Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“We’ll see.” Sailor calmly sips his mocktail. “How about this—I’ll put you down as a yes, so long as Chase is onboard. I know you want a real contract with the Legends again next season. This would be a fine way to show management that you’re a team player.”
God, I want to scream. But Chase would rather walk across hot coals than skate with me. So he’ll shoot this idea down, and I won’t even have to be the naysayer. “Sure. Okay. If Chase says yes, I’ll do it.”
“Good deal, Zoe,” he says. His phone pings with a new notification, and I watch as he gets distracted, texting and checking the team’s social media accounts.
Everything is fine, I remind myself. Bess will tell Sailor to take a long walk off the wing of the team jet, and Sailor will move on to his next stupid idea.
I relax again into the chair. As my toes are filed to perfection and then polished in a shiny shade of Legends blue, I give myself a pep talk. Chase is going to skate well tonight, and management will be happy with both of us for all the right reasons.
Then I’ll get a new contract on the merits of my coaching. The way it should be.
Sailor’s phone pings with another text just as I’m admiring my second coat of polish. “Ah, Zoe. Take a look at this.” He holds up his phone to show me a conversation with Chase.
Sailor: So we’re on?
Chase: Sure. Whatever you need.
I gasp.
“Holy shit,” Darcy says with awe in her voice. “The internet is going to lose its mind.”
If I don’t lose mine first.
Chapter 25
Three hours after our pedicures, I’m still confused. It makes no sense that Chase would say yes to Sailor’s PR stunt. “I just don’t understand it,” I tell Darcy for the tenth time. “There’s no reason for Chase to say yes.”
“Here’s a wild theory,” she says without even a glance in my direction. “What if he said yes because he wanted to?”
“Wanted to do what?”
“Skate with you! I mean, he obviously enjoyed it the first time.”
“That was completely different,” I argue. “It was his summer job. He was nineteen, with no other responsibilities. Also, he didn’t hate me then. He was trying to get into my pants.”
Darcy says nothing.
“I just can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been manipulated. What if Sailor is playing both of us against each other? Like maybe that text he showed us was Chase’s reply to a different question, like ‘Want to meet up at the bar later?’”
“Look,” Darcy says sharply. She puts a hand on my arm but still doesn’t look in my direction. She’s too busy watching the Legends whip past us on the ice. “I say this with love, but would you shut up about this for maybe ten minutes? The game is tied in the third period, and I’m not built for this kind of anxiety.”
“Oh, fine. You need me to delay my nervous breakdown until after the third period?”
“Or possibly overtime,” she says with a shrug. “If only these guys would SHOOT THE PUCK!” she shouts as Weber skates past. “Then maybe I could listen to your conspiracy theories.”
It’s a fair point. We’ve spent the past two hours on the edge of our seats. The game against Toronto has been tense and brutal. The crowd is as loud as thunder, cheering wildly for the enemy every time they have the puck. Which, sadly, has been more than half the time.
The Legends are holding their own, though. The 2–2 score is a result of a couple of scrappy goals—one from Tremaine and one from Larkin right in front of the net.
Naturally I’ve spent most of my time watching Chase, with my heart in my mouth. Is it just me, or is he skating better than he did in his last game?
As he flies past me again, I swear his stride is more confident. I’ve seen explosive acceleration and tight cornering. On one play, he blew past a Toronto defenseman to retrieve a dump-in, then pivoted seamlessly to protect the puck and make a crisp pass to Tremaine.
Yet he can’t seem to catch a break in front of the goal. Toronto’s best D-man has an irritating way of blocking the goal when Chase gets the puck. Every. Time.
Honestly, I want to dive over the boards and punch the guy, but I’m pretty sure my nemesis in PR would frown on that.
As the clock winds down, the speed of play amps up. With only five minutes left, I can see the frustration on Chase’s face, especially when one of the Toronto players trips him and doesn’t get called for it. I can sense his glower from the other side of the rink.
Although he’s hot when he glowers, my feelings about this moment are more mixed than they should be.