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“Hate to break it to you, dick, but we were just getting home when Bria left earlier.” His voice softens. “She was crying.”
Turning my head toward him, I frown. “Really?”
He nods. “Yep. That chick loves you, man. And not just as a friend either. And you’re pushing her away. Exactly what you told me to stop doing to Tate.”
“She can’t love me,” I grumble. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“It never is, is it?” he says nonchalantly.
Briareally can’t love me. We had a deal. And the deal never included us falling in love with each other.
I’m unlovable. And she’s…the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s never going to be more than what it is right now.
And the sooner she realizes it, the better. For both of us.
Bria
As I walk inside the large building at the exact time I planned to be here, a man in a Brooks U sweatshirt withCoach McIntireon the sleeve greets me. “Bria, hi. I’m assistant Coach McIntire. Our publicist, Mike, couldn’t make it. But he’s a friend of mine, so I figured I’d meet you rather than reschedule.”
Holding my hand out, I shake his, attempting to smile through my nerves. “Nice to meet you. I can’t thank you enough for the opportunity.”
He chuckles. “Don’t thank me just yet. You’ll be dealing with some of the moodiest, cockiest men I’ve ever seen.”
“But they’ll be on the ice, right?” I ask, confused and a little nervous.
“Well, yeah. But there will be times when we want team pictures and individual ones too. We’re hoping you’ll be our go-to for all of it. If you end up being the right fit, that is.”
As we walk down the steps, making our way closer to the arena, the chill of the ice hits my body, cooling my core. Which is fine by me because my hands were sweaty when I walked in here and I know damn well that I have a rash on my neck from nerves.
The players glide on the ice as their coach instructs them what to do. And by instructs, I mean he basically hollers.
I know Brody’s out there, but I’m not risking looking in that direction because it would be awkward as hell, given how we left things earlier.
“So, yeah, Coach LaConte and I were both super impressed with the photographs that one of our players brought to our attention. Our publicist will be speaking with you further, but right around this area has always been the preferred place to capture the best work.”
He leads me down to the front row to a set of seats that’s right next to the players section.
When I look down to the ice, my eyes finally connect with the nameO’Brienabove the number seven on the back of a jersey.
“So, any questions for me?” he says, looking out on the ice. “If not, I need to get back out there before LaConte has their asses.”
“Um, I think I’m all set,” I answer softly. “Well, I guess there’s one. My professor mentioned this might require travel games. I wondered how often that would be. I work a lot of weekends, is all.”
“It wouldn’t be all of them. Maybe just to the ones that we know are some of the most anticipated games.”
“Great.” I nod. “Thanks again. I’ll let you get back to it.”
“I’ll be talking to ya. Thanks, Bria.” Holding his hand up, he walks away.
And when I dare my eyes to look back in the players’ direction, Brody spots me. But the second he realizes I’m looking his way; he looks away.
“Hey, Bria!” Link calls, holding his stick up. “Congratulations on the new gig! I apologize for anything my teammates do or say from here on out!”
I grin. “Gee, thanks, Link.”
“Hey, make me look good, would you?” Cam Hardy chimes in. “What am I saying? I always look good.”
“Christ, Hardy. How does your head fit into this damn arena?” a guy with the name Thompson on his back shakes his head before looking at me. “Ignore him. Makemelook good instead. He’s basically married. Plus, he’s headed to join the Boston Bruins after this season. The fuck does he need to impress anyone for?”
