Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
She’s really yelling now. I move the phone away from my ear.
“… With your stupid job, and your smug boyfriend.”
“Eric is not smug.”
“Just… don’t come back here,” she growls. “It’s not like you care about us. Just stay out of my life.”
Then she hangs up, and I put my head in my hands.
Chapter 37
Middle of a Beehive
Darcy
August
Um, Darcy?”
I look up from my accounting textbook to find another sweaty nineteen-year-old standing in front of my desk. I have a unit test tomorrow, so I’m not even supposed to be working today. But the Legends’ development camp is in full swing, which means there are eighty entirely clueless young hockey players milling around our headquarters.
It’s like trying to study in the middle of a beehive, if the bees were all young minor leaguers vibrating with anxiety about their performance. They don’t know the schedule. They don’t read their emails. And they eat all the mini muffins in the players’ lounge.
I’m only here because my troll of a boss is feeling extra needy. So is the kid in front of me, apparently. Because he immediately starts talking and won’t stop.
“I hate to be that guy, but I’m literally not vibing with my roommate situation at all. Like, it’s actually giving me the ick.” He runs a hand through his hair nervously. “My roomie is lowkey toxic, no cap. Bro thinks he’s the main character of the dorm, but he’s actually just really mid. He keeps me up all night playing video games, and his hygiene is questionable at best. It’s giving frat boy energy but not in a good way.”
The kid leans forward slightly, his voice dropping. “I tried to communicate with him about boundaries and stuff, but he just told me I was being extra. Like, sir, wanting to sleep before practice is not extra, it’s basic human needs, you know? Honestly? I can’t perform when I’m running on zero sleep. So if we both make the cut going into next week, could you, like, swap me with someone else in the chat?”
Then another shadow looms over me. I look up, expecting to find yet another sweaty teenager with issues.
But nope. My stomach does a perfect backflip with a full twist, almost before I realize it’s Eric. He’s wearing a Legends T-shirt that can barely contain his muscular chest. And he’s tanner than the last time I saw him.
Even worse, his gray eyes are smiling at me, and now my brain is melting down. “Rookie,” he says sharply. “Are you giving Miss Kendrick a hard time?”
The kid turns, and his jaw drops. I guess I’m not the only one who has a strong reaction to Eric Tremaine. “Yo, Cap! I’ve been watching film of you since I was, like, twelve. You’re literally the blueprint. The way you read the ice? That’s just straight fire.”
The captain frowns. “Thanks, I think. But are you sure this isn’t a problem you can solve yourself?”
“Eric.” I hold up a hand to stop him from helping me. “It’s fine. You’re Calder, right? Jersey twenty-seven?” I shake my computer mouse and wake up the machine.
“That’s right, Dar…” He glances at Eric and then corrects himself. “… Miss Kendrick. I heard you’re the CEO of all this type shit.”
“Listen…” I find his entry in the binder. “Zero sleep is definitely not the vibe when you’re trying to make the team. Real talk, though? Room changes are kind of a nightmare logistically. But you seem genuinely pressed about this, so here’s the tea—I’ve got exactly one open spot, but it’s with Petrov, and he’s intense about his sleep schedule. Like, lights out at nine thirty or he gets feral. Can you vibe with that?”
Eric’s eyes widen. Then he smiles.
And the kid is ecstatic. “Yo, Miss Kendrick, you’re the GOAT for real. I owe you.”
He thanks me profusely again and stammers a few more compliments at Eric. Then he finally bounces off, leaving me alone with the man I’ve tried so hard to stop thinking about.
“Hello, Miss Kendrick,” he says, his voice a low scrape. “That was some excellent work there. Didn’t know you were multilingual.”
“It’s all part of the job, sir. Do you need something?”
He tilts his head, more curious than annoyed with my briskness. “Maybe. But let’s back up a sec. How are you?”
“Fine,” I say automatically. But it’s a damn lie. I’ve spent the last three weeks trying not to wonder where he is or what he’s up to. I’ve deliberately avoided social media, so I won’t have to see any pictures of him on Colorado mountaintops or burning marshmallows with other women. “What are you doing here?” I blurt, because the regular part of training camp doesn’t start until next month, and I thought I had more time.
But here he is, all chiseled and sunshiny and looking down at me with an intensity that’s completely unnerving. “I always check in with the devo camp. Helps me remember what I’m up against.”