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My neighbors are blasting music from the house a few doors over. The same people sit on their front steps every night to deal drugs and throw wild parties. If I were smart, I would have gone apartment hunting at nighttime instead of the day. I had no idea what I was in store for until my first night living in this neighborhood. Most nights, I fall asleep to the sound of cop cars and ambulances.
Between the rent and upkeep for the apartment, I am barely making ends meet. My new lifestyle is much different from the one I had grown accustomed to as a child. Most people talk about rags to riches stories. Mine is more like riches to rags except my rags say Prada and Chanel. Or at least they do until I have to sell them to pay bills.
Within minutes of chugging coffee and reading through my notes, I find the right words to use for my article, adding some of my own flair to the story. News articles are boring, but I try to liven them up and do my best to make them sound less dull. Writing about a player with a torn rotator cuff or the Sixers practice report is not by any means the highlight of my life.
Where my writing really shines is on our blog. Our readers enjoy some of our features such as live Q&As where they can send us questions about love and sex that Sydney answers on Facebook and YouTube. Fans of her books and our blog followers love having the chance to ask a romance author for sex advice.
By the time I finish my story and add it to the queue for Monday, my phone rings again. Well after midnight, I assume it can only be one person and answer the phone without looking at the Caller ID.
“Syd, I told you I have to work on my piece. If you want another name for cock, you will have to Google it.”
A man laughs on the other end of the phone. “I think I can help you out with that. You have to start with the obvious—penis, dick, one-eyed monster—”
“Okay, that’s enough. Who the hell is this?” I yell into the phone, irritated. “You don’t go rambling off words like that to a lady.”
“Does a lady talk about cocks on the phone with strange men?” He has me there.
“You never answered my question. Who is this? Speak now, or I’m hanging up on you.”
“Tyler Kane. I assume you have heard of me since you’re a sports reporter. Parker gave me your number.”
He has such an arrogance about him that gives me the impulse to smack him through the phone. Sucking in a deep breath, I realize he makes me nervous, which is weird. I have fantasized about Tyler on more than one occasion while watching a hockey game.
What do I even say to him?
Somehow finding the words caught in the back of my throat, I speak, and with an intentional attitude. “Yeah, I know who you are, Tyler. Why are you calling so late?”
“Because I’m about to get shitfaced, and I plan to sleep in late tomorrow. I thought we should get this over and done with before I down a bottle of whiskey.”
“Right,” I snort. “You guys lost your wild card spot for the playoffs. Tough break. I guess a few drinks are in order.”
He sighs. “Yeah, thanks for reminding me, as if I wasn’t already trying to forget.” I note the irritation in his voice and hope that he doesn’t take what I said the wrong way, but he recovers fast. “We’ll get there next year, one step at a time. Anyway, tonight we’re celebrating Parker and Coach getting back together now that Parker is going over to the dark side and shacking up with Coach.”
I lean back in my chair and kick my feet up on the desk, trying to think of how to rebound from this conversation. We are already off to an awkward start, thanks to Sydney and her stupid questions. With the downfall of my father’s company hanging over my head, this paper is one of the last pieces of Sentry Publications, the multi-million dollar company my grandfather had built from the ground up, only for my father to destroy our family legacy by getting into business with the wrong people.
“Have fun. I’ll be working,” I mutter under my breath.
“You should come out with us tonight…if you want. A bunch of my teammates and me are hanging out at this new club on the river. It’s pretty sweet.”
“Thanks for the offer but it’s getting late. I have work to do, and you don’t even know me.”
“What’s there to know? If your body matches your sexy voice, tonight could be fun for both of us.”
I pretend to gag into the receiver and stick my finger into my mouth. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I have to hang up now. When and where am I meeting you tomorrow?”
“You’re no fun.” He breathes into the phone. “I’ll meet you at two p.m. at the event center on the Strickland University campus at the back entrance.”
“Sounds great.” I slide my feet off the desk and stand with the mug in my hand because this conversation requires a shot in my coffee. I need to find that bottle of vodka I hid. “I’ll see you then.”
Without giving him time to say another word, I hang up and open the freezer. Tomorrow is going to be a long day if this talk with Tyler is any indication. But I need the press for my paper.
Chapter Two
TYLER
We lost to the same assholes that always make our team look like we’re still in youth hockey and trying to compete with the pros. Except we are professional hockey players, who should be able to compete at the same level. Going into our final game, we knew we were out of the playoffs, but that didn’t make our last loss any better. As the team captain, I was expected to give a motivational speech to rally the troops and make everyone feel as though we didn’t suck dick all season.
Every word I spoke was a load of crap. Gretzky could have been in our locker room earlier, giving a speech about teamwork and the guys still would have went to their respective corners and moped. The tone after the game was somber, to say the least. What was I supposed to say that would help pull any of us out of our funk? Sometimes I hate being the team captain. The guys look to me for guidance, when in all honesty, I don’t know any more than they do about how to get our shit together.
