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And after this stupid game, I’m going to tell him that.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
ELI
With two days to go, every member of the team is feeling it. The laughter and teasing of a few days ago are gone, replaced by determination and concentration as we practice penalty corners. I’ve already reminded them we have one advantage – we’re already a team. Greg’s side is good. Each man as an individual is absolutely better than us.
But together? I’m pretty certain we can run circles around them.
I’ve spent the past few weeks watching each one of them play. Trying to anticipate how they’ll mesh as a team. Assessing their weaknesses and working out how we can profit from them.
As we come to the last minute of practice, I glance up to see Mackenzie sitting in the bleachers. She catches me looking and smiles, and damn, I can’t help but grin back.
I tap my watch so she knows I’m keeping time. Ten minutes and I’ll go up to her office to see her. Her smile widens and I’m about to wink when I hear voices echoing from the tunnel.
The rest of the team does, too, and they stop passing the puck momentarily. Then the cause of the commotion appears rink side, his every move being recorded by two camera men who follow him like sheep.
“Hey, that’s him,” Carter says, nudging Goran in the chest.
“Who?”
“Greg Gauthier,” he says.
“Is it?” Goran asks, taking off his helmet and squinting. “He looks old.”
“Heisold, doofus.”
“You see that big stick with the furry end?” I say, pointing at the boom one of the camera team is carrying.
“Yeah?” Goran replies.
“That’s a microphone,” I tell him. “It picks up everything.”
“Ohhh.” Goran nods. “Oops.”
Next to Greg is a beautiful woman. Mac’s mom, I assume. And behind him are some faces I recognize.
His team of All Stars. They’re all talking and the cameras are still rolling and I’m keeping an even expression even though I’m feeling slightly annoyed that they’re recording this without clearing it with me first.
And also annoyed because this isn’t the way I wanted to meet Mac’s parents. I glance up at the bleachers to see her reaction, but she’s gone.
“Eli Salinger,” Greg says, his voice full of bonhomie. “I hope you don’t mind me coming to spy on the opposition.”
I push a smile onto my face and skate over to where he’s standing. He reaches his hand out and I shake it.
Maybe a bit too hard.
He winces a little as I release his palm, and I’m left with the smallest sense of satisfaction.
“We’re just finishing up,” I say, glancing over his shoulder. “Did you want me to get the ice cleaned up so you can get on here?”
“Oh no,” he says. “We start practicing tomorrow.”
Between his team, our team, and Isabella’s ice dancing, that’s three sets of practice taking place on the ice. It’s annoying because we still need more time but there it is.
“We just wanted to say hi.”
“Hi,” I say deadpan.
