“Well, if you want life-changing and sports-related, there’s a biography I’d recommend. But it’s not hockey. It’s about basketball.”
“Oh?” I leaned back in my chair. “What’s the title?”
“The Last Shot by Darcy Frey,” Susan said. “Have you heard of it?”
I hadn’t.
Before I could respond, Zaila leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “You’ll like it. High school players fighting for college scholarships—it’s gritty, raw, probably right up your alley.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve read it?”
“Of course,” she said, her lips tipping into a smile. “I don’t sit around painting sunsets.”
Susan smirked. “Not a bad book for comparing dreams and reality. Or for discussing how sports reflect wider societal struggles.”
“I knew you’d say that,” Zaila teased. “And knowing Gunnar, he’s probably more interested in the moments on the court. While it’s not hockey, there’s a lot of overlap I think you’d appreciate, Gunnar. Specifically about the necessary chemistry for team building.”
I didn’t know what was more disarming—the way they assumed I’d join in, or the way Zaila’s laugh felt like a jump shot swishing through the net. Pure and clean, no pretenses.
“I guess that’s going to the top of my reading list,” I said.
“If it’s in front of a nonfiction on business processes or World War II history, you’ll be happy, because it’s way more exciting,” Zaila noted.
“Maybe I like my books super boring,” I said. “To put me to sleep. I read a few extra textbooks for just that purpose.”
“You’re quite different from what I expected,” Susan said, shaking her head.
“And what did you expect?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “Someone less...genuine.”
The compliment caught me off guard, but filled me with quiet pride.
By the end of the evening, after a fabulous cherry pie, I was pretty sure Susan and I had charmed each other. As Zaila walked me to the door, I knew tonight had been more than just dinner. It had been a pivotal step forward.
“Thanks for making time for this,” Zaila said. “I know you’re busy.”
“For you? Always,” I replied.
Zaila reached out and hugged me, the first time she’d initiated that kind of contact. I was thrilled at the feel of her soft curves settling against my body. Unable to stop myself, I brushed my lips across her cheek, inhaling the faint aroma of her shampoo.
“This was really fun,” Zaila said.
She stepped out of my arms, and I missed her. I wanted her back—close to me, at my side. Zaila wasn’t just someone who fit into my life. She made it better in ways I hadn’t realized I needed.
As I drove away that night, I couldn’t wait to figure out what that meant. I began to plot how to keep her in my house, my life, and, hopefully, my bed.
Chapter 19
Zaila
Over the next few days, as the start of the hockey season approached, Jay’s impending mascot performance became the talk of the office. Tim had created a countdown calendar, much to Jay’s annoyance. Then, after a long lunch with Jeff one day, Jay’s attitude had shifted. What had started as dread morphed into determination.
I wasn’t sure what had caused the change, but it meant Jay was nicer to me, so I rolled with it.
The night of Jay’s debut as Gusher the oil derrick arrived with much fanfare on social media and local news coverage. After some tense back-and-forth, Jay had agreed to be the one to update our social media pages with the story of his bet, loss, and resulting turn as Gusher. Those posts generated a lot of engagement, and all signs pointed to a fun night of fan support for Jay. The marketing department, including Noelle, had made sure to be at the arena early. Tim and I scurried around until we found Jay in the locker room, already half-dressed in the Gusher costume.
“How’re you holding up?” Tim asked as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. Tim had become more fatherly toward me since the team-building retreat. I liked him in that role.
