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)
“Oh my.” I gulp my wine.
“He’s, like, my ideal perfect guy.” She sighs. “And Mona’s, I guess. Poor thing. She wants a relationship, and he doesn’t.”
“How do you know?”
She shakes her head. “Don’t let their muscles fool you. Those men gossip like a bunch of hens in the henhouse. I hear things.”
I laugh.
“Meanwhile, I go on terrible date after terrible date. Last night’s was another horror show.”
“Oh no. What now?”
“His photos on the app were cute enough. But up close? His beard had crumbs in it, and he reeked of cigarette smoke.” She makes a face. “He reeked. My eyes were watering. I ended up faking a family emergency to get out of there.”
“You make dating sound so appealing,” I say, eyeing the TV to make sure we haven’t missed anything.
“It’s rough out there.”
“I don’t need a man anyway,” I announce. “Too distracting. I just need to keep my job. Hey—did you give those scouting reports to Sharp for me?”
“Of course.”
“And?”
She winces. “He took one look and said, ‘Still too wordy.’”
“God damn it.”
Darcy waves a hand. “That was barely a criticism. We grade on a curve when it comes to Mr. Sharp.”
“I guess.”
The game starts up again, and I watch Jean-Luc Moreau defend the puck against one of Pittsburgh’s best. He uses his bulk to hold off the attacker. But as soon as he has to move the puck down the ice, he’s overtaken.
A Pittsburgh winger skates off with the puck, and Darcy curses. “Can you please fix that man? Watching him skate causes me physical pain.”
“It’s on my to-do list,” I assure her. If he ever shows up for a session. He’d better turn up for my master class the day after tomorrow, or I may not be responsible for my actions.
“Oh, here we go!” Darcy shouts at the TV. “Come on, hottie!”
Tremaine has the puck back, and the Pittsburgh defense is caught off guard. He and Chase make a series of quick passes that has their opponents scrambling.
We both hold our breath as Chase weaves around a D-man and Tremaine passes again.
It happens almost too fast to see—the puck kisses Chase’s stick and then shoots toward the goal.
The lamp lights, and we both shout with victory.
“Job done!” Darcy announces.
And that’s exactly what I text to Chase the next evening. Job done! Great goal in the 3rd!
He replies immediately. Felt good. See you in class tomorrow. Check your inbox for messages about our music and my measurements.
You are my favorite student, I tease him.
Except it’s not really teasing. He is my favorite, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
I don’t even know if I want to.
Chapter 33
February
The night before my master class, I stay up past my bedtime experimenting with the camera’s online software and feeling anxious about my clinic.
My biggest fear is that nobody will show. They’re tired from the road trip. When their alarms go off in the morning, they’ll roll over and shut them off.
I finally fall asleep at two a.m., which means I’m the one having trouble getting out of bed the next morning. I shower in a hurry and dress even faster.
I give myself a pep talk as I speed walk toward the facility, which glints in the morning sunlight at the end of Twenty-First Street, like a gaudy jewel. “This had better go well,” I tell the cold February air. “It needs to be the most insightful ninety minutes of these players’ careers. A clinic wise enough to make hockey angels weep.”
“Are hockey angels a thing?” someone asks from behind me. “Wait up, Coach Zoe.”
I slow down only enough to give DeLuca a wave. “No time for chitchat. Consider this your warm-up.”
“Yes, Coach.” He falls into step beside me.
“Where are your two sidekicks this morning?” It’s not too late to worry that nobody will show up for my class.
“They’re right behind us. Tremaine was arguing hockey stats with the concierge. Hey—I hope you noticed—I finally signed up for my one-on-one.”
“You get a gold star, DeLuca.”
“Thanks. You should have come over for beers the other night. It was a good game, and you could have helped us trash-talk Brooklyn’s skating.”
“That does sound like fun,” I agree.
“Your boy would have been happy to see you there. Just saying.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I say primly.
“If that’s how you want to play it,” he says with a grin.
We’ve only made it a few more paces when I hear the sound of feet running hard behind us. As a small, single woman in a big city, that sound might be alarming. But not with DeLuca at my side, especially when he shouts, “Keep up, boys! Our girl wants to get there early.”
“Better put it into high gear, then,” Tremaine says as he and Chase pass us.
DeLuca and I share a quick glance. And since we’re both competitive athletes, we break into a run at the same moment.