“Mr. Tremblay! Mr. Tremblay!”
I pause near the exit.
A kid, maybe eight years old, is running toward where Louis is standing beside his car, across the aisle. He’s wearing a jersey that’s three sizes too big with Lou’s number 1 on it. His mom trails behind him, an apologetic look on her face.
Louis glances up as the little dude approaches, and the broad grin that spreads across his face makes something low down in my gut flutter. He's unfairly gorgeous, his hair still wet from the shower, his gray t-shirt stretched tightly across the broad muscles of his back and wrapped around his massive biceps.
“Hey, buddy,” Lou says, crouching down so he’s eye level with the kid. “Nice jersey. You play?”
“Yeah! I’m a goalie! Like you!” The kid is almost vibrating with excitement.
“A goalie, huh? The toughest job in the world.” Louis says solemnly. “You keeping your stick on the ice?”
“Always!”
“Good man.” Louis stands up and reaches into the back of his SUV. He rummages around for a second, pushing aside gym bags and what looks like a pile of takeout containers. He pulls out a stick. One of his, probably game-used.
He grabs a Sharpie from his pocket, uncaps it with his teeth, and scribbles on the blade.
“Here you go, killer,” he says, handing it over. “Don’t let any soft ones in, okay?”
The kid looks like he just won the lottery. “Whoa! Thanks, Mr. Tremblay!”
“Call me Lou.” He fist-bumps the kid, then flashes another smile at the mom, whose eyes are wide with shock.
“Oh my gosh, that’s too much. He just wanted to see if you would sign his jersey! We didn’t mean to—”
Louis interrupts her with a wave of his hand and another smile. “It’s nothing, honestly. That stick’s been hanging around in the back of my car for a few weeks.”
“Wow, thank you so, so much, Mr.—Lou!” the kid says, his eyes bright as he jumps up and down with excitement.
“Yes, thank you. He’ll treasure it,” the mom says.
Standing in the shadows, I tighten my grip on my bag as they chat for another minute before the mom and the kid head across the parking lot, and Lou gets into the driver’s seat.
Man, this would be a lot easier if Louis Tremblay were nothing more than an arrogant, bullying prick coasting on his natural talent and charisma. It would fit my own narrative perfectly: the hardworking underdog versus the entitled star.
But he didn’t know I was watching him with that kid. He wasn’t acting. There are no cameras here, no one else around. It was just Louis being a good guy.
I unlock my own car, toss my bag into the trunk, and slump into the driver’s seat.
“Dammit,” I whisper, resting my forehead against the steering wheel.
He’s the jerk who pranked me and made me look stupid in front of everyone. But he’s also a hero who makes little kids’ dreams come true.
He’s the only person on this team I can’t stop watching.
And I have to take his job if I’m going to be the Sasquatch’s starting goalie.
Chapter 3
Louis
The Cattle Baron has a classic steak house vibe: lots dark wood, red leather seats, and white tablecloths. The smell of seared meat and money hangs heavily, and the atmosphere makes me think of oilmen wearing cowboy hats gathered around these tables, making billion-dollar deals.
The team takes over a private room in the back, and within a few minutes, the decibel level rises above what would be considered normal for a fancy restaurant. Hockey players aren’t exactly known for our inside voices.
It’s familiar and comfortable. Usually, this is where I thrive, where I recharge my battery over a laid-back dinner with the boys.
