If he knew anything about me, he’d know I would never jeopardize a client relationship by getting overly personal. He’d know my record spoke for itself.
I grabbed a fresh drink from a passing waiter’s tray and downed it in one. I’d never had issues with ethics in the past. Nor would I in the future.
I discarded my empty glass on the bar and returned to the party, pressing the napkin deeper into my clutch until it crumpled.
12
Hunter
We were wheels-down in Nashville before the sun even crested the skyline. A pale orange glow cut across the tarmac as the team bus rolled us from the airport to the hotel, everyone still half-asleep, scrolling their phones or tugging baseball caps down over their faces.
Theo slumped into the seat beside me and jabbed his elbow at my ribs. “You ready for your babysitter to tell you how to breathe today?”
A chorus of muffled laughs came from the row behind, and Mason added, “Better be a good boy, Callahan. She’s probably got a Canva presentation lined up about how to smile for the cameras.”
“You guys done?” I said, stretching my legs out into the aisle. “Because she’s the reason half of you aren’t getting fined this month. Maybe try a thank you instead.”
That shut them up. Theo raised an eyebrow but didn’t push, and Mason grinned like he’d just seen a unicorn.
“What?” I asked.
“You defending Holly, that’s what.” Mason shook his head with a laugh. “Didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”
“Sorry to say it,” Theo chided, a somber look on his face. “But itlooks like Stockholm Syndrome has kicked in. He’s fallen in love with his captor.”
“Don’t blame him,” Shawn piped up. Apparently his headphones were just for show, and he could hear everything being said. “Have you seen those tight skirts she wears?”
This seemed to fire up a whole other side to them, and he leaned across the aisle, headphone ripped clean off now. “Scratch that. Did you get a load of her at the gala the other night?”
I ignored the wolf whistles and laughter, pulling my hat lower and turning toward the window. I preferred it when they were making fun of me.
By puck drop that night, I was a different animal. Like something had gotten into me between the horrific co-captaincy against the Ducks and the sweaty Nashville air.
Everything slowed down the way it only does when you’re in the zone. Glove like a magnet, body reading plays before they even formed. The Predators came at us hard and heavy, but I held the crease like a wall. Save after save after save.
We won 3–1, and the guys mobbed me at the buzzer, slapping my helmet, shouting my name. The adrenaline running through me was insane. I’d finally found my play. Finally knew who I was on the crease.
As we left the ice, I caught a glimpse of Holly near the tunnel, iPad in hand. For once she wasn’t scowling. She was clapping, quick and discreet, eyes on me. I almost tripped.
The next morning was the team visit to the children’s hospital. The bus smelled like coffee and sweat, everyone in their game-day suits minus ties. Holly was at the front, hair pulled into an easy ponytail, reading off a sheet.
“Remember, the hospital has a strict photography policy,” she said, walking the aisle like a flight attendant. “No signing anything without permission from staff. No posting photos without clearance. And for God’s sake, no foul language.”
“Why the fuck not?” Tucker said, and got the whole bus laughing.
She didn’t even blink. “And try not to look like you just rolled out of a bar. This is for the kids, not your Instagram.”
Mason smirked. “She’s looking at you, Grayson.”
“Bite me.” He pulled off his cap and threw it with alarming accuracy to hit Mason square in the face.
Holly stopped beside me, one hand on the seat back. “Are you listening?”
“Relax,” I said. “I promise I won’t corrupt their innocence.”
She eyed me for a moment, then gave in to a quick smile. “Can’t blame me for not taking you for a safe bet.”
“I just had my best game of the season,” I reminded her. “Safest hands in Texas, right now.”
