Beckett Kane is my player.
“Charlotte, let’s maybe not risk my entire career by saying that in a room full of reporters?”
“Ah, come on, Finley. They know he’s hot. Look at the way Carlson is salivating over there.”
I lift my cup again before whispering, “He’s likely already plotting how to spin some story about how women can’t coach men. You know, he said—”
“That you would be gone in less than a year? Yes. You’ve mentioned it. I’ve already renewed my membership in the Carlson-Hater’s Club.”
“It’s a lifetime membership,” I remind her, earning me a large eye roll.
“You’re getting good with the coffee cup.” Charlotte tracks my hand. “Though, now everyone’s going to think you’re tired.”
“Every adult on this planet is tired. I think it’s okay.”
“Maybe we can get a coffee company to sponsor you. Then, no one can say anything about you walking around with a cup all the time. You’re not tired, you’re a damn good brand ambassador.”
I let out a chuckle that I quickly stifle. “Shit, Charlotte. That’s the kind of creative thinking we need around here. Are you sure you don’t want to be an assistant coach?”
Charlotte raises an eyebrow at me, the look of distaste on her face almost comical. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d literally rather die.”
“How could Ipossiblytake that the wrong way?” I joke.
“But you should meet my friend Sage,” Charlotte continues. “Or maybe you already know her?”
I shake my head.
“Sage Sinclair? She’s the GM for the Denver Miners.”
“Oh, sure.” We’ve been introduced at a few parties, though I had no idea she was friends with Charlotte. I suppose it would make sense that they, as heiresses to athletic empires in Colorado, would be friends.
“Ugh, of course you’re both too busy watching boys play with balls to actually be friends with the cool women in the room,” Charlotte pouts.
“No balls in hockey,” I tease.
She nods thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed that the few times I mistakenly went home with a puck pusher.”
“You know, it feels like more than once might not be a mistake.”
“Well, there was one time with—”
I shake my head. “Nope. Don’t tell me. I made the team doctor and the team captain give the safe-sex, don’t-be-an-idiot talk before the season started. Other than that, I want to know less than nothing about what the players do outside this building.”
“Oh, boo. That’s so boring.”
“I cannot know about their sex lives and still pretend to take them seriously. They are twentysomething-year-old men with unlimited options for bad decisions. Honestly, getting nauseous just thinking about it.”
“So boring,” Charlotte says.
When the reporters’ questions move from interesting to redundant, Sabrina calmly steps behind Kane, thanking everyone for coming and effectively shutting down the interview.
I say goodbye to Charlotte, who slips out a side door, headed to put out some fire about the rider for the musician who is performing in the arena tonight. Then, I make my way down to the practice ice.
The team built a new practice facility that connects to the main arena itself three years ago, and it’s now one of the nicest facilities in the league. I have to admit, it’s an improvement from having the practice facility over twenty minutes away in some strip-mall-looking complex. A few of the players who’ve been in Denver for a long time and have families here have houses down by the old practice arena, but the majority of the guys made the same decision I did and live in an apartment or condo downtown, since everything is here.
“Kane,” I call, catching up with him in the hallway. He’s in a black jacket with the number four in Yeti blue on the left sleeve.
“Coach,” he replies, stopping in the middle of the hallway to wait for me.
