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Lena rolls her eyes and explains, “It’s a magazine cover that will feature her and a friend to talk about their struggles in being an athlete, surviving in a male-dominated world, blah, blah—”
“You know this is why you weren’t selected,” Tracy snarls.
“I didn’t write an essay.”
“It wasn’t an essay…it was a long email.”
I cut in before the two go at it in the girls bathroom. “That’s exciting, Tray. Really, I’m happy for you. What will be your story?”
“Oh, I’ll come up with one.” She waves a hand. “But I want to hear about your story!”
“M-mine?”
“Well, obviously I’m picking you. You’ve got the most inspirational story. Getting back on the ice after an accident, reuniting with your high school sweetheart, moving back to your old town…You’ve got to be on this cover.”
“Of a magazine?”
“People all over the country will read about how you overcame an injury and found true love.”
“That sounds great. And I would love to do a photoshoot with you—all of you. But not for a magazine. I’m still new here and I don’t want to take a spot away from someone who really deserves it.”
Tracy pouts. “Are you sure? I thought this would be perfect for you.”
I shrug. “Not everyone wants to share their story,” I start and refrain from adding, not everyone needs to be on the cover of a magazine for people to hear their story.
Chase listening to me the other night and holding me, believing me, is all I needed.
Chase protecting me at all costs—at all times. Staying by my side like…I’m his.
I should feel indebted to him.
I should feel grateful.
But the tugging in my chest, the wild flurries in my stomach, the pulsing of my heart each time he closes the distance tells me something completely different.
I’m in love.
Chase runs a thumb over the back of my neck. “You getting tired?” he asks. We’ve been here celebrating for three hours post-game and people seem to be winding down.
“A little.”
Chase leans in. “Want to go home?”
My grin relaxes, and I look up at him. “Where’s that?”
He holds my gaze, hesitating, then seems to settle on a response. “Well, you’re my future wife. So I suppose…it’s wherever I am.”
I’m not sure what to make of that, but I have to put it on hold because we’re being watched.
I turn to face someone staring across the bar. It’s Assistant Coach Conner. He’s in his thirties, I presume, with dark hair. Looks like the type who’s bitter about something early in his life and takes it out on everyone around him.
I also heard that he’s hit on one too many Ice Queens with the word no not registering right away.
He gives me the creeps, but luckily, I haven’t had to deal with him.
Chase follows my gaze. “What’s the matter, Coach, you look bored.” I gathered over the past two weeks that Chase doesn’t like to call him by his title.
“Heard you turned down the Sport It Up spotlight.” He grins slyly.
