“You looked good out there.”
I know. Torn between enjoying the compliment and resenting the pick-me energy I seemed to exude in waves around this guy, I made my expression as vacant as possible.
“Oh, were you waiting for me to reciprocate?”
He smirked. “I don’t need your adulation. I get it from the fans.”
I laughed against my better judgment. “Yes, you are beloved, Nazarov. But maybe not by everyone.”
His fingers went to that bruise, a gentle wipe to shake off a bad memory, perhaps?
Before I could question it again, he gestured toward my water bottle. “May I?”
“Sure.”
I couldn’t help watching his strong, tanned throat as it bulged with each swallow. That took me back.
He passed the bottle back to me. “Your nephew is a great little skater.”
“He is. Though not so little. He’s shot up five inches in the last year. His bones must be creaking.”
“Talent runs in the family.”
“We’re not blood related, but the nurture was definitely there. Gunnar was the best hockey mentor I could have had.”
He paused a moment. Those silences were much more comfortable than they had any right to be. “What does Gunnar think of Fad?”
“It’s Thad, you dolt, and his opinion is of no consequence.” A lie, because Gunnar’s opinion was about the only man’s I cared for apart from Jason’s. “Jason knows, by the way.”
“You told him?”
“Yeah, he deke’d the hell out of me and tricked me into confessing. I thought you’d already blabbed.”
“You asked for my silence, so I have kept it.”
“But you’re still determined to make things hard for me.”
He passed over that observation. “What about your boyfriend? Is he in the circle of trust?”
“Don’t you worry about my boyfriend.” How did he know I hadn’t shared? I should have lied and said Thad was absolutely fine with it because he trusted me.
But I didn’t. I wasn’t sure how Thad would react. I wasn’t sure how I wanted him to react.
I needed to leave Alexei’s orbit, especially as Conor was skating over. That kid was far too observant, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for me to paint a neutral front around other people—or my husband.
After camp, I sat in the Athenas locker room and did a quick scan of the sports news. My former client, Danny Wilson, had signed with my old boss, Kit Mallinson. There was also an article about Felix Shay being close to making a deal with Morris & Co, a big outfit in New York. It was rare for signing rumors to make the trades, especially with draft prospects, so I wondered if Daddy Shay had leaked that one to score some leverage. I’d left a message for Felix, telling him to call me if he wanted to talk, but I’d received no response. Neither had I heard a peep from Arkady Volkov.
Signing new talent was the hardest part of my job. Once I had them in place, I knew exactly how to handle their careers, but getting them to initially trust you was the biggest hurdle. Trust was big in my business. In my life. I didn’t want to come off a nag, so I tried to limit my cold calling to once a week. Speaking of, time for a check-in with Riley Thorne, my white whale.
I got her voice mail again. “Hey, Riley, this is Lauren Yates. I left a message for you last week, but I’ve no doubt you’re enjoying your summer before you gear up for your final year at Michigan. Go Wolverines!” I shook my head. Sometimes I was such a dork. “Anyway, Mia said that you might be passing through Chicago in a few weeks, and if that’s the case, I’d love to get an in-person chat on the books. I think we might have a lot in common. Take care.”
I hung up, feeling anxious. Was I coming across as desperate? Probably. But I had to keep soldiering on.
A text came through from Rebels GM, Ryder Calloway, saying he was looking forward to a “productive discussion” about Francois Gaultier’s contract, which was currently up for renewal. Thank God he was part of the Rebels Cup-winning team. At least I had some leverage there.
I looked up to find the women’s locker room was empty, and my stomach was rumbling, so it was time for lunch. On my way to the players’ lounge, I passed the men’s locker room. The door was ajar and someone was talking.
Alexei. I recognized those Russian grunts anywhere—and he sounded agitated.
