“Jack. Please. ‘Callahan’ makes me feel like I’m back in the principal’s office.”
That gets an actual laugh out of her, short but genuine. “Were you in the principal’s office a lot?”
“More than I’d like to admit. Turns out fighting in the hallways isn’t considered ‘channeling your competitive energy appropriately.’” I give her my most charming grin. “I’ve mellowed since then.”
“Somehow I doubt that.” But she’s smiling now, a proper smile that transformsher entire face.
“So, Tara Collins, who knows more about hockey strategy than most of my teammates—have dinner with me. Not breakfast,” I add quickly, seeing her about to protest. “Just dinner. We can talk about hockey. I’ll even let you tell me everything else I’m doing wrong.”
“I don’t date players. Period.” But she says it softer this time, less like a hard rule and more like she’s reminding herself.
“Why not?”
“Because—” She pauses, seeming to wrestle with how much to say. “It's hard enough getting taken seriously as a female sports journalist without that kind of reputation.”
Yeah, I can see that. The sports world is brutal for women trying to break in. “Okay, fair. But what if I promise it’s not a date? Just two people who love hockey, talking shop.”
“Nothing you do is ‘just’ anything, Callahan. I’ve seen you play. You don’t do subtle.”
“True,” I admit. “But I also rarely have to work this hard for a ‘yes’. You’re making me earn it, and I respect that.”
She studies me for a long moment, and I feel like I’m being scouted—evaluated for more than just my stats. “You really want to talk hockey strategy? That’s your angle?”
“My angle is that you’re smart as hell, you know the game, and you’re not impressed by the fact that I can put a puck in the net. That’s rare.” I lean in closer, lowering my voice. “And yeah, you’re gorgeous, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about what’s under that Red Sox jersey. But mostly? I want to know what else you think I’m doing wrong, because something tells me you’ve got opinions.”
“Oh, I’ve got opinions.” The corner of her mouth quirks up. “Your transition game needs work. You’re a half-second slow reading the rush, which is why you take so many stick penalties.”
“Jesus. You got any compliments in there, or is this just a complete takedown?”
“You want compliments?” She leans back, considering. “Fine. Your board work is some of the best I’ve seen. You protect the puck as if it’s your firstborn. And that backhand sauce pass you did in Game Five against Montreal? That was pure art.”
The fact that she remembers a specific pass from months ago does something to me. “You remember that play?”
“I remember good hockey when I see it.” She finishes her whiskey, and I can see her preparing to leave. “Look, this has been fun, but?—”
“Coffee.” The word comes out more desperate than I intended. “Not dinner. Not a date. Just coffee. Tomorrow morning. I promise I won’t even try to charm you.”
“That you think you’ve been charming is adorable.”
“So, is that a yes?”
Before she can answer, Marcus swoops in. “Collins! Looking fine as ever. Are you cruising for stories? Because I’ve got a few stories that are definitely off-the-record...”
She cuts him down even faster than she did me. “O’Sullivan, that line didn’t work the last time, and it’s not working now. But hey, maybe try it on the next girl. Third time’s the charm, right?”
The blonde sitting next to her snorts into her cocktail. Marcus raises his hands in surrender and retreats, shooting me an ‘I’m going to win this challenge’ look.
Tara turns back to me, and there’s something softer in her expression now. “You put him up to that?”
“What? No. That’s just Marcus being Marcus.” I shake my head. “Though I’m realizing how that looked—two players hitting on you back-to-back. I’m sorry. That’s exactly the shit you were talking about.”
She blinks, as if she wasn’t expecting the apology. “Most guys don’t get it.”
“I’m trying to.” And I mean it. Something about her makes me want to be better than myreputation. “Look, forget coffee. Forget everything. But answer me one question?”
“What?”
“If I weren’t Jack Callahan, captain of the Bruisers, would you say yes?”
