards, amusement dancing across his eyes while Coach Gupta works with the kids. “So this is forbidden, Everly? You and me hanging out like this?”
Becca snickers.
“Yes,” I blurt, then shake my head because that was the wrong answer. He’s got me flustered. Again. “No. It’s not. I mean, they know. Of course they know I’m spending time with you. They gave me this assignment. Because it’s work. That’s all.”
Becca covers her mouth with her hand, chuckling the whole time, then finally lowering it to say to Max, “I think someone has a crush on you.” Only she’s pointing at me like I don’t know she’s doing it.
I do not, I want to scream at her, but that’d make it worse.
Instead, Max cuts in, saying, “Don’t worry, Becca. She actually hates me.”
Then he winks at me. He fucking winks and skates backward, waving and blowing me a kiss.
I’m…mortified.
Becca’s laughing.
And I feel out of place entirely.
As the practice continues, Becca excuses herself, presumably for the ladies’ room. Once she’s gone, a redheaded man with a freckled face appears at my bench. “Hey there. I’m Flynn, Jonah’s dad,” he says, then nods to one of the kids Max was coaching.
“Nice to meet you, Flynn,” I say, and before I can get another word out, there’s a spray of ice, then a giant hockey player has appeared at the boards right next to me.
“Flynn,” Max says with a smile I don’t quite buy. “Want to help me out today?”
Flynn’s face lights up. “Yeah. Sure. I’ve been wanting to.”
“I know. This seemed like the perfect time,” he says.
Flynn turns to me. “We’ll catch up later.”
Max chuckles. “We’ll be pretty busy,” he says, then parks his elbow and waits for Flynn to leave the stands and head around to the ice.
He flashes me one more smile—the kind that says I won. This man is like a dog sometimes. Shame I like dogs so much.