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She won’t succeed, but she might consider it.
“Okay,” she says on an exhale. She sits back and crosses her arms. “I wonder if past-me knew Thomas was a creep.”
“What did he do?”
She shudders. “I don’t want to talk about it. But… I’ve been kicking myself. Because I’m pretty sure I would’ve known. Why else does he know nothing about me? Where I worked or lived in the past decade, simple things about me like foods I like or hate. Did you know I had to get allergy testing? Because I didn’t know if I was allergic to anything dangerous, so they ran a million tests.”
“Are you allergic to anything?” I glance at her.
“Nope.” She laughs. “After all that, I kind of wish they had found something life-threatening. Just to make it worth it.”
“Better to not have to worry,” I murmur.
“Yeah.” Melody sighs. “Anyway. This job is a bit ridiculous, by the way. It’s a job for a twenty-year-old, not me. I’m thirty-four, technologically challenged, and surrounded by people a decade younger than me.”
There’s that age gap talk again. “Did you look at your social media?”
“I started to, but I was too stressed last night.”
Figured as much. She opened the laptop after I texted her, but she closed it soon after and went to sleep. I’ll be glad when I don’t have to work as hard to get into her bed.
Step one: move her into my condo.
Step two: make sure she never leaves.
It sounds easy, but… well, maybe I’m worried.
“Denise introduced me to the other social media girl. She’s literally twenty-two.” She laughs. “I told her about the amnesia thing, so they totally know that this is a pity job.”
“It’s a real job.” I glance at her. “I promise.”
She exhales.
We get to the arena, and I walk her to where she needs to be. A group of women stand in their break room, cupping mugs of coffee, and some of them giggle and wave when they see me.
Melody shoots me a weird look.
I leave her with them, shaking my head. I can’t control how other people react to me. Besides, they don’t really give a shit aboutme. They care that I wear a Titans jersey and play well. And if I fucked them—which I wouldn’t—they’d use it as bragging rights. Not because they want to date or marry me for who I am. That’s why the puck bunnies who shadowed my college team with every step were the worst.
Now. To make it to New York with Melody on the plane, to play the fucking game, and get back in one piece.
And take her home.
I don’t know which part of that I’m more excited about.
13
MELODY
Jacob skates off the ice after the second period. I dutifully follow Kristy, the twenty-two-year-old social media manager, around the rink to the opening the players just stepped through. She runs the Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook page, and even coordinates with player fan accounts. She has a long-lens camera hooked around her neck and her phone in her hand. Her manicured nails don’t seem to impede her typing skills as she writes out a caption for an Instagram story.
I’ve been put on observation duty, where I fear I will stay until the playoffs are over. Then they’ll find some nice way to fire me, because I know nothing.
Kristy, however, seems to knoweverything. She ran through a brief overview of the playoffs this morning on the plane. We sat in the front, just behind the coaches, while the guys lounged in the back. They listened to music and played cards while we worked. Or, she worked, and I watched.
But anyway. She told me there are four rounds of playoffs. Each round has up to seven games—it’s essentially whoever gets to four wins first. So right now, the Titans are tied with the Guardians, two games to two. We’re guaranteed to play two more games—tonight’s game five, and number six in two days’ time—and then the last if the teams split those wins.
It’s enough to do my head in, but I manage to keep it straight. As long as I focus on the Titans’ journey and no other.
