“That’s great, I’m so happy to hear that.”He smiles congenially.“But you don’t have to thank me.It was Karis Spurlock, the team owner, who came up with that benefit program and worked out the budget to prioritize it for staff and team alike.In fact, you’ll get to meet Karis after this meeting.”
Suddenly, the idea of meeting not only Coach Thomas but also Karis Spurlock in the flesh has my heart racing faster than a flying puck toward the plexiglass.Sweat beads under my armpits and seeps through my brand-new blouse.
I’ve gone down more than one internet rabbit hole about the Vikings owner, Karis Spurlock.I’ve read—and empathized with her from afar—about the death of her uncle, the family tragedy that led her to taking on the ownership of the team.I’ve heard about the adversity and severe misogyny she encountered at the male-dominated leadership tables within the league—and how she single-handedly made swift and sweeping changes within her own organization to drive out the sexism and chauvinistic behavior that existed.
In a nutshell, she is one badass boss lady and my idol.
Trying not to shake with excitement too much, I follow closely behind as Trevor winds around a corner and stops in front of a set of double doors.He places a hand on the door handle, rolls his shoulders back, and gives me a look.
“You ready, MacAlister?”he asks.Then he smiles and winks before opening the door.“Nothing like jumping right into the deep end your first day on the job.”
I’m not exactly sure what to expect until he swings open the door, waving me in before him, and I step inside.I nod my thanks and walk on through, then find myself in the front of a large auditorium filled with Vikings hockey players.Who seem to all stop talking at once and stare back at me.
I freeze like I’m caught in a tractor beam.
Holy shit.The entire Vikings team is looking at me like I’m a newborn elephant at the local zoo.
Trevor quickly adjusts and agilely sidesteps me, giving me a surreptitious, supportive grin over his shoulder.He heads toward a front table where all the coaches are seated.Finally snapping out of my daze, I move in, trying to covertly hide myself, and then stumble into his back.Because— gah— the high heels!Trevor pivots, his hands clutching my shoulders to stabilize me before he turns back around, and I’m left to feel like a complete idiot.
My eyes dart around for the nearest trash can.I wonder if I can make it to a bathroom to vomit or just heave right now, in front of a room full of eyes staring down at me.I imagine this is why possums play dead when frightened.I want to curl up in a ball and hide from embarrassment.My hands tremble as I lift my gaze and dare another glance out at the sea of faces.
And I blanch.
If someone asked me how I expected my first day to go, I would’ve said it’d probably be boring as hell, with all my time devoted to filling out paperwork and reading a new-hire training manual.
It would not have included standing in front of some of the best and most celebrated players in the league and making a complete ass of myself.
Okay, maybe I’m being slightly overdramatic.If I had a highlight reel to look back on the events of today, I’m sure I’ll realize it wasn’t that big of a deal and have a good laugh at myself.In fact, as I scan the room, most of the audience has lost interest and are quietly talking amongst themselves, looking at their phones, or centering their attention on the coach and Trevor.They aren’t concerned about little ol’ me in the slightest.
Except maybe for one pair of eyes that is laser-focused on me.
The pair I last saw five over years ago.
Dane Axelrod.
Dane’s dark, steel-gray gaze is locked squarely on mine and filled with confusion.Does he recognize me?Or maybe he’s wondering to himself why I look familiar?That phenomenon when you see someone out of context and can’t quite place them.
Or it could be something else entirely.Maybe it’s a look of displeasure, and he’s not happy to see me at all.
Whatever the reason for his strange expression, it’s disconcerting that he won’t quit staring at me.His eyebrows furrow, and he tilts his head side to side.
What is he thinking about?If he does remember me, I’m sure he’s recalling the last time we spoke.The night I called things off between us.I mean, our break-up was amicable.We agreed to go our separate ways, no harm, no foul.I even reached out via text to send my heartfelt congratulations the day he got drafted:You did it, Ax.I’m so happy for you.
If either one of us has just cause to be angry, it’s me.He never texted so much as a thank-you back.Honestly, though, it’s not like I expected to hear from him again.
Dane was busy being celebrated as the newest sensation in the show, touted as one of the next best rookies in the league, and I was just the girl he had a short fling with six months earlier.
I’m sure I’m the last person on earth he ever thought he’d see walking into a Vikings team meeting.After all, I definitely didn’t think I’d be in the middle of this auditorium on my first day.
That one sure wasn’t on my new-hire bingo card.
3
Ax
Holy shit.
The last thing I expected at a post-practice meeting was to see Halle MacAlister.
