“What the hell? I thought you were meeting me outside?” the guy asks when he reaches us. He does a double take when he sees me. “Hey, you’re Nico Laurent.”
“In the flesh.” I give a little bow. “And you are…”
“Connor McVoy. I play on the Diamonds with Roman.”
“And that is in which state?” I question, looking between the two.
“Colorado,” they answer in unison.
“Which is how far from California? That’s the only state I can comfortably point out on a map.”
“Uh…” Connor says, scratching his head. “By plane or car?”
I just laugh, shaking my head. “Well, it was nice meeting you both. Good luck at your game tomorrow.” I salute them and walk off, feeling Roman’s gaze on me the entire way.
“How do you eat that?” Étienne asks, staring at my piece of chicken.
“With a fork and knife, why do you ask?”
“You know what I mean,” he growls.
“It’s just food, Étienne. I have other things in life that fulfill me, I don’t need to put empty calories and processed sugars into my body to be happy.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Yes, you do. Stop lying. Oh—there he is.” I tap his arm, gesturing with my eyes to the entrance.
Étienne lost his shit when I told him who was watching me perform this morning. He was too worried about my schedule—because even though he’s myfakePA, he still has duties because of it. So, of course, him missing two very hot, very rugged hockey players wasmyfault.
“Mon Dieu, he’s hotter in person.” Étienne runs his hand down his face, then fans himself. “How am I going to survive around all these hot athletes?”
“Maybe you’ll take one to bed,” I comment, taking the last bite of my chicken. “I hear they have Olympic branded condoms around here…”
“Shut up. They do?” He looks around, interested.
I laugh, pushing my plate away and taking my water. From the corner of my eye, I watch Roman and his hockey player friends go to the food line. I don’t think he’s noticed me. I’m sure I would know if he did. His eyes are like laser beams. I feel them when they are on me like a magnet.
“How long are we staying here?” I ask, just as Jules and Andrew, our team’s pair, take their seats beside us.
“How’s it going?” Andrew asks. “You ready for tomorrow?”
“Definitely. You?”
“I’m trying not to throw up,” Jules says, looking a little pale.
“You’ll both do great.”
“How do you do it, Nico?” she asks. “Seriously, you always look so calm.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I just… get in my element. When I’m on the ice, I feel like me. Like the best version of me, and I feel like nothing can possibly go wrong.”
“I wish,” Jules scoffs.
“You two have been practicing for months,” Étienne says. “You’re going to do great.”
“Stop thinking about it,” I add. “That’s only going to make it worse. Just enjoy the day. Eat some chicken. When you’re on the ice, pretend it’s just another practice.”
“She’s barely eaten anything all day,” Andrew says.
