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Becca quickly comes into my office when the coast is finally clear.
“I fucked up, didn’t I?” she asks worriedly, wringing her palms together.
“No, Becca. I’m the one who messed up. I totally forgot to tell you to hold Nate’s file before going live. It’s my fault. Not yours.”
“So, what now? Do we pull him?”
“No. He’s already there, so we might as well leave him be. However, I do owe him an apology. After last night’s disastrous date with Agnes, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s thinking of firing us,” I groan, picking up my phone to call the one woman who knows every move her clients make before they do.
“Babe!” Piper greets enthusiastically on the second ring.
“Hi, Piper. I need a favor.”
“Sure thing. Anything for you, you know that. How can I help?”
“Do you know where I can find Nathan Wilder right now?”
“Nate? He’s probably listing the pros and cons of a vasectomy right about now.” She giggles at a joke I’m not privy to. “Go to the Boston Guardians Arena and tell the security guard I sent you. I’ll call ahead to say you are on your way there. Just follow the loud ruckus of preadolescence and the grunts of a man on his last nerve. Can’t miss him.” She continues to chuckle before hanging up, making me wonder just what fresh hell Piper has inflicted on the poor man.
Knowing Piper, it won’t be pretty.
Chapter 11
Nathan
I’m handing out the next set of instructions to the kids I’m coaching when, out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of vibrant color walking down the stairs of the arena. Donning a polka dot patterned dress, cinched at the waist with a wide red belt, Lottie throws me a wave and a smile as she continues to walk down the flight of stairs. Her dress sways gently with each step she takes, coaxing my gaze to follow her until she stops to stand right at the sidelines of the ice rink.
Shit.
If my matchmaker came all this way to see me, then that must mean I fucked up royally with yesterday’s date. Not that I’m bothered. If I don’t see Agnes McDonald ever again, it will still be too soon. I’ve never had such a repelled reaction to anyone in my life. The woman gives the expression ‘high maintenance’ a whole new meaning. Nothing I said or did was good enough for her. Frankly, I doubt there is a man on God’s green earth who will live up to her high expectations.
Maybe a duke, or a prince, or some kind of aristocratic douche.
Yeah.
A blue blood would definitely be right up Agnes’s alley since mere, everyday mortals don’t seem to cut it for her.
I roll my shoulders back and try to concentrate on the kids instead of wallowing on the lackluster date I went on last night. At least here, inside the rink, I don’t have to put up with pretenses and can just be myself.
That’s the beauty of hockey—it doesn’t judge you for what you have or don’t have.
Here, we are all equals.
Here, I’m part of a team… part of a family.
Here… I’m home.
But just as the comforting thought washes over me, some little shit begins to make fun of the only girl on the ice and how she can’t get her puck in the net.
“Hey, you!” I call out to the kid, who just so happens to be the tallest of the pack.
“Who, me?” he replies, still snickering at the girl.
“Yeah, you. What’s your name?”
“Devon,” he announces like I should know already.
“Okay, Devon. You’re next. Make the shot.”
