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)
“There is no dating. There are only hookups with gorgeous women. The minute they catch feelings, he very politely cuts the line.” And now I’m suddenly thinking about the beautiful evening we spent on his boat, and I ache.
“The thing is,” Zoe says slowly, “Chase said he seemed sad in Colorado. It was hard to get him out the door for anything fun.”
I tense up immediately. “I don’t think I want to hear about whatever fun they had in Colorado.”
“There’s nothing to tell, babe,” Zoe says kindly. “And I wouldn’t do that to you. But if you go back to swiping right on terrible men on Hinge, when Eric is right there, I might have to stage an intervention.”
I cast a grumpy eye at her. “I haven’t had the slightest urge to go on any dates.”
“Gosh, I wonder why?” Zoe asks with a maddening smile.
“I don’t think you’re helping,” I grumble.
“You’re right. I should just encourage you to be lonely and miserable. It’s what a good friend does.”
“That’s my only choice,” I say, dropping my voice as we reach the lobby. “We can’t date. We work together.”
“But I work with Chase,” Zoe points out.
“It’s not the same at all,” I bark. “You two have been in love for a decade, and the whole world can see it. Meanwhile, even if Eric decided to try dating someone seriously, he might not like it. Once he dumps me, I become the pathetic admin everyone pities. Except the rookies, who’ll hit on me, because they think I’m easy.”
Zoe cringes. “That does sound bleak.”
“Now she gets it.” Except I haven’t even told her the worst bit, which is that I’m probably in love with him. If we didn’t work out, every day would require an Academy Award performance at work.
It might break me. “I just have to stay strong, no matter how many mini cannoli he brought me from Nonna Luna’s.”
“Hold on,” Zoe says, grabbing my arm before I can push through the revolving door. “He brought you something from Nonna Luna’s? That place in the East Village?”
“Yeah. They were waiting on my desk with a cappuccino when I came back from the box office meeting.”
“Darcy, those mini cannoli cost him a cab ride downtown, plus a twenty-minute wait in line.”
I hadn’t really thought about it that way. “Maybe he was in the neighborhood for lunch with another Grammy winner.”
We exit to the street, which is the approximate temperature of a frying pan. Zoe comes through, shaking her head. “Darcy. What does this boy have to do to get your attention?”
“He has my attention. He always has. But he didn’t notice me until I propositioned him. I’m not even his type.”
“I think you’re wrong. How do you feel about flatbreads for lunch? Next week is going to be a lot of lean protein and fiber.”
“Don’t remind me.” The team is headed up to Lake Placid for the rest of training camp. After long days in close proximity to Eric, I won’t even be able to escape to my apartment.
“What’s the place like? I’ve been to the rinks for competition, but never to this camp in the woods. Is it rustic?”
“Not really. It’s more like a 1950s roadside motel in the middle of the woods than a summer camp. We’ll have real beds and a roof over our heads. I chose a nice room for us. But everybody has a twin bed and a roommate—even the star players. So think twice before you show up at Chase’s door in nothing but a trench coat.”
“Good tip.”
“Bring sunscreen and bug spray. And a tennis racket, maybe. They have nice clay courts. There’s also canoeing and swimming. The lake is nice and clear.”
She gives me a sidelong glance. “Are you packing a bikini?”
“No,” I say immediately, thinking once again of Eric. “Sounds like a bad idea.”
Zoe just sighs and shakes her head.
Chapter 39
No Bigger than a Poker Chip
Eric
Three hours on the ice at Lake Placid should feel like Communion. This is hallowed ground for hockey—the site of the Miracle on Ice, where college kids took down the Soviet machine in 1980. Every American player grows up dreaming of playing here. The ghosts of greatness are supposed to inspire you, push you to dig deeper, skate harder.
But after three hours, it’s just ice. And I’m tired.
The official team training camp is part bonding experience, part fitness test. The roster has been winnowed once already, and now the coaches are focusing on compatibility—who plays well with whom. It’s a time to start thinking about maximizing performance, setting goals, dreaming big about the season ahead.
Right now, all I’m dreaming about is a shower and a nap.
“Heads up, Captain!” Weber calls, sending the puck my way during a passing drill. I trap it cleanly, pivot, and prepare to fire it back when I spot movement in my peripheral vision.