Mason whistled. “And you do all that solo?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m one of five. I already have a good crew. We’ll all work together to keep track of time-on-ice, faceoffs won/lost, shots on goal, missed shots, shot types, hits, takeaways, penalties…all of it.”
“Don’t envy you,” he said. “All the years I’ve known you, and I still can’t believe you’re into all this shit.”
I hissed. “This shit lets me help the team win games.”
He raised his hands, palms up. “Whoa, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I only meant the numbers and everything. The quick thinking.”
“You’re saying you don’t think fast on the ice?” I challenged, the hot air rushing out of my lungs.
“No, of course, I do,” he said. “But that is different. When I’m on the ice…everything else fades away. The crowd, the other players, it’s me and the one guy I need to steal the puck from.”
Like every other player.
Hockey was life.
And now that I was part of the team, it would become mine, too. But, I’d learned enough from Dad over the years to know I would become an expert at compartmentalizing. If I didn’t? I’d fuse with the Sharks and never see myself again. Not that Dad didn’t try—but he was married to the game.
I fell silent again, despite Mason making no move to leave my side.
Focused, calm, centered.
This was practice for the Sharks and I both. I needed to keep my skills sharp, train my brain to track the stats until I could do it in my sleep.
After practice, I was up to my elbows in stats, crunching the numbers to sharpen my skills. Adrenaline coursed through my blood with each set and result, my stomach thrilling with the completion of a formula. I couldn’t believe I’d gotten so lucky to land my dream job. I’d earned this title, and I was determined to prove to anyone who ever doubted my position on this team simply because of my father’s status just how wrong they were.
I drowned out the memory of the paparazzi’s loaded questions and finished up my work.
“Pepper, wait up!” Mason called behind me in the hallway as I headed for the arenas’ exit.
I stopped, my boots squeaking against the slick floors as I spun around. “What’s up, Mason?” I thought he’d ducked out after practice had ended.
“I thought maybe you might want to have dinner?”
I started walking again, and he fell into step beside me.
“Um…” I swallowed hard. The exit doors were in sight like a beacon. If I could reach them maybe I wouldn’t have to come up with an answer.
“Or coffee?” He asked.
I fished my cell out of my pocket, bringing up the Uber app.
The doors were only a few steps away, but I’d still have to stand and wait a few minutes for the ride. Before I could order the car, Mason gently grabbed my wrist, forcing me to look at him.
“Comic book store?” He raised his brows as we came to a stop in front of the doors.
I laughed, sighing. “You’re that desperate? You hate comics.”
“I could stand the fru-fru crap for you.”
I glared at him, pressing my lips together before I could launch into a million reasons why he was so off-base.
Chatter filtered through the exit doors.
Lots of chatter.
Too much, actually.
I craned my neck, pushing the door open slightly before slamming it shut again.
“Damn,” I hissed.
“What is it?” Mason asked, repeating my peek motion. “Oh!” He said, excitement coloring his voice. “They’ve been insatiable all season. It’s because the Sharks are on a hot streak.”
Paparazzi. I understood they had a job to do, but they hadn’t been too kind to me the other day, and being the center of attention made my palms sweat.
I wiped them on my leggings and sighed.
Ivy was perfect for that world. The action, the attention. It was no wonder she was interning at one of the local magazines.
I glanced behind me. “There’s a back way out, right?”
“Screw that,” Mason said and gripped my arm. Before I could blink, we were through the doors and facing thirty of Seattle’s ravenous reporters.
“Ms. Harris!” One of them yelled.
I was stuck with them blocking a clear path to my non-existent car and Mason behind me. If there were a path, I would’ve sprinted all the way home.
“What do you think the rest of the season is shaping up to look like?”
“Are the numbers good?”
“Who has the best shots on goal as of today?”
They rattled off questions so fast I couldn’t follow. Instead, I stood there, opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water. This was so not my scene. My heart raced so hard I was certain it would bust out of my chest any second.
Mason nudged me from behind. “Talk, Pepper,” he whispered.
“I…uh…” Damn it. This was why I chose a profession totally out of the spotlight.
Clearly, you were wrong.
Why did they care?
“Are you and Mason back together? Do your fathers know?”
“Mason, are you here about that rumored trade?”
“Do you have any comment on the speculation that you’re too young for this position?” Another one asked. “That you were handed the job because of who your father is and that the Sharks are risking the season?”
“What the hell?” Eric’s strong voice snapped from behind me.
Mason umphed when Eric pushed him out of the way.
“Come on,” he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“Gentry!”
“Gentry!”
The reporters called his name, but he simply shook his head and pushed us through the crowd like a bouncer.
“Get in,” he said, holding the door of his truck open for me and helping me inside. He slammed the door and two seconds later he was behind the wheel, rushing us out of the parking lot like the paps may be following us.
I glanced over my shoulder to be sure they weren’t.
Of course, they aren’t.
I wasn’t that important.
Gentry was, though, as one of the Sharks’ up-and-coming players and with all the blocks he’d had this season alone. His contract would be huge when he re-signed.
“Thanks,” I said once my heart had de-lodged itself from my throat.
“You know me,” he said, his tone light. “Hero.”
I laughed, the action releasing the tension in my shoulders. “Iron Man.”
“I’m starting to get used to that.”
I grinned at him, taking the moment to appreciate how he looked behind the wheel. Freshly showered, his hair still damp, but tied in a knot at the back of his head, the muscles in his arms and legs no doubt sore from practice.
Those thick muscles he’d draped me across to hide me in the private viewing room.
The way his hand had been gentle yet possessive when grabbing my rear.
The grin melted off my face and I jerked back into my seat, staring straight ahead.
We hadn’t been alone together since.
And now I was in his truck, heading toward my apartment.
“Um…” God, why couldn’t I have Ivy’s ability to speak? To have a conversation under any circumstances. To be confident and cool as opposed to fumbly and awkward.
“I finally got that part,” he said, filling in my obvious fail.
“Oh,” I said. Brilliant.
“I figured you would’ve stayed later after practice. I was going to try to catch you.”
“I didn’t realize,” I said, wringing my hands in my lap.
“What were you doing with Mason?”