With that, I pointed at Erikson and Helsing and barked, “Be fucking leaders.”
Coach Simpson leaned against his office doorway, his expression tight and his lips pressed together. It was hard to tell if it was annoyance, disappointment, or anger. Probably a combination of all three and I held up a hand. “I’ll be in the stands.”
“Come here after the game.”
“You got it, sir. Good luck.” I ducked my head, my adrenaline pumping harder than it had since I was on the ice. I paced the hallway that led to the stands and took a few minutes to settle my breathing.
Why did Coach and the captains let Cal act like that? Was there something I didn’t know? I pinched the bridge of my nose and forced myself to go calm down. Patrick and Paxton would’ve handled that with me in a heartbeat. No excuses for being a piece of prima donna shit. God, I missed home. The team, the food, the way things fit together easier there.
My muscles throbbed from tensing so damn much that I sighed in relief at seeing Naomi sitting behind the team bench. She styled her hair in two braids, and two large hoops hung from her ears. Her hat had the team logo on it, and she even wore a Central State jersey.
I was a sucker for women in hockey jerseys. The fantasies were endless; wearing just the jersey, the long legs,fuck.I now pictured Naomi that way and shook my head hard, like it would fling the image out of my mind.
I’d already pissed her dad off once today. Twice in a night was out of the question. I didn’t have to fake my smile though as I approached her. “Hey, Fletcher. Ready for your selfie?”
“Of course, a bet’s a bet,” she said, grinning at me. Her pink lips pulled up, and she leaned in closer once I sat down. “Here’s the thing though… I went ahead and already did it.”
“Excuse me?” I took the phone from her hands and zoomed in on the photo in question. She definitely stood next to the bird. “We didn’t agree onwhatyou’d do in the photo.”
“That’s not my fault. You said take a picture at the game, and I followed through. The devil is in the details, Reiner.”
“You think you’re slick, don’t you?” I studied the image more and found my mood improving. She wore four bead necklaces in the photo and looked like a huge hockey fan. I refrained from making a comment abouthowshe got those beads. “Well played, Naomi.”
“Thank you. I lose gracefully.” She took her phone back and sat up straight so her shoulder wasn’t touching mine. “What did my dad think of the data report?”
My stomach sank. I showed him the report last Saturday, but he just tossed it on his desk. He didn’t evenglanceat it. He wanted me to summarize the contents, so I did. But she looked up at me with so much hope that I couldn’t be that crass. This mattered to her.
“Not sure it hit the mark.” I winced. “Look, I’m no expert at data and I was a decent player but not an all-star, so maybe my advice is helpful, maybe it’s not. But,” I said, pausing to read her reaction.
The only indication she could’ve been upset was a little line between her eyebrows. She tilted her head to the side, like she was interested in what I was going to say. “Your dad has a bunch of guys who do stats for him. I’m not sure why your dad wanted you to partner up with me. His motives are unclear, now that I think about it. He runs a great club, but there’s a lot I don’t understand.”
“Try living with him as a kid,” she mumbled, easing any tension I had.
I smiled. “Thinkdifferently. I know you’re all data and numbers and blah, blah, blah, but he probably has that information already. Think outside the box, or in this case, rink.” I showed all my teeth in a cringe, gauging her reaction. “Sorry? Was that too lame?”
“No, it’s good advice.” She brushed off my stupid comment. “There’s an internship I want this summer for a big data warehousing company. They receive thousands of applicants. Our professor told us to be original when we apply. Everyone chose social media data or a political engagement online as topics. Stats in hockey isn’t a new angle by any means, but it felt natural. A way to be unique against my peers.”
“Then stand out. Make the numbers jump off the chart.”
She rolled her eyes. “I appreciate the insight. Gives me something to think about.”
“Right on.” I leaned back into the seat and propped my elbows on my thighs, the adrenaline from earlier still trying to find an outlet. My knees bounced, and my neck burned. Did I go too far? Would Coach stop my internship? I’d end up confused and without a goal, again. The team warmed up on the ice doing laps, and Cal didn’t seem any different.
Did I fuck things up without making a change at all?
“Hey, you alright? Your left leg is shaking a whole lot.”
“I might’ve done something stupid.” I glanced at her, and she had that line between her brows, no judgement, just curiosity on her pretty face. “Like, mess up my internship stupid.”
Her pretty eyes widened. “Shit, what did you do?”
“I overstepped. I saw something going on with a player, and I addressed it. Might’ve cussed. Definitely yelled. It just… wasn’t cool how he treated another person.” I ran a hand through my hair and pulled the ends a little bit. My shoulders sagged with regret, and my stomach twisted as I replayed the moment. It wasn’t my call. It wasn’t my team.
“Hm,” Naomi said, clicking her tongue a few times. “You might’ve overstepped, but did you feel like it was the right thing to do?”
“Yes.”
“What was he doing?”
