Embarrassment rose to my cheeks. The announcer had noted my lack of focus, which wasn’t like me. I always stayed ahead of the game. But Zaila had gotten to me, and I didn’t like that. At all.
That was the lie I continued to tell myself for the rest of the game.
As the clock ticked toward the end of the third period, the score was a nail-biting 3-3. Every pass, every shot, every bodycheck was magnified by the pressure. The air in the arena crackled with anticipation when I intercepted a desperate pass from Tiffany, who then cowered against the boards at the far end of the ice. My lungs screamed as I propelled myself toward the net. Ten seconds left.
I ignored the burn in my legs and focused on the chance to redeem myself.
I wound up for a slap shot that would make Bobby Orr proud. I forgot about sodas, sexy young women, and hockey wives. This shot was all that mattered. As the puck rocketed off my stick, it turned into a blur of black against the bright white ice. The goalie—some tech billionaire with questionable skills but an ego too big to see his lack of talent—made a lackluster attempt. That guy was terrible at hockey and in life, and I hoped never to see the douche again.
Oh, that felt good. The buzzer blared as the puck nestled into the back of the net, Tech Bro threw off his helmet as he melted down on the ice. The crowd went ballistic. My team had snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, just as we should have.
For you, big brother.
I brought my fingertips to my lips and lifted them upward. Karl was the reason I’d strapped on skates, the reason I’d worked my ass off to make enough money to buy a team, and the reason I’d created a team he would have loved playing for.
My teammates swarmed me, their celebratory yells echoing in my ears. I ignored their back pats and scanned the stands.
Zaila stood near her seat, clapping and cheering, a grin on her beautiful face. When she caught my eye, her joy smoothed down into a small, shy smile that was just for me. And in that moment, despite the cheering crowd and the adrenaline pumping through my veins, all I could think was: I’d let her spill soda on me again. Anytime she wants.
Chapter 3
Zaila
I strode into Wildcatters Hockey headquarters the next morning, ten minutes earlier than my designated time, with my head high, just as my parents had taught me. Being early shows respect for the other person’s time. Project the confidence you want others to perceive in you. Those two statements had served my daddy well throughout his forty years in the military.
I missed him; I’d come to realize I’d always miss my father.
I smiled at the receptionist as I stopped at the front desk. Casually, I placed my hand on the gleaming surface, but that was so I didn’t face plant into the polished hardwood floor as my knees shook like a skyscraper during a Houston thunderstorm. If Gunnar Evaldson saw me today, would he throw me out?
I desperately hoped he’d forgotten the whole Soda Incident.
“Zaila Monroe. I’m the social media intern,” I said without my voice cracking. Minor victories.
“Of course, Ms. Monroe. You’re a few minutes early, which will win you brownie points with Lydia. She’s a stickler for time. I’m Flora.”
Nothing was going to win me points with Lydia, but I kept my mouth shut as I shook Flora’s hand, noting how well put-together she was. The Wildcatters organization must’ve been flush with cash because everything gleamed and sparkled, including the workers. I glanced down at my outfit, suddenly feeling like I’d shown up to a black-tie gala in pajamas.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I leaned in, lowering my voice. “I’m so excited to be here. My father was a huge hockey fan.”
Flora smiled. “Totally understand. I knew nothing about the sport, but I learned once I got the job because this organization is fire, not just in the league but as a place of employment.” She winked. “You’re going to love being a Wildcatter.”
My smile grew as excitement hummed under my skin. “I sure hope so. Though Lydia’s not impressed with me because I spilled my soda on Mr. Evaldson last night at the charity game.”
Flora laughed. “No, Lydia doesn’t like you because you’re young and attractive. And she has a thing for Mr. Evaldson. Fair warning, most of the people who work here do because, OMG, that man is…” She waved her hand in front of her face, and I giggled. “If you do a good job, others will notice, and that means Lydia will have no choice but to acknowledge you as well. Mr. Evaldson runs a meritocracy.”
“Good to know.” I nodded and returned to my game face, ready to start the day and my career. This internship had been highly coveted among those in my graduate program. Getting the spot had taken an insane number of dedicated hours and lots of letters of recommendation. My hope was to turn this position into a permanent one at the end of the season or use the social media skills I learned here to move into marketing at a large firm. Thankfully, Houston had many to choose from, but the Wildcatters had been top of my list thanks to their consistent high marks from current employees and the generous pay package.
Still, as Flora led me to Lydia’s office, it felt like I was walking into the lion’s den—if lions wore designer suits and discussed social media strategies.
Lydia might be a stickler for time, and she clearly hadn’t forgiven me for the Great Soda Incident, but she seemed to have determined that encounter would mean Gunnar didn’t like me. That allowed her to be much nicer than I’d expected. She walked me through my job description, showed me the main pages I’d help manage, and ensured that I met the other three people on the socials team, which included two guys named Jay and Tim, as well as Veronica, who handled copyediting.
Jay Welks—I remembered his last name but not the rest of the teams’—smiled warmly at me, flashing a deep dimple that paired well with his straight, white teeth. He seemed to be the resident expert. The rest of the team was polite, if guarded. Tim offered a small, awkward wave.
“We’re lean, but we’re awesome,” Lydia said with a chuckle. “We take care of our players and organization because they’re the best in the league.”
A recurring theme of the day for sure. Everyone who worked for the organization gushed about the quality of the players and personnel.
“Mr. Evaldson hand-picked every senior staffer,” Lydia said. She leaned in closer, her eyes wide. “And everyone stayed.” She gave a slight nod to emphasize her point about no turnover.
