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Still trying to rebook that commercial shoot with Sport U. I’ll keep you posted.

Blowing a raspberry that made Deeley side-eye him, Eli replied with a thumbs-up. The loss of income if Sport U dropped him would hurt his pride, but he didn’t technically need the money on top of his NHL salary. It was nice, though, knowing that he’d have enough to feed himself, pay bills, afford rent and gas, and buy the basic necessities without counting every penny.

He rose and walked across the locker room. “Hey, Zanetti?”

“Hm?” Standing in boxer briefs and a T-shirt, Zanetti removed the towel from his wet head, freshly shampooed judging from the scent, and smiled at him. “Oh, hey, Eli. Good game tonight.”

“Thanks, I . . .” The words registered, and Eli faltered. “Wait, what? But I sucked.”

“You didn’t suck. You don’t suck. If you sucked, you wouldn’t be here.”

Huh. Okay. Well, that was—wait. No. This wasn’t why he was here. He had a question.

He waved his phone at Zanetti like a douchebag, as if the gesture would mean anything to his teammate. “Does Sport U Apparel often cancel player sponsorships?”

“Often? Not as far as I know.” Zanetti flung the towel into his stall. “But it does happen, especially if a player breaks their morality clause.”

“What if a player isn’t performing to expected standards?”

Eyeing him critically, Zanetti fastened his watch onto his wrist. “Depends. If there’s a performance clause in the contract and the player suffers a significant, sustained drop in performance, then yes. That can trigger clauses that allow the company to terminate the contract or reduce payments.”

“A significant, sustained drop,” Eli repeated, his stomach somewhere near his toes. “Okay. Thanks.”

“That’s not you, though, Eli,” Zanetti added before Eli could walk away. “Have you been playing like you did last season? No. You’ve been performing, but it’s been inconsistent. Given what I know of Sport U and their contracts, that’s not enough for them to drop you.”

“Okay, but they canceled a commercial shoot and⁠—”

“Probably because they had a conflict or something.” Zanetti clasped Eli’s upper arm. “Don’t read too much into it. If they wanted to drop you, they’d just tell you. Trust me, the commercial will get rescheduled. I’d bet my next paycheck on it.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Eli said, waggling his eyebrows. “You make way more than me. And if the commercial doesn’t get rescheduled, I’ll give you . . .” He thought about that for a second, and said, “One dollar.”

Zanetti laughed his ass off and held out a hand. “Deal.”

chapter

five

Dear Annie,

I got the text from Nikki as the bus arrived at the arena in Pittsburgh for that night’s game: you’d broken up with what’s-his-name.

I played the best game of my life that night.

I don’t think I’ve ever explained to you what it was like to be told I was going to play my very first NHL game. Picture this: you get an A on an exam you thought you flunked. Picture this: your best friend drops by unannounced for a visit, toting Thai food and wine. Picture this: your favorite TV show gets renewed for a fifth season. Picture this: you finally pay off your student loans. Picture this: you’re accepted into a prestigious program at an even more prestigious university.

Those are all good feelings, right? Feel-like-you’re-flying, can’t-catch-your-breath, this-was-an-epic-day emotions that make you dizzy and lightheaded and believe that the universe is on your side.

Put all of those “picture this” moments together, and that’s what it was like to learn I’d be playing in the NHL.

It was also what it was like to receive Nikki’s text.

You, me, and Nikki had hung out a few times since the jogging incident, and you didn’t look at me like I was the last dreaded whole wheat baguette at the bakery anymore. You knew I was into you. You had to know, considering my opening salvo was the same each time.

“You still seeing what’s-his-name?”

You’d roll your eyes at me.

I called you that night, after the Pittsburgh game, and you didn’t seem all that cut up about the breakup. The spark had fizzled, you said. Or died, I can’t remember the wording you used. But I figured, hey, if you weren’t crying into a tub of ice cream (Stereotypical? Probably.), then maybe I had a chance. And because I’m as cool as they come, I said, “You know what this means, right? It means now you’re free to date me.”