If she knew him better, she’d know how much remaining quiet went against the grain for him. Regardless, he’d managed to keep his damn mouth shut, because he was bound and determined to play by the rules. All that mattered to him was getting back out onto the ice with his teammates. Well, that and protecting his contract.
The first thing he’d done following those initial meetings with team management after the video went viral was to call his lawyer and agent, certain James had been bluffing about breaking his contract. Both had informed him the president was within his legal rights to terminate Tank’s contract if James felt he was doing anything to damage the reputation of the club.
Then they both told him the same thing Coach Fields had: do what he was told, keep his head down, and stay out of trouble.
“Hey, Mouse,” he said, as he climbed into the front seat of McKenna’s VW Golf. The damn thing felt like a clown car to him, given his long legs. He’d already pushed the seat back as far as it would go, but he still had to fold himself in half to get inside. Tank had offered to drive every single day, but McKenna had set up the trunk of her vehicle like a mini-Stingrays’ swag shop. She’d continued to reject his invitation to drive, claiming there would be too much stuff to transfer over, so eventually he stopped bothering.
“You realize this car is ridiculous,” he said, feeling like a jackass with his knees pressed against the dash.
“You’ve gotta stop hating on my poor car,” she retorted, stroking the steering wheel affectionately. “She’s my baby.”
“I guess you need a car this small so you can reach the gas pedal and brake,” he teased.
McKenna rolled her eyes. He was becoming very familiar with her eye rolls, because he managed to provoke them no less than twenty times a day. “Wow. You managed to work in a comment about my height,” she glanced at her phone, “in less than three minutes. That might be your personal best.”
In addition to giving her shit about her car, Tank also teased McKenna about her tiny stature.
“I’m just stating facts. You are a tiny human being. So small, in fact, I could probably tuck you in the pocket of my jacket.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not that tiny.”
He laughed. “Seriously, Mouse. How tall are you?”
“Five-four,” she replied haughtily, as if her tone could make her appear bigger.
He snorted. “Compared to my six-three frame, I assure you, that’s tiny.”
She huffed but didn’t continue to argue. Because how could she? She was vertically challenged. And the fact she was petite as well as short only made her look even tinier. Tank bet she didn’t weigh one-ten soaking wet.
“I have to admit, when I first started this job, it took me some time to get used to how big you guys are. At my last job, most of the men I worked with were regular-sized.”
“What was your last job?” he asked.
“I worked in the marketing department for a small sporting goods chain. Pete’s. They have seven stores in Ohio,” she said. “With plans to expand into a couple more states eventually.”
“I think I’ve heard of Pete’s,” he said. “Why did you leave that job?” It occurred to Tank that while he’d become an open book to McKenna, she shared considerably less with him. He didn’t like that after two weeks, he still didn’t know much about her. Part of that was simply because they’d been busy, focused on salvaging his reputation. But also because McKenna, like Victor, was proving to be a very private person.
She didn’t answer immediately, and for a moment, he wondered if she was going to blow him off.
“I, um… There wasn’t a whole lot of room for advancement there,” she finally said.
Tank wasn’t sure why, but he was damn sure that was a lie. For one thing, a company of that size would have plenty of room for advancement, especially if they were planning to expand. For another, she wasn’t looking at him, focusing on the road more than she needed to—and she was blushing.
McKenna was a true ginger, possessing dark auburn hair, a pale complexion, and a freckled nose. As such, she was prone to blushing, something she’d admitted hating a few days earlier. Tank had been amused, then pointed out that she should’ve known better than to confess something like that to him, because he would take making her blush as a challenge. And he had.
“Were you into sports in school?” Tank asked, deciding to continue digging.
“Not in the playing sense but as a spectator, yeah. I was on my school’s yearbook staff, and senior year, I was made the editor of the sports section. I can’t begin to count how many nights a week I spent at school, sitting in the bleachers of the gym or the football stadium, taking pictures and interviewing the fans and athletes.”
“Sounds like you knew what you wanted to do for a living right out of the gate.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I guess I did. I like writing. Not just about sports but about the players and the way a game like hockey can bring people from all different walks of life together.”
“Were you always a hockey fan?” Tank asked.
McKenna nodded. “Oh yeah. It was impossible to live in my house and not be one. My mom literally lives and breathes hockey.”
“Your mom?” Tank asked, amused. “Not your dad?”
