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Still, Slade took it upon himself to scare away any prospective athlete boyfriend, which then bled into the world of figure skating. It isn’t surprising that my prospective new partners learned about Slade’s threat since the ice skaters and the hockey players all share the same ice.
Whether Slade's threat to a potential skating partner was explicit or implicit, he was responsible for the damage.
“Nice work, Sam Roberts. I always knew I liked him,” Tessa says with a grin.
“He can do that? Force Slade to sign on with a farm team instead of an NHL team?” Autumn asks with one eyebrow downturned like something doesn’t add up.
I have to agree with her that it did seem odd that Slade would agree to be exiled when he had a heaping handful of the top NHL teams wanting his signature on their contracts.
It just serves my theory even further that Slade’s nose is so far up my father’s ass that he would do whatever my father told him to do.
“He didn’t have to force him. Slade went willingly. And now he’s back,” I sigh.
It’s been four years, and he’s still taking marching orders from my father. He could have told my father to cram it at any point, but he didn’t. He waited patiently in Canada like the good little soldier until my father’s judgment was over.
Now it is, and of all the places my father thought to send him, he sent him right back into my line of sight.
“I can’t believe Sam brought him back here. Though Lake says that besides an obvious chip on his shoulder, the kid can play hockey,” Tessa says.
“Chip on his shoulder?” I ask.
“Lake just said that it seems like he’s got something to prove the way he acts like a team of one who doesn’t want to pass the puck. But I guess he sort of does need to prove he can play after coming into a team that’s only one more win away from making it into the playoffs.”
I just shrug. He has nothing to prove to me. I already know the kind of person he is, and I have no interest in learning anything else.
“The way I see it, the best-case scenario is that he and I find a way to avoid each other.”
After another twenty minutes of finishing up lunch, we all head out to leave.
“Did you still want to get your chai?” Tessa asks.
“Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me. Go on ahead, the line looks long. I’ll catch up with you girls later.”
Autumn and Tessa nod and then head towards the exit. They have a meeting in ten minutes, and I don’t want them to be late.
I walk to the end of the line with five people before me, but then I see him.
Slade Matthews is at the front of the line.
With his stature, he’s impossible to miss, standing at least a foot taller than anyone else in line.
He’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that shows off his muscular arms. My eyes follow the full-sleeve tattooed arms from the tight-fitting cuff of his cotton shirt down to where the ink stops before his hands.
He didn’t have all those tattoos in college… or at least I don’t remember them. And although he was in good shape then… Slade seems so much bigger now.
He runs his hands through his messy, long hair.
It’s not long enough for a man bun, but just at the perfect length that when he runs his fingers through it, it leaves those feathered layers of dark chocolate strands running parallel along the side of his head.
He looks back over his shoulder and finds me staring. A smile quickly forms across his lips, and I dart my eyes away towards the coffee cart that holds things like Splenda packets and stir straws in an attempt to pretend I didn’t see him.
“Penelope,” I hear him call out.
I want to pretend I didn’t hear him and ignore his existence, but my father’s words echo in my head that I’m supposed to do my job to Phil Carlton’s standards. And Phil would want me to be nice to the newest member of the team and our best shot at winning the Stanley Cup. And if I ever want Phil to consider me for the GM position in the distant future, I need to show I can be diplomatic.
I can feel the eyes of other people in line, also looking back to see the person who has Slade’s attention.
“Oh… uh, hi,” I say back with a small and insignificant wave.
