“Look, I know you hate hockey players, but please? There’s someone I really want to see on the team.”
“Who?” I ask. Gathering up the last of my things, we leave the tutoring center behind us.
“Marcus Evans.”
“Of course you’d go for the captain.”
“Alternate, Ang. He’s the alternate. You know I like men in power positions.”
I snort laugh as the sun hits us both in the face. Fishing my sunglasses out of my bag, I let her lead me in the direction we have to go.
“Is it really a power position if he’s the alternate?”
“Oh, honey. You wouldn’t like who’s the captain.”
“I know I don’t.”
Because I know exactly who the captain of the hockey team is.
Troy Hollins.
The son of the man who made my dad’s life miserable when he was in the NFL. I heard all about Derek Hollins growing up.
His son, Troy?
Bad news. Stay away. Far, far away.
“Tsk. I’d expect better from you, Angela Brooks-Young.”
“I don’t have to like everyone.”
But I usually do. Ever since I was little, I’ve never met a stranger. I guess it was in my nature, growing up in the public spotlight as I did with a dad who was a Super Bowl winning quarterback for the Denver Mountain Lions.
“You are so stubborn.”
The closer we get to the ice rink, the more my nerves are starting to ratchet up. Crowds are gathering outsidewhere a stage is set up. Speakers sit on either side so whoever is at the podium can be heard.
“I’m not stubborn because I don’t like hockey players, Harper.”
“I believe the term you’ve used is ‘the scourge of the earth.’”
That gets a laugh out of me. “Hey, I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
Just because I have issues with hockey players doesn’t mean I can’t support my friend. Even if they have burned me in the past.
One specific hockey player. One I wish I’d never met.
We find a spot in the crowd right as the team comes onto the stage.
“There he is!” Harper points to one of two guys that are standing in front of everyone else.
The man in question is tall with a broad chest. Tattoos peek out on each bicep from under his hockey tee. He has thick, wavy brown hair and scruff that lines his jaw.
“Isn’t he gorgeous?”
I don’t hear her question, nodding because the man my eyes are now focused on has stepped up to the microphone.
“What’s up, Sand Sharks?!” Troy calls out to the eagerly waiting fans. People are cheering loudly as he waves his arms to get them even louder.
