“Oh, yeah.” A spark of challenge rises in his eyes, and it makes something flip in my chest. “Practically bending over backwards to get me up to speed. I feel so welcome.”
The corner of his mouth slides up, eyes bright.
“Really, now.” My dad sounds pleased. “That’s great that you two are getting along so well. I love to see it. I know you have a busy day, so I’ll let you give me the rundown.”
“Game against Colorado tomorrow,” Tate says. “Their offense is weak since Delacroix and Anseuw are injured, so we’ll devote extra time to offensive drills today. The analysts are preparing video content of Colorado’s favored plays.”
“Goldman has a hell of a shot,” my dad adds. Colorado’s center, I think.
“And that’s why we won’t let him touch the puck tomorrow night,” Tate answers.
My dad chuckles. “Okay. Go on.”
“I have my regular meeting with Miller this afternoon, and lunch with Walker.”
“Sounds like another day in paradise. Talk to you later.”
“Bye, Ross.”
“Oh, and Jordan?” my dad asks.
“Yes?” I can hear the wariness in my voice.
“There’s an event in a couple weeks, a charity gala for disabled youth in hockey. Tate will attend along with a few of the players, and I expect you there, as well. Any event Tate attends on behalf of the team, I want you at.”
My stomach sinks. Something public? A chance for my dad to show me around, I’m assuming. I want to protest, but what’s the point?
For the next couple months, my schedule and my life belong to the Vancouver Storm.
“Got it,” I respond.
“Great. Have a great day, you two.”
“Bye, Ross.” Tate hangs up the phone before he leans back in his chair and regards me with an inscrutable expression. “The event is black tie. Do you have something to wear?”
No. I’m embarrassed that he even knew to ask this. Am I that much of a mess? Is it that obvious that I’m so out of my element here? “I’ll find something.”
He studies me, looking like he wants to say something, before he stands. “Come on. I’ll show you where you can find the coffee. You seem like you need it.”
CHAPTER 8
JORDAN
“J-dawg.”Luca gives me a look of confusion as I linger outside the dressing room later, waiting for practice to start. The twenty-three-year-old defenseman towers over me in his skates, pads, and practice jersey. From the edges of his helmet, his wavy dark hair sticks out. He’s in perpetual need of a haircut. “Are you actually here or is this the best dream ever?”
The guys are filing out of the dressing room and onto the ice for their morning skate, giving me strange looks, and I brace myself.
“You’re not dreaming, Walker.” Tate claps him on the shoulder as he passes. “We’re blessed with Jordan’s presence.” He takes a seat on the bench and starts to lace up his skates with short, practiced pulls. “Take a seat, J-dawg.”
Tate hits the ice and skates loops with the team for a few minutes to warm up, and I watch his powerful, graceful movements until I realize I’m staring and focus my attention on the guys. Tate comes to a sudden stop on the ice in front of me, making me jump. The corner of his mouth quirks up again before he nods over at Alexei, who lets out a loud whistle. The guys skate to the area in front of the bench.
“Good morning, everyone,” Tate says and the guys fall silent. “We have a visitor today.”
Their eyes all go to me, and I straighten up, flicking my eyebrows up once in greeting.
“Jordan will be shadowing me for a bit.”
A bit. Does he not think I’ll stick around for the entire season? Wow. Asshole.
