Page 12 of Lucky Shot

“He’s my hall pass,” I blurt the words out without thinking and then die a slow death of embarrassment as the silence hangs on the line.

“He is for many of us,” she finally murmurs and puts me out of my mortified misery.

“I’m sorry. That was unprofessional of me. I shouldn’t have—”

“And yet honest,” she states matter of fact.

I bury my face in my hands and take a deep breath. When I look up, Suri is angling her head and studying me even closer.

“Can we start the last part of this conversation over?” I ask Ari and chuckle.

“Yes, but I rather like how candid you are.” She pauses. “Shall we try it again?”

“Please. For my dignity.”

Ari clears her throat, and when she speaks, she’s back with a totally professional tone. “The player we’re having come meet your academy is none other than Alexander Hardy.”

“You’re not playing around,” I say.

Ari bursts out laughing. “No, Whitney. We’re not playing around.”

“Right.” My heart races. “Okay.” Alexander fucking Hardy. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. “Thank you, Ari. I’m . . . so grateful and overwhelmed by this opportunity,” I say.

“It’s our pleasure. Feel free to call if you have any other questions. I’m at your disposal to answer them,” she says. “Is there anything else I can answer for you at this time?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Of course. And Miss Barnes?”

“Hmm?”

“I still like your original reaction better,” she says and then ends the call.

When I set my phone down, Suri is staring at me expectantly with curiosity etched in every damn line of her face.

“There is no way that just happened,” I say, shell-shocked.

“I’d love to commiserate or confirm or anything, but I can’t because I have no freaking clue what just happened.” She throws her hands up in dramatic fashion like only she can.

“Alexander Hardy,” I say.

“Who’s that?” she asks.

I throw my head back and laugh. Suri might be my best friend and have to listen to me talk about soccer more times than she could ever care to count over the past ten years, but a die-hard fan she is not. “Alexander Hardy. The huge, ginormous soccer superstar. Hardy is—”

“Oh. Him. The super-hot, fashion-forward guy whose face has been freaking everywhere over the past few years?”

Leave it to her to notice looks and fashion. “Yes, him. My celebrity crush. My sports idol. My—”

“Your hall pass,” she deadpans, eyes wide and look searching. “Did you really just say that to her?” Her eyes widen before she throws her head back and giggles.

Heat creeps up my cheeks again, but I don’t care. It’s Suri, and if there is anyone I can be myself with, it’s her. “Yes. Yes, I did.” I shove up out of my chair and pace the small confines of my office as excitement owns every part of me. “Alexander freaking Hardy is coming here. To the academy. In the flesh. Like ohmygod!” It’s the first time I’ve let myself squeal like the school girl I suddenly feel like.

“I’m sensing some excitement,” she says sarcastically, but her grin says she knows how important this is for me and the club.

“Duh. Beyond the looks and the—”

“Sex appeal.”